Page 27 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Sorry he did that to you,” I offered and got a rueful little smile as he exhaled another cloud of smoke. “I never understood why people who aren’t happy in a relationship just don’t leave before climbing into bed with someone else.”

My sight caught on a fat gray pigeon taking to wing from a perch on the side of a building across the road. When Claude didn’t reply I glanced from the bird to him. He was studying me closely, his hazel gaze unreadable.

“Wise words from such a young man,” he finally said before snuffing his cigarette out in an ashtray on the glass-topped table which matched the chairs. “Are you out here hiding too, Kinder?”

Mm, I loved the sound of my name flowing off his tongue. “Yeah, I was feeling less than in there so I snuck out to recenter. Plus so many of the interviewers wanted to discuss my father and his accident. I just…” I drew in a shaky breath. “I don’t want to talk about it with people I don’t know or who really don’t care. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense. And as for being less than. Pfft.” He placed a warm hand atop mine resting on the cold cement railing. My heart thundered in my chest as our gazes locked. “You’re no less talented than anyone who attended my school. You just need to learn the finer details of tailoring which you will. Don’t let the snobs of this industry make you feel inferior. Degrees can only teach you the rules. A diploma cannot sew with instinct and it certainly cannot teach hunger or drive. Stay true to your vision, keep mastering the technical aspects as you learn, and let the garments speak of your talent. Do not ever apologize for not having a piece of paper. Your hands are your degree, your portfolio your diploma.”

That staggered me. I stared at him openly as a whirlwind of emotion swirled around inside my head.

“Merci, Claude. Seems a funny thing for a man who runs a fashion academie to say,” I replied as his thinner fingers slowly slipped between mine. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to, which I didn’t.

“Well, perhaps.” A crooked smile appeared on his lips. Very soft looking lips. “But we are the honest friends, yes? Your candor inspires mine. There is no replacement for God given talent. You have it. It is similar to trying to teach someone who lacks the soul of a storyteller how to write or a person who has not been blessed with the skill of an artist to try to paint with the same passion.” I nodded, my mouth dry, my cock growing thicker by the second. “To hell with what people think.” That made me chuckle. “Would you like to visit the Arc right now?”

I blinked to ensure I heard him properly. Why closing my eyes then opening would help me hear I didn’t know, because it wouldn’t but I couldn’t stick my finger in my ear to wiggle it as he was holding my hand. Holding. My. Hand.

“Uhm, but the party…” That was my brilliant reply. He gave my fingers a soft squeeze. “Can you just leave?”

“Of course. Soline will handle the gushing and ego stroking. They all know I have a small capacity for suffering through such frippery. I’m more the homebody. Happiest either nibbling on pecan tarts with my dog or spending hours working in my atelier creating my looks. It’s one reason Carlton listed for ending my marriage. My cold shoulder to the world. A hermit with no charm were his exact words, so yes, if I sneak off no one will be surprised.”

I glanced over my shoulder at the mash of bodies then looked back at Claude. “How do we leave without being seen?”

His smile was bright as the sun overhead. “The fire escape. Come, quiet like a brown mouse.” He gathered a sleepy Pamplemousse up, slipped him into his sling, and then lead me around the corner of the patio, just on the other side of a large cement urn, to where a rather rusty fire escape sat at the ready. “It will hold. Come along. Let’s have a few hours without cameras in our faces. If anyone ruffles their feathers I will tell them I took you for a private tour of the city. Let us be reckless just once, yes?”

I shot one last look at the party, nodded, and then released his hand so we could make our escape. This was insanity. Yet if felt so damn right. Sneaking off alone would have been pretty ballsy but slipping off with our advisor? Daring to say the least. When my boots hit the pavement Claude offered me his hand. I took it. We speed walked down the street, snickering like fools, until we arrived near the Arc where we slipped on our sunglasses then melded into the throngs of tourists visiting the famed arch.

“I feel like a school boy who is… hmm, sèche les cours. In English, what is the term for not going to school?”

“Cutting class?”

“Yes! I feel like that. You bring out a youthfulness in me I’d thought long dead.”

“My mom likes to say we should never stop running, playing, and chasing butterflies.” Not that she has much time for butterfly catching anymore. If I win this competition she could race around a big, green lawn net in hand for the rest of her days.

“Your mother is very wise. Come, let us be carefree for a few hours.”

Claude led me into an underground passage which seemed much safer than trying to cross twelve lanes of traffic. Stepping out I was awestruck at the scale of the monument. My guide didn’t rush me; he let me gawk at the glorious details.

We made our way slowly up the curved stairway inside, pausing to look at the full-size replica of just the head of one of the statues adorning the outside of the arc. Of course Claude, who had his phone, took a few selfies. We passed a gift shop with a scale model of the arch then made our way to the top. All of Paris could be seen. It was a breathtaking panorama. Claude pointed out various things, such as the Eiffel Tower, the white dome of the Sacré-Cœur Basilica, the Louvre, and the distant towers of Notre-Dame.

An hour sped by as we gazed out over the city, whispering about things of no great import as we blended into the masses. No cameras, no boom mics, no director asking for another take. Just Claude and I, hands linked like lovers, taking in the grandeur of one of the most beautiful cities on the planet.

“Do you know what I would love right now?” he asked as we rested along the tall safety fence atop the Arc, his hand still tucked into mine.

A kiss? Ask him if he would love a kiss. We would love a kiss. It would be so romantic. Ask him. Ask him!

“No,” I said.

Oh my god you are so lame.

“Des escargots.”

I gaped at the man as if he had sprouted another head. “Snails?”

He laughed aloud. Pamplemousse sat quietly in his sling trying to guilt a little boy in a baby carrier on some guys back into feeding him a cookie. So far the kid had held out but the dog was doing his best.

“Ah that candid nature of yours in intoxicating. I suspect a person always knows where they stand with you as you are so naturally expressive and honest. So refreshing to not worry over liars and sycophants.”