The next day I decided to learn French properly. I had taken a course during training in the states, but Izzy had always succeeded far and beyond my language studies. She also told me my accent always got in the way.
I had cracked my French books open across the sofa. The windows were open and the curtains danced in the breeze, and I couldn’t help but feel distracted. I had barely made it across the introductions chapter before I needed some music.
Before I knew it, I was prancing around the flat in a matching red camisole and panty set with an apron tied around my waist, a French conversation book in one hand dancing to Duran Duran’s Electric Barbarella on full blast.
“I plug you in, dim the lights, Electric Barbarella!” I sang loudly, bobbing up and down, having no comprehension of what I read. I could hear a shout from outside, it sounded French. And it sounded angry.
I peeped out. It wasn’t Pierre at the window, but someone else, someone I had never seen before, and he didn’t look happy.
Alright, so I just completely broke the whole stalker confidentaility rule and started apologizing. Wait a second, now they know that I know his name. Crap! Now they’re both peering out the window and I’m standing here dressed like some kind of idiot. I duck down under the window ledge. Its my only choice.
Pierre is saying something, in English. Oh my god. He knows English. And here Izzy and I were talking about him all yesterday, loudly. I made a lunge for the telephone and rang up Izzy.
“Bonito, I told you, don’t call me here…”
“Marguerite? I thought this was Marco calling about…?”
“Yes! Yes its me, and I’m hiding behind my sofa! There are two French guys out my window now, and one is yelling at me and I’m dressed like a robot fantasy girl, and I don’t think they like Duran Duran, and I accidentally blurted out something…”
“Menina, breathe. Wait, did you say two French guys?”
“I’ll be right over.”
Izzy must have ran because she got there exceptionally fast. If there was an attractive man somewhere, Izzy was not going to miss it.
Izzy ushered me into the kitchen and handed me some clothes she had brought with her and ordered me to change. When I emerged, Izzy was at the window, watching the angry man who seemed clearly distracted in an argument with Pierre.
We both watched, like spectators to a sport. The man turned, soon realizing that they were not alone.
“Hey! Mind your own business, ladies!”
“Oy! You interrupted the filming of our porno! Now my girl here has to work overtime!” Izzy called out. I punched Izzy hard in the arm.
“Is that what you call it then?” He yelled back.
“You want to take this outside pansy?” Izzy cried.
“I’ll see you outside, madame!”
Izzy ran towards the door. I gave her a questioning look. She motioned towards the window.
“Now’s your chance, flirt with him! Hey, menina, that skirt looks hot on you, go, go! Hey, that other guy is tres bon, no?”
I think Izzy was posessing me as soon as she left the door, because I was dumb enough to start inviting him over. Of course, him being a hermit and all denies.
By this time, I’m completely worked up, looking over at him through the window, looking horribly delicioso as Izzy would say. I invite myself over. I’m about ready to maul the guy from my window. He isnt too keen on the idea.
Well screw him. He won’t even see it coming. I lunge for the door, running down the four flights of stairs at top speed, into his building, remembering the flat number Izzy had told me. I knock. An urgent sort of knock. I can hear him rustling around inside and he opens the door.
I don’t even give him a chance to say anything before I jump on him, and kiss him. The force of my attack pushes us down, and he falls backwards onto the floor, me on top of him. And we keep going.
I then realized what I was doing and jumped up from him, shocked.
“Christ, sorry. Are you okay? I have to go,” I said as I dashed out the door.
Before I could get very far, I found myself turning back. He was still on the floor, looking very dazed. Setting aside any sexual harrassment charges, I went inside and shut the door. He stood up slowly, facing me.
“What…” he started, but I walked forward and put my hand over his mouth.
“Don’t say anything,” I warned. This time I grabbed his face and brought it to mine, and we started over, a little less forcibly. He slowly reached around me and held me by my arms.
We began to move around his flat, entangled together, joined at the lips, tumbling over boxes in the dim lighting. We landed with a thud on the piano, the keys making terrible clanging noises as my bum hit ivory.
“What is your name?” He whispered into my ear.
We were interrupted shortly when the angry man came storming in, stopping abrubtly at the sight.
“Pierre!” He cried out angrily. I let go of Pierre, but he continued grasping me. I ducked out from under his arms and ran for the door.
Izzy was outside, looking very eager.
“Oh, menina, way to goooo!” She called out, giving me a double thumbs-up.
“You, you and your evil voodoo are going to pay,” I said, pointing my finger at her.
“Eh, your voodoo doll is one naughty little creature all on her own,” Izzy replied.
“Funny,” I said grumpily.
“So menina, are you going to tell me what happened?” Izzy asked excitedly.
“We made out. On a piano. Well, technically, I mauled him in his doorway. But he didn’t seem to mind,” I said hopefully.
“Would any sane man mind?” Izzy asked sarcastically. We had made it back to my flat, and I could hear the music of his piano fluttering over the alley, but I shut it out by closing all the windows and drawing the curtains.
“What are you doing?” Izzy questioned.
“I just don’t want to hear it right now,” I said, pouting my way into the bathroom, and shutting the window tightly.
For the rest of the afternoon, we listened to Station to Station to drown out the sound of the sad piano.