Frankie in Paris by McGuiness Shauna

Author:McGuiness, Shauna [McGuiness, Shauna]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Shauna McGuiness
Published: 2012-12-16T22:00:00+00:00

Henri was at his post. When he saw Lulu he shook his head. “Wild night, non?”

“Oui. Wild.” He covered his mouth in mock horror.

Lulu was practically sleepwalking, so I pulled her onto the elevator, off of the elevator, then to our room and used my key to open the door.

I planted her on her bed, and she seemed more alert. “Thank you, dear,” she said.

Dressing in her emerald pajamas and washing her face, Lulu looked like a little old woman leprechaun. I was surprised that she had the energy to get herself ready for bed, and she was deep into her dreams by the time I finished taking my turn in the bathroom, her small arms wrapped around the champagne bottle.

I was so full of pent up frustration and irritation that I wanted to break something. The curtains began to swirl into a twist of fabric, and my bedspread lifted up toward the ceiling and scrunched into a tight ball. I needed to do something to turn my evening around, fast.

It was nine in the morning at Rich’s house. I could have called him, but I didn’t want to go outside by myself this late. With the way that my day had gone, I was sure that someone would drive by in an unmarked car and throw me in the trunk. I would be forced into a life of prostitution or sent to some other country to do free labor.

I didn’t even like doing the housework that my parents made me do. The thought of cleaning some stranger’s bathroom was not at all appealing. Not to mention the prostitution part, which was probably more likely. Honestly, I’d rather travel to Russia on vacation with Rich on our honeymoon, someday, than have to live there and work with other kidnapped women.

Not wanting to tempt fate, I decided to write a letter. A small stack of Hôtel de Lutèce stationary was piled on the desk near our window. I beckoned a sheet of it to my bed and then called the city guide to use as a table. Sitting on the bed with my legs folded over each other, with my chin in my hands, I began to write. The pencil lifted up into the air and began to swirl across the page in neat, even cursive.

***

Dear Rich,

I hate it here. I want to go home RIGHT NOW. You would never believe how awful this day has been. We wandered around, providing entertainment for the general public, as always. I had to eat snails, and Lulu got drunk and yelled at everyone at the dinner show—which, by the way was a topless production. She sang on the Metro and some freaky guys tried to pick up on me. I never want to come to France again. I don’t know how I will last for the next two days! At the rate we’re going, we’re sure to injure someone or destroy something. The Eiffel Tower will be lying on its side when we’re through with it! I still don’t have any Docs.

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