Standing On A Chair

Telling it like I see it…

Stories from the Chair: My One-legged Lover in Paris – Part Seven

“Don’t let go of my hand, Sarah,” I whispered as we edged our way through the crowded room.  We’d started out running, but found that impossible because there were just so many people.  I thought it was a miracle we weren’t attacked by Omar and Farouk the second we left the restroom.  But I was sure that meant they were watching for us from somewhere, and I trembled from head to toe I was so fucking scared.

The band had stopped playing, so all that could be heard was the din of clinking glasses and drunk, laughing club goers.  The serpentine route we were taking through the place seemed to last forever, but finally we could see the exit door which led to coat check.  My heart banged so hard I thought I could actually hear it. 

Because I knew those guys weren’t going to just let us go. 

And they could appear at any second.

And just then, they did.

Omar came out of nowhere and grabbed my arm.

Then Farouk tried to separate my hand from Sarah’s.

I screamed, “HELP!”

Sarah just screamed.

But no one seemed to notice.

Because nobody did anything.

I must have been touched by the hand of God, I tell you, because suddenly I was able to jerk my arm away from Omar, and still holding Sarah’s hand tightly, we burst through the exit door, hauled ass to coat check, which was not attended at that moment, and I said, “Fuck the coats,” and pulled Sarah behind me down the hallway to the way out, where “Lucius Malfoy” still stood.

Behind us were Omar and Farouk.

“Sir, please help us!” I begged Lucius.  “These guys are out to kill us!”

Lucius said nothing.

Lucius did nothing.

What happened next is bizarre and insane. 

I remember pulling Sarah behind me, out of the club and into the alley, then we were pulled apart, and we were both screaming, and people stood at the entrance of the club and just watched and did not move, and then Omar backhanded me hard across my face, and I heard Sarah yelling for help, and I was knocked to the ground, and Omar stood over me with rage in his face, and then that hand of God thing happened again, because I was being lifted off the ground by an Unknown Savior who said, “RUN!” and I ran, and Sarah ran, and this Unknown Savior ran with us, and he had a funny limp, but he still ran fast, and after two blocks, when I had the balls to look back, I could see the freaks had stopped chasing us.

The next thing I knew, Unknown Savior was guiding Sarah and me into an indoor café, where we sat in a booth and stared at each other, the three of us, and said nothing until our chests stopped heaving so we could calm down enough to actually speak.

And then I knew who our Unknown Savior was.

“Algerians?” he finally said.  “What are you two, completely nuts?  Let me order some coffees for us.”  He spoke to the waitress in perfect French, and once again resumed our silence.

All I could do was stare at him.  Sarah was still struggling to breathe and stop crying.

“You just saved our lives,” I said, practically in a whisper.  Looking back, I think I was in some kind of shock state at that point.

He said nothing.

“And you,” I continued, “are the singer in the band.  You are the American singer.”

He smiled.

Sarah remained speechless.

“Please tell me, why?” I asked him.

“Why what?” he said.

“Why you, and no one else?  Why were we ignored by people when they saw us in trouble?  Why did that white-haired door man do nothing to help us?  How could they just stand there and watch me get smacked to the ground, and not do anything?”

I was startled by Sarah’s sudden return from silence.  “The French.  They don’t like Americans.”

Unknown Savior said, “And they hate Algerians, but are frightened of them.  And Algerians despise the French, and they especially dislike Americans.”

“So this is what is happening here?  Sarah and I almost got ourselves beaten or killed for the simple reason that everybody hates everybody’s guts?”

“When you put it like that,” said Unknown Savior, “I guess so.”

“Please tell us your name,” I said.

“My name is Chris.”

Sarah grabbed hold of his hand across the table and squeezed it.  “You saved us,” she said.

“Chris,” I said, “I don’t have adequate words to thank you for what you did for us tonight.”

He looked straight into my eyes, he smiled, and he said, “Will you meet me tomorrow afternoon at the large water fountain in Champs-Élysées Park?

Stay Tuned for Part Eight


May 8, 2012 - Posted by | Foreign Travel | , , , , , , , ,

1 Comment »

  1. Ok, when is the next installment coming out!?! You know I’m going to be busy this week end and probably won’t have time for the computer, so either do it now or wait til Monday! Now is best though.

    Comment by Linda Wines Stokes | May 8, 2012 | Reply

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