1 Chapter I

It Starts in Paris

Chapter I

"I remember doing my masters. There was a director talking about a system where I can film through wrapping a building with wire and sliding a camera to film the building. Someone figured out a way to see through a birds eye view across the two buildings and be able to film like that and I thought, 'Wow, that is amazing.' Now, there isn't any wonder left, there are no great works of art happening. They are all still doing the same things over and over again. The one time something daring was attempted was in so and so and it was never attempted again and creatives stopped being creative. They all just became fans of someone else's art and that was that."

Massive buildings crowded closely together the tops only seen at a distance bellow the streets crowded like cubicles. Beams of light snaking their way around one building after another and up the street taking whichever way it could as the sunrise descended from the clouds above the city. Empty buildings with no one life in them, only a few people busying themselves around them. In a world where no one will tell their story to a stranger. Just those that want to be seen not saying much of anything.

Jamie leaned down to pick up a cup at the edge of the garden and added it to his servers tray. He's startled when a bird flies just inches away from his face. It circles back and landed on a rose bush in the garden. A sliver of light passing between the buildings washes over the garden. The bird hopped up and down then side to side parading all of its colour. Its underside was all a warm yellow and its wings and tail a sky blue. It had a mohawk on it's head the same color as it's wings but its cheeks were puffy white clouds. It was the morning.

Jamie snapped back to himself picking up the glass while watching the bird. He headed back into the museum but before going through the doors he turned back around to get another eyeful. It was gone just a well lit set of roses. "Of course, you have to go and wake everyone up."

He rushed through the halls with a stack of glasses. His reflection in the cold black mirrors that covered the walls from floor to ceiling, obstructed every few paces by a marble statue of one of the glossy cylindrical dark-green stone columns.

"But that is what's wrong with films, all of the most influential photographers of today never get the recognition they deserve. They are just looked over, even though they are like the photographers of long ago with all of the ambition and overreaching techniques. Instead, 'they're trying too hard' and they don't ever get even a tenth of the notoriety."

He speed up as the hall winds and descends. His reflection passed, then a statue, then a beam. Before he knew it he was gliding down the hallway holding onto the silver rail between him and the sculptures and deftly balancing the serving tray in the other. In the mirror it looked like he was on skates and beneath him slick ice. He passed a statue, then a beam, and then it was him again. He passed a statue, then there was a kid, and then another kid. He looked forward and two kids were riding the rail straight for him. He let go of the rail and spun around them, lifting the tray up into the air to avoid hurting them. Some of the cups tilt over but he caught them with his other hand before they could fall, pressing them into the tray. He made it to the cafe and dropped some cups from the stack into the sink at the back.

He looked up and around as the dishes crashed into the sink. He's sure he broke one or two. Priscilla walked into the kitchen in the back, catching him in the act.

Priscilla was harder on him than his manager, or maybe it just seemed that way. She had hard dark black hair, probably dyed daily and meticulously to the roots. Priscilla was just that kind of person, always critical about everything. He had been a barista in the states for years and if he wasn't there people would refuse to be served until he was back from break or come another day. Still, she always said his drinks were too hot, foamy or he pulled the shots too long. She wasn't even the manager. She was in charge of beverage quality or something, so he was stuck bussing tables and cleaning dishes, which bothered him less than her chiding remarks. Her attitude was bad enough but she also wore all black, for absolutely no reason, besides to suck all the good and positive energy from the world. "Oh, so it's okay to drop glasses." Priscilla stated.

Jamie exhaled in defeat.

"Only if you want it to come out of your check." David stuck his head through the kitchen doors to see what was going on. Just at the right time, a breath of fresh air. He was a short and slender flamboyant French man that ran an underground art exhibit and got the job through one of his patrons. A good manager, personality wise, but didn't know shit about coffee. Enter Priscilla, she no doubt came in for an interview and convinced him that he would be stupid for not hiring her.

"Is that so? In that case you'd never get paid a dime." She glared at him as if she was holding his balls and was waiting for him to step out of line. He never did. He laughed nervously and sank back behind the bar.

"Oh, I hate broken glass." Rory slipped around him and placed her tray on the sink next to his. Jamie shifted to the side to let her through. He hadn't even noticed her, but that was her way. There wasn't much to say about her she was just, there sometimes, and not even when she was. She wasn't a grotesque monster of a woman or anything. She had gorgeous bright red hair and cute squishy cheeks. She just never seemed to make much of an impression. She could be standing by your side all day and you wouldn't notice her. She weaved through customers without anyone noticing. It was more than good customer service or the help should be quiet or anything. It was more than that, it was as if she was a spy tasked with getting her job done without ever being seen. She never even drew Priscillas attention that was Jamies job.

"Yeah, I can always imagine cutting myself." Walter interjected. Jamie looked back over to the door to the kitchen and he was tying his apron around his waist behind Priscilla. He towered over Priscilla easily. Sometimes when Jamie was cleaning up around the bar while Walter was making drinks he would hear the tall man mumbling. He usually just muttered to himself, his long bushy hair twitching after he finished making a drink as he scanned the room looking for a customer. After he found them he would call them over by where they were or what they were doing and what they were wearing. "Guy on the computer by the window. No not you the one wearing his grandmas sweater. Yes you." He always had the weirdest names for people and he never heard anyone complain. He had a weird type of charisma that made mean things funny, even when you were on the receiving end. You just couldn't help yourself.

Rory looked into the drain."Yeah, just the the thought." She bunched her shoulders as goosebumps tickled up her spine.

"Yeah, I know right." Walter smiled, a creepy smile, and troubled his fingers together.

"It's like the me I see myself as, is different from the way I see myself in real life. Like I imagine myself greater. I think I can't be cut but when I look at something sharp and dangerous the colour leaves my cheeks. I freeze and all I can imagine is how fragile I am and how I don't want to get hurt." Rory explained.

Priscilla gives up on chastising Jamie and walks past Walter to the front lobby. "Trust me, everyone sees you different from the way you see yourself. Rory can you help me on the bar. Walter when you clock in take out the trash."

Jamie gathered up the broken glass as Rory emptied her tray into the sink. He walked over to the trash to empty his hands of the glass to find one stuck in his hand. Only he would get cut by glass after all that talk. He pulled the small shard out and blood trickled out from the cut. He turned away from Rory before she could see and walked to the front and out to where the condiment area was. He grabbed a napkin placing it on the cut. The Café was surrounded by glass giving a great view of the street and to the art bookstore next door. "Wow I'm really in Paris." He inhaled and exhaled deeply and laughed to himself.

"Hey guy with napkins on his hands, are you okay?" Walter singles him out and there is no hiding it now.

Jamie crossed the room with all eyes on him as if he didn't stand out enough. Even if he didn't speak, his outfit gave him away as an American. He wasn't ashamed, but just not a fan of being the center of attention. Walter knew that but got a kick out of shining a spotlight on people. "Yeah. Where is the first aid or bandages or…"

"It's basically the same just in french accent. Bandage non?" Walter was the only person Jamie felt like he knew in Paris. "They're over here."

Jamie spied a glance from Priscilla and figured she was thinking he was some kind of idiot. Walter walked him around the corner and over to the first aid box in the managers office. Luckily David wasn't there. The box was attached to the wall. Similar to the red first aid in the states, but it was green with a white cross on it. He opened it up and handed Jamie a bandage.

"Bandage?" Walter said in French raising his eyebrows at Jamie. He reached for it but Walter pulled it away before he could take it then repeated for dramatics,"Bandage?"

Jamie snatched the bandage out of Walters hand and smiled while shaking his head. As he was putting on the bandage David walked into his office and looked at Jamies hand and laughed. Jamie anxiously turned around and wrapped the cut wanting it to be over already.

"You guys know France has the most beautiful, I mean beautiful black actresses? I mean like they can make up they're own beautiful country." Jamie turned around and David was leaning against the door frame.

Jamie looked at him kind of confused, not knowing what to say, or where this was leading. So, he smiled and nodded his head, "Thanks."

"So, when has it become okay to break glasses and waste $200 dollar pie?" Priscilla blurted out as she pushed pass David to right the names of the pies that expired yesterday on the waste board in the managers office.

"When I became manager." Davids suave demeanor was gone. He would only let Priscilla openly get away with so much.

Priscilla looked at Jamies hand then at his face."Hey Jamie, you want some pie?"

"Sure." Jamie thought this was a way for Priscilla to get back at David, still he might be able to get some pie out of it. He looked to David for approval to see if this was okay. He wanted to remain impartial.

"Which one?" She demanded, impatiently shifting her wait onto her left leg as she did often. Jamie did not want to be caught in between them while they were so vexed. He knew better than to put himself between two fighting cats.

"He wants the $200 pie." David crossed and sat down at his desk looking for something to make it look like he was busy. "Get him the two hundred dollar pie." He commanded this time. David had taken up the initiative as if it was his suggestion. Priscilla strode out of the office without another word, then followed by Walter but not before giving one of his trademark mischievous smiles.

Jamie shrugged, "Uh thanks."

"Well it's okay if some pies go missing. The owners never notice." Jamie wondered what else had gone missing for a $200 pie to not matter much.

David pushed back his chair not actually willing to do any real work. Maybe he had come in for a short break surprised to find Walter and Jamie. Either there was no work to be done there or none he wanted to do, so he left after Priscilla and Walter. Jamie followed after, right behind him. His hand was bandaged up thanks to Walter and now everyone knew he was as simple minded as they thought he was.

David entered the lobby collecting dishes on a tray he snagged. He was always willing to grab as many dishes and cups as he could in one go no matter how high. Maybe he licked to look dangerous and daring. Over his shoulder he noticed Jamie following behind him also trying to catch up to him while pulling a notebook out of his back pocket.

"You're really bizarre." Jamie chased after David eagerly.

"Well thanks." The words stopped David in his tracks. He turned his head over his shoulder giving the man a stink eye. "Do you not want the pie because you don't have to insult me."

Jamie stammered, "No I mean like a Ring master in a Circus. I'm a writer I just wanted to know can I, like. write about you. I think it would be weird if I was writing about you and you didn't know."

This intrigued him. He held a certain fondness for him. Jamie seemed normal, weird charming and above all broken. He could see himself in him. At a time he had once been broken, a lot of people had, and still were broken.

"I knew, when I interviewed you. Instantly I was fond of you." Jamie looked away uncomfortably. "No, I don't want to have sex with you, but I will if you want to." Jamies eyes shot wide open and his under arms burned as he perspired. "You seemed normal, weird, charming and above all broken." Jamie furled his brows and David reached for his arm clutching it. He paired it with a smile that made the tension in Jamies face fall. "I was the same way. I was broken before by something, too." He let go of Jamies arm and walked to the back room.

"Well it's kinda the reason I came to Paris was to write about the people that I meet and create like a sorta story, maybe. I don't know, yet, but when I do, I want you to be in it." He pressed on while following close behind.

David dropped the tray on the sink and the dished clanked and Jamie was sure some would fall. None did and for some reason it seemed David knew hints about the world that Jamie didn't. He had figured out some great secret that had eluded Jamie. David held the top of the tray and placed it in the dishwater. He pulled the tray out and the muffled sound of the dishes clanked underneath. The movement was fluid and deft. It was true he knew nothing about coffee but he knew most of everything else. He washed the dishes and rinsed them, placing them on the edge of the shelf of the sink. David glanced over to Jamie and he hurriedly grabbed a rag to dry them.

"Well my process is kind of odd." Clumsily keeping up with the speed that David was washing the dishes. He had spread his legs getting him lower into the sink so he didn't have to bend over. He trenched the wash rag in and out of cups, across and around the smooth porcelain edges. He traced it rapidly sending soap suds flying everywhere. Splashing everywhere a few in Jamies direction but he didn't mind. He brushed his eye across his shoulder and continued.

"You're not trying to have sex with me are you. Cause I'm actually not into dating coworkers. I could fire you." David froze allowing the words to hang in the air. Then he laughed and dove his hand back into the sink pulling out a plate. "Joking. So what's this ominous process?"

Jamie shifted a bit then looked into the water. His eyes sunk down into the water. He knew what the question was and it was in there at the bottom. Deep down obstructed from view by the misshaped bubbles at the bottom. Not able to be cleaned by the soap, or the water. Washed away and removed from the surface it once clung to. It was too unclean and so it clouded the waters. At the bottom, swaying with the water as it moved sometimes resurfacing if disturbed. He wanted to know what was underneath the joy and the smiles. Everyone had something underneath that they didn't share or show or acknowledge. When bad things happen they get washed from the memory and float down into the bottom of the soul. Too unclean to be washed yet discarded somewhere. Seldom do people dare to reach that far down out of fear and knowing. "Well I can tell who a person is, I think kinda by what they view as the most traumatizing moment in their life."

"Most traumatizing moment?" David pondered out loud in a whispered tone.

It was out there and doubts about what he said creeped over his face. It scared him to be so forward and to ask so much of people. It always had. Even small things like an extra bag at the grocery store. He was asking for more here but that is why he came to ask for a strangers help. He would give his secrets up, if he could have there's, and be able to measure it. If he could know if there was a way. He had to know how to clean it off. The weight of it seemed too much even for David. He was anxious and it made him irritable with every passing moment "It's okay I don't need an answer n..."

"Okay I got it." Jamie rubbed his hands dry against his jeans under his apron and reached back pulling out his notepad. David continued like he was in a Broadway play and the house was full. "I grew up on a farm. My dad was a butcher and I had gone out and watched him carve up animals many times. Cows, pigs, chickens I mean you name it. He went fishing a lot and I've seen him cut fish up live. But one day he had went to buy some live stock, and don't ask me why, but he brought back two lamas. I guess he was hoping for them to ya know do it and then he'd have lamas too. But we had a really rainy season and one of the lamas got sick and died. He had planned to go and get another one so he can continue his master lama farm plan. But each time he went they didn't have any. Now, I had never had a pet, my dad wouldn't spend money on something that couldn't make him money. It makes me wonder what was his plan for us. To make us fuck and then send us all over the world and farm like him and have some kind of big farm conglomerate. I digress." David smacked Jamie on the arm and laughed. "But I thought that lama was the coolest thing, and when it came to being the one to feed it, I made sure it was me through blackmailing my brothers and sisters. Look I'm one of 11 kids. It was a lot of dirt throughout the years and I cashed it all in for one lama. Sometimes when my dad wasn't home I would take him out and try to ride him. He didn't like that. He wasn't no horse, so eventually I stopped trying. I tried to teach him to fetch one day too, you can guess how that turned out. Hey can you bring those cups out to Priscilla I think she's about to be out?" David cut off prematurely.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course." Jamie put away his notebook. He slunk out of the kitchen dissatisfied and unfulfilled. Priscilla asked him to bring some drinks and a pastry to a table. When he arrived, he stumbled over the few French words he knew and the patrons praised him for his effort.

David came out from the back room and stacked a few cups next to Priscilla, "They love him."

"You shouldn't parade around your employees like attractions."

"I have a black American, he's not tall, he doesn't play basketball but...they don't know that." He snickered and walked away.

Jamie finished helping some guests,"J'apporterai tes ustensiles."

"You're French is really good." Priscilla remarked.

"Merci! Well so is you're American. I mean your English." He smiled awkwardly. More than 50 percent of Europe was at least bilingual.

"Where did you learn?" Walter cut in between them to join Priscilla at the bar and pull her shots. Rory finished helping a customer and leaned against the register to listen. He was going to get Walter for this."It's kinda embarrassing to say out loud"

"Go ahead now we have to hear it." Walter urged.

Jamie started on, not having much of a choice. "It was a combination of wanting to experience a new place to be inspired for writing and Napoleon Bonaparte. His love letters displayed a part of him that no one had ever known besides Josephine and nobody ever talks about. The love affair between those two was complicated. It's almost like something out of a romance novel. So I wanted to see where he was when he wrote each letter and see the things he saw as he wrote them and maybe I can learn how to express myself with the same passion that he had in those moments."

He waxes on from memory. "I used often to say men cannot harm one who dies without regret; but, now, to die not loved by you, to die without knowing, would be the torment of Hell, the living image of utter desolation. I feel I am suffocating. Napoleon Bonaparte."

TO BE CONTINUED...

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