Interview at a Parisian Restaurant

This is a little something I did for promotional purposes. I've never heard back from the people I sent it to. So I'm assuming they're not interested.

So I'm putting it up here. Enjoy.

As always, this piece is done in memory of Colleen Thomas, a good friend who I miss to this day.

Don't forget to vote and comment. I love hearing from my readers.

The idea of an interview with Georges Belleveau and Diane Patterson was first broached to me in a chat on-line at a publisher's website. We were discussing an e-book recently released. Someone thought that an interview with the main characters from it would be fascinating reading. I shrugged that suggestion off, telling the person that Monsieur Belleveau and Ms. Patterson are fictional characters. Which makes it very hard to interview them.

Until I received a package from a courier. I signed for it, wondering all the time what it was. I don't get a lot of packages.

Opening it was a big surprise. Inside was a plane ticket from my city to Paris, leaving the next Wednesday, a credit card in my name and a note.

"Bon jour," it read. "We understand you would like to speak with us. We're quite amenable to the idea. When you arrive at Orly get a cab to Le Roi Henri IV. There's a room for you there, paid in advance.

"We'll be in touch."

I thought that was very strange, to say the least. Checking the airline I found the ticket was legitimate. The limit on the credit card was very nice and it belonged to a French company who I assumed would be covering any purchases I made. Searching on line for them and sending an e-mail confirmed that fact.

What the hell? I decided. I've always wanted to see Paris. Nice to do it on someone else's dime.

My passport was up to date and in less than a week I was stepping out of a cab in Paris in front of my hotel.

Le Roi Henri IV is one of those small, very luxurious hotels you can find in Paris. It's located in the 3rd arrondissement just south of Rue Saint-Giles. They were ready for me and in minutes I was in my room. It was everything a hotel room should be. But I'm glad I'm not paying for it, was my thought. I wondered for the umpteenth time who the people were that wanted me here in Paris.

When I finished unpacking I decided to do a bit of the tourist thing. The Musée Carnavalet-Histoire de Paris was nearby and history is one of my favourite subjects.

As I walked past the front desk the young lady there called me over. "There's a message for you, Monsieur," she told me while handing over a slip of paper.

"If you would," it read, "please be at Le Fin de Sieclé tonight at 10 PM."

A little waft of emotion, equal parts interest, anticipation and annoyance, passed through me on reading this. What game is being played? I had to wonder.

The museum was far better than I hoped. I spent hours there, soaking up Paris' story. I didn't get to see it all and made a note to return tomorrow. It was twilight when I left, so I found a café for dinner. A meal by the sidewalk in Paris is a treat not available anywhere else. Finished that, I hailed a cab and he took me to Le Fin.

Le Fin turned out to be another café, one with a distinctly bohemian buzz. The customers were very mixed, Parisians of all sorts plus the occasional tourist such as myself. They were a friendly and eclectic lot. I ended up in many conversations that covered just as many subjects. The locals were very patient with my bad French. Most switched to English quickly. It was well after midnight that I returned to my hotel.

But whoever was sponsoring my adventure didn't show, or at least didn't announce themselves. Much as I was enjoying myself I was getting somewhat annoyed.

On awakening the next morning I continued seeing Paris. Finishing the museum I then wandered aimlessly through the Marais and the Latin Quarter. I never noticed how long I was at it. This part of Paris was interesting to distraction from mundane things like exhaustion.

I took a cab back to my hotel. To find that there was another note waiting for me.

"Please, be at the Eiffel Tower tonight at 10 PM."

That caused a little sigh of frustration. I did wish my host, whoever he or she was, would get to the point.

But I went. The Tower is quite impressive. I hadn't realized there was a skating rink on the second level, a surprise I found quite charming. The Tower has an excellent view of the city. I was struck at how careful Paris was to preserve the heart of itself. Since most of the buildings in the city centre are of light colouration, it seemed a negative of other cities I'd seen at night, with the buildings white and the streets dark.

But no one approached me to tell me why I was in Paris.

I was approaching quite peeved when I took a cab back to the hotel.

The next day was a visit to the Louvre. It's everything it is rumoured to be. A gorgeous building with some of the finest art in the world. Again, it was too big for a single day and I resolved to return until I had seen it all.

Of course there was a note waiting for me when I returned to my hotel.

"Le Restaurant du Carl, 9:30. Give your name to the maitre d'hotel."

What ever! was my first response, accompanied by a rolling of eyes. I shrugged then and decided to go. At the very least I was going to get a free meal out of this.

Leaving my hotel at 9:15, I hailed a cab. It took less than ten minutes to get to my destination. Not being familiar with Paris all I can say is we crossed the river at one point.

When I exited the cab I found Le Restaurant du Carl a bit of a surprise. It's small, a three story brick building wedged between a bookstore and a boutique. The only indication of its purpose is a small brass plaque on the door. Climbing the steps to that door I opened it and went inside.

The maitre d' gave me a warm smile and asked my name. When I gave it to him his smile grew wider and he said, "Of course. Your hosts are waiting. This way, please."

Following him into the restaurant proper I found myself struck by the ambience of the establishment. I don't believe I've ever encountered a place so intimate and comfortable. All the tables were occupied. It wasn't surprising that most patrons were couples taking advantage of the atmosphere.

I was lead up two flights of steps then the maitre d' and I entered a small balcony at the back of the building. There were two people already seated at the table set there.

My first impression was how much in love these two were. You could see their focus was completely absorbed by the other person, and that this absorption made them very happy.

The second was rather like that of a mouse discovering that cats are real. I was sharing space with characters I'd thought were fictional, and were vampires to boot. Oh, they looked human enough, but I'd read the book about them. I knew what they were.

The couple turned to us then, smiled and rose to their feet. They moved with a predatory ease.

"Merci, Phillipe," said the man.

"De rien," replied the maitre d' with a bow. He turned and left us alone.

"Bon soir," the man went on, extending his hand. "I'm Georges Belleveau." His English was excellent, there was hardly a trace of an accent. Enough though to show his French origins.

"Evening," continued the woman, with her hand out. "Diane Patterson." Her voice had the honey drawl of the American South.

My only response was a swallow.

The couple chuckled.

"There's no need to worry," Diane told me with a small smile. "We're here for an interview, not a meal. And we do apologize for the runaround. We had to make sure you were alone."

I managed to walk forward and shake their hands. "Thanks for this opportunity. It's a shock though, to meet you. I didn't know you were real."

They smiled and chuckled once more.

Reaching into a shirt pocket, I started up my tiny tape recorder. I always use this in interviews. As I did I looked them over.

Monsieur Belleveau was about my height. His build was lithe and a little on the thin side. His hair was a very dark brown, his eyes blue. Those eyes were rich in expression; joyful, calm but with a sharp awareness in them. He was dressed in black, a silk shirt with the top button open, simple cotton slacks and shoes. They were expensive with an air of practicality.

Ms. Patterson was beautiful, built along the same lines as her lover. The top of her head was just above Georges' chin. Her hair was a mane of rich auburn, shoulder length. Her eyes were same as her lover's save for being sea green. Diane's black silk dress was the same simple and expensive garb as her lover wore. The legs she stood on were shapely with sandals tied to her feet.

There was an aura about the two of them. If they walked into a crowded room I'm sure everyone in it would turn to look.

"Sit, please," Georges said then, gesturing towards the table.

It was easier to move this time. My shock was receding. Some how, I trusted these people. I relaxed and decided to treat this like any other interview.

I sat in the third chair, pulled out my notebook and jotted down what had happened so far. My shorthand is excellent. I use both recorder and notebook to make sure I miss no nuances.

Georges and Diane sat as well. Their hands immediately joined in a warm clasp.

As I looked up from my notebook I found another woman on the balcony with us. Tiny with brunette hair, she carried an open bottle of wine.

"Here's the bottle you requested, Monsieur Belleveau," she stated as she walked towards me.

"Merci, Marie," he replied.

I picked up the wineglass in front of me and held it up. Marie poured a finger's worth into it. Swirling it under my nose, sniffing, I then tasted it. I'm no oenophile but, damn, it was good!

"Merci," I told the sommeliére, "it's wonderful."

Marie acknowledged my praise with a smile, filled my glass and left us.

I turned back to my hosts. "Shall we start the interview?"

"Let us leave it until after you've had dinner," Georges replied. "Working on an empty stomach isn't much fun." He chuckled.

"Are you eating as well?" I asked him.

"We already had a bite," Diane told me. "We can't eat food anyway."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, surprised at this little snippet of information.

"If we eat human food, we can't digest it. It'll sit in our stomachs until it rots. The smell would draw attention, and we prefer to avoid attention."

I scribbled that down. It was beginning to hit me, how little I knew about my hosts. So much of what I know of vampires is from reading, TV and movies. Subtle little things like this aren't mentioned in the media.

So I ate and we chatted through the meal.

My dinner was wonderful, one of the best I'd ever had. The courses arrived at just the right time. The portions, flavours and textures were perfectly balanced. The wine highlighted it just right. I often had to shake my head in wonder as I ate.

My hosts were great company. We discussed history for the most part. Georges spoke of seeing Kaiser Wilhelm I shortly after he crowned himself in Versailles after the Franco-Prussian War. He talked about Paris and how it had changed over the years he had known it.

Diane was a learned and charming companion as well. She hadn't her lover's experience but she always had a trenchant observation to make and her own knowledge to impart.

There was a tone to their conversation though, a distance. It was as if what happened in the world was a rather interesting entertainment, not something of any importance to them.

Finally I finished dessert and checked my watch. It was well after 11:00 PM and it was time to get to work. "Shall we get started?"

"If you wish," replied Georges.

"Sure," added Diane.

"First question then. Tell me a bit of your history, Monsieur Belleveau. Where were you born? Where did you become a vampire?"

"Ah. I was born in Alsace in 1748, a scion of a minor noble house there. The third of seven children.

"We were somewhat different from our class. We didn't pass head of the family to the oldest son. The current head chose who would replace him. Or her sometimes. Since we couldn't expect to rule, and couldn't avoid it if chosen, all of us were educated to fulfill our role. We couldn't be lazy about it.

"My family also had a tradition of working. When I was what you would now call a tween and a young teenager I spent time working in vineyards, horse stables or pastures. I think that was wise. I learned about the people I might end up being responsible for.

"What I enjoyed most though, was learning. My family was wealthy enough to hire excellent teachers. I soaked up knowledge as fast as I could.

"When I came of age, my family made use of that. I spoke French and German very well. I'd done a good job of learning history. I understood how politics worked, who was who and what their goals were. So they sent me off as a courtier to various places; Berlin, Paris, assorted small German countries such as Schleswig-Holstein and Bavaria.

"It was interesting, but not entirely enjoyable. I found I quite disliked the courtly life. It was always full of what you would now call 'posers'. The games they play for status and power were annoying and a waste of time.

"So I always found a bit of life outside the courts. I made friends in universities, with artists and writers, with middle class people. It added an honest taste to my life.

"I was in Versailles when I was made into what I am now. That was in 1788, when the rumblings that grew into the Revolution started to become loud.

"I believe I had a clearer view of what was coming than most of the courtiers there. I knew people outside the court and they kept me informed.

"The person that made me did so without my consent. He was ancient nobility, had spent centuries playing the corridors of power. He was vehemently opposed to the changes that were coming. And I was supportive of them, at first. His purpose in taking me was to neutralize me, and to gain my lines of communication to the world outside of Versailles.

"I served him, most unwillingly, for five years. But, when I thought I could get away with it, I served my own purposes as well.

"In 1793, I realized the whole Revolution was going to spiral out of control. The factions had become too radicalized. France wasn't going to be a safe place for a while.

"So, I had people I knew denounce my maker to The Committee For Public Safety. They sent men to arrest him, his villa burned and I've never seen him again. I assume he died when he was pulled into the sunlight." Georges' face took on a smile of vicious satisfaction.

"I fled France that same night. I had myself shipped to England in a coffin. That's when I took on the name Georges Belleveau. My human life and title had no more meaning to me, and I liked shedding the burden of it.

"From England I went to Quebec City. I thought it would be something both new and familiar. After two decades there I moved to New York City. In 1853 I returned to Paris. Things had calmed down and I love this city. This is my home. I've a touch of wanderlust though. I've done a fair bit of traveling. There's so much to see in this world. Even an immortal needs time to see it all."

I scribbled down his last line, smiling. History has always been a great love of mine. I quite enjoyed hearing about it from someone who had been there. His story about his maker was rather chilling though. It was frightening, this hint of what he was capable of.

"And your story, Ms. Patterson?" I asked then, turning to her.

She smiled a sweet smile. "My story's not nearly as interesting as Georges'. I'm a Mississippi farm girl.

"My parents married late and I'm their only child. I was born in 1970 on the farm my father had bought after he left the U.S. Army.

"It was a good place to grow up. My parents doted on me, but didn't spoil me. They taught me to read before I went to school. I love reading, and learning. I was using my parents' library all the time. My favourite thing to do was be taken to the library in town.

"School itself was OK. I didn't need much teaching, and my teachers usually understood that. I was rather a loner though. I made friends, but not many.

"I got a good scholarship in a university up North when I graduated. I stayed for a while to get a Masters in history. After that, I got a job at another university in the Mid-West.

"It was a nice, quiet life I lead. I spent most of my time alone, which suited me fine. I often had the feeling I was waiting for something.

"Then I met Georges, and found what I was waiting for." She gave her lover's hand a little squeeze and him a happy smile.

"So how did you two meet?" This seemed the obvious question.

"Blind luck," replied Georges with a chuckle. "I had been invited to the city and university where Diane was. I've a little fame as a historian." He winked. "I wrote several books that were well received in the community. The university rented that minor prestige for a year.

"I needed it. Something had happened to me not long before, and I was performing a penance for it. Teaching was a good way to perform that penance." Georges' face grew very bleak. His eyes unfocused and horror filled them.

A shiver ran up my spine. What could have happened to a vampire that would frighten him?

Diane leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her lover's cheek. "Don't beat yourself up about that, my love. Those things happen to us. If you don't stop feeling bad about it I'll torture you with kisses until you cheer up."

His fearful expression faded, a warm smile replaced it. Turning his face to her he said, "Oh no. Anything but that, please." Leaning forward the couple shared a loving kiss. It went on for rather a while, and grew more passionate moment by moment.

"Shall I give you two some privacy?" I cut in.

They broke apart and grinned at me. "Sorry," Diane said, "we do get carried away at times."

"Well," Georges returned to his story, "I was hunting one night, looking for a meal. My hunting ground was a pub. Such venues are excellent for that purpose. Most people go there to look for something or someone. I'm good at taking advantage of that."

"And, as the many jokes go, I walked into that pub." Diane smiled. "I found a seat at the bar. Georges sat next to me and started to chat me up.

"I turned to him, meaning to give him a sarcastic comment, cut him off. That first sight of him still gives me shivers."

"That's not surprising, chére," Georges interrupted. "I was hunting. That was supposed to be your first impression."

"Perhaps, love. But you've told me you stopped using your powers almost immediately. And that shiver didn't go away."

Diane returned her attention to me. "We ended up talking. We stayed until the bar closed. It was like we'd been friends for years."

"And it was the first time I'd not finished a hunt for a long while," Georges continued. "I just walked her home, said bon nuit, and found a meal somewhere else."

"I'm still thankful," Diane remarked, "that I decided on a drink that night at that place. It hasn't always been easy, but I would never as been happy if I'd made a different decision."

"Moi aussi," he told her with a little squeeze of her hand.

"There were problems?" I asked.

"Read the book," returned Diane. "It goes into much greater detail."

I recognize when a subject is closed, so I took the interview in a different direction. "What's it like? Being a vampire? How is it different from being a human?"

"I think Diane is better qualified to answer that question. I hardly remember being human."