No, I Could Never Forget

"My father died in 1997 but I was numb with everything. I knew that Henri was running the business into the ground, but when I tried to intervene, or even help, he would fly into rages and storm out of the house." She paused obviously remembering sad times in her life. "When I say he drank himself to death it's not quite true. He drank to excess and killed himself in his car by smashing into one of the plane trees that lined a main road leading to our village east of Basel, one night when he was loaded. Unfortunately, he also killed the girl who turned out to have been his lover." Again, I thought I detected some tears in her eyes.

"Unfortunately for them, she was almost naked and not wearing her seat belt; there was speculation as to what they had been doing, as his trousers were undone also, but it was stated that "they could have burst under the pressure of the crash". I know differently, of course, as I'm sure you can imagine, but we had not been together in years, just living in the same house for appearances sake. Even Alessandra knew we were extremely unhappy." Again, she paused staring at the fire and then, leaning forward, she slipped off the jacket of her suit. I couldn't help but stare at her breasts pushing out under the satin of the blouse. I had loved them, oh so long ago!"

I murmured something to the effect of 'I'm sorry for your loss' but it was merely a platitude and she hushed me immediately. "No. Don't say that. My father had screwed us both badly. Henri had a carefully drafted CV that stated he was the son of a Countess (Fake!) and that he had all sorts of degrees from the Sorbonne, and from Zurich where they lived (Also Fake!). His mother was dubiously linked to some minor Austrian royalty; his father had disappeared (Oh he died some years ago!) but, it seems he had run off with a 'dancer' from London, so it was 'Like father-Like son' it seems, eventually." I didn't know what to say and held my silence, knowing she would talk when she was ready

I got up and brewed two more coffees, and then sat down again, but this time, alongside her on the sofa. We had shared so much all those years ago, I felt it was almost appropriate. She clasped my right hand and pulled my wrist to her left breast. She turned and without speaking, leaned towards me and kissed my cheek, saying somewhat breathlessly "Rick. I have missed you so much over the years! I grew to hate my father as time went on. You see, Henri virtually raped me on our wedding night. I guess he knew that I didn't love him and the marriage was forced on me, but he knew the 'prize' was the company father set up, and he was going to make damned sure he 'owned' me."

I flinched and involuntarily fisted my hands, but she felt this, and calmed me down. "Rick, this was many years ago; the bastard's dead now and I am starting anew. You'll love Alessandra; she really is a beautiful girl and I'm sure she will 'knock-'em dead' very soon. I just have to see that she's given every opportunity for a sweet life!"

I smiled - somewhat grimly, I suppose - and she reached up and turned my face towards her. Moving slightly, she came closer and then kissed me softly. I, of course, responded immediately to her, and as she broke off, she smiled. "There" she said. "Just like I remember!" She reached up again and we then kissed for some minutes, finally breaking away as she said "Okay. Now you tell me your story!"

Of course, she knew all about my father's death from our days together, and I explained that when her father had really gotten nasty, he'd sent some goons around to threaten me. I didn't give a shit but the fight was very uneven and they had given me a good thrashing. She didn't know this because he whisked her away to Basel with her mother, and both were badly frightened by his threats to have me killed. He was THAT kind of father. So, she accepted what came and didn't try to chase me in case he really meant that he could have me killed, and she wasn't going to risk that for me!

I told her that I'd spent a few days in hospital, mostly with a bruised ego, but was unable to find the bastards that had done it, and I would not risk her safety, trying to reach her again. I'd written many times, but the letters came back unanswered Not at this address.

"So, I had thrown myself into the music; I travelled heavily around Europe and England, playing gigs that sometimes lasted a few days, others that put me in a city for a month or so; I also played back-ups on some recordings. But, I always came back here. Old Giles, the owner, loved jazz of all kinds; he'd survived World War Two running the bar with its freelance players; even the Germans had thronged into the bistro before they were run out of town. So much for Hitler's ban on Jazz Music!

"Then in '97 Giles had a heart attack - he was then over 75 himself, and very old; I think he'd played a part in the resistance during the war, but had managed to keep himself alive even though they'd dragged him off to the Gestapo headquarters in Avenue Foch a couple of times. I think they released him after one or two of the senior army guys had said that he ran a very good music bar, and always treated them well, so let him off!

"Anyway, his heart attack took him out of circulation and I filled in for him for some months. Then he died suddenly and we were all heartbroken. But, he'd revised his original will, and left me the bar! Lock, stock and barrel; literally! So, I stayed here, and revamped the bar to be a bit more up-market without destroying the ambiance. I confess, I'd stolen some ideas from the movie Casablanca, and as my name is Rick, I changed the name of the bar from Petit Bistro to Rick's Café. There is a flat upstairs and I renovated it, so now, I "live over the shop" as it were, and my life had settled..." I paused to look at Giselle deeply.

"That is until you came here tonight!"

A long pause came between us; her eyes looked downcast before she turned towards me. "I'm sorry, Rick. I didn't mean to upset you, but after all these years I guess I wanted to know what might have happened to you. I just didn't know that you'd still be here. I was passing in a taxi a few days ago - I was bringing Mama back from the hospital - and saw the MGB outside; my heart started pumping but I couldn't risk anybody else knowing my thoughts. I also had Alessandra - I call her Sandy - with me, and tonight was the first time I could get out. I am so sorry..." Her voice trailed off and I had to restrain myself from grabbing her and hugging her tightly.

"Giselle. I'm not upset. You can't know how happy I am to have met you again." I stopped not wanting to overwhelm her. "God! You look just as I remember, and your voice is still the same!" She smiled, asking me to continue with 'my' story.

"Are you married, or have you been? Do you have any current Lover?"

I wasn't going to hold back at all. "No, not married. I guess that the 'right person' hasn't come along, or maybe I should say 'She had, but we'd lost each other years ago'. So, no, I have never married. Music and this bar have become my life." Again, I paused, wondering quite what I should or shouldn't say. "I haven't been a monk, but, there's not been anybody to hold me. Maybe I didn't look hard enough; maybe they felt that I wasn't going to commit; I don't know, but I have been relatively happy, so I'm not complaining." Again, I looked into her eyes, to see how this was being absorbed. She spoke.

"I am surprised that you're not married; I think you'd be a 'good catch' - is that the right phrase?"

"That's the phrase, but I have not been fully 'whole' - do you understand? I have missed you so much that there's been a gap in my heart that only you could have filled!" She took my hands into hers, holding them in her lap and I saw the tears forming in her eyes. "Come on Giselle; don't cry; we're here now so we have to live for today. I am SO pleased that you've come by. Maybe the Gods of Love are smiling at last?"

The tears flowed from her eyes now, in a torrent and I simply pulled her closer, hugging her to my chest until she slowed, and her chest stopped heaving. I pulled her face up to mine and kissed her eyelids, damp and salty from the crying. I looked at my watch; 12:48 a.m.

"The time is getting late. Would you like me to run you home in my car?" She held my wrist, and also looked at my watch for the time.

"Let me text my daughter. She's at Mama's house and I know she'll be still up. I'll tell her I'll be late getting home." Her eyes now smiled at me as she reached into her bag for her phone. The bag had fallen onto the floor behind the sofa and she had to kneel up and reach over the back to get it. Her blouse stretched against the sofa's back and I couldn't resist touching her right breast; just a gentle stroking as I felt for memories from so long ago. She turned and looked at me, smiling now. "I have missed your hands all over me." Again, the coquettish smile.

"Would you like me to stay? You said you live upstairs; maybe you could drive me home in the morning?"

I was choking up, but in an instant decision said, "Why don't you call you daughter and tell her you're with a friend, or friends, and safe and you'll be home after breakfast in the morning?" She nodded and again smiled, more broadly this time.

"You're not assuming that I'll sleep with you, are you? I mean, to be so presumptive! It's a bit rude don't you think?" But her wide smile replaced any fear I may have had about our future. "Just give me a few moments, okay?"

She palmed the phone and started tapping out her message to Sandy.

"Would you like me to get you a Cointreau." She shook her head and stopped tapping.

"You used to pour me those delicious Brandy & Benedictines. Can I have one of those?"

I then remembered that these were her favorite drink 'way back', so nodded and left her to her texting. Behind the bar I pulled the two bottles and concocted the drink. Not one of the pre-mixed versions, but the 'real' thing. I pulled a straight Brandy for me, and as she finished her messaging I came and sat beside her again. I had turned the lights down on the dimmer switch at the bar, so we were wrapped into the cocoon of the firelight and the deep sofa. She leaned and took my drink as well as hers, and placed them on the small table. Turning to me, she held my face in her hands and kissed me with the well-remembered softest of kisses. I'd been on edge ever since I had met her this evening, and now my body reacted to her touch and smell.

I was back in 1974 again. The French call it Deja Vu. How appropriate!

Post-script: Jim worked for me for two weeks, playing jazz piano in the evenings, while they stayed at Le Maison Blanche. His girl - Diane - helped with the bar, before they got word that her mum wanted her back, and they'd sort everything out, "once and for all". I hoped it worked out for them, like it did with Giselle and Me. We made up for the 22 years in that two weeks also! And, Alessandra was her flower girl at our wedding two months later.

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Google: Charles Aznavour "No I could never forget - 1982" for the song.