Leaving Madeleine - Part 19
Arriving in Nice just after 2:00 PM, we took a bus from the train station to our accommodation. The sky was cloudless and the temperature was thirty-three degrees Celsius. I convinced Brigitte, not without some difficulty, to hold off on Matisse until the following day so we could take advantage of what was left of the afternoon sun. The beach mats I bought during a previous visit were still rolled up in the closet and, as always, the Majestic apartment was stocked with plenty of beach towels. I took the large Hawaii towel for myself and the Hello Kitty towel for Brigitte.
"We should shower first," Brigitte suggested.
"I'm not going to," I replied.
"Your disgusting," she joked. But she didn't shower either.
The ocean washes everything.
We walked toward the Promenade des Anglais, stopping at the Fontaine des Trois Graces and a convenience store along the way. We purchased some chilled white wine, cheese, a few fruits, bottled water, and a baguette. We selected a stretch of beach on the border of Quai des Etas Unis. A few women were topless, some considerably more pleasing to the eye than others. I found an open area and spread the mats across the stones, then the towels over the mats. I stripped down to my bathing suit and watched Brigitte do the same. She lied down on her mat and unabashedly stared at a pair of nice looking breasts coming out of the water.
"It's not polite to stare," I jabbed.
"I've never sunbathed topless before. Not in public," she told me.
I said nothing.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"Up to you," I said. Then quickly added, "but to be honest, I don't like everybody getting the same privileges I get."
Brigitte continued to gaze at the wonderful breasts of the blond girl now making her way to her towel and male companion. Brigitte turned and looked at another pair of breasts, these not as perky as the blondes, on a woman who was no less than fifty.
"Too much competition," Brigitte concluded. "But I want to. On a more private beach, before we go."
That suited me a little better. "Up to you," I repeated. "I'm going in the water."
"Get my back first?"
Brigitte reached into her beach bag and retrieved some SPF 30. I took it from her and squeezed some into my hand. She lied on her stomach and I applied the cream to her back and other hard to reach places.
Once I felt Brigitte was adequately protected, I kissed her shoulder and got up to navigate the rocks. I made my way to where the waves kissed the shore. The water was cool and refreshing. I glanced over at the blond, now on her back with her knees up. She had no tan lines. I thought about sunbathing naked. I burn easy, I thought. That would ruin this trip quickly. There were some children splashing each other and a brother playing at drowning his sister. I swam out as far away from everyone as I could and lied on my back. I floated that way for some time, staring at the sky and letting the natural buoyancy of my body keep me in harmony with the waves. I gazed up at the blue of the sky and tried to push every thought from my mind. When was the last time I truly relaxed? When was the last time I felt this calm? It won't last of course, but enjoy it while you can.
After some time, I'm not sure how long, Brigitte swam out to join me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and legs around my waist. I felt the warmth of her body against mine and sleekness of the sunblock on her skin. "I can't touch here," she told me.
"Do you want to go in closer?" I asked.
"No. I can stay like this."
"Me too."
We kissed.
"Everything feels very right," Brigitte said to me.
"I know," I said to Brigitte.
"It scares me a little."
"Me too, I guess. But I don't think we should think like that."
"Me neither. Let's agree not to."
"Okay."
She held me tighter and ran her fingers through the tangled hair on the back of my head.
Dinner that evening was at Le Petite Maison on rue Saint François de Paule. I had told Brigitte to bring some nice clothes and she came out looking exquisite in a very short, light blue baby doll dress by Isabelle Marant. I dressed in a black, buttoned down Zegna dress shirt and tight fitting, grey Kenneth Cole pants. I hoped that Marcel would be serving tonight and we wouldn't have a problem, but I knew that was likely wishful thinking. I was correct in my hypothesis and after waiting just under forty-five minutes for a seat, we were informed that Chantal would be our server for the evening. I'd never seen her before and therefore had never tipped her over and above what was included in the bill. I put on my best charm and spoke as French as I could. Brigitte saw my cards and followed suit without discussion. Perhaps as a result, we rather promptly received our fresh bread that came in the trademark bag, and fresh tomatoes that came on the vine. We ordered a mushroom risotto and mussels to share, and a Wellington for my main and duck in blueberry sauce for Brigitte. I asked for a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. We ate like starving children and finished it off with two giant profiteroles in chocolate ganache. After continuing my tradition of additional tipping, I asked Chantal if Marcel still worked at the establishment. "Oui, mai pas ce soir," she answered. She thanked me and wished us a goodnight. We found our way out to wander the city.
Not far from Le Petite Maison, we stumbled upon a film playing in a square. Some Like it Hot projected on a twenty foot screen alongside a residential building. There were about three hundred chairs set up, but they were all occupied. Brigitte and I found some space on a nearby fountain and took a seat.
Maybe because I knew the history, I couldn't help but sense a deep sadness in Marilyn. Curtis and Lemmon convince us they are having the time of their life, but despite being hilarious, Monroe's pain is palpable. I realized I found attraction in this sadness, and I realized there was something of this in Brigitte. What it was, I didn't know, but she hid it quite deeply. I watched her laugh and she caught me. As if she knew what I was thinking, she chose not to address it. Instead, she wrapped an arm around mine and leaned her head on my shoulder. We watched the rest of the movie that way and then went back to the apartment. We agreed to get an early start the next day, so we made love and went right to sleep.
I can't remember ever falling asleep as quickly as I did that night, except for when when I was a child. I dreamt a few vivid dreams, but I can no longer recall what they were about.
"We should shower first," Brigitte suggested.
"I'm not going to," I replied.
"Your disgusting," she joked. But she didn't shower either.
The ocean washes everything.
We walked toward the Promenade des Anglais, stopping at the Fontaine des Trois Graces and a convenience store along the way. We purchased some chilled white wine, cheese, a few fruits, bottled water, and a baguette. We selected a stretch of beach on the border of Quai des Etas Unis. A few women were topless, some considerably more pleasing to the eye than others. I found an open area and spread the mats across the stones, then the towels over the mats. I stripped down to my bathing suit and watched Brigitte do the same. She lied down on her mat and unabashedly stared at a pair of nice looking breasts coming out of the water.
"It's not polite to stare," I jabbed.
"I've never sunbathed topless before. Not in public," she told me.
I said nothing.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"Up to you," I said. Then quickly added, "but to be honest, I don't like everybody getting the same privileges I get."
Brigitte continued to gaze at the wonderful breasts of the blond girl now making her way to her towel and male companion. Brigitte turned and looked at another pair of breasts, these not as perky as the blondes, on a woman who was no less than fifty.
"Too much competition," Brigitte concluded. "But I want to. On a more private beach, before we go."
That suited me a little better. "Up to you," I repeated. "I'm going in the water."
"Get my back first?"
Brigitte reached into her beach bag and retrieved some SPF 30. I took it from her and squeezed some into my hand. She lied on her stomach and I applied the cream to her back and other hard to reach places.
Once I felt Brigitte was adequately protected, I kissed her shoulder and got up to navigate the rocks. I made my way to where the waves kissed the shore. The water was cool and refreshing. I glanced over at the blond, now on her back with her knees up. She had no tan lines. I thought about sunbathing naked. I burn easy, I thought. That would ruin this trip quickly. There were some children splashing each other and a brother playing at drowning his sister. I swam out as far away from everyone as I could and lied on my back. I floated that way for some time, staring at the sky and letting the natural buoyancy of my body keep me in harmony with the waves. I gazed up at the blue of the sky and tried to push every thought from my mind. When was the last time I truly relaxed? When was the last time I felt this calm? It won't last of course, but enjoy it while you can.
After some time, I'm not sure how long, Brigitte swam out to join me. She wrapped her arms around my neck and legs around my waist. I felt the warmth of her body against mine and sleekness of the sunblock on her skin. "I can't touch here," she told me.
"Do you want to go in closer?" I asked.
"No. I can stay like this."
"Me too."
We kissed.
"Everything feels very right," Brigitte said to me.
"I know," I said to Brigitte.
"It scares me a little."
"Me too, I guess. But I don't think we should think like that."
"Me neither. Let's agree not to."
"Okay."
She held me tighter and ran her fingers through the tangled hair on the back of my head.
Dinner that evening was at Le Petite Maison on rue Saint François de Paule. I had told Brigitte to bring some nice clothes and she came out looking exquisite in a very short, light blue baby doll dress by Isabelle Marant. I dressed in a black, buttoned down Zegna dress shirt and tight fitting, grey Kenneth Cole pants. I hoped that Marcel would be serving tonight and we wouldn't have a problem, but I knew that was likely wishful thinking. I was correct in my hypothesis and after waiting just under forty-five minutes for a seat, we were informed that Chantal would be our server for the evening. I'd never seen her before and therefore had never tipped her over and above what was included in the bill. I put on my best charm and spoke as French as I could. Brigitte saw my cards and followed suit without discussion. Perhaps as a result, we rather promptly received our fresh bread that came in the trademark bag, and fresh tomatoes that came on the vine. We ordered a mushroom risotto and mussels to share, and a Wellington for my main and duck in blueberry sauce for Brigitte. I asked for a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape. We ate like starving children and finished it off with two giant profiteroles in chocolate ganache. After continuing my tradition of additional tipping, I asked Chantal if Marcel still worked at the establishment. "Oui, mai pas ce soir," she answered. She thanked me and wished us a goodnight. We found our way out to wander the city.
Not far from Le Petite Maison, we stumbled upon a film playing in a square. Some Like it Hot projected on a twenty foot screen alongside a residential building. There were about three hundred chairs set up, but they were all occupied. Brigitte and I found some space on a nearby fountain and took a seat.
Maybe because I knew the history, I couldn't help but sense a deep sadness in Marilyn. Curtis and Lemmon convince us they are having the time of their life, but despite being hilarious, Monroe's pain is palpable. I realized I found attraction in this sadness, and I realized there was something of this in Brigitte. What it was, I didn't know, but she hid it quite deeply. I watched her laugh and she caught me. As if she knew what I was thinking, she chose not to address it. Instead, she wrapped an arm around mine and leaned her head on my shoulder. We watched the rest of the movie that way and then went back to the apartment. We agreed to get an early start the next day, so we made love and went right to sleep.
I can't remember ever falling asleep as quickly as I did that night, except for when when I was a child. I dreamt a few vivid dreams, but I can no longer recall what they were about.
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