Leaving New York

Chapter 41

The next day, I had to catch up on Connally household chores I'd put off to help Phillipe. The chores still paid my rent. Earlier, I drove Gar and Chloe to Gare du Nord to catch Eurostar to visit their London friends. The boys and Ari went on their first group outing with Ari's new lady friend.

My phone rang.

"Hey, Jack."

"Phillipe. Church was good?"

"I fall asleep during the homily, but we had a good lunch. I am leaving Etienne's soon. I can get you and do something."

"Great." Phillipe was coming!

An hour later, I was sitting at Phillipe's crummy apartment watching a soccer game. He flipped through a copy of 'France Football' magazine. "Look, here's Adam with a little story on him."

"Wow."

"They say he is 'very promising.'" He then leaned into me, "This is Arsenal's goalie, Bernd Leno—isn't he handsome?"

"Yeah." He lay his head on my shoulder. "I'm glad you want to do something today. I want to lie down with you."

We walked to his bedroom, undressed, and plopped into bed while eight posters of St. Germain, Arsenal, and Abbeville soccer players stared down at us.

"Have you been in love, Jack?"

"I've loved people."

"Who did you love the most?"

"Oh, I don't know . . ."

"I bet you do."

"Can we get off this subject?"

"No, I want you to tell me—there was someone."

"He was straight, and now it doesn't matter."

Phillipe kissed me on the cheek then we "had some fun," as Ernie said. He then fell asleep while I catnapped.

After an hour, he sat bolt upright, "Jack!"

"Huh?"

"We have to see Belleville."

"Huh?"

"That's what I wanted to do—to show you my neighborhood. I forgot. We get dinner, eh?"

"Okay." We pulled on our clothes; I took a pee, then I walked into the living room, where Phillipe had flipped on another soccer game.

"Oh, man—St. Germain is sucking. Let's go."

"Okay." Phillipe's block was on the Boulevard de la Villette, a noisy facsimile of Manhattan's Sixth Avenue. There was cool stuff there, but cars ruined it with their honking aggressiveness.

Phillipe said, "We go to "Moncoeur," my favorite restaurant. Did you know Edith Piaf lived in Belleville?"

"The Little Sparrow?"

"You know of her? That's pretty good. We walk up to the top of the hill, on Rue Lacroix." Graffiti bombarded walls, sidewalks, and even the street—magical angels, Mayan headdresses, poems in every language.

"I show you my stuff." We passed hundreds of people at sidewalk cafes as the sun began to fade, then we turned down a narrow alley.

"There—that's my work."

"Oh my gosh, Phillipe."

"I made stencils from a door at the Pantheon, then spray it. It is a doorway to another world."