CONFESSIONS OF A MUMMY

Chapter 2

Lyon, France

Paul Massey woke to a blaring alarm and rolled over to go back to sleep, but there was a well placed heel kick to his butt just then and he groaned. What day was it? What year was it? He cracked one eye open and sat up, then swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his feet flat on the wooden floor. He sat there bleary eyed for a moment, trying to let the fog lift and show him why he should be awake. He placed his aching head in his hands and would have fallen asleep again, busting his ass as he fell to the hard floor, but he caught himself at the last second and reached for a cigarette instead. He lit up and tried to remember why he had set the alarm, and thus why he needed to get up. Outside he could hear the beginnings of downtown Lyon street traffic filtering through the sheer curtains that separated his bedroom from the little balcony overhanging the street below. It was equipped with cast iron ornamental grill work. He liked to sit out there on summer evenings and pretend he knew what he was doing, but he knew he was kidding himself.

Massey poked the naked form on the other side of the bed who was snarled up in a mess of bedclothes. A shaggy head turned ever so slightly and one gorgeous female eye opened lazily to stare as stupidly as he felt. "Why am I getting up?" He intoned breathlessly. He took another drag. That's what the first cigarette in the morning was for. So you could get your breath back. He poked the sleepy form again.

A woman's low sultry voice said "What is it you need Mon Ami?" She moved over ever so slightly. "Come back to bed, copain. Where it is warm." She took his hand and guided it gently back to the warmth.

"In a second, babe." Massey stood up, swayed for a minute, and staggered over to the open balcony door, kicking a wine bottle with his foot on the way. He was still in a fog. He leaned against the wrought iron balluster to peer blearily down at the street below where Madame Villemonte was sweeping the walk outside her pension. She glanced up at him, and then stared indignantly. "Monsieur Massey. Put on some clothes before you come out here. Imbécile!"

Massey looked down at himself stupidly, and then smiled abashedly at Madame Villemonte. His left hand shot down in a vain attempt to cover what he found there, while his right hand and shoulder moved upward in a beseeching shrug. He turned the palm up and offered it to her hesitantly. He stammered "Yes ma-man, pardone. It is the cool, early morning air. A natural reaction. Sorry. Sorry." He waved embarrassedly and turned to go back inside. The sound of his land lady's laughter floated up after him.

They had come in late the night before after a dinner, some wine, and of course, some live music with a few other friends at a smoke filled coffee house and restaurant. He had barely made it in time, having arrived only shortly before on the late afternoon flight.

The electronic numbers on the bedside alarm clicked over to eight o'clock and Massey suddenly realized why he was up. He muttered "Oh shit!" and raced down the cast iron spiral stairs to the ground floor kitchen and bath. He tried to do three things at once and did none of them well. His demitasse of espresso turned out luke warm, his shower was a slapdash affair, and the shaver had missed a spot on his chin. He climbed back up the spiral stairs shaking water out of his hair and sipping the demitasse, his waist wrapped in a bath towel. He stepped into his cubbyhole closet and chose a pair of black slacks, a white shirt that didn't look too wrinkled, a generic black necktie, and a timeless tweed sports coat.

A minute later, he strode out the front door and around the corner to his underground garage. The Citroen cranked over bravely for a couple of turns and then simply made a stuttering click on the next try. Massey climbed back out of the car and kicked the tire in frustration. He walked back out of the garage and hailed the first cab he saw, which kept going. He finally got a cabby to stop and gave directions to the river district and the Avenue de Grande Bretagne. Traffic was brisk this morning and he hardly had time to look at the news on his phone before the cab pulled up in front of the Hotel Fourviere.