Get It Straight, Or Say Good Night

Gay Paree Numéro Trois

"Who is that?" Richie whispered to the fellas as they strode through the foyer of the George V "If her face is half as beautiful as her behind I'd be in heaven"

"Well that sounds naff. Her face looking like an arse. That's bloody yuck" George slowed his gait though, the female was not like the rest and had them all pulling the pace back slowing their gait to a meandering stroll.

The foyer now seemed huge, like a wide open field that they wanted never to end.

Females faced the lads now and screamed themselves silly too; this one though, seemed to be turning away as they passed her by, the window looking out over the rue they had just escaped, more interesting than the four musicians. Her ignoring them just made them all the more interested.

"Look at way she holds the fag, so bloody continental French chic. Like Loren or Bardot don't you think" Paul was poised to press the elevator button but didn't want to, this was too much, she was totally ignoring them and it was like an unattainable heaven on earth.

Mal tried to push the button to make them leave the rapidly filling area and head up to the rooms to sort for dinner but Paul's hand held firm over the button. "John.." Paul jabbed his elbow into Lennon. This was Johns vision of heaven right there within touching distance. Paul knew the lads' fantasies as they both had shared dreams of movie actresses and models in the early days "John. Thoughts"

John was lost.

John was weak at the knees. He'd pushed his glasses on his nose when Rings started dribbling over the beautiful arse and John definitely didn't want to miss the party they were obviously all invited to.

No, he didn't want to miss this.

The blonde's lock's effortless, like an afterthought, the hair-do melded to create harmony. A pile of lovely blonde was up high, messily in a soft bun with much drifting free andcfloating around her, well that was what he could see from their position by the lifts. The remaining drift of lengthy tresses flowed like a waterfall down over her shoulders and back.

She had to be Bardot, if not she was a golden imitation, a first-class reflection of his old teenage wet dreams.

And that dress, fuck, every inch of deep blood red hugged her, angels must have sewn her into it, it hugged close to every curve. The fabric was sitting low. The creamy skin of her shoulders free from material. Her skin bare, just waiting for some lucky man to stroke gently, and kiss. A wide extra fold of material formed the neckline.

She was all class. Stepping right from the pages of Vogue into this foyer. If she held a poodle or one sat by her mile high heels the imagery could not have been more true to Parisian haute and à la mode.

The elevator opened behind the boys and Mal managed to stuff them all inside.

With a jerk and a rattle, the gilded box started it's ascent....

"I've got to go back" John started jabbing at buttons "Just to say hullo, see her face"

"She was hiding her face, she might have some horrid affliction" George pondered "...Like a big honker"

"Hey!!" Richy punched George hard in the shoulder "Better than having bloody vampire fangs I'd think"

"Leave my teeth out of it" George grabbed Richie in a head lock dragging the lad to the floor of the small box they were trapped in. John continued to try to manoeuvre Mal away from the buttons.

"Brian's organised dinner remember, for five. Have a shave, change your shirt.. and for God's sake put some deodorant on. You'll be back down in a few, ya tosser" Paul ripped his tie away, if he was quick he could be done and dusted, gone back downstairs before John had farted around in the bottom of his toiletry bag for his endlessly blunt razor.