Music and friendship were the driving force for the evening as Kendall encouraged Carmen’s friends to continue to share their kind words of reflection. He welcomed Carmen’s longtime friend and favorite pianist, Charles Arceneaux to the stage.
The teary eyed older man approached the microphone and with a deep, smoky toned voice, he offered his words of admiration. “Ah bien mes amis, le Ciel a recueune nouvelle ange musicale. Tears began to roll down my cheeks because I agreed with Mr. Arceneaux : Heaven gained a new musical angel.
As Charles continued, Kendall walked over to where I was seated. I wasn’t sure how to read his facial expression which went from shock to what seemed to be relief as he cordially greeted me. “Well, this is quite a surprise.”
“Yeah, I know. I don’t normally crash funerals, and I know I didn’t know your mother, but I saw the announcement in the paper earlier today and just wanted to come pay my respects.”
He grabbed my hand “Thank you, Pilar. And for the record, you’re not crashing and this is not a funeral. She never wanted one of those. This is a celebration and all are welcome.”
I was able to relax. “It’s a lovely event and by the turnout, she was truly adored here in Paris.”
He nodded in agreement and replied, “Yes, she was,” and just stared at me.
I looked down at the casual clothes I had been wearing all afternoon after checking into the hotel and showering and offered “I know, I’m a little under dressed. I just decided...”
He shook his head “You look just fine. When we said goodbye this morning at the airport, I didn’t think I would see you this soon again but I am so happy you’re here.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Yes, really,” he responded as Charles Arceneaux wrapped up his speech. Kendall grabbed both of my hands and leaned close to me. “I gotta keep the program moving. Listen, I know this is your first night in Paris, but I hope you’ll stick around for a little while longer.”
I hugged him and assured him that I would be right there. Kendall happily whispered, “Good,” as he kissed my cheek then rushed up to the stage to welcome the next tribute.
I was completely fascinated observing him as he hosted his mother’s tribute with dignified grace and elegance. Throughout the evening, kind words of admiration from various friends were spoken in salute to Carmen. A musical tribute along with a video retrospective gave me an intimate glimpse of Kendall as a boy along with video clips of both he and his mother, their life in Paris, Carmen singing in various clubs and more. One of the main highlights for me was when a jazz set played by the quartet switched gears playing my song… Soul Dance.
Kendall sat in with the musicians and sang along and there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. I didn’t know his mother, but I knew she had to have been smiling down from Heaven with all of the love expressed.
After an evening of tribute to Carmen Galloway, countless hugs, words of encouragement and condolences offered to Kendall by the guests, the once packed club was now practically empty. Kendall was finally able to sit and unwind with me at the table where I slowly nursed a glass of white wine and waited for him patiently. A few people lingered around talking as Charles Arceneaux played on the piano.
“This was an amazing evening.”
He reflected as well. “Mom was an amazing woman and I think she would’ve given her approval to this celebration and to my special guest.”
“You think?” I asked.
“I know,” he said with assurance. “So, check it out. I know you probably have your tourist list of sights to see, but I would love to show you this city from a different perspective.”
“Are you kidding? I didn’t want to impose but I would love that, Kendall.”
He offered to hail a cab and told me to be ready for an early start in the morning. As we exited the club, he nodded to Charles Arceneaux who gave Kendall a look of approval as he continued playing the piano.
CHAPTER TWENTY
My first night in Paris was spent bidding a fond farewell to a woman I’d never met, but felt like I knew very well through her music and her son. Not the ideal scenario for my vacation, but it was beautiful. I wondered if there was a spiritual connection between the timing of my reunion with Kendall and this trip. As if Ms. Soul Dance herself was up there trying to help God (not that He needed her help) orchestrate her son’s next chapter of life.
The next morning, I was awakened by a rapid knock at the door. I grabbed my robe and answered the door where a bellman stood in the hall with a cart.
“Bon jour, Mademoiselle,” the bellman greeted, standing at perfect attention.
“Good morning…I mean bonjour. I didn’t order room service.”
“Madamoiselle Davenport, this breakfast was ordered for you. May I enter to set up?”
This is an amazing hotel. I stepped aside to invite him in. He set up the table near the balcony window where a magnificent view of the Eiffel Tower was waiting to be enjoyed. The breakfast spread was exquisite. Complete with fresh fruit, croissants, eggs, sausage, orange juice and a crystal single stem vase which held the prettiest pink rose.
“Bon appetite. Oh, I almost forgot. This for you.”The bellman handed me an envelope and exited the room.
I took a seat to enjoy the breakfast while reading the letter and I could hear Kendall’s voice as I continued reading: Good morning, Pilar. I hope you rested well. I had a last minute change in my schedule. I needed to meet with my mother’s attorney in Marseilles to wrap up some of her specific estate details. I truly apologize. I was notified at the last moment that this was the only day we could meet before he heads to Italy on business and me back to the states.
I was a little deflated, but continued.
If you’re okay with it, I’d still like to give you my guided tour, so once you’ve finished your breakfast, the concierge has something for you. Bon appetite and I’ll see you, well not see you, but you’ll see Paris soon. Of course, you’re a grown woman and can do your own thing, especially if you meet some handsome guy that offers to show you around. If you do, keep that info to yourself.
I examined the mouthwatering breakfast, grabbed my plate and laptop and went out onto the balcony where I breathed in Paris, ate and jotted down a few notes in my travel blog and considered the offer.
It was a vibrant and extremely warm morning and I pulled my large framed Tory Burch sunglasses from the top of my head down over my eyes ready to soak up the Parisian sunshine. As per the letter, the concierge gave me a small gift bag that contained a brand new iPod and fresh set of ear buds. I had to admit, when I read his letter, part of me thought it was a well-written cop out and perhaps he was just trying to be nice. This gesture caught me off guard.
As I turned on the device, a file name Pilar in Paris appeared on the screen. I put the ear buds in, pressed play, and Kendall’s voice greeted me.
“I hope you enjoyed your breakfast. Paris awaits you, Pilar. I thought about you taking a scooter, but people drive crazy here so I’ve arranged a bus tour for the first part of your excursion. If you walk down a half a block, you should see a yellow, double-decker bus. The driver’s name is Christophe. He’s an old friend of mine and he’ll look out for you.”
I walked down the street and spotted the bus, where the driver was waiting to greet me.
“Pilar? Bienvenue. I’m Christophe.”
I shook the bohemian cutie’s hand and just said, “Merci” as I entered the bus and headed upstairs to the top deck where there were several other tourists ready for the excursion.
I enjoyed identifying the Arc de triomphe, Champs Elysee, Notre Dame Cathedral, The Louvre, River Seine, Musee d’Orsay and other iconic sites and landmarks, many have only seen in books or films.
The bus arrived at a Parisian marketplace and Christophe gave instructions for us to meet him back at the bus in one hour. He suggested to the group of chattering tourists picking up a few snacks for their next stop. I put my ear buds back in to listen to the voice of m
y personal tour guide.
“Now, you cannot leave France, without visiting a real French marketplace,” Kendall insisted just as I began my excursion.
The tour group strolled through the crowed locale where vendors were selling everything from clothing to food and I felt like Kendall was right there with me. His voice was so soothing and descriptive detail was on point.
“I used to love to come with my mother to the market. The sights and smells of fresh croissants and pastries made me a happy boy.”
At that moment, I stopped at a Boulangerie to examine the assortment of baked goods, followed by La Maison du Fromage to taste a variety of cheeses. The fresh flowers, street sketch artists, colorful produce, meats, spices and other finds offered from enthusiastic vendors satisfied all of my senses.
As Christophe suggested, I grabbed a few items: a bag of fruit, a pastry and pieces of roasted chicken and I was ready for the rest of the excursion. My recorded private tour continued and when I landed in front of Chocolatier Nicolsen, Kendall’s next recommended stop, his voice got excited.
“Now, if you’re a chocoholic like me, you have to check out Chocolatier Nicolsen and allow yourself to go crazy. They even have a chocolate fountain in that joint!”
I didn’t hesitate to explore the sweet smelling chocolate shop and soon, I spotted the eight-foot chocolate fountain. I looked around making sure the coast was clear before catching some of the flowing chocolate on my fingers and discreetly tasting it.
“Don’t worry about sticking your fingers in the chocolate,” he added and I looked around, thinking he was there watching my every move. Of course he was not, he simply anticipated my next move.
I glanced at the clock on the iPod and it was time to return to the bus. Christophe’s group had already arrived back when I came running to catch up.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I blurted out in between breaths.
Christophe assured me I was fine, guessing my stop at the chocolatier was the reason for my lateness. He indicated a spot of chocolate on my chin and I wiped it off immediately. “It’s okay, no one can resist the chocolate fountain,” he joked.
I confided that I was like a kid in a candy shop.
Christophe insisted, “It’s okay to indulge in our guilty pleasures.”
Then his eyes shifted from mine to a gorgeous woman strutting past the bus. “Bonjour mademoiselle!”
The bus tour of Paris continued as I took mental photographs of quaint Parisian streets, French architecture, people on the streets, The Pigalle or what was also referred to as the Red Light District, and Moulin Rouge.
About twenty minutes later, we arrived at Luxembourg Gardens, where we were all encouraged to exit the bus and enjoy. I took a stroll through the park where people were having picnic lunches, couples were strolling, and children playing. Music fans were awaiting a band about to start playing.
I enjoyed taking pictures of the sights of this incredible oasis. I took a seat on a nearby bench to enjoy my lunch, when Christophe approached me.
“Pilar, how are you enjoying Paris?”
“This city is everything and more than I expected. I reassured him, “Your bus tour was extremely cool.”
He explained that the bus was headed back, but many opted to stay to enjoy the gardens and the live music. I was nowhere near ready to leave and told him that I would catch a cab back to the hotel and let Kendall know that he gave an excellent tour.
“Mon Plaisir,” he said as he kissed my hand and headed back to his bus.
The musicians began their concert in the park and it was the perfect afternoon, almost.
The music was intoxicating as I listened with my eyes closed. At the end of the set, I opened my eyes and prepared to leave, when out of nowhere, Kendall took a seat next to me on the bench.
“So, how was the tour?” he asked.
“Hey, you!” I squealed as I hugged him tight asking what he was doing there.
“It’s a long story, but I was able to wrap up my meeting with the attorney earlier than expected. I decided to catch a train back with hopes to catch up with you.”
“Hmph, that sounds familiar,” I joked, reflecting back on our first encounter when he chose to miss his train.
He went on to explain that Christophe gave him the 411 on where to find me “And thank God, you’re here.”
“I’m glad you didn’t miss your train this time,” I told him as I offered him a pastry from my lunch.
He instantly started to devour it. “Oh yes! I love these, it’s been so long since I’ve had a real French eclair.” Then, he paused and looked at my empty hands. “Where’s yours?”
“You’re eating it,” I said with a giggle. “But it’s cool. Hold still, you’ve got a little raspberry on your...”
His mouth, the mouth I wanted to kiss, opting instead to gently wipe the red filling off the side of his mouth. There was a moment, we hugged, this time with a kiss. I don’t know if it was the sweetness from the remnants of the éclair or just my desire to experience those lips I had imagined kissing during our flight, but our first kiss was delicious and hypnotic.
“Let me ask you something. Are you available?”
“Available? For what?” I asked, still a little weak and almost breathless from our brief moment of passion.
He looked me deep in my eyes. “For... love.”
My heart raced as I raced to answer his question. “I’ve never been more available.”
He smiled slyly and said “Let’s go. Your tour is not over.” Kendall grabbed my hand and we strolled through the park over to a green Vespa scooter, where he unlocked a helmet waiting for me. As he sat on the scooter first to start the motor, I joined him hopping on and snuggling close behind him. It was almost sunset as we rode the scooter, and I held him tightly with my arms around his waist and toned abs. I caught a glimpse of his confident smile in the rear view mirror on the handle bar and the feeling was mutual. We rode along the River Seine and soon arrived at the L’Eiffel Tower. We parked the scooter and my heart was beating double time as we approached the larger than life landmark.
“I know it’s corny and cliché’, but I’ve been waiting to get up close and personal with this tower all of my life.”
He reached for my camera. “Well, here you are. Let me get a shot of you, gorgeous.”
Then, he took pictures of me as if this was a real photo shoot. In his eyes, in his demeanor, I could tell that he was thinking back to that day when I was on the escalator, posing, and he first spotted me.
Yes, it was in his eyes and I loved the way he looked at me.
After what felt like a thousand pictures, I said, “Let’s get a shot together.” I stopped a random passerby. “Would you take our picture, please?”
The man took my camera and snapped several photos of me and Kendall before he yelled out something to us in French. He spoke so fast, I didn’t understand.
“What did he say?” I asked Kendall. “He said, look like you love each other.”
I snuggled closer to him and smiled for the camera. He kissed my forehead, then moved in for a full blown, knock my socks off French kiss. The gentleman cleared his throat, handed the camera over to Kendall and gave us the thumbs up as he walked away.
“I think we convinced him,” I said holding on to Kendall.
He looked down at me. “I’m convinced. I am falling in love with you, Pilar. You are an answer to my prayers.”
A flood of emotions rushed through and it felt good and right at the same time.
He said, “You may not feel the same way and that’s cool…” “No, it’s not cool,” I responded.
“Yeah, there I go sharing my heart too soon, again” he said, loosening his grip from around my waist.
“No, it’s not cool to question the love I’m feeling,” I told him as I pushed my body close to him and put his hands back around me. “I’ve never felt like this in my life. Kendall, loving you is so easy. I don’t know what I was doing before.”
Right there, as the sun was setting over Paris, we became a cliché French post card kissing like crazy with the lights of the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the background.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
So, the travel blog story I wrote, Love Found Me In Paris, went viral in the blogosphere and on social media, with over 100,000 hits in one day. I even received a nomination for a national Blogger award. I never knew such an award existed but then again, blogging had only been a thing since the mid ‘90’s.
A Good Thing Page 13
