Ma, I've Reached for the Moon an I'm Hittin the Stars

by Martha Long

  ‘Do you speak English?’

  ‘A little, not very well, but I spend some time in London! So, yes, a leetle,’ she smiled, wriggling her fingers. ‘You are on holiday?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose you could call it that,’ I said, laughing.

  ‘And who do you stay with?’

  ‘Oh, I stay with Ralph.’

  ‘Ahh! Yes, Jacques would be his friend! Non? Vous? You!’ she said, pointing at me.

  ‘No, not me, he is Ralph’s friend.’

  ‘Ahh,’ she said, nodding her head. Then we went silent.

  ‘You, do you come with someone?’

  ‘No, I stay here with Jacques. Today I arrive, maybe one weekend I stay, maybe more. It depends!’ she said, shrugging, showing her gorgeous mouth curl into an O-shape as she thought about that.

  ‘Oh, you are his house guest! His friend?’

  ‘Yes! I am his friend,’ she said, making it sound like she was not happy with that idea.

  ‘Do you live around here?’ I said, wanting to make conversation.

  ‘No, I live in Paris.’

  ‘Do you work?’

  ‘Yes, I am a dancer with the Folies Bergère!’

  ‘In the Moulin Rouge?’ I said, looking at her in admiration.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding quietly.

  ‘Oh, you must be very good,’ I said, thinking, they are very famous.

  She shrugged, saying, ‘Yes, I would like to think!’

  I looked down at her long legs in the leopard-skin shoes with the straps wrapped around the ankles. She had on a very short skirt, showing off the length of her gorgeous long legs, and a silk blouse that showed a lovely creamy cleavage. She is gorgeous, I thought, thinking she must be the mistress Soviah was talking about. Then she looked up as the waiter put his head out the door, indicating we should follow as dinner was about to be served.

  24

  ‘Pardon, Madame,’ the woman whispered, as she leant down to collect up my empty dishes, taking away my drinking glasses. We had a different wine with every course. My belly was bursting from the amount of grub I shovelled into me, then the waiter bent to pour me another liqueur. I had held up my empty little crystal glass, seeing him going around the table, pouring brandy for the men and anyone who wanted it. I wanted another liqueur. I’ve given up that brandy stuff; it blows me head off. That and champagne. I’m not used to the high living, even though I have had my moments. I did manage to get around a bit and even stand in the private box at the races. But this is different! This is definitely flying with the quality.

  I was dozing over me sixteenth glass of liqueur and nibbling on chocolates left sitting in a bowl that had been doing the rounds until it landed at me, so now it stayed. ‘Definitely, I absolutely agree,’ I said, nodding me head at Isolda, who had managed to sit next to me again. I was hoping to get placed with one of the handsome men, any of them would have done, but no! I got stuck with Isolda and a baldy consultant doctor on my right. He wanted to talk about the effects of a bad diet on the bowel. It causes terrible disease, he was telling me. Even down to the name of the diseases! I wasn’t listening, so he got fed up and turned to the woman on his right. She seemed to agree with everything he was saying. I didn’t. I told him that can’t be true. Otherwise the whole population of paupers would be dead and buried from it. ‘Sure, they eat nothing!’ I said.

  He didn’t agree. He pointed out they had excellent diets; they eat the basic food off the land. Good old vegetables and that sort of thing. Where as us, now! We spoilt, rich, decadent lot stuff ourselves with all this rich food! ‘Very bad for the digestive system!’ he warned, giving me a look that was enough to frighten even the dead back into life.

  Now I was stuck agreeing with everything Isolda said because she was too nice to argue with. Anyway, all I had to do was nod and she was happy, I didn’t have to listen. Occasionally I would lift the head from the liqueur, or the chocolates, or whatever was going, and look straight into her face, giving a definite nod of agreement. In return, she told me I was a wonderful listener.

  I decided she and I could definitely be good friends. Because nobody ever told me that before! The worst someone told me was that I was a pain in the arse because I was definitely very opinionated. Well, why not? I’m entitled to exercise me right to free speech! So long as I’m not doing any damage or harming anyone.

  I took in a huge sigh, thinking, I better get up and go outside for an airing. I’m beginning to feel a bit sick. Talk about making a pig of myself. I never tasted the like of that grub in all me born days. Except with Ralph, of course. His Madame is a marvellous cook. But somehow this grub is like something you would get at a big fancy banquet. No, I wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity of shifting second and third helpings of whatever was going. Isolda kept looking to see where I was putting it. No wonder that doctor was giving me an earful!

  Right, I’m finished, I couldn’t look at another bit of food if I got paid for it. OK, Martha, heave yourself up, get moving. Ah, Jaysus, wait! Nobody has moved, I thought, looking around the table, seeing them sitting back relaxing, looking like they were in for the night. I can’t get shifting until they all do; it’s impossibly bad manners, I can hear Ralph say. No, sit it out, don’t let yourself or him down. I sat back, giving a big miserable sigh out of me, and turned to look at Isolda, staring into her face, saying nothing.

  She stirred herself, letting her eyes light up. ‘Vell! I vas thinking! Do you know it is not yet the season for us to be—’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you,’ I said, laying my hand on hers and looking around me.

  Suddenly people were on their feet, looking to move. Jacques was making his way out the door, with everyone taking up their glass and following.

  ‘Ve are moving, Isolda,’ I said, hearing myself say that and hoping she didn’t catch it. Jaysus, I must be drunk!

  Then we were out the door and walking the length of the house, trailing through one open door after another. Finally we were back in the sitting room. Jacques gave orders to the waiter – or maybe he’s a butler, I don’t know if they have them here in France. We all sat down and I tried to wriggle myself in between two gorgeous handsome men, but suddenly my arm was taken and I was gently but firmly being led to another place.

  ‘Yes, ve will be much more comfortable here!’ gasped Isolda, sitting me next to her on the edge of the sofa.

  Fuck! How unlucky can you get! I snorted to myself, looking up at her beaming face as she settled herself down to give me more gossip. But it was only about people I didn’t know.

  The waiter suddenly appeared with a load of dancing girls trailing in behind him. Then I noticed the little band of men in dickie bows and suits. They were sorting out musical instruments and looking at sheets of music propped open on a stand. Suddenly they roared into life, blasting out a very quick lively cancan. Isolda sat back to watch, nodding at me. I nodded back. So this is what she was talking about when she said, ‘Ve vill have a better view of the show!’

  The musicians got going and the girls let rip. Big frilly skirts flew as boots kicked them out of the way and into the air, giving us an eyeful of long frilly knickers!

  I looked for Lulu-Belle, the dancer – that’s her name, I discovered – but she was not there. No, she was wrapped around Jacques, nearly sitting on his lap as he cuddled her to him. He kept running his hand up and down the side of her, getting a sneak feel of her rounded bosom. She sat and watched, looking a lot more contented and happy now, seeing as he was giving her a lot more attention. I lit up my cigarillo, trying out a new one. The little fat brown one, it was even stronger. But I tested it carefully and only let a little down me neck. I blew that out fast and just barely sucked. But I knew it made me look good. Very sophisticated.

  Suddenly the waiter appeared, looking very worried as he rushed himself over to Jacques, who was dribbling with his face lit up at the sight of all the girls. They were screaming and smiling, and one of them danced over, giving a big kick to fly t
he skirt, letting it hit him full in the chops. Then, when he got his eyesight back, he was happily looking up the knickers of the laughing dancer as she wriggled and shook it at him, then turned and dropped, giving him an eyeful of her frilly arse.

  I watched to see what was going on. Jacques’ face dropped while he held his head down listening, taking in what the waiter was telling him in rapid French. Then he lifted his head, staring into the distance, looking like his face had frozen into solid marble. He had turned the colour of a ghost. But then he was suddenly galvanised into action and his eyes came alive as he roared, ‘MON DIEU!’

  Then he went to lift himself. But before he could get standing the door at the end of the room flew open and Jacques’ face now turned yellow!

  I followed his gaze just in time to see Soviah march in with her eyes peeled on him. Then she turned to Lulu-Belle, who still had her hand on his lap and her head resting against his chest. ‘MERDE!’ she screamed, pointing the finger at the pair of them, and she still only halfway across the floor.

  He leapt up, putting out his arms, saying, ‘Ma chère! Ma Soviah! Blah blah! Croon, sigh!’

  She rushed into his arms, giving him an almighty slap on the kisser, then sent him flying backwards as he nearly lost his balance. She kept walking towards him, pushing and slapping, still wearing the big boots and the long fur coat trailing after her. He was now walking backwards, explaining, talking very fast with his hands waving like windmills.

  The band stopped playing and the girls stopped dancing. Jacques waved and smiled at them, telling them to carry on. With that, Soviah ran at one of the musicians and grabbed his violin bow, then rushed at Jacques, missing his head as he ducked but still getting an unmerciful blow on the hand. Then she let out a blood-curdling scream as she made a dive for Lulu-Belle, waving the broken bow with the strings twanging in the air.

  Lulu-Belle screamed, leapt and made a dive, landing in the lap of Heinrich, who looked shocked then happy as he stared down at her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, yelling in French for him to save her. Or sounding something like that.

  He smiled and wrapped his hands around her lower back, pulling her into him. Isolda, his wife, gasped, I coughed, the baldy bowel doctor leapt to his feet, tackling Soviah, who was caught up trying to get past the blonde bombshell from Italia. She lost the front of her frock as Soviah grabbed hold, trying to steady herself. The Italian bombshell screamed when her ample milkers fell out because the front of the frock was now in shreds. It was only a flimsy thing anyway.

  The baldy doctor grabbed Soviah’s arms, pinning them down by her side, heroically trying to stop her from getting at Lulu-Belle. Meanwhile, some of the band played on, with lovely music wafting over from an accordion player while the rest were too busy discussing what happened to the violinist and his bow. He looked grief-stricken, with the tears looking like they were ready to pour down his cheeks.

  Soviah managed to get loose and Baldy was sent flying to land in the laps of Ralph and another fella. The women stared and gasped, then everyone was shouting, mostly the women. The men sat back, looking very calm and smoking their cigars with a grin on their faces, ducking and moving as bodies got landed, with Soviah now after Jacques again.

  He was on his feet, shouting at her, trying to lead her out of the room by pointing and waving, but she took no notice. Her eyes were now clapped on me as he marched off, wanting her to follow him. Then he lost the rag and came tearing down the room looking like he was going to annihilate her. Her eyes whipped on him again. Then suddenly she took in a big breath, holding it, then heaved it out as she tore after him, screaming like the banshee. He changed his mind about murdering her and dived for the terrace, then she changed her mind about killing him and went flying out of the room. Then he was back in, wiping his forehead and looking up and down, making sure she really was gone. Then he was making his way back over to see if everyone was OK.

  We all sorted ourselves out, because I was taking no chances and had landed meself sitting on the lap of a lovely-looking man wearing an open shirt with the tie left hanging down. Then I slid off and mooched in next to him, afraid Soviah might decide to do me and me new clothes a terrible harm. If I wasn’t wearing my best stuff, I wouldn’t have been bothered. She would have gotten more than a box if she came near me.

  Then, while everyone was talking, the waiter was rushing over to whip open the French windows. Then he was back, shouting and pointing. The music suddenly dropped, then stopped, and it was then we heard the thumping noises coming from outside. Jacques rushed out to see what was happening and the rest of us followed.

  I was on me feet, making a rush for the door. We were all just in time to see golf sticks flying through the air, then the bag followed. Soviah was hanging out the window, screaming blue murder. Then his suits started flying through the air, followed by mounds of Charvet shirts caught by the wind, now ballooning towards the fountain, while some headed for the trees.

  Jacques shouted, ‘Sacré bleu!’ and turned for the door, then looked back, saying something to the men. They hesitated, then took off, following Jacques. The women stared up, gasping with their hands on their chests, muttering and breathing heavily through their noses while we all nodded, agreeing it was shocking!

  Then there was further uproar. We could hear the screams coming from Soviah, then men’s voices mumbling quietly as Soviah let out a litany of abuse, letting her voice fall and rise, making it sound like she was telling him what she was going to do to him. The women gasped louder as we held our heads in the air, listening with our mouths open. It was all coming out through the open window.

  ‘What did she say? I gasped, grabbing Isolda’s arm.

  ‘No no, it is too shocking!’

  ‘Oh, go on! Tell us!’ I said, wanting to hear the shocking bits.

  ‘It is not for the ears,’ she whispered, looking like she was going to bless herself.

  Then we heard a thump and something crashing! Then a terrible moan.

  ‘That is Jacques!’ I whispered, prodding Isolda.

  ‘Yes, I am thinking you are right,’ she said, staring with her head in the air.

  ‘Shush! Silenzio!’ the Italian bombshell hissed, staring daggers as she tried to listen, gripping hold of her torn frock.

  Then it started to go quiet, with only a few murmurings. We listened, hoping for more, but that was the end of it. Everything had gone quiet except for the gentle murmuring of men’s voices. We all started to trail back inside, seeing the dancing girls were now slumped in our seats. They looked a bit miserable, sitting with their hands on their knees and their frocks pulled up around them, showing their long frilly knickers, while others sat with their leg thrown over the other one, consoling themselves with dragging on a cigarette. They looked up when we walked in, and the band started to play a very slow sad song. It was ‘Down Mexico Way’ or something like that. It’s a cowboy song. Oh, yeah, ‘South of the Border’!

  ‘Vy must they be upset?’ Isolda whispered, looking at me and pointing at the girls.

  ‘I suppose they are worried they might not get paid, Isolda,’ I said, ‘seeing as their party ended before it could even get started.’

  They all pushed up, making room for the rest of us. Then the women started chattering like mad, making clucking noises, sighing out their disgust and nodding, looking stricken at being exposed to the like of this. Then they shook their heads, sniffed and snorted, showing their displeasure. With each making sure the other knew we were most definitely not impressed by this outrageous behaviour.

  ‘No, definitely not civilised,’ I said, sniffing at Isolda.

  She snorted and agreed vehemently with me. After all, I was thinking, here’s me in my new best clothes! God knows what might have happened if she got her hands on me. No, not with the mood she was in. ‘A bleedin Moore Street dealer wouldn’t be half as common!’ I sniffed, looking around me. ‘No, we Royal Dubliners are more civilised than that!’

  ‘Vot is this Mure Street
meaning you speak of?

  ‘Vell! It is . . .’ I heard meself say.

  Suddenly we all perked up as the waiter appeared carrying a full tray of drinks. He bowed, offering the tray to anyone who wanted one. We all helped ourselves, looking like we needed it. He looked like he could do with one himself; he was looking a bit green around the gills but carried on as if nothing happened.

  The dancers looked up hopefully but he ignored them, deciding they weren’t worth his tender ministrations. Then one of the girls hopped up and spoke rapidly in French, the others all nodding their annoyance and looking very aggrieved, particularly as they gave us dirty looks, sitting and sipping delicately on our drinks. He walked off ignoring them, rushing out the door with his empty tray.

  Suddenly it looked like another riot was about to erupt when they upped and starting telling each other they weren’t standing for this. At least that’s what it sounded like. Then they were shouting and marching off, heading for the door and the waiter. They were back in with him railing at them, waving his tray and telling them to get back in. At least that’s what it sounds like. I can’t speak bleedin French. The musicians stopped playing and just sat around looking miserable, waiting for someone to tell them what to do. I was just about to get up and go for a wander, see if anything more interesting was happening elsewhere, when the door opened and the men came walking back in, talking and laughing, puffing and blowing. Jacques was being helped by another man and I saw he was injured. He had a bandage wrapped around his left eye and it was bulging!

  I stared as he got closer. Something was hanging out of the corner. I leaned in closer for a better look, seeing it was a piece of ice, a huge lump. It was plastered to his eye and held in place by the bandage tied to the back of his head. Something hit me, then I suddenly started howling with the laugh. I never in all me born days saw anything so funny-looking as he stared, trying to see out of the one eye. He looked so pitiful it collapsed me in a heap, screaming my lungs out, roaring with the laugh. Everyone was looking at me, staring like I was demented. They couldn’t see anything funny. The women were horrified, now having something new to start them clutching their chests. That made me worse, then Jacques grinned and came over pointing to his eye, saying, ‘Yes, Soviah is a wild woman, she gave me a black eye. It is most fortunate I did not lose it. She hit me with the golf ball. Pity she did not manage to throw that out the window along with my golf cart and sticks,’ he said, sounding really mournful at how unlucky he was.