Fiction: Jaudon – An American Family (a novel) [17]

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Chapter 17. Paris Opera Ballet

After the second glass of wine and being introduced to the hundredth artist, Claude asked, “What are we going to do until my suit is ready? We have most of the afternoon.”
    Joc thought for a moment. “We can go see how far along Monsieur Eiffel has come with building his tower. Then we can go to the Paris Opera House. As patrons of the Opera Ballet, we have a special room backstage where we are entertained by the dancers. For a fee, most will give you private entertainment – if you know what I mean. Who knows, you may find a wife at the Ballet and save yourself the trip all the way to Chaumont.”
    “Why would these ballerinas sell their bodies on the open market?”
    “It’s a far cry from an open market, my friend. To be un abonné costs a small fortune. It is only the rich who get to sample that candy.”
    “How will I get in? I’m not a patron.”
    “You are my rich guest from America. They will love to entertain you.”

Joc and Claude walked to the site of the World Fair, whose entrance would be Eiffel’s tower. When it was completed, visitors would walk through the arches to enter the fairgrounds. Being an engineer, Claude was dumbstruck at the size and scope of the project. The area was roped off but they got as close as they could. He wished he had paper and pen to sketch a picture to take home, but alas, he had none. They stayed there for almost an hour, until Joc said, “You can come back when the fair opens and get as close as you want. But now, the ladies of the Ballet await us.”

    Joc flagged down a taxi. It was drawn by a beautiful black horse with a feather on its forehead. In only a few minutes they stopped at the back of the Opera House. Joc paid the driver and Claude followed him up a small flight of stairs. Joc knocked on a door there and waited. The door opened and Joc and the doorman spoke in whispers. Then Joc turned, smiled, and waved. “Come and see what awaits you.”
    As they walked down a hall full of ropes and sandbags and other props, Joc whispered, “Pretend you don’t understand French. It will be so much more fun.”
    Then he opened a door leading into a large, spacious room. One wall had mirrors from the floor to the ceiling. There were also bars along the walls. It looked like a practice studio. But the ladies, wearing scant clothing, weren’t practicing ballet – they were engaged in a much older trade.
    A number of older men with gray, stylish beards waved or nodded their head at Joc. To a man, they wore tophats and tails. Only one or two of the men, about Joc and Claude’s age, weren’t dressed any better than they. Claude whispered to Joc, “I feel underdressed, maybe we should leave.”

    “Don’t be silly. We have just arrived.” He waved at a couple of girls. The younger, slimmer one of the pair came up to Claude, and the other one, whose rump was plump, walked up and rubbed Joc’s crouch.
    The girl with Claude did the same and exclaimed, “Ooh, là-là!”
    She motioned to her companion to run her hand over Claude’s manhood. Claude was embarrassed by his erection and tried to halt the girls’ touching him.
    Joc almost fell over with laughter. “My God, Claude, go get that taken care of before it blows up and kills us all.”
    A third girl came over to Joc and whispered in his ear. “She said you can have them both for the price of one – I believe they are impressed.”
    By that time, the first two girls had Claude’s hands and were tugging him toward an exit door. They led him across the street to a hotel where a lot of the girls lived, and up some stairs to a room on the second floor. There they pushed him onto the bed and began pulling off his clothes.
    The two girls quickly shed their own clothes, but the slim one held back, waiting for her older friend to make the first move, which she immediately did, taking Claude’s gorged member into her mouth. Claude had been with a lot of whores and a few college girls, but none of them had ever done that. He liked it very much.
    The slim girl scooted close and guided one of Claude’s hands to the V of her crotch, pushing his fingers into her wetness. The other girl completed an outward stroke, removed her mouth, and crawled up and straddled him. Very slowly she positioned her body before descending and taking all of him inside her, letting out a loud moan and beginning to ride him up and down.
    Claude had forgotten about the girl beside him, until suddenly she threw a leg over his head and straddled his face. She smelled like sweet perfume and tasted like salt taffy – utterly unlike the unpleasantness he had imagined.
    The older girl began to move more rapidly up and down, and back and forth, her moans growing more urgent. The younger girl began to match her colleague’s rhythm and they held the canter as long as they – and Claude – could, before all three exploded.
    Shortly the girls tumbled over onto the bed. Claude was wet from his head to midway down his thighs. The older girl moved first, leaving the bed to go to a washbowl, pour water, and wash herself. Then she brought a clean bowl of water to the bed, and she and the younger girl began to wash Claude.

    Once they were all washed and dressed, the girls led Claude back to the ballet practice room, this time with arms locked in Claude’s.
    Claude spotted Joc talking to another man and drinking champagne from a very expensive looking glass. Claude’s eye caught Joc’s, who broke off the conversation and made his way to Claude.
    Joc slapped Claude on the back. “Do they have anything like that in Texas?”
    “No, I’ve never heard of or experienced anything like that before. Did you not go with anyone?”
    “I’m saving myself for tonight.”

At a small café a half-block from the tailor, Joc and Claude stopped for a bite to eat and a glass of white wine. Claude ordered un sandwich au jambon, while Joc had une salade. After Claude’s dual encounter, he was ravaged and tore into the ham sandwich with the gusto of a bear into a picnic basket. Joc was going on about the party that night, but Claude heard very little of what he was saying.
    At last satiated, Claude pushed back from the table and drank down his glass of wine. “That was the best sandwich I think I have ever had.”
    “It was jambon. How can you mess up jambon?”
    Claude waved at the waiter for more wine. The glass newly filled, he raised it and toasted, “Here is to Paree! Long may she corrupt and enlighten mankind.”
    Joc raised his own glass. “It makes me happy that you are enjoying my city.”
    “What is there not to enjoy?”
    At Claude’s question, Joc became serious. “You are here at the birth of a new France. It is a hopeful, happy – even wild – time. The future holds many possibilities for us, and only time will tell how this new birth turns out.”
    A smile flickered across Claude’s mouth. “That’s deeper than I want to think. It’s getting dark – my suit should be ready by now.”
    With Claude’s suit in a box, they went back to Joc’s apartment to bathe and shave for the evening. At eight o’clock, they caught a taxi to a château on the outskirts of Paris. It was the home of the Duke Von Rictor, a German millionaire who was the only heir to his French uncle’s estate, which included the château and a number of other properties.
    The party was well underway by the time Joc and Claude arrived. Music and loud voices could be heard coming from inside. “Damn, Joc, how many people are here?”
    “Most of Paris, I would guess.” He pushed Claude along, up the steps leading to the front door.
    Inside, a man took their coats and hung them with an array of others. They walked down the hall to the ballroom, where Claude began to doubt his decision to come to such a party. By the way Joc had spoken of other parties in Paris, Claude had come to this one with an idea that it would be a little crazy, but he was not prepared for the scene that greeted him.
    There were four or maybe five open bars and waiters carrying around glasses of wine and champagne. Everybody was drinking and some were openly drunk already. Out of the crowd came what was clearly a man dressed as a woman, wearing a wig and makeup. He/she threw her/his arms around Joc’s neck and kissed him on both cheeks.
    Joc turned to Claude. “Claude, I wish to introduce our host, Duke Von Rictor.”
    The Duke put out his hand as if to have it kissed, but Claude grasped and shook it. “Merci de nous avoir invites.” (Thank you for inviting us.)
    “You are welcome. Perhaps English would be better spoken, no?”
    The Duke caught Claude’s arm and pulled him into the mass of people. “Come, I want to introduce you to my friends. We’ll all be able to speak English! Isn’t that wonderful!”
    That was the last time Claude saw Joc that night. Drinks of every kind were pushed continually into his hand, along with a pipe with peculiar-tasting tobacco, which he tried and liked. The pipe was passed around again and again, and Claude soon began to lose track of time, after which his memory went blank.
    He awoke in a pile of men and women in an upstairs room filled with pillows spread across the floor.
    Claude felt sick and dizzy. He managed to gather his clothes and put them on, and somehow make it down the stairs to the coat closet. Finding a coat that fit, he donned it. Outside was a man waiting with the lead taxi of three or four that were lined up awaiting the partygoers’ departure.
    Outside Joc’s apartment, Claude had the taxi wait while he retrieved the key from its hiding place and entered the apartment, where he retrieved his small bag containing some clothes. He left a note thanking Joc and asking him to ship his truck to Chaumont.
    Back outside, Claude asked the driver to take him to the train station.

Copyright © 2019 by Ed Rogers