The Brush Off

When Marcel asked Paula "Let's eat together one night," she'd expected a restaurant and not his maisonette.

They'd been on a few drinks' "dates" prior although he had never kissed her, which she found unusual for a French man, though he seemed benign.

He was always littering her with compliments. He would gaze at her, across the table and she would say, "What?" in her best beguiling way. He would pretend he was awakening from a reverie, and in his perfect English tempered by his broad French accent, he'd say, "It is your skin. It is iridescent. It captivates me," or "It is your hair. Lustrous and that copper, like the richest polished walnut."

She'd never felt so attractive. British men never talked like this. She'd had comments made about her breasts once or twice and a "Phwoah!" once in the street but nothing so involved. This was a revelation!

She felt like tonight things could get more serious. She'd dressed carefully, paid scrupulous attention to her personal hygiene and grooming and was ready for anything!

When Marcel took her to his maisonette, she was disappointed. Marcel, however, was fizzing, his mood heightened and his movements belied an excitement that he was barely able to contain.

His was a dingy place and Marcel was not the tidiest of people. Clothes everywhere. Plants. Empty cigarette packets strewn. Books on every subject.

And stacks of things with corners leaning against walls under blankets. Shelves waiting to be erected?

When he served her pâté on baguette, she wondered if her effort had been misplaced.

"Paula, I 'ave a proposal," Marcel drawled.

Paula's heart leapt. Could she marry a man she'd never kissed? Yes, she thought she could!

"Take off your clothes."

Was that the proposal? Oh well! These Frenchies! They were a heady bunch and with a frisson of expectation, she did as Marcel asked. He disappeared and naked, she tried to arrange herself seductively on the couch while he was gone.

When he returned, still fully clothed with nothing more huge than a palette, she felt flushed with foolishness from her head to her toes.

Marcel never got to use his brush: Paula gave him the brush off.

***

366 words

With all this Parisian attention as a result of the Olympics, I thought I would indulge in a little Frenchness myself.

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