Natalie waited for him at a café in the Latin Quarter. She had hardly any money in her purse, so when the waiter came to her table, she only ordered an espresso. The waiter curled the sides of his mouth downwards in distaste – he realised she intended to spend very little money while taking up an entire table right in the busy part of the afternoon.
She shifted in the wicker chair. Like every other outdoor café in Paris, this one was furnished with those wicker chairs, green and white, arranged on faux terraces out the front of the establishment, each chair turned to face the footpath so that one could view the passing crowd. At the next table over, Natalie watched an old woman scoop the froth off the top of her cappuccino and spoon-feed it to her little dog sitting on the chair beside her. The dog was perfectly groomed; coat smooth and shiny, eyes vibrant and alive. Yet the woman's own hair was matted and dirty and her appearance was disheveled. Natalie smiled.
It was a typical autumn day. The sun shone brilliantly through the clouds, warming Natalie's skin while the cool air continued to bite at her cheeks. She turned to her purse and took out her black sunglasses. She checked the lenses for fingerprints and dirt, rubbed them on the bottom of her shirt to remove the smears, then slid them onto her face. She checked her watch – five minutes to five. Louis would arrive shortly and take her to The Louvre. Each week they met at the café at the same time. And each week they arrived at The Louvre in time to purchase the half price entry tickets.
They had been meeting this way for three months now. They had originally met at that café. Natalie has been sitting on her own, reading a copy of Wallpaper magazine. She was wearing a long black skirt with a split that almost reached her hip. She had crossed her legs and her skirt had fallen open, revealing a beautifully sculpted thigh. Louis had been seated at the next table. The paleness of her skin, so suddenly exposed, caught his eye. Natalie grabbed at the wayward fabric absent mindedly as she continued to read her magazine, but her attempts at modesty were in vain. Louis couldn't resist the temptation. He had leaned over to her table from his and quietly whispered, "You have very nice thighs."
Natalie had looked up in shock, but when her eyes came to rest on Louis face, she immediately smiled. He had sandy blonde hair and vibrant green eyes. His skin was a coffee colour, a tan acquired in the summer which was about to begin to fade. His lips were a bright cherry, most unlike lips she had seen on any other man. If not for his looks, Natalie would have rejected Louis's advance as audacious bordering on impolite.
She invited Louis to sit at her table, and they began to chat about nothing in particular. When he commented on her choice of periodical, she casually mentioned she was studying design. He was an architect, he told her, working for an affluent firm nearby. Their conversation was brief – Natalie had to rush off to attend a late class. But when she stopped at that café at the same time the following week, she was delighted to find Louis sitting opposite her again. Her class had been cancelled that day and he had left work early. He invited her to join him for a short walk through The Louvre. She had accepted his invitation.
In a dark corner of the Egypt Room he had suddenly taken her by the hand, spun her around and kissed her passionately on the mouth. They had walked hand in hand for the rest of their tour of the gallery's basement, and when closing time was called, Louis suggested a little hotel nearby the Town Hall might be a nice way to spend the evening. She was taken aback by his forthrightness, but was dazzled by his looks and even a little intoxicated by his presence. Despite never having done anything like it before, she agreed to go to the hotel with him.
From that night on, they met every week at the café. They always went to the Louvre and each week she allowed him to show her yet another room of artworks that he so loved to explain to her in minute detail. Then they would walk to the little hotel near the Town Hall and he would pay for a room with a double bed, a shower and a sink, and he would make love to her until well into the evening. When it was time to leave, they would shower together, dress and walk down to the street. He would kiss her, ask her to meet him again the following week, and so it went.
Natalie picked up the tiny espresso cup and raised it to her lips. The coffee was warm and bitter. She placed it back down on the saucer and reached for the sugar. Pouring two teaspoonfuls into the tiny cup, she stirred it with the dull silver spoon, pitted from years of use, and watched as the crystals dissolved. She placed the teaspoon back on the saucer; a brown drop of coffee spread on the white porcelain, then began to dry in a pool. Natalie raised the cup to her lips again. This time the aroma of the coffee was tinged with saccharine smell of the sugar and when she sipped, she felt warmed and comforted by the flavour.
Natalie saw Louis walking up the street before he saw her. He was approaching from the west end of the street. She quickly devoured him with her eyes before he looked up and smiled at her. He was tall and mysterious looking in his black coat. His hair was perfectly combed against his head, accept for one flyaway shock in the front, which waved in the breeze as he walked. He was older than Natalie, and she guessed that one day soon his hair would begin to silver a little at the temples. But she expected that would only enhance his manliness. Her heart leapt at the sight of him, and when he realised her eyes were following him, he returned her gaze steadily and allowed his stern face to break into a smile. Natalie smoothed her skirt, tuck a wayward wisp of hair behind her left ear and returned his smile with a flash of her brilliant white teeth, framed by dark red lips.
"Cherie," he said as he approached the table. She stood to greet him.
"Mon amour," she said, leaning towards him and kissing him lightly on the lips. He reached one arm around her shoulders and touched the fingers of his other hand lightly to the side of her neck, then drew her against him and kissed her passionately on the mouth, smearing her lipstick a little. When he released her, Natalie's cheeks flushed bright red with excitement and she giggled at his open demonstration of affection.
Louis held Natalie's chair for her as she sat down again. Only then did he seat himself next to her behind the table. He immediately placed one arm around her shoulders, stretching the other across his lap to rest on her knee. She reached down and slid her fine white fingers under his palm, and let her hand rest on his. His touch was so familiar to her now. She leaned against his body and breathed in his smell – a vague combination of bergamot and tobacco flower. She had never asked him the name of his cologne. She thought if she knew what it was she might go to the nearest department store each day and waste hours at the men's fragrance counter inhaling the sample bottle's contents, drowning in the euphoria of her lover's scent.
"Have you eaten?" he enquired, gazing lovingly at her face.
"No," she replied. "I'm not hungry right now."
"Shall we eat a little something later, perhaps?" he suggested.
"Maybe."
"Finish your coffee then. I want to see The Dying Slave today."
Natalie drained the cup then put it back on the saucer. She collected her bag and gloves from the table as Louis pulled a note from his pocket and tucked it under the cup. It was more than enough to pay for the coffee and leave the snotty waiter a generous tip. Louis rose from his seat, walked around the table, took Natalie's right arm and placed it in the crook of his elbow.
"Shall we?" he said.
"Lets," she replied, happy to be in the arms of her lover again.
Louis had taken her to the room where Michelangelo's Dying Slave stood in all its glory. He had talked to her of the miracle that had emerged from the marble under the master's chisel; how he never knew what would reveal itself until he was finished and at how remarkable his perception of the human body was for the time. Natalie had observed every curve of the statue, even its private parts, and compared them to Louis, who was far more statuesque in build without the excess of stony muscle that Michelangelo had given his little God. Then the guard had called closing time, Louis had taken Natalie's arm in his again, and they had walked in happy silence to the little hotel opposite the Town Hall.
The clerk had become used to their weekly visit and after the first month he had begun to give them the same room each time, reserving it for them without being asked if the hotel was extraordinarily full. It was a shabby little place, last redecorated in the seventies. But Louis thought it quaint and Natalie enjoyed the view of the long avenue down the side of the Town Hall. She liked to throw the French doors open to the little balcony and stand behind the curtains naked, watching the traffic go by.
They collected the room key and took the old rattler of a lift to the second floor. They walked past two doors in the hallway and finally came to their room. Louis opened the door, and ushered Natalie inside. He had placed a glorious bouquet of red roses in the room before he'd come to meet her, and had put a bottle of champagne on ice in a bucket beside them.
"How beautiful," Natalie said, breathing in the delicate fragrance of the flowers which filled the room, partially covering the stale smell of must.
"I thought you would like them," Louis said, looking from the flowers to Natalie's face. "But your beauty far exceeds theirs." He came to her in one elegant step, clasped her by the shoulders and passionately kissed her on the mouth. He began to peel her clothes off her, first her coat, then her black shirt and matching skirt, and dropped them all to the floor. He released her from his embrace and stepped back to admire her.
Natalie stood in the middle of the room, clothed in nothing but a black brassiere, black lace French knickers, and lace topped stay-ups. Louis's eyes roamed all over her body and feasted on every curve, every freckle, every crevice. Finally his eyes met hers again.
"Get on the bed," he said and she obediently complied. Natalie drew back the bed covers and sat down on the white sheet, her feet still on the floor. Louis knelt before her, grasped the elastic at the top of her knickers and dragged them off over her legs. He pushed her knees open wide with his hands and held them apart with his shoulders. Louis began to kiss at the insides of Natalie's thighs, then his kisses turned to ravenous bites of the soft flesh as he worked his way up to the thatch of dark hair that lay at the pinnacle. He buried his nose amongst the black hair and breathed in Natalie's scent like it was a drug required to feed an addiction.
He stripped his coat from his shoulders and dropped it behind him, then found Natalie's flesh with his hands and pried the two lips open to reveal the soft pink folds within. He licked the inside of one lip first, and then the other, then drove his tongue in between, seeking the juices which flowed from within. He lapped and lapped to compensate for having been deprived of her for the past week, his nose pressing against the bud that lay in wait above, his face now firmly buried between Natalie's thighs.
