The Perils of Mandy

"Let me say that I am not without contacts of my own," Philippe ventured, "if you wish to extend your new career as a performing artist."

Mandy and he were sipping cappuccinos and nibbling croissants at a small cafe near the

Institut de Musique Paris.

"A friend has a small bistro," Philippe continued. "He is always on the lookout for performing talent. I doubt that he could match in Euros what you would get from Monsieur Duval's

libertin

cabaret, but it would provide a little compensation to help you and there would be none of the other expectations or pressures."

"That sounds interesting," Mandy said. She had recently turned down an offer by the Institute's headmaster to perform twice a week at what she thought of as "a cabaret of ill repute." The offer was accompanied by his strong sexual overtures, which played a large part in her decision because she had enjoyed her brief experience on the stage and her efforts had been well received by the crowd.

"May I suggest, if you have no more urgent demands upon your time today, that we continue the tour we began last week, ending the day at my friend's bistro and perhaps talk to him."

She did have the time. Her morning classes were over and her Friday afternoon one canceled due to illness of the instructor.

Their second day together viewing the wonders of Paris was as enjoyable as the first had been. Philippe, a tour guide before his current position as administrative assistant to the institute, was once again a font of information with interesting sidebars. They wandered through the spacious Jardin des Tuileries, with its manicured trees and decorative pools, to the Place de la Concorde, the octagonal square in the heart of 18

th

Century Paris where Napolean paraded and Louis XVI lost his head; then walked the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, with its larger-than-life reliefs depicting the victories and glories of France.

After five or six miles of city walking, Mandy enjoyed the opportunity to rest at

Chez Luc et Amis,

where Philippe ordered them

moules marinières

accompanied by a strong red Cabernet Sauvignon "to balance out the flavors." It was a mid-size bistro with a small dance floor and tables facing an even smaller performing platform, where a violinist and vocalist were just winding up, to a smattering of applause from lookers-on. The atmosphere could be described as "relaxed" or even "homey," Mandy thought.

Philippe's friend Luc joined them after their meal, bearing a bottled dessert of

Vin de Paille.

Luc confirmed he was indeed looking for a musician/vocalist on busy weekend evenings to "warm up the crowd" and inspire amateurs to take to the open mic. The offer was €50 a night, he said, almost apologetically, but would include comp dinner and house wine.

"I hereby apply. When do you want to audition me?" Mandy asked.

"No need," Luc said. "You must be good if the musical prodigy here vouches for you."

"I'll take the position provided that my patron can share in the refreshments," she said, putting a hand on Philippe's shoulder.

"Deal! I'm always comping the parasite anyway," Luc said, dodging Philippe's simulated punch. "How about starting tomorrow?" he asked.

"

Non

," Philippe said. "I have something special planned tomorrow evening for her enjoyment and continued education into our

histoire française.

"

Mandy wondered what his plans were. "I would look forward to it next weekend," she told Luc, who was amenable to the revised start. He left the table to attend to business.

"I apologize for interrupting your negotiations," Philippe said, "but I trust you are available tomorrow? I have prepared an excursion to the country so you may experience a most interesting attraction."

She smiled and nodded. "Are you going to give me any hints?"

"None, except to advise comfortable shoes for walking, and a dress that does not need to be formal, but is perhaps a little more than casual, if I am making the proper description."

During a violinist's gypsy serenade, Philippe asked her if she wished to dance, and they took to the floor. It was the most body contact of their fairly short time together, and she found she enjoyed his firm grip and the feel of his hand on her lower back. He tentatively spun her during an active sequence, and she twirled around, coming back, taking one of his hands and going through an arch he made with his other arm. He did a couple of 360-degree turns on one heel himself, and they met again, their midsections touching lightly. On top of his other qualities, he was a nimble dancer too, she thought.

A little tired from the busy day and the wine, Mandy was grateful Philippe was there to steady her when she stumbled slightly on the return to her living quarters. Perceiving her unsteadiness, he hailed a taxi, and they cut the walk short.

He left her with a kiss on each cheek. It was more than his usual perfunctory

bise

- his lips made actual contact with her cheeks - and their eyes may have held a second more than usual before parting. He was indeed a dear man, she thought while riding the elevator to her third-floor dorm room.

A Saturday night party was in progress as she walked down the hall. Mandy had become something of a celebrity as the story spread of her successful contest of wills with the institute's headmaster. Several students extended salutations and invitations to join in the fun. She respectfully declined, on grounds of exhaustion.

She virtually bumped into her roommate Julie, who was rushing out the door to join the festivities. "Ciao, and how did your rendezvous go with your handsome advisor?"

"Rendezvous? I don't know if I'd call it that," Mandy said. "Philippe was just showing me some of the highlights of Paris."

"Highlights, huh?" Julie said, eyebrows raised, coy smile in place. "You are late. Are you sure you did not also explore any 'low' dark areas with him? I think he has, how do you say it, 'the hots' for you."

Mandy laughed while waving her off. "Excuse me, I have to talk to John."

With the time difference, it was still early evening back home. She turned on the computer and her college boyfriend's image soon appeared on the monitor. John was sitting shirtless at his desk. Maybe pantless too? The thought provoked a slight hormonal stimulation. It had been how long since her last "rendezvous" with him - a month?

"The weather must be hot there," she ventured.

"It'd be a lot hotter if you were here," he countered, his tongue running subtly across his lips. She laughed.

"Let me see, are you in the same state below the waste?" she said, rising in her seat, extending her head closer to the webcam, her eyeballs looking down as if she could peer through the monitors and several thousand miles of intervening space.

John got into the game. "Actually, yes," he responded. "Like what you see?"

"It looks spirited," she said, pursing her lips in a circle, then opening and closing them.

"That is an understatement," he answered, with a smile. "For some reason, it immediately perks up and takes an interest whenever you come on the monitor."

"I wish I could greet it properly. There are so many limitations to electronic contact," Mandy said with a sigh as she resumed sitting normally. That feeling between her legs had intensified. "It seems to be getting hot here too. I'll need a change of panties soon. The present one may become too moist." As she talked she removed her blouse, and thought about ridding herself of the bra too, just to see his reaction, but decided to retain some degree of modesty.

John grimaced. "A strip tease now. You are really not helping my heat wave any. So how was your tour today?"

"I've got a new job offer," she said excitedly. "Philippe showed me some more of the city, and we had dinner at the small bistro of a friend of his who's looking for weekend entertainment."

"Not the type of entertainment that last place specialized in, I hope."

"No, it's respectable," she laughed, and told him all about the day, the locales visited, Philippe's expertise as a guide, and his friend Luc's bistro with its good food and wine, topped off by the job, which would start the following weekend.

"Sounds like it could be fun," John said. "Is it in a safe neighborhood, near transportation?"

Just like Johnny, she thought, still looking out for me. She assured him it was and said Philippe had volunteered to escort her there the first couple of nights so she could get familiar with the logistics. Despite the reassurance, he looked a bit pensive, she thought.

"Oh, let me show you something," John said. He swiveled around in his desk chair and rose to get something from the bookcase in the background. She could see that he was indeed bare-assed, and admired his tight buns. When he turned, she noted also that his pecker was indeed way beyond flaccid. It bobbed, as if gently waving at her, and that sensation between her legs increased. John cut off the nice view as he held a paper closer to the cam. Handwritten in red ink was an A+ and the words, "You have a talent. Keep writing."

"The first short story submission in my creative writing class," John said, taking down the paper so she could see him, but just his torso since he had sat down again. "Prof Paul liked it. Kind of funny his advice to 'keep writing,' since I better if I don't want to flunk the course."

"That's great," she said. "Paul has a rep as someone hard to please, and I know how much you like writing. When I get back you're going to help me with lyrics for my beautiful original compositions so I can break into the big time."

They talked a while more until she was suddenly overtaken by a yawn. Perhaps he interpreted that as a cue, taking off his glasses and leaning close to the cam so that two large lips pursed in a kiss were all that was visible on her monitor. She chortled as he backed off, an ardent look in his deep, hazel eyes.

"It must be about 2 in the morning there," he said. "I'll let you get some sleep. Love you, music lady."

"Kisses to you, tempting naked literary stud." She pursed her lips, and he did the same once more, then stood up, perhaps to turn off the switch on his computer tower, and the last view of him was his hard, bobbing cock as their screen images departed.

He was torturing her. Well, she had teased him, got him that way, Mandy thought. Turnabout was fair play. As she disrobed for the shower she found her panty indeed moist. Her nipples reflected in the mirror seemed swollen and sensitive as she briefly cradled her boobs. But the warm water flowing over and around her had a relaxing, soothing effect. Laying down she drifted quickly off to sleep despite the muted sounds of partying on the other side of the door.

* * *

Mandy met Philippe for breakfast, or more like brunch, as they had agreed an early start was unnecessary. She noticed that he wore what looked like an expensive jacket, and was glad she had not skimped on her dress. He had warned her of something special later that day. Managing to beat him to it, she used her credit card to pay for the meal, which he acknowledged with a touch of regret as if it undermined his masculinity.

"I know you are an independent, modern woman, but your guide must be extra attentive today," he said, smiling. "You must be treated like royalty."

At the train station, he ignored Mandy's protests that she wanted to pay for her own ticket. She watched as the urban setting gradually became more pastoral. They disembarked after about 35 miles, near Maincy, where Philippe guided them to a shuttle bearing the legend "Châteaubus" that wound through fields and woodlands for a few miles more, stopping before an impressive gate.

"

Bienvenue Mademoiselle au château de Vaux-le-Vicomte

," Philippe said, adding the flourish of a bow before an impressive display of classical opulence: Situated well back from the road was a huge castle surrounded by a moat overlooking an expanse of formal gardens that seemed to stretch forever.

They made their way through wrought iron gates mounted on tall masonry pillars topped with sculpted heads of mythological figures. A long cobblestone drive led to the huge structure, where they wandered among high-ceilinged rooms with gilded walls and an assortment of statues, tapestries, paintings, and antique furnishings. Mandy was stunned. It made the historic mansions she had toured in the U.S. look like low-cost housing.

"This isn't the Palace at Versailles?" she asked.

"You are close," Philippe responded. "

Vaux-le-Vicomte

was the inspiration for Versailles and formal French gardens of the era. There is some irony to the story if you wish to hear."

"Of course," Mandy said, taking his arm. "I expect nothing less from a world-class guide."

"The estate was commissioned in the mid-1600s by Nicolas Fouquet, who engaged the best architect, interior decorator, and landscape designer of the time to make a showplace fit for a king. In fact, Louis XIV, the Sun King, was a frequent honored guest. To secure the necessary grounds for his elaborate plans, Fouquet purchased three villages and employed the villagers in the upkeep and maintenance of the estate, which required 18,000 workers. The château and its patron became for a short time a focus for the arts, as well as the site of fine feasts for the nobility."

"For only a short time?"

"It was lavish, refined, and dazzling to behold, but those characteristics proved tragic for its owner," Philippe said with a grim smile. "Fouquet was the superintendent of finances for the Sun King. His intentions were to flatter the king, who was his employer and most special guest, but the plan backfired."

"How so?"

"The king was jealous that the château outdid his own, and Fouquet's rivals whispered against him, insinuating this magnificence was funded by the misappropriation of public funds. Consequently, the king had Fouquet arrested and imprisoned for life.

Vaux-le-Vicomte

was placed under sequestration, and the king seized tapestries, statues, and other appurtenances, including a greenhouse of orange trees. He also confiscated Fouquet's team of artists to design what would be an even more grandiose project - the palace and gardens of Versailles. Unlike his finance minister, the Sun King did not have to worry about charges of misusing public funds."

"Wow, that's some story," Mandy said.

The chateau had an impressive dome, which Philippe noted had been a marvel in itself, one of the highest points around in the 17

th

Century. They climbed a steep set of stairs to the top, and out onto a balcony for a 360-degree bird's eye view of the estate and its formal gardens. On the ground once more, they wandered briefly through stables housing a collection of carriages and a machine described as a precursor of the forklift, perhaps used by the king to transport Fouquet's confiscated orange trees.

"We have a few hours yet. Do you wish to stroll through the garden?" Philippe asked, telling her it displaced 100 acres of woodlands, and stretched nearly a mile and a half.

"Just a short stroll through a little country garden," Mandy commented. "Sure, but when you suggested my semi-formal dress, I'm glad you also suggested walking shoes rather than heels."

As they proceeded, she noticed the garden had much more than flowers. There were water basins and canals, fountains, patterned terraces, symmetrical rows of shrubbery, gravel walks, broad grassed "avenues," and a large reflecting pool with grottoes and statues in hidden niches.

After meandering for over an hour, they took a break on a stone bench overshadowed by a gigantic statue of Hercules. The chateau was visible in the distance at the end of a long major "avenue" of the garden.

"Thank you so much for showing me all this," Mandy said, taking Philippe's hand. "I don't know if I would want to live here - I think I'm cut out more for small cabins by mountain streams - but it has been a wonderful experience seeing how the other half lives."

"To be more accurate it is more like a half of a thousandth of a percent that once lived in such opulence," he replied with a broad smile. "But it is no less than you deserve for treating me to breakfast. I told you I would have to make sure you were treated as royalty."

Philippe was so good-looking, she thought, his easy smile accenting the laugh lines around his brown eyes, a lock of dark hair on his brow stirred by a passing breeze. They were close together and for a moment she thought he might kiss her. When he did not, she kicked off her shoes, lifted her feet up on the bench, straightened the folds of her loose dress, and leaned back against his shoulder.

"Her majesty hereby commissions you to be the royal recliner," she told him, "on pain of investigation for misappropriation of funds of the

Institut de Musique Paris.

"

"To avoid imprisonment, I would be happy to offer her majesty my orange trees," Philippe laughed. "Or perhaps we could share an apple," he added, producing one along with a bottle of water from the day pack he carried. Mandy took a bite and passed it back to him. He did the same. "Now we have a big problem," he said. "Eating the forbidden fruit may mean banishment from the garden."

She caught on and chuckled. "Well, maybe we'll have to settle for that little cabin by a mountain stream," she said.

They passed another half hour in leisurely chat. She remarked they had encountered very few other visitors the entire day, which Philippe said was due partly to the prime tourist season being over and also to the obsession of the tourist crowds with Versailles. Mandy was happy that was the case, as she enjoyed the feeling of privacy among such unaccustomed opulence. But soon, another visitor came by, an older man, who asked if they would mind if he took a photograph. They began to rise to get out of the way of his view of the Hercules statue.

"Oh no, remain,

s'il vous plaît,

" he asked. "An attractive young couple will lend perspective and interest to a photograph of this massive exemplar of masculinity."

So they were a "couple" that seemed to fit together, Mandy thought, smiling to herself.

The photographer wandered off and they fell silent, watching birds flutter through shrubs and clouds flow across the sky. Mandy felt so relaxed she may have dozed off while leaning against Philippe because she suddenly became aware that the shadows had lengthened.

"Are you awake, sleeping princess?" he asked.

"I'm sorry," she said, trying to stifle a yawn. "I guess I can take just so much majesty in one day."

"Ah, but one more royal treat awaits, and we probably should begin to make our way back to the château so you may be waited on as befits one of your rank."

"Lead on dear prince," Mandy stopped using him as a recliner and swung her feet down to the ground. They walked slowly along the garden avenue toward the massive building in the distance. Mandy realized she was brushing into him and their hands occasionally joined, quite easily. She looked at him, and he returned her smile. It felt right.

Twilight was upon them as they neared the chateau, and she could see activity on the

parterre

terrace near one of the stone and brick service buildings on the western side of the garden. Tables had been set up, covered in white linen, and candles were being lit there and at several other points surrounding the chateau and the nearby gardens. Classical music was playing through hidden speakers.

"It looks as if they're preparing for an event," she said.

"You are witnessing the creation of our dining establishment for this evening," Philippe replied, "and also the illumination of the château and grounds as it would have been during formal galas in the 17

th

Century. The management says some 2,000 candles are used. This temporary restaurant under the stars is called

Les Charmilles,

which I believe translates to "charms of the arbors" in English, and we may be seated shortly, but should we enter once more the château and gaze upon it in the pre-Edison light used in the days of Fouquet?"