MADEMOISELLE FROM GAY PAREE
—1—
For several days I couldn’t seem to keep from thinking about poor old
Lisa and her jealous husband and wondering whether or not they had made
peace yet. It was a shame for them to have hard feelings, just because I
happened to stop in to see my old nurse. I hoped Lisa told him the
truth—if she hadn’t before I got to Le Mans again, he’d hear it from
me.
I was hoping that the General might change his plans and go to Le Mans
this trip—much as I wanted to see the Captain—because I had to see
Leon soon and find out what kind of a game he thought he was playing. If
he had left Le Mans, there would be no other way of proving to Pierre
that I was not a regular soldier except by, well, some kind of a vulgar
display: if Leon was still there when I got there, then it shouldn’t be
very difficult to make the old buzzard believe our story.
Now, however, we were en route to Paris and I didn’t know what was going
to happen. The General was very irritable and jumpy and complained of
headaches and nervousness. I thought he was about ready to cave in—and
if so, what would become of us?
—2—
A few days in Paris and I knew very well that General Backett was
weakening under the strain. The doctors told him he ought to take a rest
trip down to the South or over to England, but he positively refused. He
finally had to give up work for a while and went to the hospital way
over on the other side of the city from where Ben and I had to stay. I
didn’t know what we would do with ourselves. He’d probably be there a
couple of weeks anyway and there was nothing I could do, outside of a
few routine things that didn’t amount to anything. Ben and I had to
report to the Intelligence every day, just to satisfy some crazy
regulation, but outside of that we had the time to ourselves. And it was
just my luck that Captain Winstead was out of the city and wouldn’t
return for two or three days yet.
The General didn’t have any more faith in Chilblaines, for he had him
assigned to temporary duty at Intelligence. Of course, he couldn’t be of
any help over there—no more help there than he was to the General—but
the General wouldn’t think of intrusting any, even very routine,
inspections to him and he had to do something with him. It was the same
as a leave of absence.
Maybe we’d have the laugh on Chilblaines, though, for they were liable
to put him to work over there, not because he was a good man, but
because, when good officers are scarce, any officer at all must do. And
good officers were scarce just now, due to the heavy activity all over
the A.E.F.
—3—
I arranged to have flowers sent out to the General every day during his
stay at the hospital. I didn’t tell Ben a word about the flowers, but
next morning when we visited the General to pay our respects and see if
there was anything we could do to make him more comfortable, the nurse
told Ben the flowers had come from a florist’s and that the card had an
enlisted man’s name on it. I might have known it.
As soon as we were outside again, he began. “Who in hell ever heard of
enlisted men takin’ flowers to a General?” he demanded in disgust.
“’Course we want the Gen. to be comfortable and happy—but let him stay
there! We don’t want him to get well too fast—the longer he stays the
more time we have for enjoyin’ the sights of this beautiful city!”
“Oh, we’ll have plenty of time,” I reassured him.
“Don’t make no difference,” he insisted. “Nobody ever heard of an
enlisted man sendin’ flowers to a General! You must be crazy.... But
what the hell do I care—it’s your funeral!”
I had to laugh.
“Now what the hell are ya laughin’ at?” he demanded. “’Course I gotta
admit that some o’ the things you do sure are funny! Funny as hell!
Sometimes ya act just like a woman!”
I continued to laugh at him, and it got his goat.
“What the hell are ya laughin’ at, ya little shrimp?” he exploded. “I’m
the one that oughta laugh—I oughta laugh at you fer bein’ such a damn
fool as to send flowers to a General! The joke’s on you, ya poor toad!”
And he started to laugh.
Well, when he laughed, I had to laugh some more, and the more I laughed
the harder he laughed. It developed into a contest and I was gasping for
breath.
Finally he stopped long enough to say, “By Gosh, Leony, ya must have a
good sense o’ humor to be able to laugh at a joke on yerself!” And he
burst into a guffaw again.
I was doubled up by this time, but I managed to gasp out, “I’m not
laughing at that, you big goof! I’m laughing because I put on all the
cards to go with those flowers,
“‘From Private Garlotz and Sergeant
Canwick, with hopes for a speedy recovery.’
Now laugh that off!”
“What!” he demanded.
I repeated the text of the cards and added, “And I ordered flowers to be
delivered every morning for the next ten days!”
“O God Almighty!” he groaned.
He couldn’t see anything to laugh at now.
—4—
War-time Paris was supposed to be rather a wild place, but so far we
hadn’t struck anything very terrible. Perhaps we didn’t know where to
look. Anyway, I got quite a kick out of taking Ben around and showing
him the historic sights of the city. Nothing exciting about such things
as famous “rues” and boulevards, cathedrals, theaters, parks and
monuments, and Ben was obviously bored. We even went to see the railroad
stations—that’s how hard up we were for something to do.
Ben’s idea of a good time would be to visit all the dives up Montmarte
way, the House of Nations and peep-hole palaces that we’d heard so much
about. When I got my courage screwed up, I intended to go with him on a
tour of those joints. For the time being, though, stuff like that didn’t
interest me: my education had gone along pretty fast and I wanted to
save something for later. Not that seeing those things would hurt
me—Lord knows, just looking at dirty things won’t soil anyone’s soul. I
just didn’t see anything very interesting in the sights we’d probably
see in those places.
Ben had heard all kinds of stories about some of these places. He told
me some things that I just couldn’t believe. Ugh! I didn’t think they
really did such things anywhere—and if I went to one of those joints
it’d probably be out of curiosity, just to find out for sure whether
they did or not. I was tired of hearing about impossible things and not
knowing whether to believe or not. However, curiosity wouldn’t kill the
kitty.
—5—
One day Ben and I were standing on the comer of two avenues, which Ben
said no white man could name, wondering what we could do to kill a
couple of hours, when a pretty little drably clad mademoiselle parked
herself beside me and remained there until I paid attention to her.
I nudged Ben and said, “Here’s a chance for you, Ben.”
He looked her over and decided that she would suit his taste. “But she
picked you out,” he objected. “Go ahead, Leony—she’s a cutie. I’ll
mooch along and see you later.”
He started to do this very thing, but I caught his arm before he could
take a step. “As you were, Gibraltar!” I commanded. “I don’t want
it—you take it.”
Well, he thought it over, gave the little lady another scrutiny, decided
to stay. “Well, if you ain’t specially interested, maybe she’d like to
push along with a good man.” So we switched places and he addressed
himself to the girl. “A-hem ... er ... bon jour, mam’selle.”
Very engaging and cheerful, I thought, very much astonished at the
vibrant timbre of Ben’s love-making voice. I decided not to run away
yet. This sounded interesting, and I wanted to hear just how one goes
about making a trade with one of these wild women of the boulevards.
“B’jour, m’sieu.” She sounded very sweet and tender. I was really
surprised, for I had expected to hear a tough voice that would shame a
foghorn.
“Parley-vous Anglais?” inquired Ben.
“Une petite peu.”
“Huh?”
No answer.
“I said ‘Comment?’” insisted Ben.
She turned to him then and said, while she looked at me, “I said I speak
Anglaish juste a little.”
“Now, ain’t that grand!” exclaimed Ben, expanding with relief. The
mademoiselle smiled at him. “What’s on yer mind? Whatta ya got on fer
to-night, this evening, this afternoon, right now?” he inquired, leaning
on one foot very nonchalantly—about as nonchalantly as a cow would look
leaning on one foot.
“Me? For you?” The mademoiselle laughed. “Ou la la!”
Ben laughed, too, but retorted, “Sure! Who’d you think I’m tryin’ to fix
up—General Pershing?”
“Ou la la!” she exclaimed. “You want to keel me?”
Ben was getting uneasy. In an aside to me he said something about a
horse collar and then returned to the attack with a forceful “Ferget it!
Don’t make me burst into hysterics laughin’. What’s the dope? How about
it?”
“O non, non, non,” she told him sweetly. “C’est impossible! Such a beeg
strong man! Ou la la ... non, non!... But your frien’, is he int’rest?”
“Naw, he don’t like women—he’s a cherry tree,” says my sidekicker
deprecatingly.
“Nevaire wis a woman? Nevaire?... Ou la la!” She stared at me as if I
were some kind of a strange animal that she had heard stories about but
had never seen. “Oh—I sink he ees grand.... I like heem trés bon.”
“He won’t go,” declared Ben, beginning to get insulted. “Ferget it now!
Don’t be annoyin’ my friend. What about me?”
“Nevaire ... nevaire ...” she told him. “But I have zis frien’ ... she
will like you.”
“Where is she?” demanded Ben. “Is she as good lookin’ as you?”
“Yes ... trés chic.... But your frien’?”
“Whatta ya say, Leony? This looks pretty good to me.”
“Nothing doing here,” I replied with a laugh.
“Aw, come on an’ oblige the young lady, won’t ya?” he pleaded.
I wished then that I had left when this intercourse began, but it was
too late now. “No,” I repeated. “I don’t want to go, Ben. Can’t spare
the money now anyway.”
“Aw, maybe they won’t want anything but a coupla drinks o’ vin rouge,”
he argued. Then he turned to her. “Combien?”
“Oo ... vingt-cinq francs ... fine, yes?”
Ben exploded. “Twenty-five francs! Fine, hell! Say, do ya think we look
like generals?”
I thought this was my way out, so I joined in the protest. “We haven’t
seen that many francs for a month. You’re too high-priced for us,
mam’selle.”
But the mademoiselle had allowed for a possible reduction and
immediately disclosed that fact when she faced me to say, “Well, for you
may-be, I make special price. Ten francs?”
“No—no—and again no!” I told her. “It’s not worth that much to me. I
wouldn’t give ten francs for the best woman in the world!” I thought
this was a pretty convincing bit of hard-boiledness.
“No?” she expressed her disbelief, and looked almost hungrily into my
eyes. “Ah, but you do not know!... It ees worth plenty more than
that!... You see ... you do not like, I geeve you ten francs, yes?”
“Holy Jemima!” exclaimed Ben. “Where the hell are we? Am I hearin’
things?”
“Ten francs,” repeated the sister of the streets.
“Now ye’re talking, baby,” Ben burst in again. “I wouldn’t give
twenty-five francs to the Queen of Sheba, but ten francs ain’t so bad
fer a queen like you.”
“Too much money for me,” I reiterated. “What do you do with all your
money, mam’selle?”
“Oo la la ... must pay my room ... must eat, buy clothes.”
“Huh—” observed Ben, “chargin’ prices like that you must sleep in the
Tuileries, eat all the time an’ not wear nothing but diamond studded
gold pants.”
The mademoiselle didn’t like the sarcasm. “You make jokes wis me!” she
told him. “You make jokes wis my business!” I think she began to suspect
that she hadn’t made a trade.
Anyway, Ben piped up promptly and told her, “Business? Say, you ain’t no
business—you’re a whole damned industry!... Now, if ya got any business
sense atall, which maybe you ain’t, you’ll take my small contribution to
the cause and let the next man pay the rent.”
“What zis?”
“I said, why not take me and be satisfied for once in your life. You
can’t go wrong, sister: fifty thousand women can’t be wrong!”
She didn’t get him, but I did. What a boast!
All she said was, “I don’t like beeg men! I like your frien’.”
“Will ya take five francs and be happy?” Ben again.
She looked at me. “Ooo la la—I like heem ... yes.”
Ben was discouraged. “Go ahead, Leony. I’ll see you later.”
“But, my frien’ weel like you ... she likes beeg mans!”
“Combien?”
“Cinq francs ... if I esplain to her.”
Ben beamed again. “She better be good lookin’ an’ young, mam’selle, or
I’ll take it outa yer hide!” Gee, the abuse these women stand! He was
all ready to accompany the solicitous young thing, but I was
panic-stricken and wouldn’t budge.
“Come, Leony. That’s fair enough fer a good lookin’ girl like her.”
“Naw—you go ahead, Ben. I wouldn’t spend even five francs for that!” I
had to say something strong.
That did the trick. She was really insulted now. “You piker!” she spit
at me. “What you want ... I should pay you anyway?... Nevaire wis a
woman in your life! Bah!”
And she turned away, shook her head emphatically when Ben asked again,
“How about me?” and flounced around the corner out of sight.
Ben looked after her for a moment, shook his head sadly. Then he
remembered what had happened and turned to glare and growl at me. “What
the hell’s the matter with you, Leony? God almighty, ya can’t expect to
get anythin’ decent fer nothin’ in a place like this!”
“Aw, Ben, I don’t care anything about going with a woman like that,” I
told him.
“Well, I don’t know what kind of a woman you would go with, if you don’t
like that!”
“I don’t either,” I admitted frankly.
“And she liked you, too.... Gosh, but you’re an awful damn fool
sometimes!”
I didn’t say anything so he continued to meditate and think aloud,
ending with a huge sigh and a fatalistic, “Well, we know what this
Mademoiselle from Gay Paree is anyway! After hearin’ so much about her,
it’s a surprise to find her livin’ up to expectations. She was a red hot
cutie, alright alright.”
We spent an uncomfortable afternoon. Ben’s appetite had been aroused and
he wanted to chase after every woman we met. Two or three accosted us
openly, and Ben would try half-heartedly to make a trade, but knowing
that I wouldn’t go with him, he didn’t work up much zeal over any of
them. None were as pretty as the first, anyway.
Ben was disgusted with me. Hardly spoke to me that night. Said he didn’t
know what to think of me: “Takin’ flowers to the General an’ refusin’ to
go with the prettiest mademoiselle in Paris even when she offered to
return your money if ya wasn’t satisfied! Holy cripes! You act just like
a woman—damned if ya don’t.”
So that’s how matters stood between us.... To-morrow I expected to see
the Captain. Ben would have a little freedom to chase the elusive
chickens about the boulevards, and perhaps he’d calm down a little if he
had any success.