City Lounge: Paris (Book Three, Chapter Seven: Hiding from the Rain)

Chapter Seven: Hiding from the Rain:

I felt a drop on my cheek.

“Oh,” I said. When I looked up it started to rain. I turned to Simone.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Come with me,” Simone said. She grabbed me by the hand and started running away. My girl laughed as we ran. Okay, next part of the story was coming up. I bet we will finally get home about three in morning tomorrow. But somehow, I don’t care. I forgot what a rush love can give. I keep wanting to jump further down the hole with Simone. Was love always like this? I want to say it was, but I am not so sure.

We ended up in front of an old record store.

“Perfect, Simone said. She pushed off the door and walked inside. The smell of mothballs made my nose burn. My eyes began to water.

“You okay?” Simone asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Just give me a minute.” I blinked for a few seconds. When my vision cleared, I became confused. When did we step back into 1957? Through the rain and clouds outside, the golden wallpaper managed to shine through. I didn’t recognize any of the pop stars in the posters. All of the rows had only vinyl. Not a single CD in sight.

“Simone,” I said.

“Hm?” she asked.

“What kind of record shop is this?” I whispered.

“What kind do you think it is?” my girl asked. I took another look around.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Old people music?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing!” an old man’s voice spoke up. I jumped as I looked up. A man in his seventies stood behind a glass counter. He pushed up his gray-framed glasses. I straightened up and cleared my throat.

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” I said. The old man narrowed his eyes.

“What brings you by today?” he asked. Simone took a step forward.

“We just wanted to get out of the rain,” she said. “Can we stay here until it passes? We won’t make a mess here?”

“Sure,” the old man said. “I don’t have much else going here today.”

“Thank you,” Simone said. The old man sat back in place and pulled out his newspaper. How does Simone do this? She seems to be able to talk her way through anything. She must be some sort of a witch. My girl turned back to me.

“Let’s just look around,” she whispered. I shrugged my shoulders. Might as well. What else are we going to do here? It doesn’t look like much to see anywhere.

Looking around through the aisles reminded me that I needed to be more in touch with French pop culture. I don’t even know the hottest acts today, let alone some of the music from the past. When I think of French music, I just see the accordion. (Sad, I know. But I didn’t want to come here in the beginning.) Simone, on the other hand, looked just as content to be browsing. I still can’t tell what she is thinking at times. I tilted my head as I watched her.

“See anything interesting?” I asked.

“Maybe,” she said. I came around to see what she was looking at. A man and a woman appeared to be singing to each other.  I couldn’t read the brightly colored letters.

“What does that say?” I asked.

“Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin,” Simone said. She held it up for me to have a closer look. I tilted my head.

“Is it any good?” I asked.

“I don’t really know,” she said. “Mama used to play it around the old apartment she lived in with Papa.” That last part caught me off guard.

“Papa?” I asked. “You rarely talk about him.”

“What is there to say about him?” Simone asked. “He left us when I was a baby. But, Mama still loves him. I can tell just by looking at her.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m so sorry.” Simone turned her head and looked at me.

“Why?” she asked. I shrugged and shook my head.

“I just thought…” I said. Simone smiled at me.

“You apologize too much,” she said. “You don’t have to feel sorry all of the time.” I raised my eyebrow.

“Do I really do that?” I asked. She nodded once.

“Oh…” I said.

“But that doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” she pointed out. “Just pull back a little bit from time to time.” Somehow when she says that, it makes little bit more sense. Simone held up the album between us.

“I think I will buy this,” she said.

“Okay…” I said.

“Let’s see what else they have in here,” she said. I forced myself to smile rather awkwardly. I doubt that there’s going to be much in here anyway.

“Sure,” I said instead. She smiled and walked further down the aisle. My girl didn’t strike me as the type to like vintage pop music. Then again, should I really be surprised? She is kind of hippish. It shows in everything that she wears, her tastes in music art, and the way her apartment looks. Then again, I can’t really complain. Paula was too much in the modern pop world. I’m surprised her tastes hadn’t changed since high school. Her side of the room had to be pink. Was it normal for a grown woman to still be into the Backstreet Boys and One Direction? Given between the 1D fan and the hippy chick, the hippy chick will always win in my case.

“Will? Will? Will?” I heard her ask in the distance. Before I known it, flash! I blinked after the light. Simone lowered her camera. I groaned and threw back my head once I realized what happened.

“Is this how you’re going to get my attention now?” I asked.

“Not really,” she said. “You looked like you were off into space. What was on your mind?” I shook my head.

“Just dumb stuff,” I said. “Did you want something?”

“Not really,” she said.

“Oh,” I said back. I looked out the window. It sure looks like it’s going to be a long rain, doesn’t it?

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