Chapter 14: The White Kepi

“Fleur Chappell said you would be contacting me, M’sieu Soissons...”

“Please call me Philippe,” I said.

“So I read your book, “Fabia Gulian continued as if I had not said a word. “I think the film company are on to a winner and I am willing to become your agent. My charge is the standard literary agents’ fee of ten per-cent of the income made throughout the European Union and fifteen per cent everywhere else on every contract I make on your behalf. Are you willing to employ me as your agent?” I nodded, and she pushed a contract across the desk to me. “You may want your lawyers to check...”

“Fleur says you are honest so I’ll just sign.”

Fabia Gulian was an attractive woman in her mid-forties, tall and slender with dark brown eyes and glossy black hair that fell to her elegant shoulders. Her face was similar to that of the Egyptian Queen Nefertiti although I learned later Fabia was born in Turkmenistan, wherever that was. She wore no wedding band but the business card she’d handed me named her as Madam Fabia Gulian.

She smiled, showing small, gleaming white teeth. “That it is most gratifying to hear, Philippe.” She added her signature to the document and then held out her hand. “Welcome aboard.” We shook hands, her grip was surprisingly strong. “I will get straight to work on your behalf,” she said. “What is the name of the film production company that wishes to have an option to buy the book rights, and what is their telephone number?”

“I have no idea!.”

Fabia laughed. “You certainly are a babe in the literary woods, Philippe. But fear not, I will take care of you as if you were one of my children. Actually I don’t have any children but if I did I would defend them like a lioness.” She picked up her phone. “I will call Fleur to get the details of the film company, discover what they have to offer and then get back to you.”

Three days later she rang me at the Barn.

“Liberty Lady Productions have offered three thousand for the option to buy for nine months. I suggest you accept. I know it’s not much but look at the option price as you would a book advance...”

“I got five times that just for collaborating with Monika Morningstar!”

Fabia gave a sexy chuckle. “You had fifteen thousand francs for your collaboration with Monika. You will get three thousand US dollars for the option to buy, which works out to just over eighteen thousand francs. For reasons unknown all monetary transactions carried out in the film industry of whatever country are in US dollars.”

“Eighteen thousand francs? Wow, accept it! Do I need to sign anything at their office?”

“There’s no need at this juncture for you to meet them face to face but if you really want to we would have to go to Paris, their offices are in Avenue George Clemenceau. I was there yesterday; I flew from Perpignan there and back in a day as I like to see who I’m doing business with. From first impressions they seem sincere in wanting to make a movie of your novel. If they haven’t got all their ducks in a line to start filming at the end of nine months then the option to buy is revoked and other interested parties can seek an option to buy the film rights of the book. But as I say these people appear confident they will begin shooting well before the option date runs out. We will then need to meet them face to face and settle on the price you are prepared to accept for the film rights. That is not the copyright, which remains yours, but a company with the film rights to your novel can make any alterations to the plot and characters and any number of other changes. How many films have you seen that follow the book exactly?”

“Point taken,” I said.

“I will return to Paris in a few days’ time and sign the contract on your behalf. I will need to know your banking details so that your money can be transferred from my account to your account, minus my ten per cent of course –” She paused. “I could have Liberty Lady Productions pay their cheque directly into your bank and then send you my bill but it is easier and cheaper to do it my way.”

“Cheaper?”

“My accountant does some number juggling and then both you and I pay less tax on the money. Don’t ask me how he does it; I have been using his firm for over fifteen years and the French Revenue Service has never had reason to chase me for unpaid taxes.”

“Make it so,” I said, and she laughed. Fabia Gulian had an infectious laugh and I joined in. All in all Fabia was a female that would have no trouble in wrapping men around her finger and I was pleased that her finger wrapping skills were being deployed on my behalf. Thoughts of her wrapping her body around mine were swiftly banished – business before pleasure.

With another eighteen thousand francs coming my way I could make more improvements to Anne and Mal’s Barn – for a start the name had to go as it gave the impression of a dilapidated agricultural building. I needed a more upbeat, attractive, name. An idea that had been quietly germinating in my mind suddenly burst into full bloom and I had a eureka moment.

The White Kepi!

I would use the title of my novel as the new and improved name of the Bistro. It conjured up visions of the Foreign Legion and I knew from experience that legionnaires are catnip to females and they would flock to the White Kepi looking to hook up with randy legionnaires. Boys go where girls congregate; both sexes would be customers and consumers at The White Kepi Bistro and Bar. (Memo to self: Have condom dispensers fitted in male and female restrooms). Castelnaudary, home of the Instruction Regiment and Enlisted Volunteers, was over 150 kms away from Port Vendres but I was sure I could rustle up a brace or two of off duty Legionnaires to draw in the punters. If necessary I would even dress up in my old uniform; I didn’t hand in my white kepi when I was promoted to caporal–chef and it now sat in my closet in a hat box. I would have the bistro/bar decorated in the legion’s colours of red and green with legion memorabilia hanging on the walls and a replica of The Wooden Hand of Capitaine Danjou in pride of place. The more I thought about the transmogrification of the Barn the better it appeared.

When I told Elaine my plan she was less than enthusiastic. “If females come to the Barn expecting to see legionnaires and there aren’t any they will be mightily pissed off and will leave without buying a drink. They will then tell their friends of the disappointment and no one will ever come to the place.”

“I will ensure there will be a squad of legionnaires in parade uniform here on the day we open as The White Kepi even if it means dressing locals in hired uniforms from a costumier and pretending to be legionnaires. I also hope to draw former legionnaires and military buffs to the White Kepi. We will have a theme and a hook that will pull in the punters, mark my words, Elaine.”

“Well, I think the idea stinks and if it doesn’t work don’t blame me! I thought you were going up market with gourmet food and fine and vintage wines? Denis will not be pleased as he has set his mind set on being a celebrity chef and he won’t get that by cooking for legionnaires. All they’ll want to eat is boudin!”

“It takes sheds full of money to gain Michelin stars and equal loads of money to retain them. If Denis doesn’t like cooking at the White Kepi he can take himself, and his aspirations for a high hat, elsewhere.”

Port Vendres was becoming an all year destination for tourists. Winter brought Northern Europeans who had the money to stay for several months and there were always young American, Australian, and British back packers of both sexes moving through the area. There was already a RV(Recreational Vehicle) park near the Gendarme Post and many of the RV campers came to the Barn for meals as well as for the ambience of a local bar.

There were several rundown and derelict farm buildings on the 40 or so hectares that surrounded the Barn, all owned by the Barn Company. The land could be used as a camping site and the buildings renovated and repurposed as holiday chalets. Money, a great deal of money, would be required to accomplish that plan so my future was dependent on Liberty Lady Productions. If they took up the option to buy the film rights to my novel I could expect a five figure sum, US dollar five figures, and would use that money to expand into the holiday trade. If they didn’t take up the option some other film production company might be interested, but in any case I would still have The White Kepi to earn a living.

Three Months later

The note of the aircraft’s engines changed and roused me from the shallow slumber I had been in since leaving Paris Orly airport. Fabia didn’t stir, her warm breath fanning my neck as she exhaled, slumped sleeping against me, recovering from the exhausting but rewarding day, and night, we had spent in Paris. I had signed over the film rights of The White Kepi to Liberty Lady Productions and was now $80,000 richer, less the ten per cent fee of my literary agent softly snoring alongside me.

Fabia and I had flown from Perpignan airport to Paris-Orly airport early the previous morning; Liberty Lady Productions had finally got all their ducks in a row and were prepared to start filming. They had made an opening offer and Fabia and I flew to Paris for some horse trading, or rather Fabia would be trading and talking and hopefully having males wrapped around her fingers. I was not sure what my role was to be in any negotiations other than my signature when all had been settled. I asked Fabia what part I would play in the proceedings.

“You’re a tough looking man and a former Legionnaire. They are going to be wary of you, so glare at them from time to time and make ‘em nervous. Fear loosens the bowels and the purse strings!”

It wasn’t how envisaged a meeting to be conducted but Fabia was the expert in negotiating deals so I just went with the flow.

We were met at Orly airport by a man holding up a large card with ‘Gulian & Soissons’ written on it. The man, dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform, could have just stepped off a Hollywood film set. He was in his early thirties and stood about 1.80 metres tall (5 ft 11 ins). His dark brown hair, vivid blue eyes, square jaw with a cleft chin, sparklingly white teeth and the build of a gymnast would make him catnip to the ladies. I could see Fabia was mightily beguiled by him; hell, even I was beguiled by him! We made ourselves known and he flashed us a film star smile.

“Hi,” he said in a deep, warm voice. “I’m Errol, here to drive you to the Paris Hilton.”

He took Fabia’s suitcase from her hand, saw that I had only a small holdall, and led us to where a large black Mercedes limousine with tinted windows was parked. Fabia and I got in the back, sinking in sensuously comfortable reclining seats. Errol put Fabia’s case in the trunk and then got in the driver’s seat.” Do you want the privacy partition raised, Madam?” he asked.

“Privacy?”

Fabia surprised response had Errol smiling. “A lot of business deals are made in the back of this vehicle and M’sieu Merton Park has a privacy partition installed so the driver does not get to hear what is being discussed.” He grinned at us via the rear view mirror. “Occasionally there is activity taking place in the back that a driver does not get to see!”

“We have no secrets, Errol,” Fabia said, “so you can leave the partition down.”

“You will have no rear view when the partition is us up. How do you manage then?” I asked.

“There is a camera at the rear of the car with the display on the driver’s console,” Errol explained, “In fact I get a better view of what’s behind me on the road via the camera than through the rather restricting rear view mirror.”

It had been some time since I had been to Paris and the traffic was now even worse, if that was possible. Errol was a skilled driver and didn’t once resort to the Parisian way of driving with hand on the horn and expletives on the lips.

We drew up in front of the Paris Hilton. “I will take your luggage, Madam. You have reservations for two rooms for one night and after you have booked in and refreshed I am to drive you to the company’s offices.”

While Fabia and I checked in Errol took the suitcase and my hold-all over to the bank of elevators and waited until we joined him when he pressed the bell for the fifth floor. We entered, swiftly ascended and at the fifth floor we got out and walked along the corridor until finding our adjoining rooms. Fabia and Errol entered room 506 and I entered room 504...

“Give me ten minutes, Philippe.” Fabia called over her shoulder as she followed Errol and her suitcase into her room.

It was nearer twenty five minutes before Fabia and Errol appeared in the reception lounge. They both looked rather pleased with themselves and I noticed a mark that could have been an incipient love bite on Errol’s neck that I hadn’t noticed before he entered Fabia’s room. She had changed from skirt and blouse into a long sleeved short skirted bottle green dress that emphasized her trim figure. I wondered where Errol had been while she had been changing – the lucky sod.

I completed my signature with a flourish and then stood up from my chair and grasped the already proffered hand of Curtis Merton Park, president of Liberty Lady Productions Inc. We shook hands and I was $80,000 the richer, less the ten per cent fee of my agent Fabia Gulian.

Curtis Merton Park, – ‘Call me Curt’ – was an American, a fact that surprised me but explained the name of his company, the logo of which was a silhouette of the Statue of Liberty, the iconic landmark that welcomes arrivals to the USA. The statue was a gift of friendship from the people of France to the United States; obviously gifted before the French were dubbed ‘cheese eating surrender monkeys’ by its recipients. Curt was in his late thirties, a well-built fellow with a mop of blond hair and an easy charm. He resembled the US actor Robert Redford and could have made a living in front of a camera rather than behind one; Curtis Merton Park was not only a film producer but also a well-respected film director.

Actually all of the employees of Liberty Lady Productions Inc, or at least the ones I had seen so far, could have been film actors as the whole building was stuffed with photogenic people and I hadn’t seen one female I would have kicked out of bed, assuming I could have lured one into my bed to begin with. Fabia had also noted the propensity of good looking people working for Liberty Lady Productions.

“I guess most of them wanted to be in movies and figured if they couldn’t be on screen the next best thing would be working behind the camera,” she said. We later learned that most of the employees, whatever their occupation, were employed as extras in Liberty Lady Productions.

It was during the meeting, before the deal was signed, that I realised The White Kepi had been chosen by Curtis Merton Park as a vehicle for his wife, May-Ling Merton Park, who had been introduced to Fabia and me on our arrival at Liberty Lady Productions’ swish offices on Avenue Georges Clemenceau. May-Ling was a gorgeous French born Vietnamese actress who would play the part of Joseph Mundy’s congaï/concubine Nguyen Thi Tam. Curt made it clear that the film version of the novel’s plot line would be skewed toward the interaction between Joseph Mundy and Nguyen Thi Tam rather than on the military and political events in the novel although 5 REI’s March to China was to be featured.

“It costs a hell of lot to stage a realistic combat scene, Phil, sometimes it’s more costly than the real thing!” Curt explained.

“Other than the lives lost in ‘the real thing’,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s true. But even when closely monitored and with professional stunt men we sometimes get a death, and there are always plenty of broken bones but yeah, when all is said and done it is only play acting.”

May-Ling Merton Park was not at the meeting but another gorgeous female was. Hannah le Tissierre was introduced as Curt’s Personal Assistant and I wondered how personal she was to him. She could get up close and personal with me any time, the sooner the better. When we shook hands I noted she wore a wedding ring and perhaps disappointment showed on my face as she said, sotto voce, “divorcee” She then raised an interrogative eyebrow that I took to mean she wanted to know my marriage status.

“Single” I said equally sotto voce.

“Bien,” she responded and I knew then that sooner rather than later she and I would be exchanging more than just handshakes.

Hannah le Tisssierre was in her early thirties and of a similar build and height as Fabia. Hannah was probably slightly the taller but both females stood at least 1.75 metres tall (5ft 9ins). Hannah’s hair was a mass of golden curls and I wondered if it was natural. Her eyes, quite mesmerising in their intensity, were a lapis blue and her wide, generous lipped mouth completed a perfect package, as I assumed the rest of her under the cream coloured linen Givenchy two piece business suit and navy blue silk blouse she wore, was equally stunning. She spoke French with an accent I couldn’t place and I admit I was smitten with her from first viewing.

There were two other people at the meeting, both males. One was the company’s legal advisor and the other the chief accountant. Both men could have been from Central Casting as they looked the parts they ‘played’. They had been introduced by names I had instantly forgot and mentally referred to them as ‘The Lawyer’ and ‘The Accountant’.

Curtis, Hannah, The Lawyer, and The Accountant sat one side of a highly polished rosewood conference table across from Fabia and me. Fabia was opposite The Lawyer and I sat opposite Hannah. The opening offer from Liberty Lady Productions was 50,000 US dollars that Fabia dismissed with a toss of her head.

“My client has written a best seller that will ensure any film made of his novel will be a resounding success. The novel is based on fact, and the main character is based on someone personally known by my client who is himself a former legionnaire with combat experience. The novel is his way of honouring and remembering a man who was a hero of the Foreign Legion. This makes The White Kepi a memorial and I suggest the film rights to this unique book are worth a hundred thousand US dollars!”

Fabia’s speech certainly got the full attention of those across the table from us. The fact I was a former legionnaire had all eyes swinging to me and I tried to maintain an air of brooding menace while aching to wink at Hannah who I could see was intrigued by my history.

The Accountant broke the silence. “No way! That figure is far too –”

I shot him the displeased look I employed at a legionnaire’s scruffy turn out or his lack of application on the assault course and The Accountant abruptly stopped and a shocked look appeared on his face. I hoped it wasn’t only his bowels that had just been loosened.

“Yes,” said Curtis. “I can see how The White Kepi is more than just a novel and I think we could increase our offer to –” he paused and looked at Hannah who opened the file of documents she carried and glanced at the top sheet.

“Sixty K?” she suggested.

The Accountant opened his mouth but closed it again when I turned and gave him my displeased look.

Fabia leaned towards me. “Well done, Philippe.” she whispered. “But we can up the ante as I think le Tissierre has the hots for you.”

(I certainly had the hots for her.)

“That is heading in the right direction,” Fabia said, “but we must also consider the changes to the novel you propose to make in the screen adaptation. For instance concentrating on the love affair between the two main characters and completely ignoring the invasion of French Indochina by Siam in nineteen forty one...”

“I have already explained to Phil that several plotlines were not relevant to the film... “ Curtis began but Fabia cut him off.

“But it is something someone going to see the film will expect...”

“With the greatest respect, Fabia,” Curtis interrupted, “I think I have more idea of what a cinema audience would expect than a literary agent, but I do agree my film will not have the scope or depth of the novel.” He paused in thought for a moment. “I’m willing to offer seventy five thousand dollars for the film rights to the novel given the changes we will make to the original novel.”

The Accountant made as if to speak but my look forestalled him, and it was The Lawyer, who had been ogling Fabia from the minute he had sat down opposite her, who next spoke. “Can we be assured that once the film rights to the novel have been signed over to Liberty Lady Productions there will be no law suits against the company for not following the novel’s plot lines?”

“Once an agreement is signed the film rights to the novel are yours and you can film whatever you like and how ever you like but those rights are worth at least ninety thousand dollars.” Fabia said.

I glared at The Accountant who wisely said nothing.

Curtis was about to speak but Hannah laid a restraining hand on his arm. “May I say something?” she asked him and he nodded. I realised then that Hannah le Tissierre was more than just Curtis Merton Park’s PA, perhaps also his mistress? She certainly had some influence with the man.

“M’sieu Soissons, Philippe, has written a novel based on true events and has himself served in the legion with many stories of his own to tell. I suggest that Liberty Lady Productions pay eighty thousand dollars for the film rights to his current novel and that payment includes the option to buy the film rights to the next two novels he writes.” She looked at me with a sweet smile on her face. “I assume you have more novels in mind, Philippe?”

“Indeed I have, Madam Le Tissierre, Hannah.”

The Lawyer chimed in. “Do we have your assurance that you have a work in progress?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I said, then licked my forefinger and drew the wetted digit across my throat. “I do have a work in progress.”

“Excellent!” said Curtis. “Then this is my offer, my final offer. Seventy five thousand dollars for the film rights to The White Kepi with an extra five thousand for the option to buy the film rights of the next two books by the author Philippe Soissons; eighty thousand dollars in total. What do you say to that?” He was looking at me but addressing Fabia who I saw had a worried expression on her face.

She leaned in closer to me. “If we sign an agreement and you haven’t got a work in progress we could be sued for breach of contract,” she whispered.

“I haven’t got a novel as a work in progress but I do have a project to upgrade my bar and bistro and that is a work in progress in any one’s language.” I answered equally quietly.

Fabia gave a wide grin. “There is more to you than meets the eye, Philippe Soissons. You could almost be Turkmenian!” She turned and faced Curtis “Yes, we accept the offer, with the understanding that your option is to match or exceed any other offer for Philippe’s books”.”

After all the handshakes and the consumption of a bottle of champagne (Heidsieck’s Special Reserve) Curtis asked what Fabia and I would be doing during the rest of our stay in Paris; our flight to Perpignan left Paris Orly at 11 am the next day.

“I will hit the Champs-Elysees for some serious retail therapy,” Fabia said. “I don’t get to Paris very often so will make the most of this afternoon.”

“I’ll have Errol drive you, Fabia. You will probably need the limo to carry all your purchases. May-Ling certainly does when she goes shopping!” said Curtis. “What will you be doing, Philippe?”

“I will visit the Musée de l’Armée. I have an open invitation to meet the Deputy Curator of the archives since I sent him copies of Grigor Pavel’s audio tapes and the transcripts.”

“Would you mind if I tagged along?” Hannah asked. “There are some questions I have regarding the future books you write and I can kill two birds with one stone as I have never visited the army museum.”

“It would be my pleasure, Hannah.”

“Capital, “said Curtis. “I wish the pair of you a fine visit to boutiques and museum but I must leave you to it. May-Ling is hosting a soirée and wants me home early to give me my orders!” He escorted us to reception and left, a few moments later Errol appeared and Fabia’s face lit up like a torch.

“See you later tonight,” Fabia said as she was whisked away by an attentive Errol, whose hand I noticed was placed proprietarily on Fabia’s right hip.

Hannah laughed. “I doubt you will see Madam Gulian until next morning.”

She was absolutely right.

After lunch and a visit to the Musée de l’Armée, where I finally made the acquaintance of the deputy custodian of the archives, a person I had been in touch with for several years but never met face to face, Hannah invited me back to her apartment for a drink. We spent all evening and most of the night having mad monkey sex in every room of the apartment while performing almost all of the positions in the kama sutra. During brief breaks for recovery, food, drink, and bathroom visits (not all at the same time naturally) I learned that Hannah was British, had a MBA from the LBS (whatever that was) and a black belt in kama sutra (made that one up). Actually, LBS is the London Business School, part of the University of London and highly rated in business circles. Hannah was born in St Helier the main/only town on Jersey, one of the so called Channel Islands that belonged to the Duke of Normandy who became King William the First of England way back in 1066. I also discovered that Hannah Le Tissierre was a natural, curly haired, blonde.

I finally disengaged from an exhausted and sated Hannah at 3 am to taxi back to the Paris Hilton equally exhausted and sated. As I entered the reception lobby I saw Errol, looking as I felt, exiting the elevator and making his way to the underground car park. I reckoned hanky panky, with maybe some spanky, had been taking place in room 506!

I got to my room and collapsed in a heap on the bed and knew nothing until 8 am when I was awakened by room service and breakfast.I assumed Fabia had been the angel to make the order. After breakfast and a shower I joined the ranks of the living. At 9 a.m. reception rang to inform me my car to Orly airport had arrived in the underground car park. I met Fabia, who looked remarkably perky, at reception and we took the stairs to the underground car park. Errol was standing by the tinted windowed Mercedes. The pair looked at each other with lust and longing and I marvelled at their stamina as I could hardly raise an eyebrow.

“Give me the keys, Errol. I’ll drive to the airport,” I said. He needed no further encouragement and handed me the keys. “You are a good man, Philippe Soissons,” he said, before assisting Fabia into the back. I got in the driver’s seat y and looked at the dashboard cum control panel. I think the space shuttle probably has fewer switches, buttons, and displays. “Has the car got GPS?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Yes, and it is set for Orly airport,” Errol replied. “Just press the yellow button on the right of the indicator switch – the privacy panel is operated by the blue switch above it.” I flicked the privacy panel switch on and glanced through the rear view mirror. Fabia and Errol were already sucking each other’s face off, not something you want to see first thing in the morning, and I looked away. Turning the ignition had the Mercedes purring into life; the engine idled as I familiarised myself with the dashboard layout and realised then that the car was an automatic. The privacy panel was up and there was no noise from the pair in the back but the vehicle began to rock on its suspension so I assumed the two were now multitasking – fornicating while osculating. I put the car in drive then drew away from the underground garage and carefully inserted the Mercedes into the frenzy of morning Parisian traffic – there was quite a lot of inserting going on in the back judging by the rocking motion the car went into the many times we came to a stop. Eventually I got out of the stop start traffic of central Paris and onto the moving at a snail’s pace traffic on the D65 until, joy of joy, the junction with the A86 where I reached the giddy speed of 30 kph and not long afterwards the car park at Orly airport.

Fabia and Errol unwrapped themselves from the back seat and Errol went to the open trunk and removed two cases.

“Whose is that other suitcase?” I asked, thinking perhaps Errol was accompanying Fabia back to Perpignan.

“That has all the new dresses and lingerie I bought yesterday afternoon,” Fabia said.

I shrugged, wondering if she would be allowed the extra luggage on the return trip. The two love birds had a final face sucking encounter before Fabia and I entered the departure lounge. Errol shook my hand. “Thanks for that, Philippe. You are a prince among men!”

“Everybody loves a lover,” I said.

He grinned. “Take good care of Fabia. She is one hell of a woman.”

As the aircraft banked, aligning with the runway of Perpignan airport preparatory to landing, I saw the sun lighting up the high white peaks of the Pyrenees to the south and a flash bulb lit up my brain.