Chapter 10

A segue into the times and how Shit Happens

Sometimes It Hurts

“Best just forget things and just go son.”

“Git and Go, then what, dad?”

If that advice was something I heard said to anyone else in my situation I would have shook my head and agreed with him. But it was me he was talking to and I did not take kindly to what was happening.

Looking back I guess it was a pretty usual occurrence. ‘Boy meets girl, falls in love then girl finds another one, maybe three and dumps boy’. When you are 18 though it seems like your entire world is falling apart.

What do you do when that happens? Put your head in the sand? (I always wondered if an Emu did that too or only an Ostrich.) Join the Army or French Foreign Legion if you really got it bad? Maybe find solace in the arms of another, even an older woman. I know, why not all of them?

Cozumel had the sand, water too and if I had been sober enough during my 10 day, 9 night vacation extravaganza package to remember anything I might have had a good time or two.

Have even a little bit of college and blow the curve on those damn test the give you from a recruiter and all of a sudden you not only can ‘be all you can be’ or one of the ‘few and the proud’ but them small, quiet rooms you get pulled into all end up ending that interview with, ‘now keep your head down, your nose clean and don’t say shit to anybody, just do what you’re told and someone will tell you where you will need to go before your basic training is over’.

Now most are Sgt. or Staff Sgt. rank, depending on your score or which one won the poker hand you’ll get 3 maybe 4 offers. If you really did top those test then you get the ‘men in black’ and either are offered a free ride to finish college or OCS training but each comes with that ominous ‘until you are 23, then we can do something with you’.

There must be something magic about that number 23. One may say something like, ‘in your case, let me tell what I’ll do, it’s... ‘

Pick ‘Door 4’, unless your some Czech or Swedish beauty and ‘BIS’ wants you, (They give a whole new meaning to ‘Lolita’) if not, run as far away and as fast as you can. Note, until then you’ll be guarding a door or hallway if you’re lucky.

That leaves the FFL or even more dangerous, an older woman. In the first door, FFL, you will only run and move rocks for about 5-years until is re-up time. A fall from grace or odds at the Casino might be better than trying to go ‘Para’ though. From door two, you’ll at least have a smile on your face from being with her. (Yes all ‘Keppe’ are white (Blanc) and there are Old Legionnaires, Bold Legionaries and Brave Legionnaires but few Old, Bold and Brave Legionnaires.)

I hate to admit it but no matter what you choose, them folks pretty much have it right. You don’t know shit until you reach 23 or so.

There are some issues (No, not an issue if your careful) whenever an older woman is involved, even more so if she has a history. What do I mean? Money, Husband, Title, Family, Children, Lovers, ‘Wannabees’, you know just your normal everyday things to concern yourself with. You both sort of need to set your expectations right at the start.

You never will be King, her husband, father to those kids (Some maybe older than you) and only on a very rare occasion will her family and you get along. Well, for two or three years we (She and I) did not have to worry much about those kinds of things. Then her husband wanted back in.

Challenging enough walking in with her on your arm to a party when her son or daughter arrives there. Imagine it becomes a might more uncomfortable if that arrival is her husband. Yeah, not the time to check any ‘dance card’. What was that saying about ‘every cloud having an inside of gold or something like that?’

Mari Isabelle XXXX, 18 and hotter than a firecracker did not see herself as any kind of consolation prize. She must have figured what was good for her mother would be just fine for her now. That’s one thing I like about Europe and Asia, a woman is a woman at like 12 or 13. (Were not talking Texas here) I read somewhere that an 8 and 9-year old were getting hitched, here in France girls 13 are considered adults. Reminds you of a few southern states in the US of A, don’t it?”

Anyway. Mari, prefers to be called Mari or just M when out. She tried one morning to wake me up saying “Ma Mah has said you will see to our needs and be ours now? We wish to go to Disney’s Villa, yes?” (Disneyland Paris)

“Too early M, come back later, I am still sleeping.”

Thirty seconds of blessed silence then it starts. I partially opened one eye, M was smiling the smile only a scheming, low-down, ornery, female can have, yet my world was going up and down and a rain of pillows falling was on my head. There is little doubt who that was. Seeing M just sitting on the edge of the bed, she had called in ‘the big guns’. No not Bertha, that cannon was German, it had to be Genevieve, her 15-year old sister, her guns were ‘purty big’ too, both of them.

Now you have to understand, the Comte’s (Viscounts) and Countesses sort of lived a different lifestyle than you and me. It was not that unusual to have, shall we say, company staying over at the Villa. French kids too pretty much knew about life and did their own thing early, if the parents could afford it and were what do you say, indulgent of them. M and G would fit in that category. I had both eyes almost opened now, almost. I reached out and grabbed that ‘Bouncing Betty’ (Genevieve) and took my revenge; ‘chatouillement monstre” (Tickle Monster) became our weapon of choice instead of fleurets (fencing foils). I was holding my own with her (She was almost the same size, in all ways as her sister who just turned 18) until I fell victim to M’s surprise attack.

“Je me rends, Je me rends!” (I surrender)

When I said that I never realized what a simple phrase like that might imply. It was like a light bulb that wanted to light up in my head but when the switch was thrown nothing happened. Her “you will see to our needs and be ours now?” never, ever took on any meaning.

Off we go, no not into any wild yonder, but to Marne-la-Vallée, just outside Paris. M and G casually informed me that we were staying there, it was too much to see and do in just a few days. (It was nearly 5,000 acres) Marcel acted as beast of burden and must have literally stuffed enough clothes for the Cannes Festival for them into the car.

We drove, I ended up as chauffer. We took the A4 but could have taken a train in. My new charges were both wearing a devious smile. Please note, I think French Women or Girls even are some of the most beautiful in the world. With that said, I warn you, they can be the most god-awful, conniving bitches too. M and G despite their youth could be considered Grand Masters. You remember what they said about ‘Lola’ getting whatever she wants?

Disneyland Paris, Ah yes, You will see our Hotel at the entrance, like it was a castle with a huge moat in-front. Of course M and G just had to stay at the Disneyland Hotel, the smallest but, you guessed it the most expensive. M whipped out a brochure and told me about all the great and wonderful benefits if ‘WE’ got the Castle Club room. She or her parents must have owned stock here, she memorized everything, even said there was golf course. When she sort of pointed to the $3685 cost I cringed a little. Was M going to let a little thing like cost dissuade her, no sir re. M indicated that was for 4 nights and if I was to include golf we would need that long here.