Chapter 12: Mike and Elizaveta's Excellent Adventure, Part V

June 13, 1985, Paris, France

"I can't believe they took that out of your backpack!" Elizaveta exclaimed in outrage once we were out of earshot of the others.

"Unfortunately, at border checks, we're really at the mercy of the passport and customs officers. I suspect those two had a very good laugh."

"But the others saw it!"

"And that means Clarissa will tease ME about it. Nobody will say anything to you. Well, Clarissa might, but only if she's sure I'm OK with it."

"But those men were laughing!"

"I'd say those men were jealous that I have a sexy sixteen-year-old wife and a sex toy!"

"Is THAT what I am?" she asked in mock outrage.

I chuckled, "No, but I think that's what I am!"

Elizaveta laughed, "Poor baby!"

"Did I say I was complaining?"

"No."

We completed our walk and entered the hotel, which was on Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honoré. We approached the desk, and I handed my passport to the clerk.

"Mr. and Mrs. Loucks," I said. "We have a reservation."

"Yes, Sir," the clerk replied. "Welcome! We're expecting you. You have the 'Honeymoon Suite' for four nights, departing on Monday. I see that the room is fully paid for, and any room service or extras are to be charged to the account of Ms. Laura Brag. There's also a letter for you. Would you sign, please?"

He pushed a form to me, which I scanned, then signed and handed back. He turned and retrieved a pair of keys and the letter. He handed me the letter, then tapped a bell on the counter, which brought a man who looked to be in his forties quickly next to us.

"Jean Peal will show you to your room, Mr. Loucks. If there is anything you need during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you."

"May I take your bags, Sir?" the bellman asked in a heavy French accent.

"I think we'll just keep our backpacks on," I replied.

"Very well."

He took the keys from the desk clerk, and then we followed him to the elevators for the ride up to our room. When he let us in, I was stunned. The door opened to a great room into which I was fairly sure we could fit our entire cottage. There was also a large bedroom, a huge bathroom with the promised whirlpool, and a balcony. When the bellman finished showing us the room, I tipped him as Lara had suggested, and he left us in the room.

"Oh my God, Mike!" Elizaveta gasped once the door was closed.

"I think Lara may have gone a bit over the top!" I chuckled.

"What does the card say?"

I opened the envelope and pulled out a card which was in Lara's handwriting. I read it aloud to Elizaveta.

Mike and Elizaveta,

Enjoy the room and ALL the amenities! Eat, drink, and screw yourselves silly! Have room service, and do NOT look at the prices! Pick one evening — Sunday is probably the most practical — to have a quiet, romantic dinner on the balcony. This is all part of my gift to you! Have fun in Paris, and I'll see you both at Mike's ordination!

Paris is a great city! Enjoy!

Larisa Sergeyevna

"Mike?"

"What?"

"Explain."

"The room? Lara basically decided that after approaching me, similar to the way you did, and after dating for a bit, that, unlike you, she couldn't be a Matushka, and when you and I got engaged, she offered this as a wedding present."

"Did you?"

"That's an off-limits question," I said firmly.

"Not this time, Mike," Elizaveta said, crossing her arms and staring directly into my eyes.

"Because of this room?"

"Don't you think it's a bit outside the realm of just being friends?"

I shrugged, "I'm not used to being around people with the kind of money her combined families have, so I have no idea if something like this is normal or not. If I had her kind of money, even as careful as I am with money, I might consider a gift like this."

"Come on, Mike! There had to be something special!"

"Did she ever tell you the story about what she calls me 'saving her life'?"

"You mean when she had food poisoning?"

"Yes. She wasn't really dying, but she was pretty sick. This is her way of saying 'thank you'."

"I think I deserve an answer because I want to know just how close you were."

"Kitten, I can't answer that except to say that we were considering a future together until she concluded she couldn't be a Deacon's wife and live under the microscope. We'd already done the 'meet the parents' thing by that point, and if you ask Clarissa, she was pretty sure Lara was 'the one'. Tasha, on the other hand, has been positive it was you from the start."

"There's nothing about your relationship with Lara you're not telling me?"

I shook my head, "No. Well, besides my usual refusal to discuss who I did, or did not, go to bed with, beyond acknowledging the obvious, which they are both open about, with regard to Tasha and Jocelyn."

"OK, but seriously, who would do this?"

"A good friend," I replied.

Elizaveta screwed up her face the way she usually did when she was annoyed with me, but I could not violate the rule I'd laid down because it would, eventually, lead to Clarissa, and that would be a disaster of epic proportions. Fundamentally, once Clarissa and I had resolved to keep that to ourselves and Jocelyn, the die was cast, and the story had to remain the same.

"Shall we unpack, have a snack, and then take a bubble bath?" I suggested.

"I'd like that," she replied, her face softening.

We unpacked our bags, then looked at the room service menu and decided to order cheese, fruit, and a bottle of Cabernet from the lower end of the price list. I blanched at the prices, but Lara's note had made it clear I wasn't supposed to pay attention. I would, on the other hand, be careful not to take advantage of her offer.

"Do I want to know?" Elizaveta asked, having seen the face I'd made.

"Probably not. Let's just say even dividing by nine it's a lot. I'm curious — how did your dad handle money?"

"The businesses are all profitable, so he has a good income, but all of his wealth is basically tied up in them plus investment for retirement so Gennady can have the business income. We always had plenty of money, but apparently not like Lara's family!"

"Her stepdad has a live-in housekeeper, or whatever you want to call her."

"What does he do?"

"He's an executive vice president with U.S. Steel. Her stepmom, stepdad, and biological mom are all attorneys."

"That family just doesn't seem to be your style. Or hers, for that matter."

I shrugged, "You know Lara, and she isn't anything like her stepfather. And I really liked her biological dad. Shall we change into something more comfortable?"

"I think I'd want a shower before I put on my negligée!"

"I was thinking shorts and a T-shirt," I chuckled. "You can put on the negligée after our bubble bath."

"Oh, I suppose," she said with a theatrical sigh.

We both changed from our jeans and T-shirts into shorts and fresh T-shirts, then went to sit on the balcony to look out over the warm Paris evening and wait for room service.

"Were you satisfied with the plans we made for the next few days?" I asked.

"I would have said something if I wasn't; were you?"

"Yes, though obviously it's a six-way conversation, and everyone does their best to be accommodating. I was just asking because we're alone now."

"The only really surprising thing was that we needed to dedicate an entire day to The Louvre. I guess I just didn't realize how huge it is."

"Neither did I!" I agreed. "Clarissa knew, but I think that was likely from the time she spent with Glenda, the girl she was with before Abby."

"The one who blew her off to go to Chicago, right?"

"Yes. Anyway, I'm happy with the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, and Notre-Dame tomorrow; The Louvre on Saturday, with a show at Moulin Rouge in the evening; the cruise on the Seine on Sunday morning with a free afternoon and evening. Monday, we need to be at Gare de Lyon station to catch a train which leaves at 7:00am."

"What do you want to do on Sunday afternoon?" Elizaveta asked.

I shrugged, "I'll leave it up to you, Liza. Any ideas?"

"I think we should come back to the hotel and FUCK!" she declared firmly. "That's the night we'll have our romantic dinner, so it's perfect!"

"No objections here!"

"You called me 'Liza'," she said.

"I was trying it out," I said. "I think I prefer your full name or Kitten."

"I think so, too. But I also think you're right about the teens and young adults. Less formal will be good. I was thinking it would be a good idea to have outings with the teens and have teen couples over for dinner maybe once a month."

"I think that's a good idea," I replied. "Anything we can do to keep them active in parish life will be good."

"I'm a bit worried about Nik," she said. "He's just too stuffy."

"I think Tasha will loosen him up a bit," I replied.

"Well, if the hints she's dropped are any indication, she's going to fuck him within an inch of his life!"

I chuckled, "That would seem to be her plan."

"Was she as much fun as she implies?"

"Ask her," I said with a silly smile. "She'll tell you."

"I have to say I'm totally surprised at how she really is."

"She was living under her father's thumb and had to be 'prim and proper', and it's obvious now how much she struggled with that. There were lots of clues, but I mostly missed them until she was a Senior."

"Until she demanded you go to bed with her?"

"After demanding for three years that I refuse any request along those lines," I replied.

"You were that scared of her father?"

I shook my head, "No, I knew that it was tantamount to a betrothal."

"Wait!"

"She changed her mind," I replied. "And then had to basically fight with me to allow her to renege on her demand that I not do what she wanted."

"That is really strange."

"Yes and no," I replied. "She had the same struggles as I had, but she had me to keep us on the correct side of the line. Remember, she wasn't allowed to date, and her dad kept her on a very, very short leash."

"Not short enough, obviously," Elizaveta replied snidely.

"Leashes don't work, Kitten. Teenagers who want to have sex will find a way; parents can't prevent it. Could your dad or mom have stopped us from fooling around before our wedding?"

"No, I guess not."

There was a firm knock at the door, so I got up to answer it. The room service waiter rolled in a cart and asked where we wanted to eat. I suggested the balcony, and he set out the cheese and fruit, opened the bottle of wine, and let me taste a splash before pouring two glasses. I signed the check, adding a tip, and he left. I sat down with Elizaveta, said a blessing, and we started eating.

"Trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me?" she teased after sipping her wine.

"As if THAT is necessary! More like so you fall asleep so I can get some rest!"

"Poor baby! He has to expend all his energy having sex with his new wife. I'm sure that there's one person, somewhere, who might have sympathy!"

"I'm not sure you'll find even one," I chuckled.

We finished our cheese and fruit, washed down with a single glass of wine each, and then went to the large bathroom to take a bubble bath, bringing the bottle and glasses with us. From the selection of scents, Elizaveta chose rose, and after I adjusted the temperature, she poured in the bubble bath. As warm, sudsy water filled the tub, we undressed and climbed in with Elizaveta reclining between my legs.

"When we build our house, we need a tub like this," Elizaveta declared.

"And a sauna," I replied.

"A basement with a rec room? And a pool table?"

"I have this pool table fantasy..." I chuckled.

"Do I even want to ask?"

"A weird dream I had, and it never came to fruition. Later, I found out there's some X-rated movie that has a scene like that."

"You saw an X-rated movie?!" she gasped, turning to look at me.

"No!" I replied hastily. "I only know about it because Jocelyn heard about it from guys on campus at Purdue. She didn't see it, either. Allegedly, a girl loses her virginity on a pool table to the gardener."

"As if it were possible that there was a virgin in a movie like that!"

I chuckled, "From what I hear, you have to suspend disbelief, but I don't have any intention of ever finding out."

"Who would be in one of those movies?"

"I don't know enough about them to even speculate, but I guess it might be similar to prostitution. Then again, I don't know anything about that, either, except whatever I've seen on TV or in the movies, and I'm not sure either of those is the best source of information."

"Do you think they enjoy it?" she asked.

"I have no clue," I replied. "It's not really something I've thought about."

"Mike?"

"Yes?"

"Make me cum, please."

I was more than happy to oblige.

June 14, 1985, Paris, France

"Can we see the room at some point?" Clarissa asked when the six of us met, as planned, on Friday morning on the Champ de Mars, where the Pont d'Iéna crossed the Seine in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.

"Sure," I replied. "Maybe after dinner tonight?"

"Sounds good! There's a brasserie on the edge of the park which is open. Shall we get some breakfast?"

"We shouldn't spend too long," Abby said. "The guidebook warns that the lines for the tower can be long. But we still have nearly two hours before the tower opens."

We had to wait a short time at the brasserie before we could be seated but then had a traditional «le petit déjeuner» of «tartines» of French bread with butter and café au lait. I strongly preferred my coffee black but bowed to the tradition and had cream in my coffee. We finished our breakfast, then walked back to the tower to queue for our tickets, then once we had those, we queued for entry into the tower.

"According to this," Abby said, holding up her Paris guidebook, "there used to be a restaurant at the top of the tower, but they removed it in 1981 because it was too heavy and was causing structural problems with the tower. It was sold to an American who moved it to New Orleans."

"Is that like moving the London Bridge to Lake Havasu in Arizona?" Pete asked. "I read about some oilman who bought it and moved it there in the 70s."

"Mr. Black said the guy thought he was buying the Tower Bridge," I said.

"That's what I heard, too," Pete said.

"What you do when you have more money than brains!" Abby said.

"He actually made a profit," Pete replied. "He got the land from Arizona for free, on condition he would develop it. He sold plots and made more than it cost to buy, transport, and rebuild the bridge."

"So, crazy like a fox, then," Sandy observed.

"There have been all kinds of harebrained schemes that ended up turning a profit or being successful in some other way," I said. "Mr. Black always said that just because someone is crazy doesn't mean they aren't also a genius or way ahead of their time."

"I don't know," Abby replied. "This one sounds like dumb luck to me!"

When the tower finally opened, the line moved forward, and we were soon able to climb the three hundred steps to the first level. We spent some time walking around, looking at the view in all four directions before climbing a similar number of steps to the second floor, where we once again took in the view. Eventually, we queued for the elevator, which would take us to the top of the tower, and about twenty-five minutes later, we were looking out over Paris from 275 metres above the Champ de Mars.

"We're not as high up as the Sears Tower, but it's way cool to be outside," Elizaveta said as we looked out over Paris.

"Can you imagine parachuting from here?" I asked. "That must have been a heck of a stunt to set up for A View to a Kill."

"I read that some guys made an illegal jump just before the movie was filmed," Pete said. "I guess it's a standard dare for some parachutists to jump off tall buildings. About ten years ago, two different guys jumped from the CN Tower in Toronto and the World Trade Center in New York."

"How about skiing off a cliff and parachuting?" I asked. "The opening scene in The Spy Who Loved Me was awesome, though it was filmed in Canada, not the Alps."

Eventually, after spending time viewing every direction, we made our way back to the elevators, which would take us back to the second level so we could walk down off the tower. When we arrived at the base, we crossed the Seine on the Pont d'Iéna, then continued our walk towards the Arc de Triomphe. It took about thirty minutes to get there, and once again, we queued for tickets which would allow us to climb the stairs to the top, then walk up additional stairs to the «terrasse», which gave us another panoramic view of Paris.

When we left the Arc, we walked along the Champs-Élysées and found a quaint café tucked on a side street where we had lunch.

"It looks like it would take about seventy-five minutes to walk to Notre-Dame de Paris," Abby said, consulting the map in the guidebook. "But there's a Métro line which basically goes straight from here to there, and I'd guess would take about twenty minutes or so."

"Métro!" Sandy declared. "Mike and Elizaveta seem as if they can walk forever, but my feet are KILLING me! I'm going to need three days in Valencia just to recover, so I'm ready for Rome!"