Rose and Phil's

little love afflictions!

Illustrated Novel

Illustrations : Elham Mbeygi.

Handwriting : Stéphane Theri 

Chapter 1

 

Like the scent of a connection!

 

On that particular evening, the light emanating from the moon gave the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont its most romantic appeal. In concert with the moon, the yellow-orange light of the old lampposts, the dancing shadows of the bushes, the heavier, jerky movements of the tall trees and the haphazard swaying of the leaves forever blown away by the autumn wind added to the atmosphere and diffused a special atmosphere throughout the park. But that wasn't all. On one of the avenues, an even different wind was blowing - there was something else. On certain nights in certain lifetimes, the gods of Heaven and Earth unite their will to play with humans. This early evening and these diffuse streaks of light guided two human beings by an invisible force towards the indescribable, immeasurable lightness that only certain encounters can ignite. Behind this hushed atmosphere, a major event was slyly taking shape.

 

According to the disgruntled Puffy, Rose's Chihuahua, it had all started earlier in the evening. His mistress, or rather her mistress's footsteps, had very quickly become marked by a nervousness of which he had been not only the witness but also the victim. Their end-of-day stroll had never before suffered the slightest hitch. This evening was a different matter. After three years together without a hitch, could this minor incident be the first of many to come? Neither he nor anyone else could know at this time.

Even if their cruising speed on the Rue Botzaris sidewalk had nothing to do with the speed of a TGV, it was still at high speed that she and he had made their way up the street, depriving him of several pee-stops at the foot of the lampposts he loved more than anything else and which, until this evening, had been one of the main attractions of his late-night stroll. Where the hell was Rose running to?

 

The alleys of the park had not escaped this new-found haste and, despite the prevailing silence, had nonetheless ended up delivering some first-rate information. Indeed, never before had Rose and Puffy completed two laps of the park. When what he thought was their last step had thrown him and his mistress in front of the large exit gate, a sudden tug on the leash, immediately felt on his neck, let the animal know that their walk wasn't over yet, and that it wasn't time for dinner. This was definitely not his evening. However, it didn't take him long to discover the pink pole, or the secret behind his mistress's soaring steps and the particular care she had taken with what looked more like evening wear than anything else, and a far cry from the sportswear of her last days. Fifty meters later, the sudden halt in their progress gave Puffy the source of all this haste and Rose a great sigh of satisfaction. Like the day before, the day before and the week before, the bench was occupied. It was now or never.

Almost immediately, Rose engaged in a series of small gestures aimed at completely readjusting her formal attire. A precise gesture repositioned her elegant hat to match the curve of her long hair. A well-calibrated flick of both hands on her coat uncovered just the right amount of her dress. All that remained was for her to regain the light step of a feline to approach the bench and plant herself in front of this stranger who, according to her and what she had seen of him during their first passage, had not yet finished losing himself in the light of his screen rather than raising his head.

If Puffy had absolutely no desire to take a third lap around the park, the same was true of Rose. Pumps are for dancing or going to the opera, not for walking for miles. Barely three meters separated her from the man and the white light, which contrasted slightly with the orange-yellow of the alley and, to her annoyance, seemed to absorb her completely. It was time for action. One thing was certain. The park would be closing in less than ten minutes. It was imperative to make a move, to provoke a reaction capable of tearing the stranger away from his virtual world and bringing him back to what was essential: Her and everything that flowed from her.

A week's shopping to find the perfect outfit, an emerald green suit, a signature hat, a mother-of-pearl coat flirting with elegance and restraint, and even pumps that Cinderella would probably have preferred, with all due respect to Monsieur Disney, to her glass shoes. There was no question of running away, the stroke of midnight was still a long way off and Rose wasn't one of those women who transforms or doesn't assert herself in front of men. She was determined to provoke things, but with grace and femininity. She took out of her handbag what she thought might contain the fatal weapon, that major asset which often enables all her fellow women to create a stir among many representatives of the male gender.

 

Her visit to Galeries Lafayette would not be in vain. The Cartier kiosk and the floral essences of Panthère would surely, like her last velvet steps towards her target, deliver the blow and blow a delicate wind to the nostrils of Phil, who, in the greatest hypocrisy and the fiercest shyness, expected everything from the beauty. The screen was beginning to burn his eyes. The bench had numbed his buttocks and upper thighs. The autumn frost had long since frozen his lips and his shoulders. Those two weeks of watching her go by without moving, that screen, the main alibi for her assiduous presence but devoid of any real interest, were over. Rose's perfume, her eyes and her first words threw Phil into the romantic spectacle of this encounter of the third kind.

 

Whether redheaded, full-figured or crescent-shaped, Phil swallowed every word of the beautiful stranger and felt ready to pick up the moon for the one who inundated him with all that was her and shielded him from all that was not her. Politely but firmly chased out of the park by its janitor, Rose and Phil set off together down Rue Botzaris. This time, the train was much slower, allowing Puffy to diligently hose down all the street's lampposts, while giving our two protagonists a little more time to discover each other at each stop...

 

Chapter 2

Like a cherry on the cake!

 

Although new technologies are capable of erasing the distance between two individuals, Rose couldn't take it anymore. For one hundred and sixty-five thousand six hundred seconds, she had been waiting for the moment when she would see Phil again. Seeing Phil again came before anything else. She was out of phase. Over the last two days, the Earth had obviously continued to rotate, completing its revolution in twenty-four hours. For at least one woman on Earth, this cruising pace had become too slow. Rose couldn't see the end of it. Of course, there had been that long telephone conversation with Phil, the very day after their meeting, but it had sounded too short and too far away. She was asking herself thousands of questions and, consumed by her impatience, she'd been giving her biorhythms a run for their money over the last two days. The emotional had overwhelmed all others. With only a few minutes to go before her appointment, her comings and goings on the sidewalk of Rue Botzaris were the best illustration of this. Puffy had never experienced anything like it. His mistress paced the sidewalk so fast that her leash tugged at his collar with great frequency and irregularity, sometimes strangling him.

After the interminable walk, Rose inflicted the express ballad. The poor dog barely had time to lift a leg before he found himself a metre or two further away than the lamppost he was aiming for. Once could be forgiven, but this time it was clearly too much.  Light-years away from her dog's preoccupations, her right hand clasped tightly to her phone, Rose told Iris, her best friend and confidante, with the intensity demanded by her emotions, the nature of her trouble. She kept repeating the same words over and over again:

- No, it's her voice, it's her voice. It's pounding in my head.

She was full of praise for her feelings:

 

No, it's his voice, I tell you.......it takes me to the gut. Each of his words comes back like an echo and several times....Yes! I can't wait to see him again....No, I don't know what he does for a living. I didn't want to seem too curious...Yes, he's a bit mysterious but not very talkative. You have to get the words out of his mouth. On the other hand, I'm going to repeat myself, but every time he opened his mouth, I felt as if I were electrified. I'm still shivering just telling you. It's been like that for two days.

 

Rose couldn't stop talking about the object of all her interrogations, punctuating every sentence with “I can't wait to see him again”. Standing at the foot of the street's last no-parking sign, she was only two or three meters from the front door of her building. Passers-by came and went around her in the greatest transparency. Engrossed in her telephone conversation, she simply couldn't see them. Isolated, in her own bubble, she continued to deliver all her sensations to her best friend. On the other end of the line, Iris had, at the very start of their conversation, tried to put in a long sentence but, faced with Rose's enthusiasm, had quickly given in and limited her intervention to a series of interjections, all in phase with the tiny space of time left to her by her friend's squadrons of revelations.  Rose passionately monopolized the entire conversation, or rather unfolded what sounded more like a monologue than anything else. Passers-by were still moving up or down the street, but Rose seemed alone, suspended by her phone and the thread of her questions.

 

The most surprising thing about what was happening, in this piece of life, was that she was no longer even able to see Phil's face from memory. She was, as it were, exclusively obsessed by his voice and all that it provoked in her. For his part, the dog, almost oblivious to all his mistress's emotions, was also going round in circles, unable to stop their mini farandole, which had become slightly unpleasant in the process.  It was the clock that abruptly brought Rose back to universal time and Puffy back to his last steps. When Iris asked her what time her appointment was, she suddenly realized that she still hadn't prepared for it and, in no time at all, ditched her girlfriend, quickly entered her building, slipped her phone into her coat pocket and the dog into the elevator shaft. It was time for splendor...

 

All day long, Rose had been browsing the department stores in the Opéra district, burning up her credit card. Although she was no stranger to shopping, she'd pulled out all the stops and had only one idea in mind, only one desire: to find everything that would enable her to dazzle the object of all her emotions, the man with such a singular voice, the one who already seemed to be becoming her Phil. As soon as the door to her apartment was closed, she set off at a brisk, almost mechanical pace towards the kitchen, and was not surprised to find Puffy at the foot of her steamer. The animal had beaten her to it, as he did every day. With his eyes glazed over, he waited for the liberating sound of the kibble packet, the ultimate proof that, after the last two days of dysfunction, he could still hope for a semblance of normality in his mistress's behavior towards him. The sight of the bowlful of kibble casually but deftly tossed into his bowl temporarily reassured the dog, who immediately turned his attention to what was now his most pressing need: sustenance. Rose left the kitchen. In the dim light of the living room, an ensemble of colonial-style furniture took pride of place, with two large Churchill armchairs, a huge Chesterfield sofa and a superb, apricot-toned globe on a beechwood stand. The walls were wallpapered in red and gold, and featured a string of portraits of opera singers on stage. Rose strode through the living room before returning to her room. All her purchases for the day were there, spread out on the bed, and although very wide, the king-size seemed overflowing with all these new toilets. The big names in haute couture shared the space harmoniously. After a little assembly, Rose opted for the asymmetrical red wool and silk trouser combo. She slipped it on delicately and, planted in front of her mirror, slipped on a pair of low-cut leather pumps with pointed toes. The jumpsuit left her arms bare, and the hundred-millimeter stiletto heels further refined her silhouette. She thought she looked splendid. She undeniably was. Rose took a few steps over to her secretary and pulled out of one of her drawers a cross necklace of emeralds and pear-cut diamonds by Graff. She had inherited it from her mother.  Certainly very expensive at the time of purchase, this necklace had an even greater, if not priceless, value in her eyes. In addition to its sparkling diamonds, this necklace reflected all the love her mother had lavished on her. At this thought, a slight shiver ran down her spine. The five million sensory cells in her skin also bore witness to this strong moment of emotion, betrayed by the wave of shivers on her bare arms. Swinging her long black hair from side to side, she released her neck to contemplate him from front to side. Then, after freezing for a few seconds in front of the mirror, she glanced at her watch. Her trotter was two turns short of the twenty o'clock position. With a feline gesture, she took her bottle of Panthère, the Cartier elixir, and delicately perfumed her neck and wrists in turn. At that very moment, she felt beautiful and ready.

It was at exactly 8.15 p.m. that the intercom once again sent her into a tizzy of excitement. It wasn't Phil but a Taxi inviting her down. Although accustomed to great comfort, she was impressed by Phil's intention. He had dispatched a limousine for the occasion. Rose slipped into the limousine. The vehicle traversed a good part of Paris before stopping in front of number fifteen on the Quai de la Tournelle. Phil was standing in front of the door of the prestigious restaurant La Tour d'Argent; once the limousine had stopped, he rushed to the car, opened the door and took Rose's hand until they entered the premises. Without a word, our two protagonists made their way to a table set especially for them. Standing in front of the bay window, Rose contemplated the panorama before her eyes, the Seine and Notre-Dame de Paris…

 

Their conversation soon became heated. They both had a thousand questions for each other. Their dinner and conversation were punctuated by a farandole of dishes, each as refined as the next. Rose was a little surprised by Phil's age. When he took off his hat, his forehead showed some very pronounced wrinkles, which piqued Rose's curiosity. Phil, unabashed but lucid, admitted to her that he was in his fifties, without daring to ask Rose how many springs had made her look so radiant. What had changed since their first meeting was the frenzied pace at which Phil kept the conversation going. Long before they'd had their first glass of Château Laffite, Rose had seen how talkative Phil was. However, she swallowed his words with as much pleasure as the sublime wine she'd been served. Phil seemed almost at home and must have told Rose why this restaurant and its management were so familiar to him. He displayed all his knowledge and expertise as an oenologist. As for her, all she could do was enjoy the gourmet pairings Phil had so aptly suggested. Only one thing disturbed Rose. Here she was, face to face with this man twelve years her senior, enjoying his good looks and the charm in some of his expressions. And yet, with every sentence he uttered, she was shaken by an epidermal reaction, immediately followed by a multitude of flashes she didn't understand. Phil's face changed rapidly and she lost herself in her hallucinations. Who was he really? She didn't have time to answer her questions before Phil stood up. The lights dimmed slightly, and her traveling companion, after revealing his passion for opera and singing, took the microphone that the chef de rang handed him to sing Nat King Cole's “Smile”.   

Moved and overwhelmed by her performance, she thanked Phil and, to his satisfaction, waited a long moment before informing him that she was a singer. Phil, who thought he was impressing her with all his voice, let out a small pout of embarrassment before confessing that he was a great opera lover. Rose was won over by the evening and the delicacy of the man she had come to think of as a solid yet fragile old elephant, intrigued by all the sensations and images produced by his voice, and invited him to come to the Opéra Bastille where she would be performing. Phil was just as enthralled as Rose, but as a seasoned old pachyderm, he was aiming for a little more before this long-awaited rendezvous. It was at the foot of Rose's building that Phil could literally immerse himself in the arms of his new conquest. In his eyes, she was magnificent, and her perfume never ceased to intoxicate him. Their first kiss was long and languorous. Then, with a much lighter step than usual, our old elephant rushed into the limousine and disappeared. Rose's perfume permeated him completely. Alone in this large car, he revisited his evening, transfixed by Rose's silhouette and his mind quite agitated by her cleavage and generous breasts. She could have been wearing a river of diamonds, sporting a forest of emeralds, and it wouldn't have impressed our transitory lover any more. He took it all in, her big black eyes, her long hair and curves over which he couldn't wait to let his hands and gaze roam. For her part, Rose, though conquered, was in for a restless night.

 

Chapter 3

Like a hair on the soup!

With their professional schedules leaving them too little time during the day, the amorous impulse carried our two lovers into endless nocturnal discussions. Rose wanted to know everything about Phil's past, and Phil wanted to question her about just about everything, making their exchanges resemble rallies or police interrogations.  Fifteen days had passed in the rhythm of their telephone conversations, and they had only been able to see each other twice. Despite Phil's relentless attempts to lure Rose into bed, the beautiful woman had repelled all his advances with skill and efficiency. The old elephant, as she called him, was, in her opinion, in too much of a hurry. Of course, the desire to make love was not foreign to her, but she wanted to wait. She wanted to be sure that this adventure would offer her more than one tomorrow, and could also build on her career as a singer and all her travels. Phil, more prosaically, put this cautious view down to his youth and, in his mind, didn't have a minute to lose. His fiftieth birthday wasn't far off, and although Rose kept telling him that with true love, they both had their whole lives ahead of them, she was no less than sixteen years younger than he was. What the hell! Rose's body was freaking Phil out. In his eyes, she was like a fine champagne or a grand cru. It was hard to keep that in front of you without wanting to consume. For their second rendezvous, they had agreed to meet near the bench where Phil had succumbed to the scent of panther. Cartier had laid the cornerstone of their love affair, but it had also made Phil addicted to Rose's neck. Immersing himself in it was like a drug and, during their embraces, the beautiful woman always found it a little difficult to unstick him. Phil seemed to take it in his nostrils, as if to hold out until the next shot. Rose, for her part, enjoyed being snuggled in his arms and hearing him whisper words of love in her ear.

 

On the move since the beginning of the week, this Friday evening was a moment of deliverance for Phil, and a more emotional burden than usual for Rose. She was about to see again the object of all her visions, and take up two major challenges. The Paris Opera was opening its doors for the dress rehearsal of Carmen, and she was, for the first time, the singer. What's more, she had invited Phil to the event. She knew Phil was an opera buff, and although he didn't have the voice of a tenor, performing in front of him added a little pressure. Then there were all the nocturnal visions generated by Phil's voice. Through no fault of her own, every night since their first meeting, Rose would revisit Phil's phrases in her sleep. Even more disturbing, with each one, Phil's face changed at the same rate as the place they were both supposed to be in. Her visions were so strong that Rose would wake up in the middle of the night and be unable to sleep. Yet, like Phil, she could only wait for the moment when she could see him again. As such, she had scoured the boutiques of the Opéra district, spending a substantial sum on a new outfit that would outshine her stage costume and give her unparalleled beauty for the after-party, which would perhaps be punctuated by what her old elephant had been hoping and coveting for a week already: a night of love. Rose wasn't yet sure whether to give in to temptation, but she was eager to arouse Phil's desire. It was nearly 3 p.m. when Rose left for the opera. In the cab that took her from the Buttes Chaumont district to the Bastille opera house, she was bombarded with text messages from Phil and her friend Iris, who would also be attending tonight. The reading of these was interrupted by a call that slightly tensed Rose's face. On the other end of the line, it was José, her impresario. He was heavy, oppressive and, in her opinion, always too present. The animal never let her out of his sight and, for our singer in love, fell into the slimy category from which it's always difficult to extricate oneself. But José had and still held the keys to her career, and it was very difficult for her to send him packing. So she endured a little without saying anything, but looked forward to the day when her aura would allow her to get rid of him. For now, she had to answer his questions and act a little uninvolved or light-hearted to give José the impression that he was indispensable to her.

 

Rose, on the phone: “No, I'm not late. I'll be there in a few minutes....No, I don't need to.....No, I'm sorry but I'm not free tonight. I already have dinner plans.

Rose had to meet Phil and there was no question of it going any other way. Once again annoyed by his sliminess, she hung up and immediately plunged her gaze into the thread of her text messages exchanged with Phil and then Iris, and telephoned her friend.

 

Rose on the phone: “Hello Iris, yes, everything's fine; I got your message. I left your invitation at the entrance. All you have to do is ask for an envelope with Iris's name on it. No, I can't wait for you, I'll already be in costume with the other members of the troupe.... No, you won't! But I'll see you in five minutes. You can even come to my dressing room. We'll have champagne and I'll introduce you to Phil...

 

She chatted with her friend for a long moment, then, on arriving at Bastille, rushed into the opera at top speed. For his part, Phil was standing at the bar of the TGV train that was taking him back to Paris. He was accompanied by two men he had invited to visit the cellars of one of his champagne suppliers. The three men were absorbed in their discussion, unconcerned by the thirty-minute delay announced by the driver or by anything other than the quality of the champagne they had tasted earlier in the morning, which Phil's choice of words had highlighted so well. It looked like a good deal for everyone and, in addition to his date with Rose, it gave Phil a lot of joy. At this time of the afternoon, neither he nor Rose had the slightest suspicion of what might spoil their evening. The second hand of their watch was punctual enough to give the large hand the distance it needed to move forward and mark universal time without any apparent worries. Soon after arriving at the Gare Montparnasse, the three men shook hands before parting company.  Phil, upbeat about his day and his evening appointment, strolled back to the parking lot, got into his car and headed for Rueil-Malmaison, where he was staying. The show wasn't until 8.30pm. He had plenty of time to get home, shower and change into an appropriate outfit. He too wanted to look impeccable and impress the beautiful Rose. He even told himself that if he pulled out all the stops, he'd have the pleasure of winning Rose's favor and experiencing his first night of love with her. Unfortunately, the dice of destiny never warn anyone of the bad blows of fate. Before the time, it's not the time, but Phil, like Rose, was approaching it in all innocence…

 

While the musicians of the Bastille Opera Orchestra were tuning their instruments and making a few revisions, Phil wasted no time in showing up at the entrance, handed over his ticket and, impatient, hurried to his seat. He was filled with emotion, eager to see and hear his beloved on stage. The auditorium was filling up fast, and as the spectators arrived, the ambient hubbub grew louder and louder. Iris did the same a few moments later, and then a short but intense silence engulfed everyone in the scenery of Bizet's opéra-comique and the music. Rose made her entrance on stage, under the spotlights, as Phil looked on in amazement and wonder, but simultaneously to the applause of the audience, Iris and, backstage, the gooey José.

 

Phil, like the audience and Iris, had plenty of opportunity to applaud. And he did so without restraint. Literally transported by his belle's lyrical performance, by her beauty, our lover couldn't wait to find Rose, the beautiful rebel, to congratulate her and give her a hug.  The crowd was thick and it took Phil a few minutes to clear it. He immediately headed backstage to find Rose's dressing room. She'd texted him a free pass. After a few steps and a few hints here and there, he approached the corner of the dressing room. A burnt-out light bulb left part of the corridor in semi-darkness. There, stunned, he saw Rose in the arms of José, the impresario she'd never told him about. The latter ended with a stolen kiss, which the darkness and Phil's jealousy immediately transformed into a gesture of betrayal.

No sooner had Rose freed herself from her impresario's oppressive arms than she realized the predicament his sliminess had landed her in. She warned him: “That was the last time. You hear me, the last time.” Then she ran after her old elephant, whose steps seemed to be boosted by anger.  It was outside, on the deserted sidewalk, that Rose and Phil met again…

 

Chapter 4

It's like of "déjà vu"!

 

To catch up with Phil on the sidewalk and just before he was about to get into a cab, Rose, ignoring the rain and slippery ground, had beaten all her previous speed records. Indeed, despite her pumps and her old elephant's head start, she had managed to catch up with him just a handful of seconds before he was about to get into a cab. Even if the situation was confusing, she had nothing to reproach herself for, and shouted it with all her operatic voice, but above all with the appropriate gravity. Even though the opera house was right next door, she wasn't playing.  It was like a wall collapsing at her feet. Even if their romance was only a few days old at the moment, the building under construction had already taken the lion's share of her life's sky. Alerted by her cries, Phil turned his back on his cab and let Rose express herself in a softer tone:

I swear I didn't mean to. It's a stolen kiss, nothing but a stolen kiss. Please believe me.

 

The rain was coming down harder and harder, and the clatter of water drops on the sidewalk was getting louder and louder. Phil's eyes stared into those of his sweetheart, slightly troubled by the raindrops but also a few tears that had become, in the face of such emotion, impossible to hold back. As for Phil's hat, it was dripping, adding to all the water already falling on Rose's shoulders. Cut off from the rest of the world, indifferent to the heavy downpour, the two lovers threw themselves against each other. Phil gently wiped Rose's face. A long kiss followed, and then it was time for our two protagonists to return to Rose's dressing room. Literally besieged by José as she left the stage, she hadn't had time to read the message Phil had written on her mirror. As she read it, her body was overcome by slight shivers, matched almost immediately by a new embrace and a kiss, in no way less romantic than the most romantic of Hollywood kissing scenes. Comforted by the feverishness of his beloved in front of him, the old elephant was no less reassured. He held her close for a long moment before taking her to one of the gargotes where he liked to dine. Without revealing any more of his contempt for the slimy José, our old pachyderm thought no less of him and was going to work to keep Rose away from this predator. If the impresario's attitude had cast a pall over the evening, our two lovebirds didn't linger long at the table. The unfortunate misunderstanding led to another explosion of anger. To Phil's delight, Rose, after opening her arms to him, opened her bedroom door and her bed. In a shared frenzy, the two lovers threw themselves on top of each other, first gently, then passionately. Their bodies quickly became entwined, racing to satisfy their need for physical fusion. Phil's body was athletic, albeit slightly covered with a thin layer of fat, and Rose's hands roamed over it deftly.  Rose seemed to have already abandoned herself to it, floating in her mind for the umpteenth time, this sensation so particular, so strange. Her mind, out of sync with her loving gestures, delivered images similar to their embrace, but interspersed with different faces. Phil, on the other hand, remained in the moment and wanted to make this first night of love and sex unforgettable. The beautiful girl refused him nothing and gave her body over to her lover's every desire. She was even surprised and pleased that Phil was such an expert performer. His caresses and back-and-forth movements repeatedly brought Rose and her partner to orgasm. Their first night was a long one, releasing all the juices of love from Rose's body for the greatest but also the most discreet pride, felt by the trans-sick Phil until the first light of day.

At dawn, Phil's prospecting notebook quickly separated our two lovers. From her living-room window, Rose gave her beatified old elephant one last smile and watched him get into his cab. With her cup of tea in hand, she revisited her night and all her visions.  Once again, her body was tingling and her mind intrigued. What was new, however, was a vision clearer than all the others. Rose was making love to a man her life had never given her the opportunity to know. What was even more surprising was that this man's voice was identical to Phil's. Images raced through her mind, and Rose saw herself again with two or three different men, but each with a voice and vocabulary similar to Phil's. After a short pause, she realized that she'd never had sex with a man she'd never met before. After a brief moment of freeze-frame, Rose made her way to the bathroom. Naked under the shower, she revisited her night of love, letting her body flood with the warmth of the water and the shudders caused by reminiscences of her night and Phil's hands on her body. At the memory of Phil's hands on her crotch, the young singer indulged in a few intimate caresses, stayed for a long moment under the shower, then set about her day.

Her independent nature and her desire to control her own destiny and career meant she had to dot the I's and cross the T's with her impresario. She picked up the phone and took the goo by the throat.

 

Rose on the phone: “No! You had no right to kiss me, or rather to try to kiss me the way you did.  I'm under contract to you, but it's not a marriage contract. There's nothing to justify what you did last night, nothing... Yes, I heard you. You apologize, but I won't. I want to hear you say that was the last time....I'm waiting.”

 

On the other end of the line, José's gallant friend expressed his regrets, which he announced as sincere but which Rose received with all the reservations in the world. Afterwards, their exchanges quickly brought them back to the essential: Rose's singing calendar. After the Opéra Bastille, New York audiences awaited her at the end of the month, and she had to prepare with her slime, press appointments, hotel and flight bookings.

As November drew to a close and the temperature slowly but surely turned colder, our two lovers were even more eager to slip into a comforter together. Despite the turbulence of life, the torrid nights followed each other with the same passion and scenes of pleasure that Rose and her old elephant couldn't admit to, but lived to the full. Then Rose flew off, far from Phil, to the Big Apple to give her career an international dimension. The Metropolitan Opera and its public awaited her, as did the American press. The opening night generated a flood of positive articles on Rose's operatic performance, but also a flood of boasts from her slimy impresario, who recommended sticking with her a little too insistently. One evening in December, Air France flight AF0006 touched down on the tarmac of New York's JFK International Airport. On board was Phil. He couldn't bear the thought of his beloved leaving so far away from him, with slimy José at his side. The revelations made by Rose during their long telephone conversation had greatly fuelled his concern and quickly convinced him to jump on the first plane to lend a hand to his sweetheart and, who knows, hire her to kick the slime's ass if need be.  Over a long weekend, Phil enthusiastically took to the sidewalks of Manhattan and, with gigantic strides, made his way to Lincoln Center. Before reuniting with his beloved, Phil discovered just how harsh winter can be on the streets of New York. The elegant hat he wore didn't stop the icy wind from chafing his ears. But, as we all know, love is stronger than anything. There was only one thing he wanted to do with every step he took on the sidewalk and by the second hand of his watch: find Rose and give her a hug. On arrival, Phil encountered a few problems with security, but they were brief. Strangely and unexpectedly, the object of all his torment, the slime personified, the author of the stolen kiss, the impresario of all dangers came to his rescue and opened the backstage doors for him. A little over an hour later, Rose and Phil left José behind and jumped into a cab, eager to discover New York nightlife together.

 

Chapter 5

Like a soul recovered!

 

 

Phil, like an old elephant, didn't allow himself to be blackmailed by José for long. The impresario may have done him a favor by allowing him to take over the venue where his lady was performing, but Phil still hadn't digested the episode of the stolen kiss. As soon as he arrived backstage, he put his hand firmly on the impresario's shoulder and said:

“Let's get one thing straight between us: I don't like you at all. What happened in Paris must never happen again, or else....”

The slimy man cut him off and retorted, in a honeyed tone: “It's an unfortunate misunderstanding, I assure you...”

Phil didn't let him finish his sentence and raised his voice:

“Stop! You heard me, stop. I don't want to hear any more. And I'll tell you why. Last time's incident wasn't the first. Your insistence and inappropriate gestures have gone on too long. So assume what you are and watch.”

Phil showed him his fist and, like an old elephant well-versed in competition, swung at him with aplomb:

“One more slip and I'll punch you in the face. I think... No, I know Rose made it clear to you. It's over, you hear me, over...”

Phil tackled his interlocutor to the wall and with clenched teeth put an end to their conversation:

“Now, I'm going to wait for her in her dressing room. If you have something to say to him, obviously something professional, I'll give you two minutes, no more. Then, to avoid wasting any time, I have no desire to have a drink with you or, even worse, to have dinner with you. I'll give you two minutes, and that's plenty.”

If Rose's impresario knew how to play the decision-maker and the slimy in front of all the women he'd signed contracts with, at this very moment he was as self-effacing as a kid caught with his hand in the jam pot. Once released from Phil's restraint, he tried in vain to free himself. Phil's tone was as firm as ever:

“I didn't hear you say we agreed, and I need to. I'm listening.”

The impresario complied and, after straightening his shirt collar, quickly disappeared into the corridors. Barely thirty minutes after this incident, our two lovebirds were reunited. The distance and separation had in no way affected their feelings. After a long kiss and an embrace, like a love-struck old elephant, they left the opera house and got into a horse-drawn carriage. Wrapped up in a thick blanket, they embarked on their New-York by night tour, snuggling up to each other and enjoying the night-time calm of Central Park's alleys.  Cadenced by the clatter of horses' shoes on the pavement, our two lovers' words, Rose's and Phil's, flowed harmoniously into one another and, despite the cold, gave them the feeling that their walk had been too quick. On Phil's instructions, the carriage stopped a few dozen meters from the restaurant “Le cirque”, where they sat down to dinner. Phil had organized everything and had taken care to reserve a table from Paris. With a glass of champagne in hand, they toasted their love with stars in their eyes.  The old elephant then pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. In it were two plane tickets to Nairobi and a detailed safari itinerary. It was at this very moment that Rose was suddenly seized by violent shivers. No sooner had Phil finished telling her about the trip than her whole body was taken over by the force of the visions that overwhelmed Rose's mind. She saw a man and a woman at a restaurant table. Neither the woman nor the man resembled Rose or Phil but, astonishingly, both had identical voices. The woman her mink presented to her spoke like her, with the same words. Words and phrases totally identical to the last words out of Phil's mouth were coming out of the mouth of the man she was seeing. Phil saw Rose's confusion for the first time. Although the incident didn't last a minute, it was so violent that Rose cut Phil off and stunned him with her words. With an almost mechanical tone and rhythm, Rose hurled a squadron of very precise words at Phil:

“No, don't tell me any more. I know exactly where you want to take me. We'll leave Nairobi for a hot-air balloon flight. We'll fly over the Tsavo plains and Amboseli National Park. In the distance, we'll see Kilimanjaro and a herd of elephants. A little panicked by the altitude, I know I'll feel the need to hug you. I can see our whole trip Phil. I don't know how, but I see a whole journey I have to make. I see a young woman and a slightly older man, like you and me. But it's not you, it's not me. On the other hand, it's the voices of the two of us speaking to me. I see the lodges and also the Masai Mara park entrance sign. It's simply amazing...”

Rose kept her hands slightly above her shoulders and, completely taken in by her visions, described them with a precision that left our elephant speechless. Before this minute, he hadn't spoken to her about anything. He hadn't dropped any information that might give Rose the chance to discover before the hour what he wanted to present as a total surprise. Our old elephant was simply stunned by the veracity of Rose's revelations, which tallied exactly with the itinerary he had carefully prepared with the travel agency, in total discretion. What's more, he had prepared everything just the day before his departure for New York. It was impossible for Rose to. know anything about this journey. Nevertheless, the beautiful woman, as if spellbound, continued to trace every step of their safari. Each one was embellished with anecdotes of special moments. Although literally absorbed in the story, Phil also had a vision. It had nothing to do with paranormal phenomena, but it did put him on red alert. He had to stop his storytelling before it reached the climax of their journey. The old elephant had also added one last surprise to this journey, and it had to remain a surprise. He decided to interrupt his sweetheart abruptly:

“Rose! Rose, what's the matter with you? What's the matter?

 

Chapter 6

Like an encounter

of the 3rd type!

 

Our two lovers' dinner was disturbed for a long time by the emotion with which Rose recounted and explained her brutal visions. Phil listened to her every word, unsure of what to say or do. As his sweetheart poured out the unthinkable, he was sometimes seized by curiosity, sometimes torn by his desire to stop Rose's story at all costs. The beautiful woman's face was marked by questioning and a touch of anguish. The look on her face, combined with the back-and-forth movement of her hands, one pointing skywards, the other to the top of her head, confirmed her confusion. Beyond this science-fiction-like scene, Phil, more down-to-earth, wanted to calm his lady down, to stop her frenzy of interpretations about what he thought might be due to overwork and pure coincidence. In any case, he was a little pleased to think so. But he couldn't possibly admit this to Rose, as it would have been like calling her crazy. In spite of the turmoil caused by this strange situation, the old elephant played half a game for each side. He'd try to comfort Rose, then a minute later, overwhelmed by the outpouring of her revelations, he'd send her back to the few days they'd had together before being separated again for several weeks, and tirelessly ask her to calm down.

After dinner, our two lovers left the restaurant for the W hotel . was not far away and a short walk would do Rose good. They walked slowly to Time Square and then strolled over to the W's bar for a drink.

Rose's artistic performance, the worries generated by her visions and the three martinis she had downed, soon drove her into the arms of Morpheus and deprived her old pachyderm of the night of love he had fantasized about all the way across the Atlantic Ocean. Although the jet lag hadn't dampened his ardor in the slightest, he too had no choice but to give in to his first New York night, but in his own bed.

The next morning, it wasn't a kiss from his beau that woke Phil up, but a couple of licks from Puffy. Rose's dog accompanied his mistress wherever she went, and at the moment, his bladder was on red alert. So it was that Phil began his day with a tour of Central Park, before having breakfast with the woman he now saw only as his bride. Although the old elephant's feet were firmly planted on New York sidewalks, his mind was already on African soil, where he had decided to propose to his beloved. From museum to restaurant, passing almost every evening by the top of the Empire State building, our two lovebirds returned to a more serene love life. Although Rose's days were somewhat shortened by rehearsals and performances, there was still plenty of time to discover the secrets of the Big Apple. They spent a lot of time in Soho, visiting the area's designer boutiques, upmarket stores and art galleries. Rose went on a shopping spree, returning with a suitcase full of new toiletries. The more prosaic Phil never ceased to praise the beauty and elegance of certain building facades, wrought-iron ornaments and the charm of cobblestone streets. The nightlife of New Yorkers brought them some very fine moments, with the exception of the evening spent with the Opera troupe. Although José's sliminess had kept his distance and restraint, his presence alone had warmed Phil's ears and mood a little.

It was an interminable kiss that separated our two protagonists in the lobby of Newark airport. Phil had a backlog of orders and couldn't stay any longer. He left his beloved sadly, but with great satisfaction. Rose had happily agreed to say yes to Kenya, despite her disturbing visions. After a few days without any new visions, she had finally put things into perspective and left a reasonable amount of room for doubt. Perhaps all her visions were pure coincidence, and probably the result of chance and fatigue from her singing career. She left the airport and her old elephant with the same sadness. Snug in her handbag, Puffy began to fidget, finding the farewell time a little too long. She quickly hopped into a cab and headed back to Manhattan. While Phil boarded the plane for Bordeaux, Puffy resumed her investigations and shopping on Fifth Avenue.

 

Our two lovebirds spent more than thirty-five days without each other, separated by the thousands of kilometers of the Atlantic Ocean and both eager to get together again for a safari. Their nights were once again interspersed daily with interminable telephone calls, which the time difference made even more painful for the old elephant, who was giving up hours of sleep. Not only were his nights short, but he also had to deal with the torments of his libido, which was greatly inflamed by the voice of his beloved on the other end of the line. But when you're in love, the second hand of your watch gallops, and our two lovers' watches galloped until they were in front of a new airport concourse, that of Nairobi. It was time for a safari and the discovery of the Kenyan plains and their immense reserves. The 4X4 quickly transported Rose and Phil through the endless ruts of the red dirt tracks. As on some postcards, on their first day they came across giraffes, warthogs, zebras and many other animal species; Phil paid particular attention to the monkeys spotted in the garden of their lodge. Indeed, the blue color of the testicles of the Vervet monkey had given Phil the opportunity to highlight this natural curiosity, around which he was full of comments and questions.

 

In the evening, the nocturnal spectacle of a watering hole brought him back to the magic of the African soil and gave his journey the poetry everyone dreams of. His sweetheart would be glued to his side, and together, they would say hello to all the gods of creation before lovingly roaming each other's bodies in the calm and warmth of the night. Then came the day of flight. Rose and Phil, as the beautiful one had seen in her visions and Phil had programmed in their safari, climbed into a hot-air balloon to fly over the plains of Amboséli. Once again, the splendor of the setting, the panorama afforded by the altitude and the magic of the moment lifted Rose and Phil to the firmament of lovers and the very depths of creation. Snuggled up in Phil's arms, Rose's eyes and heart were filled. Life, her life, was definitely taking place under the most romantic skies in the world, and her old elephant was proving to be the instigator of all this magic. The beauty's eyes, far from animal ferocity, were literally devouring him.

 

It was in Masai-mars, in a Masai village, that the wild side of Africa took the spotlight from the postcard. An old lion started running through the manyattas (traditional Masai houses), in the direction of our two lovers and a group of warriors in the middle of a dance performance. Rose was panic-stricken and, although less demonstrative, Phil was scared to death for a moment before they both discovered that Clarence was harmless and was just running towards the village chief, who had taken him in when he was just a cub. The frightened Rose came to her senses in Phil's arms after a brief but genuine outpouring of tears.  Alas, the dissonance of the incident brought on new visions and a crisis far more severe than the one in New York. She was seized by violent tremors and jolts, and began to delirium. Rose, in Phil's arms and in a daze, said:

“I know now why I'm here with you. I know you're going to die.”

Phil was invited by the village chief to carry his beloved to one of the manyattas. Those who witnessed the scene thought at the time that the sun might have been beating down too hard on Rose's head. It hadn't.

 

Chapter 7

Like an age-old complicity!

 

The safari took our two lovebirds to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, where they spent many wonderful evenings contemplating the bewitching African sunset and the arrival of wild animals at the various watering holes along their route. Rose's visions disturbed Phil for a few hours, but his love was much stronger than the torments caused by the revelations arising from Roses' delusions. Most of the time, his beloved would forget almost all of it, and only uncertain snippets would come back to his mind once he had regained his composure... The lodges all offered magnificent panoramas and gave their breakfasts a magic as enchanting as the evenings in front of which they both enjoyed contemplating the natural spectacle of the bush in long silences. Almost every day, a small hand gesture from one or the other would magnify the moment. Their two hands would merge, and their eyes would leave Africa for a brief moment to offer their two souls a few seconds of vivid emotion that would, without a doubt, be etched forever in their memories. They savored each of these simple pleasures with restorative serenity, and returned from Kenya even more in love....

 

Even though their professional lives took them both back to a more frenetic pace as soon as they returned to Paris, their love lives suddenly accelerated and drew a curtain over yesterday's priorities.  The months flew by at breakneck speed, the festive season was upon us and our two lovebirds had been burning each other's bridges for just over a year. Much to José's chagrin, Rose turned down several contracts to remain available to travel with Phil. One morning, the impresario became furious with Rose: “No! For me, it's no longer possible. I can't keep saying no to everything you're offered. You're at the dawn of your career and you're throwing it all away over a romance that...

Rose, very angry, didn't let José finish his sentence: “Stop it! You know very well that the problem isn't Phil, but your jealousy and your stubbornness in always trying to send me as far away from him as possible. I'm fed up with you and your contracts at the end of the world. I want to live, you hear me, live!

José cut her off: “You have to sing too, I remind you...

Arms in the air, Rose cut him off again forcefully: “Yes, of course I have to sing, but not for a master singer... for an audience, and I want to choose my audience. I'm tired of being at the mercy of your shenanigans.

José, outraged: “You didn't always say that about my shenanigans, especially when you were still an illustrious stranger.

Rose, increasingly angry: “Go ahead, spout your nonsense, pretend I'm definitely stupid. You think I don't know that you've turned down several French scenes without telling me. Besides, I'm the one who got you out of the jam. You have a short or selective memory. Monsieur le grand impresario didn't have an artist left when I first came to see him. I came to you with a contract, not the other way around. You were nothing and...

José, at the end of his tether: “You knew nothing about the business and now you want to give me lessons.”

Rose, even more upset: Oh yes! I've listened to your lessons and paid you well for your work. I don't owe you a thing. You know what, that's it. My job is a dream for the public, you're a nightmare for me. I simply can't stand you anymore. Our collaboration ends today, right now. It's over, you hear me, over.

Rose turned her back on her interlocutor, quickly grabbed her handbag and opened the office door when José arrogantly replied: “You can't just fire me. We have a contract, you...

Rose didn't let him finish. Without even turning around to speak to him, she scornfully snapped: “Do you know where you can stick your contract?”

And she slammed the door.

Back at home, Rose made herself a cup of tea and ran herself a bath. If the beginning of the day had started badly, it could end in the warmth and intimacy of a dinner with Phil. In the bath, she decided to put her career on hold for a while, to enjoy the festive season to the full and, for the start of the new year, to live her love story without restraint. She was going to start by buying a tree and anything else she could think of to make it sparkle. Then she would begin her quest for Christmas presents for her old elephant.

A few days later, Phil announced that the two of them had been invited to spend New Year's Eve at his sister Carla's house. She had a chalet near Combloux and Phil was keen to go skiing, which did not displease Rose, who also loved the mountains and skiing.

As soon as Phil arrived at Carla's, he was left behind by Rose, with suitcases and a multitude of chores to do, while Rose and her sister-in-law went shopping in Megeve to perfect the outfit and coquetry so dear to his sweetheart.  All day long, Phil. was at the mercy of his two new accomplices. So much so that, relegated to the role of mere extra, he preferred to put on his snowshoes and set off on a solitary hike. The Arly and the pines offered him a beautiful stroll in cathedral-like silence. Without too much difficulty, he pushed on to Notre Dame de Bellecombe, while the women in his life played the high-flying chatterbox without him. When he returned, nothing had changed, at least for our two chatterboxes. Phil had given up his last breath to the snow and his ballad, while Clara and Rose were in a state of complicity and a verbal flow that was enough to make you dizzy. A little weary from the air and his escapade, Phil stood behind her without saying a word. He was happy that his sister and his beloved were such accomplices. After a drink or two in front of the fireplace, our three protagonists shared a tartiflette and an immeasurable number of memories in a warm, family atmosphere. Despite a strong desire to make love to Rose, Phil fell into the arms of Morpheus as soon as he went to bed.

 

Chapter 8

Like an uncertain fall!

 

That night, the skies over Paris had nothing to envy of the Alps. The snow was falling in heavy flakes and had already been covering the paths of the Parc des Buttes Chaumont with its white mantle for several hours. At this late hour of the night, the entire park was closed and immersed in a silence in perfect harmony with the snow, whose discreet settling of the flakes on top of each other offered a poetry so dear to Francisque Poulbot and similar to his paintings of old Montmartre.  In the early hours of the morning, young Parisians on vacation were in for a treat, and were sure to flock to the gates of the park to be among the first to set foot in the snow. The nocturnal animals, the local cats and the birds hadn't yet started their day, leaving the park's paths untouched by footprints for those most eager to make their first glide over the hills. As for Phil, he was snugly wrapped up under his comforter and had long since replaced the joy of a snowball fight or a toboggan ride with the fear of falling. There was no question of jeopardizing what he called his old carcass. Although sheltered from the weather and immersed in the comfort of his cosy bed, he was nonetheless the actor of a restless night. He tossed and turned, snored and, from time to time, shouted loudly, “No, no, no! Followed almost immediately by equally thunderous “Yes! Yes! Yes!” without waking up. The old elephant was a deep sleeper. It has to be said that all his adventures, his travels and the deliriums of his belle far exceeded the calm he had been able to put on his life before they met. But Rose captivated him, surprised him, enchanted him with her joie de vivre and her bulimia for travel. To circumnavigate the globe in such a short space of time was, at elephant's pace, exhausting. Phil knew it. However, there was no question of running away, of saying no on pain of looking like an old fart in the eyes of his beloved. Yes, had become the guiding word for all his desires, even if yes was sometimes punctuated by “Oh no! The new year already heralded promises of efforts that already seemed superhuman. Yet unmoved by Phil's fears, Rose unabashedly flaunted her desires for new and far-flung destinations. If the hot-air balloon ride had given Phil much torment, she had told him of her intention to learn to fly a cuckoo clock, in the manner of Robert Redford in the film Out of Africa, but also with the firm intention of holding the stick. For a moment, she considered taking things a step further and announcing to Phil that she felt capable of offering him her first loop and sealing with him the intensity with which she wished to continue their romance. She was so quick on the uptake that it didn't take long for the day to fly. Rose hadn't done things by halves, and it was on the tarmac of Alpha airport in Queensland that she presented her petrified old elephant with a magnificent pilot's cap. The front of the cap, embroidered in gold lettering, read Phil.  Quickly placed on the old elephant's forehead, the navy blue cap with its gold lettering stood out against Phil's pale face. Every time his sweetheart took his eyes off him, Phil discreetly glanced in the direction of the old cuckoo clock, which seemed to have flown too many hours. The state of the plane, on the other hand, didn't bother Rose in the slightest. She was living her dream to the full and intended to make this day an extraordinary moment and a memorable one. She had asked the technician in charge of the cuckoo's preparation to photograph them so as to immortalize the moment when they would both be on board. Much less enthusiastic, Phil was turning up the heat. He knew Rose was reckless, and her words guaranteed that she would take risks to impress him. A long shiver ran down his spine as his beautiful wife placed her hand on his shoulder, inviting him to take a seat on board. The camera shutter immortalized the moment, but also Phil's tense smile. The aircraft's propellers began their merry-go-round, sending our two lovebirds onto the runway and quickly into the air. Rose was looking straight ahead, light and euphoric, while Phil was clinging to his seat, green with fright. After flying over the cattle heads of Queensland's great herds, the plane made its first loop and Phil his first scream. Rose did a series of tricks and Phil shouted. The plane kept turning. Phil yelled, “Stop, stop, I want to get off. A thud was heard. Phil suddenly found himself nose-down on his bedroom floor. A little haggard, he realized that he'd just put an end to what had been a dream, before becoming a nightmare. He looked up at his bedside table. His electronic alarm clock read five twenty-seven. He sat on the wooden floor for a few seconds, his hand on his head, then decided to leave the bedroom for the kitchen. This Rose had definitely made an impression on him. If the dream had pushed the envelope a little too far and our old elephant to the ground. He began to think that perhaps he wouldn't be able to live up to this young woman's inspirations and, above all, her ardor. The weight of years multiplied his fears. Hundreds of projections raced through his mind before the sound of his percolator brought him back to his senses. After all, he didn’t know her and that dream had absolutely nothing to do with reality except that the young singer had just impressed him with her charisma and beauty. He had to rise to the occasion, but he didn’t want to misrepresent himself or play a role. He had, in any case, the whole day to think about it before going to meet the woman who had caused all his walks to the Parc des buttes Chaumont and this night trip to say the least fantastic. He served himself a good coffee and put his seat on the big Churchill chair in which he began all his days. The day to live and the dawn offered together great promises, like dinner to live with Rose. Phil swallowed a large sip of coffee. Life, his life, was beautiful and he was determined to live it fully.