Page 3 of French Escapade

“What about you? Are you going to let me drink alone?”

“I would love to join you, but there’s something I need to do first.”

“And what is that?”

“I need to find Madison.”

He frowns and puts the bottle down without helping himself.

“I called her, and it went straight to voicemail.”

Jimmy looks at his watch and makes a face.

“There’s no denying it’s a bit late, but then again, she’s over eighteen, and at her age, we made it home at the crack of dawn a few times.”

I wave his excuse away. Not acceptable. We’re talking about a very pretty and innocent girl who doesn’t use her brain enough, not the two idiots we were. I can’t deny that we were not very smart then, but our muscle mass made up for our lack of brains.

“Did you check your messages?”

“I was about to when you arrived.”

Jimmy pours himself a small glass of his favorite poison and we both sit on the couch. I begin with three text messages and read them out loud in chronological order.

The first one is a week old.

Hey bro, I know you’re going to be pissed but here I go. I met someone and he’s invited me on a little escapade with him. I’ll keep you updated, but do not worry, I’ll probably be back before you.

The second, two days later.

You’ll never guess where I’m writing you from. I’m in Paris. Isn’t it incredible? Arkady took me to Paris! He took me shopping. I’m so happy. It’s so cool.

The next message is filled with emojis. An army of hearts in all shades of the rainbow that makes we want to roll my eyes.

I’m in Cannes! In Cannes, where movies stars go. I’m walking on Croisette. I can see the sea from my room. Arkady is adorable. I know he’s the one. I can’t wait to introduce him to you.

Jimmy stands and puts his glass down without touching it.

“That’s it?” he asks.

“There’s a few voice messages,” I say dropping the phone on the table. I put the speaker on.

“You have eleven messages,” the artificial voice declares.

One is from my dentist, letting me know that I should set an appointment for my yearly checkup.

Half a dozen commercial calls. One from the cleaner; one from a neighbor complaining about the noise my sister and her friends are making while I’m away. A few more ads and then, one last one.

One message from Madison. She left it this morning.

She’s whispering so low I have a hard time making out what she’s saying.

“Ken. I’m scared. I think I’ve messed up bad. Arkady will not let me go. He’s taken my passport, and I can’t find my credit cards. I don’t know what to do. Call me back soon. I am in room 320 in …” The hotel name is incomprehensible.

Jimmy’s standing before the message ends.

“I haven’t unpacked yet. You?” he asks.

“Me neither.”

“Give me two minutes to get my bag, and we’ll be on our way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. I had no plan for our furlough, and I've always wanted to visit the Riviera.”

His tone is light, but I know he’s just as worried as I am.

* * *

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