Last Tangle In Paris
By Jim Marquez

Part I
'The Booze'�

My last night in Paris, it was supposed to be nice and quiet. Had been a hell of a trek so far. Three weeks of non-stop debauchery. Late night bars, Hashish, women half my age. Crawling back to the hostel at 9am. Jesus Christ, I thought shit like that had run its course, but, I guess not. Fuck it, then, plunge head on into the deep end of the pool. Why the fuck not? There is no sympathy for the devil'�

My buddy, Joey, teaches English as a Second language in Paris, has been for the past year so I'd been hanging out with that beast every other night. He was showing me parts of town I didn't know existed. Four treks here and I'm still seeing things for the first time. Which is great. Now I know where to get the cheap whiskey, where to get the new central night buses instead of waiting for the metros to start at 5:30am, and where I can get some good smoke.

Joey was the first one back home to trek across Europe solo. Inspired me to do the same. Now I've got 5 solo treks under my belt. It was Joey too who said, 'Hey, man, lets go to the World Cup when it comes to L.A'� And we did when it passed through The States in '94, then, Paris in '98, then, Korea/Japan in '02. And last month we just had our ticket orders 'confirmed'� for Germany '06. Fuck yes!

But this here, for my last night in Paris, after a murderous summer heat wave with humidity I've never had to deal with in L.A., a madness that was killing dozens of people every day, and the only relief was when it finally got dark at nearly 11pm I said, 'Dude, drop by the hostel bar; let's just have a few drinks, take it easy tonight, shoot the shit.'�

'Cool, man, I understand.'�

Joey shows up after 9pm with a bottle of Jameson Irish. Oh God. I was already through half a bottle of cheap red wine-overpriced at the hostel bar at 9 euros and it was against house rules to bring outside booze into the bar because you could get the same crap across the street at the Arab Mom & Pop for 3 euros-but it was still a welcomed guest.

'That's not for here, right, Jim, that whiskey you got hiding under the table?'� my bartender asked as she served me and Joey the last of our wine and cracked opened a new bottle without being asked.

'Naw, baby, wouldn't think of it. That's for down by the canal after you kick us out of here later.'�

She was a tough broad but treated me fairly because she knew I was cool and I had a little more money than the average hostel freak. Every night, after touring, about the same time, I'd sit at the same table and go through two bottles of wine before I went upstairs to change, then, head out for the rest of the dark hours.

Sadly though this latest trek out was during the summer so that meant mostly Americans at the hostel. Any other time of the year you can get the Euro travelers who are genuinely nicer, more relaxed, and know how to have a good time, i.e. wouldn't mind sleeping with a total stranger after 7 or 8 pints (if that) and a good chat.

So it was that bunch of loud and obnoxious Yanks who came back from dinner, about 30 of them. Christ, I thought it was only the young Italians & Spaniards who did this pack-mentality thing because they're so goddamn afraid of reaching out and exploring new things on their own, which is of course a spot-on reason for why our brain-fucked president and his insidious, blindly loyal and overtly racist cronies are making war with the rest of humanity, but, back they came, making the small bar more crowded than it had to be.

One girl, about 18, came and sat next to me when they took over the outside tables. She was Irish. 'You ok, honey?'� I said and offered a drink while Joey went to the can.

'I'm cool; I just wanted to get away from those assholes.'�

'You're American. I thought you were Irish.'�

'Irish-American. I'm from Santa Fe, New Mexico.'�

'And you are simply gorgeous.'�

'Thank you. Some older guy was out there, a local I think; he kept asking me to go back to his house; that he'd give me money to fuck him in front of his family.'�

'Interesting.'�

'Can I stay here for a little while? I think I can trust you. I'm actually waiting for my brother to come back from the market.'�

'Of course, baby, anything you want.'�

'�How abut a sip of that wine then?'� she giggled, hid her smile.

I poured her a glass. Joey came back. 'Who's our guest?'�

'My name's Dorian.'�

Hand shakes all around, some leering, Joey and I look at each other, the music turns up, then, some South Korean dude I met here at the hostel a couple days earlier came by with a bottle of 'Soju'�, their version of wicked firewater. 'My friend,'� he says to me with a big smile. 'As promised'�'�

'All right!'� Joey licks his chops, claps his hands together. 'Want to join us, honey?'� he asks Dorian.

'No, I'm good. My brother went to buy water and grab a pizza for us.'�

'That's too bad,'� I say and light up a smoke and turn to the South Korean. 'So dude, what happened to your girlfriend and your beautiful cousin?'�

'Ah, no good. They tired, go to sleep already. Women no good! Don't know how to have good time!'�

We all laugh, Dorian looks toward the entrance.

The wine is passed around and drunk, the hostel bar is getting hotter, more crowded, deafening, the Yanks have stormed in and me and Joey and Dorian and the South Korean go outside to an empty table and Dorian's brother, Stanley, joins us and passes around the pizza and then the Soju gets passed around and the South Korean was kind enough to have brought shot glasses with him and he serves everybody and we toast and cheer the inebriated frivolity of a long, hot night in Paris amongst drunken fools and foolish drunks and I'm still fascinated by the fact that I still get to do shit like this and suddenly the bartender swoops down on the table and grabs the Soju and screams, 'Goddammit, I told all of you no outside alcohol!'� She wags her finger at the South Korean and says, 'Don't you fuck with me mister!'� and she stomps off with about a ¼ bottle full of premium direct-from-the-old country-Soju-wine in her hands.

'That fucking cunt!'� Joey says.

'What the fuck?'� I say. 'We're outside. That's bullshit!'�

The South Korean shakes his head solemnly, says, 'No, no, relax. We have luggage downstairs. They say we can keep all day tomorrow before we leave for airport. That nice for no fee. Usually charge 10 euros. No problem. No make trouble, please. Luggage more important.'�

'All right, brother,'� I say. 'Guess you can't argue with that.'�

The SK then quickly excuses himself to use the bathroom.

I've noticed that Dorian has taken her shots and a couple glasses of wine fairly well, her brother too. They regale us with debaucherous tales of life on the road in Rome and Venice and Amsterdam and Joey and I nod and say 'cool, cool, cool'�, been there, done that, but never with a hot, sexy sister in tow.

'Yeah,'� Dorian giggles and motions for more wine. I oblige. 'Those fuckers in Rome kept putting their hands up my skirt.'� She laughs.

'And Stanley,'� Joey says, lights a smoke. 'As a brother myself to five sisters, does this not bother you?'�

'Hey, she's old enough to do whatever she wants. I'm not her father.'�

Joey and I look at each other over our tipping glasses like squirrels plotting to snatch the last nut from the tree.

'It's fine, nothing happened,'� Dorian says and looks into my eyes.

'So how old are you again?'� I need to ask.

'Seventeen.'�

Joey kicks me under the table.

'Christ, I'm old enough to be your father,'� I say.

'My dad is about 6 years older than you, so, yeah, I guess.'� She laughs. I laugh. Joey laughs hard like Robert DeNiro as 'Max Cady'� in Cape Fear in that movie theatre scene. Stanley chuckles and pours himself more wine.

'You still got that Jameson, man?'� Joey asks me.

'But of course, lad.'�

'No, no, wait, wait.'� And it's the South Korean. He walks past our table, lifts his t-shirt, and shows us a second bottle of Soju tucked into his waistband. 'Come over here,'� he points and winks. 'Come, drink!'�

The whole lot of us scream with unabashed joy.

Degenerates one and all.


Next Week: "Last Tangle in Paris-Part II: The Dame"

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