Detour Paris: Complete Series (Detour Paris Series Book 4)

by Dancer, Jack

  I bolt upright.

  I'm in my room. But how did I get here? And if I'm here (I look around, inventory the surroundings and confirm, yes; this is my room) where's Ebba? Not in bed. I jump out and check the bathroom. No Ebba. Christ, did she never return last night? Doesn't look like it. Suppose I should be glad considering I'd've probably woken up a corpse.

  Pat . . . of course. She's pissed I didn't show up at the restaurant and she spent the night with Pat out of spite. Wait. All her stuff's here so that doesn't make sense. No woman would spend the night out without her stuff. I'll check with Monica and Terry. They'll know where she is. First, shower and dress.

  Two knocks on Terry and Monica's door, my hand hesitates. Do I really want to confront the same ice Queen Monica from yesterday? Still haven't figured out what that was all about. Women. I give up and so does my hand.

  Turning to leave, a half-asleep Monica, wrapped in a bathrobe, no slippers, and hair sprouting in every direction like a Johnny Rotten bad hair day, cracks the door and peers out through blurry eyes.

  "Morning," I say and as if a switch flipped, she brightens, her eyes momentarily reaching out to me before retreating behind a coy smile. Then, she covers her face with her bathrobe.

  "Don't look at me," she pleads, and I can't help but smile at this woman who has such a stranglehold on my heart. I step forward and wrap my arms around her and pull her into me. She comes willingly, burying her face into my chest.

  I snuggle into her hair and whisper, "I can't help but look at you," and in that single moment, we're connected with the same familiar intimacy we'd shared all through France. It's a return home to contentment and safety, and I don't ever want to leave again, but something intercedes, and she pushes me away, and the familiar icy chill I’d felt after our stop at the Pont del Diable yesterday, starts blowing again.

  "We're not together, Tucker, remember?"

  "No. I don't."

  "Where's Ebba? Why aren't you with her?" she asks and it's like, just the mention of her name has caused the yuck of realities to crawl like beetles from a corpse. I know it shouldn't be that way, and I wish it wasn’t, but it is. I want to be where I was two seconds ago, holding Monica and inhaling her hair. I'm starting to feel really down on Ebba. Seems like everything turns into shit because of her. Not one moment has been pleasant. I know it's not her fault. It's mine, if anyone's. But I can't help that. It's just the way it is, or the way it's turned out to be, and I can't see it getting any better either.

  I'm in love with the woman in front of me and there's not a damn thing I can do about it. I can't change it, and I don't want to. But with Ebba - the elephant in the room - whether she’s actually present or not, her poison is, and it turns everything sour. Just the idea of her makes it impossible. The whole thing sucks. I hate to say it but I wish she'd just drop off the face of the earth.

  "I don’t know where she is. I thought you might know since you all went out together last night."

  She starts to say something ugly but catches herself. "She's probably down having breakfast."

  "Yeah, probably."

  "That's why you knocked on my door? To find Ebba?" she says.

  "Well . . . maybe not entirely," I say. "It was also my excuse to see you."

  "Is that so? What if Terry had answered the door?"

  "It was a fifty-fifty chance."

  "Well, she's not here."

  "Okay," I say turning, then, "you wanna have breakfast?"

  "Not with you and Ebba. I'm not into sharing anymore, Tucker."

  "You can have your own plate."

  "Asshole," she says turning back into the room.

  "Hey, come on," I say reaching for her arm, "I didn't mean anything. Why are you so upset with me? What have I done to bring this on? Really. I'm at a loss here." Not really. Wait. Could it be she knows about the thing with Nanette last night? Naw. The ice Queen made her appearance before that.

  She stares at me, searching for something.

  "What?"

  She seems to soften a little, but maybe she's just wearing down, getting tired of it all.

  "Look, Tucker, I had a little run-in with Ebba last night, okay? I don't want to talk about it right now so please don't press me."

  “Alright.” Uh oh. Maybe that's why Ebba's not around. Maybe she offed her. One can only wish. Wait a second. I'm not in love with some axe murderer, am I?

  She softens a little more, "Fine. I'll have breakfast with you but only if Ebba's not there. (Guess that answers that, I think.) If she is, I'll get a newspaper and take another table. But, if she's not just, please don't harass me about it. Let's just have a nice quiet breakfast. We're not together anymore remember? (No. I don’t, I think.) The train trip is over, and we're going our separate ways so let's just leave it at that. We can be friends but we're not lovers, remember?" she whispers, "If you can agree, then I'll have breakfast with you."

  "I'll agree only to make you happy, but understand one thing. No way in hell am I going to call it quits with you. Sorry. No can do. If you want to give it up, well, I guess that's up to you. But I'm not going to let you do that either. I'm nuts about you, don't you know that? And I'm not going to let Ebba stand in the way of us either. I don't know what I'm going do about her just yet, but I'll figure something out. I may have to nuke her, but I can't even do that if I can't find her. Don't worry I'll do something. Just come on down and let's get through breakfast first. I didn't eat last night, and I can't think on an empty stomach.”

  My little tirade has frozen her in place with her cute little mouth hanging agape. I've stunned her. Good.

  "So, I'll see you downstairs, right?" I say and she's still stunned, says nothing.

  After an awkward pause, I turn to leave.

  "Tucker," she calls out. "If Terry wakes up, she may want to come too."

  "Fine with me," I say continuing on, then turning. "Just don't bring Ebba if she's in your room hiding."

  "Don't worry," she says cracking a smile.

  You'd think I could just let this whole thing with Monica go and forget about it, and I would, gladly, but it won't let me go. Even the thought of a hundred-and-twenty-million waiting around the corner doesn't seem to make much . . . Holy shit! I almost forgot about that. What am I, nuts? Today should be the best day of my life! And it will be if I can get Monica, and the two of us can blow this Popsicle stand.

  ***

  Walking into the breakfast room, I spy none other than, Mistress Nanette in a very animated discussion with James and Lisa who're looking a bit browbeaten. When she spots me, she shuts down in mid-rant, like switching channels, then hails me over with a big, welcoming smile that, with some effort, migrates over to James and Lisa.

  "Morning everyone. Didn't mean to interrupt,” I say guardedly, wondering if Nanette's been ratting me out about last night.

  "Come, sit, Tucker,” Nanette says patting the seat next to her.

  "Thanks,” I say lowering my tender backside.

  Flashing a playfully knowing smirk, Lisa asks, "Sleep well, Tucker?” And I could swear she's wearing a studded dog collar, flicking a leather strap.

  "Quite well,” I say avoiding Nanette's gaze.

  "So, where's Ebba? Did she and Terry have a good time at the restaurant last night?” James asks letting me know he knows all.

  "Haven't seen her. I slept in. Thought she might already be down here."

  All three of them give little not-knowing shrugs.

  "No. We haven't seen her. She did come back to the room last night, didn't she?” James asks.

  "Gee, I don't actually know, James. I fell asleep early. Still trying to adjust to the time change I guess."

  "So I take it, you didn't make it to the restaurant with her and the girls?" James asks.

  "No. Didn't make that. Tried to, but I got waylaid," turning to Nanette as I say this.

  "You want coffee, Tucker?" asks Nanette abruptly changing the subject and waving down a waitress.

  "Sure, that'd be
nice."

  "Morning everyone," Monica says walking up to the table. I stand and pull out the chair next to me.

  "Why, thank you kind sir."

  "My pleasure. Everyone here was just asking about the missing Ebba."

  "Well, it appears we have a missing Terry too."

  "You're kidding?" I say.

  "Didn't the three of you go to a restaurant last night?" Nanette asks Monica.

  "Not exactly. I had a last-minute change of plans and didn't make it,” Monica says.

  "So, it was just Terry and Ebba?"

  "Yes, just the two," says Monica.

  "And Juan," adds James.

  "Yes, and Juan," says Monica.

  I turn to Monica. "Who is this Juan guy anyhow? Ebba left a note for me to meet the three of you and this guy Juan at a place called the Els Quatre Gats."

  "He's a bartender here in the hotel. His brother-in-law has a restaurant. That's the Els Quatre Gats, and he invited us to go there last night. Terry's got the hots for the guy, so she accepted. You were invited too, Tucker, what happened to you?"

  "He was waylaid," Lisa snipped.

  "Waylaid? What does that mean?" she asks turning to me.

  "It means I was tied up with something else and couldn't make it."

  "Think I'll visit the breakfast buffet. I'm starving," and that’s Nanette’s cue.

  James and Lisa also rise, "We'll join you."

  When they leave the table Monica turns to me. "So, what did happen to you last night? Waylaid?"

  "I just told them that. I actually called it an early night and went to bed. I'm still trying to catch up on my sleep, aren't you?"

  "Yeah. I went down early too."

  "So, you and Ebba had an . . . encounter?"

  "Something like that. She started into me on the way to the restaurant, and I didn't want to deal with it. So I got out of the car and walked back to the hotel. That's all," she says like it was no big deal.

  "I see. So what you really mean is you killed her and stuffed her down some drainage pipe, which is why she's not around. Right?"

  "One can only wish."

  "So where do you suppose they are now, really?"

  "Got me. Terry might've shacked up with Juan for all I know. She had the hots for the guy so it wouldn't surprise me. She'll probably show up later. Or, maybe not."

  "She'll call at least, won't she?"

  "I expect so."

  "You don't sound too worried."

  "She's a big girl."

  “You think Ebba would’ve spent the night with Juan too?" I ask.

  "Are you seriously asking me that?"

  Touchy. I shrug.

  "No. I don't think Terry's into ménage à trois. At least, not with Ebba, that's for sure. Besides, I don't think Terry'd be sharing Juan with anyone."

  "She really likes this guy, huh?"

  "Seems so."

  Our three table companions return and Nanette says to Monica, "So, as I understand it you were on your way to the restaurant with Ebba, Terry and this Juan fellow, but you decided to abandon the project?"

  I was a bit struck by the edge of Nanette's tone, and it didn't elude Monica either.

  "Didn't I already tell this story? What is this, Nan, an interrogation? Look, I'm not so hard up I have to spend my time putting up with such a bitch as Ebba, or any other such bitches, as far as that goes," she says giving Nanette a look that could freeze seawater, "So yeah, I guess I did make the unilateral decision to extricate myself from that particular project - and Ebba is a project, no question about it. Some projects simply aren't worth the aggravation. Besides, there's more than one way to skin a cat. Who needs her?" Then turning to me she switches on her sweetest self and says, "Certainly not, Tucker. Do you, Tucker?"

  "Uh, no. But, I'm a little confused. What's the project? You lost me."

  "Disregard it, Tucker," says James, "It's female code. Hey, why is it I can never find grits on a breakfast buffet?"

  "Get the Farina," Nanette says, "Same thing."

  "No way is Farina the same thing as grits honey," argues James. "You obviously have no understanding of the grit."

  "So no one's seen Terry or Ebba since last night?" asks Nanette.

  "Nope, though I have some suspicion where Ebba might be. Don't quote me, but frankly, I'm thinking she might be with Pat right about now,” I throw out expecting someone to rise to the bait. And sure enough ...

  "Nope. She wasn't with Pat. Trust me. I had that boy under full supervision all night long,” pipes up Lisa.

  "And I'm a witness,” exclaims James.

  "What are you talking about, Jimmy? You weren't there,” she gives James a fierce look, "You weren't were you, you little pree-vert?”

  "Course not. But, I was there when you dragged him out of Scruples,” he says defensively.

  “Oh, that's right,” she says remembering, then, reaching over to pat his hand, "Sorry honey. Didn't mean to accuse you of any undeserved perversions.”

  “Thank you. I do have standards after all. And watching you and Patrick copulating or whatever it is you do, falls quite outside of those,” he says mocking bruised feelings.

  “I know honey. I'm sorry,” Lisa assures him.

  “Where's Pat now? Isn't he coming down to breakfast?” Nanette asks Lisa.

  “No. He's tied up with something this morning,” says Lisa taking a sip of coffee.

  “And what would that something be?” James asks suspiciously.

  “Velcro,” she says with a totally straight face, earning another round of guffaws from everyone.

  "And what about Terry? Where do you think she might be?" Nanette asks Monica.

  "Well, you may or may not know but Terry has a crush on this Juan guy, and I'm thinking, hoping at least, she's shacked up with him somewhere safe and sound.”

  “That's probably it,” says James. Everybody nods in agreement.

  "That's life with a flight attendant," Nanette says pointedly to me, "they can end up in anyone's bed."

  “And what about life with a pilot? They're no better,” Lisa says.

  “Whatsa matta hon? Did Patrick crap out on you last night?” says James.

  “Pat's an asshole. All he did was pass out, and you know it's pretty damn impossible to rape a man when he's passed out,” says Lisa exaggerating disappointment.

  Monica glances at me with a smirk over that one.

  “Lisa, you're such a slut,” says James.

  “Look who's talking goat boy,” retorts Lisa.

  “Goat boy?” Nanette says nearly choking on a swallow of coffee.

  “Never mind,” James says ignoring Lisa and asking in general, "So, you think if Terry ended up with Juan last night Ebba might be with Juan's brother?”

  "Brother-in-law," corrects Monica.

  “Maybe,” says Lisa.

  “Well, I think before we start jumping to conclusions, we should give it the morning and see if they don't show up on their own,” says Nanette.

  “Probably the prudent thing to do,” offers James.

  "Nan, aren't you checking out this morning and going back to your apartment?" asks Monica.

  "Yes. Today I go home and into my own bed. Thank God," she says.

  "Lucky you," says Monica.

  “Not to change the happy subject but has anyone tried to call their cell phones?” asks James.

  "You just did," Monica says to James.

  "Did what?"

  "Change subjects."

  "Sorryee," he says.

  "But, to your question, the answer is yes. I called Terry's cell just before I came down here. Went straight to voicemail, so I left a message for her to call me back,” says Monica. "I don't know about Ebba. Have you tried her, Tucker?”

  Anticipating heads swivel to me.

  “I have, and to tell the truth it's not as advertised.”

  A moment lulls with blank stares, then Monica gets it and let's go a guffaw.

  “You're bad, Tucker,” she admonishes. "Tell
her you want a refund.” Then pausing a moment in thought, "Better yet, tell her you're trading her in for a newer model.” That froze the lot of us. No one spoke.

  Yowza! I'm thinking. Even so, hey, maybe I'm back in.

  Then Nanette breaks the silence, "I take it that would be you?” she says to Monica.

  "Naturally, is there anyone more qualified? Besides, he seemed happy with the test drive.” Then she turns to me and with a gotcha smile says, "you were, weren't you, Tucker?”

  Had I been taking a sip of coffee right now, I would’ve sprayed it all over the table. What the hell? I go with it. "Drove like a MerSayDeez Benz,” I drawl in my best Janice Joplin.

  “Wow, that was really cool, you two. Throw it all to the wind and just put it out there,” admired Lisa, then pausing in thought she says, "Nobody ever told me I rode like a Mercedes Benz. How romantic!”

  “You just haven't found the right driver yet honey,” says James. Turning to me, he says, "Okay, now that’s on the table . . . So what about it, Tucker? Have you tried calling Ebba's cell?”

  “No, I haven't.”

  “Here, use mine and try her,” says Monica handing me her cell phone, challenging.

  I hesitate; eyeing the phone like it was used tissue. Gnawing at the moment. Dreading a call that can only, at best, subject my ear to a rant of complaining blah, blah, blah, and other vile blather.

  “Suck it up big boy,” says Monica.

  I take the phone and dial. Nothing.

  “Nothing,” I say.

  “Did you remember to dial the country code, Tucker?” asks Monica.

  “Oops.”

  “001 first, Tucker.”

  “Got it.”

  I punch in the numbers, and it goes straight to voice mail. "Hey Eb, we're all sitting around the breakfast table here at the hotel wondering where you might be. Everyone's just a bit worried so would you, please give us a call, and let us know you're all right?”

  “Ask about Terry,” says Monica.

  “Oh, yeah. And, what about Terry? We haven't heard from her either. If she is with you would you ask her to call Monica's cell? Thanks, bye.” And thank you Jesus, she wasn't there. I close the phone and hand it back to Monica.