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

by Dancer, Jack

  Why is it we're simply incapable of looking upon a beautiful woman without the thought passing through?

  Because we're animals?

  Yep.

  Looks like she didn't know anything about Lloyd. Suppose that's good. No way. You know they've been talking about that all day. They can't help it. Stuff like this is like air to women. They can't live without it.

  Guess he's out then, ole Lloyd. She'd never show up for dinner with me there if she didn't have good news. Would she? Christ, it's easier training a cat than figuring what a woman will do. Why am I trying to second-guess her? I'll find out when I get there. At least, it sounds promising.

  ***

  The Raven.

  The Raven has invited Jacques and his wife to dinner to express her gratitude for alerting her to lottery ticket and Paulo Marti. Bring their little girl. She has a baby sitter.

  Initially, the Raven's invitation to dinner triggered a wave of fear and foreboding, but the idea she would reward him from the proceeds of the lottery ticket was too tempting to ignore. Of course, he and his wife would be honored to accept her invitation and the offer of a babysitter.

  On the evening of the grand event the couple and their daughter were personally received by the Raven gushing welcomes and apologies for handing the couple off to her aide-de-camp for cocktails and a tour of the grounds while she took the child to the babysitter and finished preparing their meal for the evening. Yes, the Raven was personally preparing dinner for them all, an extraordinary gesture.

  As the aide-de-camp escorted the couple around the ancient castle showing off it's many historical highlights as if they were spring gardens, when nearly everything was inextricably linked to death, torture, slavery or some military campaign or conquest, Jacques and his wife responded with as much sycophantic appreciation as they could muster. It wasn't easy, but they were determined to cash in on the Raven's generosity.

  When dinnertime arrived the couple was led into the Raven's personal dining quarters where they were seated as guests of honor at a long formal table on which the evening's feast awaited. The couple looks at each other with startled dismay at the surroundings and the Raven notices.

  "I do apologize for all the plastic sheeting covering the floor and walls. We're in the midst of remodeling this room and it's my favorite for dining with special friends. I hope you don't mind," she says.

  "No, not at all Madame. We are only so glad to be here to share this special meal with you. We don't mind if it's served on a blanket outdoors," he says with a laugh.

  "Thank you Jacques. I appreciate you indulging me," says the Raven.

  After another drink and small talk to set a companionable mood for the evening and to teasingly stir everyone's palate, as the Raven put it, she asks if Jacques would be so kind as to carve and serve everyone the roast.

  "It would be my pleasure, Madame," he says as he stands and reaches for one of the two large covered dishes.

  "No, that one first, Jacques. That would be the roast. The other dish is a surprise we'll save for later," says the Raven.

  "Oh, a surprise. How lovely," the wife gushes.

  When Jacques reaches over and removes the stainless steel cover everyone oohs and aahs at the sight of the small perfectly formed cheeks of the rump roast, cleaved and swimming in bloody juices.

  "A little on the small side, but plump," says the Raven.

  "It looks delicious," says the wife.

  As Jacques begins carving the blood runs and he says, "And to cook it very rare so when it hits the plate it's still screaming." Everyone laughs.

  "Yes, we love our meat rare. What do you call this entree, Madame?" says the wife.

  "I call it Rosemary On Rosemary because I used a lot of rosemary for seasoning," says the Raven.

  "Hey, that's the name of our little girl," says Jacques, never dawning on him.

  "Yes, I know. A lovely name," says the Raven.

  When everyone is served, the Raven asks them to bow their heads while she gives thanks.

  "Gracious Father we thank thee, for all these and our blessings, for Christ's sake. And Deuteronomy 28:53 says, 'You will eat the fruit of the womb, the flesh of the sons and daughters the Lord your God has given you.' Amen."

  "Amen," repeats Jacques and his wife in tandem thinking this is the strangest Grace they've ever heard.

  "Bon appétit," says the Raven.

  "Bon appétit," Jacques and the wife follow and they all dig into their first slice of meat.

  "Tastes like a very excellent veal," says Jacques.

  "The secret is to get them while they're young and tender - same as chicken," says the Raven.

  "A little stringy but very tender," the wife says pulling a piece of stringy meat out of her mouth scraping through her teeth. Blood dribbles down her chin. She laughs wiping with her napkin. "It's just so delicious!"

  "And you cooked it yourself? How wonderful! You are an amazing chef. It's apparent you have lots of experience. A true professional," says Jacques.

  "Can we get the recipe?" asks the mother.

  "It's an old family secret," says the Raven.

  They continue eating and enjoying the Rosemary On Rosemary and when they're done Drusilla stands and walks over to unveil the surprise, the second covered dish.

  "Now, would you like to see the real Rosemary?" she asks.

  The couple trades glances as confusion overtakes them and their smiles begin to fade. Jacques turns and with the effort of an enthusiast who is hoping the Raven is about to unveil a pile of money for them, he says, "Yes, please Madame. Show us the real Rosemoney, I mean Rosemary."

  And with the relish of Salome revealing the head of John the Baptist to King Herod, the Raven removes the stainless steel cover revealing the head of a child with an apple stuffed into its mouth.

  "I wanted the apple in her eye so I could say, 'Here's the apple of your eye," but you know . . . size and all," says the Raven.

  Confusion washes across the two faces, then recognition and the wife faints dead away. But Jacques fills with rage and he leaps across the table at the Raven who steps back and shoots the traitor dead between the eyes with her coin purse pistol.

  "Looks like leftovers again," says the Raven. "I should invite Pello. He's likes seconds."

  forty

  Evening, Friday, 5 September.

  Nanette's Pleasure Room.

  A penguin answers the door. Fair complexion, slight of stature, salon-groomed, and with the posture of a ballroom dancer, he's dressed out in formal tux and tails. Deciding I was indeed the expected dinner guest, without a word or smile he offers a perfunctory bow and invites me to enter with a sweep of his arm.

  "I'm sorry; I wasn't told this would be a formal dinner,” I say stepping through the doorway and into an equally formal foyer.

  "It's not really darling,” a familiar voice rings out as the figure possessing it glides across the floor like a swan on a Bruges canal. Wow, in a stunning wedding dress of the virgin pure, no less.

  I'm spellbound by the approaching vision.

  A fine and intricate lace collars her neck, runs down and over her breasts and across her arms to her wrists, covering all. Layers of sheer white gauze drape from an extraordinarily small waist (I could ring it with thumbs and forefingers) to the floor, literally, sweeping it. She towers over me in four-inch heels. I rise on my toes and crane my neck in exaggeration to even meet the level of her eyes, and I still fall short of the jet black eyes hiding somewhere behind the gauzy lace. Her hair is short platinum blonde and her eyebrows and lashes are so pale they're absent. Even her normally blood-red lips are as white as her powdered pale face. Her entire being is a blizzard of snowy enchantment, a blinding whiteout. She's nearly ghostly.

  "Enchanté Madame,” I say taking one of her jewel-encrusted hands and dropping to one knee.

  "You are a most spectacular vision. Would you do me the honor of marrying me? Here, now. Your man there (nodding to the tux) can stand witness. Or am I too
late? Have you been spoken for?”

  She laughs. "Of course I'll marry you, but first we must have Champagne, and then we shall feast."

  It wasn't a suggestion, but a command that produced three ruby-red crystal glasses, each a shapely high-heeled pump brimming with bubbly, appearing on a silver tray, offered by her man in tails.

  “Madame,” the tux says bringing the tray to Nanette with a slight bow. A long slim hand, utterly feminine, every finger ringed in diamonds and other precious stones, reaches out from a laced cuff and accepts a ruby-red goblet by its long stemmed, hollow heel.

  The tux next turns the tray to me, and I mimicked Nanette, minus the slim-hand-utterly-feminine part.

  The tux returns the tray to the sideboard and takes a third crystal slipper for him, then returns to our company. I see, not a servant but subservient, Nanette's boy for sure.

  Lifting the strange crystal goblet by its heel, Nanette proposes a toast. The tux and I raise ours.

  “To Oz and an evening of delightful gluttony and sensuous company,” she says.

  “Hear, hear,” says the tux with a sidelong glance to me abruptly caused my eyes to unveil him as a little elfin creature with a turned up nose.

  I wanted to ask him if he wasn't one of the little people fairies from Bosc de les Fades but my mind was too busy reeling from the incoming fusillade of imaginings, both thrilling and scary, brought on by Nanette's toast.

  Holy shit.

  And if that wasn't enough for one ordinary man to take in, I nearly lost it altogether when she threw back her veil to sip from Cinderella's crystal slipper. The sheer beauty of the woman ran over me like a felon in a prison break, and when I started drooling like an idiot, I had to twist my mind's arm to near breaking point and concentrate on an image of Monica. There. That’s better.

  Nanette drank her Champagne down about three sizes and the tux and I followed you . . . Er . . . suit.

  “Nanette, you have a beautiful apartment. I'd take it over the Fira any day,” I say.

  "But I had so much fun both nights I did spend there," she gushed.

  Both huh? I wonder who else she mugged.

  "But I must say, now that the remodeling is complete, I'm glad to be home."

  "Well it's spectacular. What’d you have done exactly?" I ask.

  "Only one room actually. But it's a very special room and I wanted to inaugurate it tonight with a very special dinner party. That's why you're here tonight Tucker, to help us inaugurate the Pleasure Room.”

  Uh oh.

  Nearly choking on my slipper I say, "The Pleasure Room? Uh. What about Monica? You said she'd be here for dinner."

  "And she will be, soon. Be patient Tucker this is not simply a dinner, it's an event, an experience," she says giving me a wicked smile. "And while Pau and I see to the final details, I have a costume waiting for you in the changing room. This is a costume party after all. So, (taking me by the elbow) why don't you step back here and change and when you return we'll have another drink of Champagne and enjoy some hors d'oeuvres before the main course.”

  “Okay Nanette,” I say leaning into her, “I’ve had a really weird and tough day today and I’m not up to being fucked with tonight. Sorry, let me rephrase. Fucked over. I’m game but just so you know this isn’t going like the other night at the Fira. I’ll play nice but don’t even think about bringing out the collar and leash again. I have some unfinished business with Monica that I want to straighten out and I don’t want to screw it up playing S&M with you if she’s not fully on board here, understand?”

  “I do, Tucker and none of this is designed to upset your relationship with Monica. On the contrary . . .”

  “It’s already upset. She’s been with some guy name Lloyd. Is he a part of this?”

  “I know, Tucker and no he is not. Just relax and have fun tonight okay? Everything will work out just fine. I promise,” she says and pushes me into a small dressing room.

  “This isn’t going to involve too much pain, is it?” I holler out as she closes the door behind her.

  “Pussy.” I hear as she walks away.

  What’s with the guy in the tux, this Pau guy, I’m wondering. Why's he here? Must have some sort of role, just hope it doesn't involve me. And Monica? What about her? If this turns out to be another one of Nanette's kidnapping plots I’ll . . .

  In the changing room, I find a full tux and tails on hangers, waistcoat, white bow tie, studs, the works. I dress, check myself out in the full-length mirror and . . . hey. I look goood. Then the thought crosses my mind that I'm looking at Pau's twin, only taller. And who is this guy, Pau?

  When Topper returns (that's me) Nanette and Pau are both holding fresh slippers of Champagne with one waiting for me and nodding their approval that I can clean up. Everybody knows looking good in a tux can turn a nice girl into a porn star. Of course that wouldn't be much of a leap for at least half the audience here.

  “Now the party can commence properly,” says Nanette.

  Pau offers up slipper for me, and I accept. Still wondering what he’s all about. A table centering the room features three hors d'oeuvres - raw oysters, beluga caviar with sides of cream cheese and chives to dress up a cracker and goose liver pate. Yum.

  “I wanted to keep the starters simple, Tucker. Didn't want to blunt your appetite for the main course which I'm sure you'll find quite scrumptious,” says Nanette.

  “And the desserts too are heavenly,” adds Pau.

  “Speak when you're spoken to Pau,” Nanette admonishes backing him down like a scolded puppy.

  "Yes, mistress,” he says with eyes downcast.

  “Okay, so we're playing the dominatrix-submissive game, eh Nanette?” I say.

  “Tis no game with Pau and me, Tucker, and we'd like for you to play too if you're of a mind. I thought you'd enjoy it. You seemed to take to it the other night,” she says.

  “I admit it was different and interesting too, but I'm not sure it's really my cup of tea.”

  “Then hold judgment. You might change your mind,” she says slipping her arm around mine and walking me to a set of double doors. Whatever it is Nanette's wearing for perfume is wafting me with delirium. She is so gorgeous and enchantingly . . . white . . . with the hair and makeup and the whole bride thing it's all I can do not to throw her to the floor and consummate the marriage right here and now but I opt to maintain my cool control instead. Barely.

  Pau steps ahead and opening both doors, reveals a large windowless room with fifteen foot coffered and mirror ceilings from which descends a huge crystal chandelier lit with dozens of candles. Walls are covered in fuck-me-red velvet from which protrude a couple of dozen brass sconces in the shape of human hands, each hand holding a live candle. What appears to be white fur of polar bear, thick enough to play hide and seek in covers the floor. And huge floor-to-ceiling mirrors line the walls encased in what appears to be a burled mahogany. The place is fabulous to say the least though a bit over-the-top.

  There are other unique apparatuses hanging from the ceiling and walls and various contraptions placed around the room that appear to be gymnasium equipment or even some sort of medieval torture devices, but I couldn’t say and my first thoughts are, maybe I don’t want to know. If Nanette intends to put any of this stuff into use tonight I’ll be sure to ask her personally demonstrate the gizmo first.

  “Welcome to the Pleasure Room. This is where we'll enjoy our dinner and desserts and other pleasures for the evening,” says Nanette.

  “Jesus Christ Nanette, this is really something. Does it come with an instruction manual?”

  "I promise you, Tucker, you'll receive all the instruction you'll require, and hopefully by evening's end you'll come to love this room as much as we do."

  We do, huh? Guess Nanette and this guy Pau are an item after all.

  "Should I start addressing you as Mistress?" I ask.

  “I'll leave that to your discretion, Tucker. There’ll probably be moments when that would be appropriate, but
there will be others when you'll be addressed as Master. I'm sure you'll figure it out as the evening progresses. Just keep one thing in mind, Tucker, if you please.”

  "And what's that?”

  “Everything is make-believe, just as it was when you were a child. When we were all children. And tonight we will be children again except for one important difference."

  "We play adult games?”

  "Knew you'd catch on. Now, before dinner is introduced let's share one more drink," she says.

  Pau appears with another silver tray, this time carrying three shot glasses brimming with a clear liquid. We each select one. Nanette raises her glass and Pau, and I follow.

  “Un brindis al Diable. Pot el seu flux sanguini per les nostres venes aquesta nit.” (A toast to the devil. May his blood flow through our veins tonight.)

  We throw back our shots, and the hot, spicy liquid burns its way down.

  “Yowser! Kicks like a mule,” I say stamping my foot to the floor.

  “It gets better Tucker.” Nanette steps to the center of the room and turning to Pau.

  “Come and remove my outerwear, Pau.”

  “Yes Mistress.”

  Pau circles around Nanette approaching her from behind. He unbuttons her gown to the waist then circles her again to face her where he takes one cuff into each hand and pulls until her gown falls away from the waist up. He then kneels in front of her and pulls her gown to the floor and she steps away revealing perhaps the most magnificent transformation I've ever witnessed - a butterfly into . . . another butterfly. Pau sweeps up the gown and veil and places all onto a chair against the wall.

  Before me stands a statuesque beauty, a Greek goddess standing over six-feet tall in four-inch red stilettos, and fish net stockings, their throats filled with long shapely legs and creamy thighs. A jet-black rubber corset, oiled, slippery, and shiny begins as a thong at the crotch then reaches up and around the flat of her tummy to cup a pair of magnificent milk-white breasts. Losing the white wig her brunette hair falls midway down her back.