Gastien: From Dream to Destiny: A Caddy Rowland Historical Family Saga/Drama (The Gastien Series Book 2)

by Caddy Rowland

  The crowd got so large that Salis bought the building next door, opening Chat Noir shortly after Gastien’s 26th birthday. Although it was also known as one of the raunchier cabarets, once again people from all social classes came together with one goal: having a good time. The list of “who’s who” at Chat Noir would rival any restaurant in Paris.

  It was at Chat Noir that comic monologues got their start. Soon they started putting on shadow plays, with scenes cut from paper, and back lighting. Music and narration would be included at times. Thus, the beginning for cinema was born. These shadow plays were very popular; many famous people flocked there to see them.

  Gastien and Mic both fell in love with the place because it was relaxing and entertaining. Many times one or the other would bring paintings for display, where they would get critique from other artists. Gastien would find that, although the public and traditional artists never could understand what he was trying to accomplish, many of the avant garde artists at Chat Noir liked his work; they also deeply respected his talent.

  Gastien would continue to paint portraits for extra spending money to be used for the pursuit of pleasure; however, as the years went by he did less portrait painting and much more of his own work. He would have liked for people to understand his work, but it was not necessary. Gastien was in his own world; it did not matter to him if he became famous. All that mattered was creating. He would have probably found fame to be a great irritant, as it would have disrupted his private painting time.

  Gastien became amis with many other artists, partying with them, sometimes painting with them, but seldom becoming close. Painting was his reality and his safe haven. It frustrated him when people did not “get” his work, but he did not expect or want to lead; becoming a voice for a movement did not interest him at all. What he painted stood on its own for better or worse. He loved discussing art and could get passionate during those discussions, but in the end, what others thought mattered little. For the first twenty years, he had paid extremely harsh dues to get to this place in his life. Moving forward he created his world just the way he wanted it.

  This is the Montmartre that Gastien would arrive to after returning from the seaside at L’Estaque. He had visited Montmartre several times to see Mic and other amis; he was aware of the artistic lifeblood that flowed through its streets. In his opinion, giving up running water and gas was a small price to pay for the artistic energy that would surround him in this unique village.

  A Home at Last (September 1876)

  I

  Once the train arrived in Paris, Gastien made his way to the 6th arrondissement. He needed to remove his money from the safety deposit box he had kept at a bank in Paris. Once that was done, his dream would finally become reality.

  He would take out all of it, along with the ring and watch the man dying in the alley had given to him. Everything would be put into a safe built into a wall of his studio, behind a desk that was custom built. The desk had a secret opening to the wall in the back of it. His money had cost him dearly; no one else would be trusted with it ever again.

  Gastien had been without a woman during the full month that he was at L’Estaque. Now he found that his need was quite great. A little diversion before heading to his studio would certainly be welcome. Knowing that many wives of the wealthy shopped and dined around this area, Gastien knew there was a good chance his wish would be answered. Most of them knew him, or had heard about his lovemaking skills.

  He was not wrong in his assumption. As he walked toward the bank to get his money, he heard a female call his name.

  “Gastien! Mon Dieu, many of us have been talking about you. We thought you had died!”

  Gastien turned to see one of the wealthy wives that he had previously spent time in bed with. He gave her his best smile and hurried over.

  “Chèri! Non, non, I went south for a month.” He kissed her hand. “You look beautiful! I take it you have not missed me too terribly.”

  She giggled. “Ah, Gastien…how could I not? You do have certain talents. I am in a terrible hurry, but I would love to partake in those talents again. Are you by any chance interested in a quick interlude?”

  Gastien smiled. It appeared he would not have to wait long after all to have a woman. “Chèri, you are just in time to save my life! I have been without a woman for a month, as I badly needed solitude. Could I be so lucky as to enjoy you within minutes of my return?” What luck, he thought. If I remember right, she is quite a naughty thing; she would be open to a quick deviation before moving on with her day.

  She leaned closer. “Well, I could get a room at the hotel across the street…but I only have about a half hour. And, Gastien, I don’t want my hair messed up! I have an important luncheon. I must look my best, or those women will eat me alive! Are you game?”

  Gastien offered his arm. “Lead the way.”

  She glanced up, taking his arm. “By the way, I don’t care for the facial hair on you. Please forgive me for saying so. You have a beautiful face that women love! Why are you hiding it?”

  Gastien had decided to grow a Winnfield mustache that thinly came down each side of his mouth, ending with a petit goatee. He had hoped that the facial hair would make him less beautiful and more handsome, resulting in it being less likely that homosexuals would find him attractive. He had only grown it a few days, but it was already looking quite filled out. It was not good to hear that she found it unattractive.

  She was right, he realized. His face was one of his greatest assets. Making a mental note to shave if off once he got settled today, he promised himself that he would never hide it again. Since almost all men had facial hair, not having any would make him stand out. With a clean shaven face and thick, long hair he would be even more unique.

  He decided that if men made the mistake of thinking he was homosexual he would make it clear that he was not interested. If they refused to believe him, his fist would give them their final answer.

  “Merci for being kind enough to tell me that, chèri. The last thing I want to do is disappoint! It will be removed as soon as I get home.”

  “I am glad.” She caressed his face. “You have the most beautiful face in Paris, male or female. Don’t hide it!” she chided. When they got to the room, she reminded him, “Remember not to muss up my hair.”

  Gastien laughed. He lay down on the bed, unbuttoned his pants, and pushed them down.

  Beckoning, he said, “Come over here, chèri. Lose the undergarment, lift your skirts, and sit on me. I promise to only hold your hips.” As she removed her undergarment, Gastien continued, “After a whole month, thirty minutes will be plenty of time. If I finish too quickly I will make sure you are happy.”

  She quickly took him up on the offer, sighing contentedly a half hour later. “You are always so thoughtful, Gastien, making sure that I get my pleasure, too. That is something most men don’t even consider. My husband certainly doesn’t.”

  “I am glad you are happy. I see no reason for it to be one sided.” He stayed on the bed as she straightened her clothes.

  “Well, I had heard you were getting quite ruthless during your trysts. I am glad to see that is not true.”

  Gastien shrugged. “I had a brief period of darkness, chèri. That is now over. I have promised myself to only be ruthless if the woman asks me to. By the way, I am leaving today for Montmartre; I now have a studio there. You must pay me a visit!”

  “Montmartre? Oh, all of you artists are moving there! I will come see you, I promise. I will spread the word that our darling Gastien has left us for the village! We will make sure you are kept busy, both at the easel and at other places.”

  Gastien laughed. “My studio is also my home. You will find it most accommodating. However, I will be more choosey regarding those I make more comfortable. I no longer want to be seen as a toy to be used by everyone. That is another change I have made.”

  She pouted. “Are you saying this was our last time?”

  “Not at all, chèri. I
find you extremely enjoyable. You will be granted special privileges, should you take the time to visit me. I am just going to be more selective.”

  “Splendid. I like you very much, Gastien. You are lovely to look at, amazing in bed, and a good conversationalist as well.”

  “I like you, too, chèri. Don’t tell the others that I am being more selective, as it would be in bad taste. Just tell them that I have my own place now in Montmartre; if they ever need a portrait they must come visit me.”

  “I will, darling. I will be kind and let you break the bad news if they offer and you decline.” She laughed gaily. “I must admit, I would dearly love to see a few of their faces when you turn them down.”

  “Shame on you! You are such a little devil!”

  “I know. Still…”

  He kissed her tenderly. “Until next time, chèri. You don’t want to be late for your lunch. Please greet everyone for me!”

  “Are you not coming down with me?”

  “Non. I will come down later on.”

  Once she left, Gastien ran the tub. There was hot and cold running water at this luxurious hotel; he was not going to pass that up. It would save him the time of heating up water on his coal stove and transferring it to his new tub later today.

  Once he was done, he left with a smile on his face. No doubt she had, too. Gastien did not feel guilty about having sex so quickly upon his return. He liked her, and she liked him; he had been in need, and she had left satisfied. He sighed happily, totally relaxed. Sex felt damn good; there was no doubt about that!

  Gastien then went and bought a large satchel, got his money, the watch, and put on the ring. It still fit; the ruby winked at him. Putting the money and watch in the satchel, he nodded at the bank clerk and walked out.

  There were quick stops to touch base with Dr. Morel and then with Maurice, his old boss at Le Procope. Maurice was happy to see him; excited and pleased when he found out that Gastien now had his own studio. Wishing him luck, he tucked a bottle of champagne under Gastien’s arm.

  “Please drink a celebration to your new studio and home from me.”

  Gastien thanked him and found a cabriolet to take him to Montmartre. He was finally only a few minutes away from his dream.

  Gastien was heading toward his first real home.

  II

  Once the cabriolet pulled up to his studio, Gastien could not have felt giddier if he had guzzled the bottle of champagne he carried. Quickly paying the driver, he hurried to his front door and turned the key in the lock.

  He stopped in his tracks upon entering. It was absolutely breathtaking! Tears of joy sprang to his eyes. He was afraid to move for a minute, because he might only be dreaming again.

  The wood on the floors gleamed; the new furniture looked clean and welcoming. Gastien had been approached by a furniture maker who had asked to rent part of his space that he had walled off. Instead, Gastien arranged barter for furniture, wood to stretch canvas on, and carved frames for paintings. Both men were pleased with the arrangement.

  Gastien had not ordered fancy furniture, except for his bed. He planned on entertaining a lot on that bed. It was a Louis XV, with intricate panels of various woods both in the head and foot boards. The furniture maker made this especially for him, with the bed being much wider than most double beds at the time. Gastien and his partners would not end up on the floor, no matter how lively they got.

  He had also rejected having a feather mattress because he found that if the bed was too soft one could not get the full impact of sexual union easily. He wanted to make sure that his thrusting caused the woman to fly with him. Looking at the bed now, he knew he would be giving women a lot of flying lessons on it.

  Mic had seen to it that everything was set up according to his drawing. The kitchen area was to the left as one entered the studio. It had a preparation area and counters, along with a small coal cooking stove; there was a sink that could be plumbed once running water came to Montmartre.

  Behind it, along the same wall, was the huge fireplace. A table and a couple of chairs were in front of it. On the back wall was a large window by the table, with smaller windows that could open on each side, then a door out to the back yard. To the right of the door was his writing desk (with the fireproof safe in the wall behind it), followed by another large window.

  His bed was along the window, with the headboard on the next wall; or the wall to his right, at the far back. Next to it was his armoire for clothing, a chest, a stand with a mirror, and basin for shaving; next to that a large coal stove for heat. The fireplace and coal stove had both been there. There was no reason to give up the stove, or to wall in the fireplace. The fireplace was a work of art in itself. At the foot of the bed was his wonderful bathtub on a pedestal, so that he could drain it when finished. The pipe ran from the tub end close to the back wall right outside to the ground.

  In front of the coal stove was a large work table for various art projects and finishing work. Many times in the future he would sit there with other artists, painting and talking. On the right side immediately after you walked in was the area with his easel, and a table where he would also paint with a custom easel fit around the table. It was by another huge window with smaller windows that could open, then the wall, and finally another set of the same windows. That ended at the wall where he had sectioned off the building.

  The area behind his painting table was his living room. Gastien did not have traditional, fussy French furniture. He had huge easy chairs, a few very plump chaises for reading, and a huge table in the middle of it all. These pieces were made according to his directions, instead of bowing to anyone else’s style. There were a couple of bookcases that he hoped to gradually fill.

  As time passed, he would decorate with various odd items he found at quirky shops in the area. His walls would eventually hold his paintings, most times with no rhyme or reason. He wanted to look at them, so they went up wherever there was room.

  Wanting the beauty of the wood, there were no rugs down. When it got cold outside he would make sure the coal stove, and the fireplace if need be, kept the studio plenty warm. Gastien had no desire to ever be cold again. A lot of coal and wood would be used, as he preferred being barefoot at home.

  As time passed, there would be various paintings propped around the whole living area in different stages of progress. The back storage room would also hold hundreds of them. Like a typical artist, Gastien cared more that things were out where he could get them easily than if his living quarters looked tidy and neat. He did not want to have a dirty home, but clutter he could live with. Clutter was just part of doing art. The irritation of always having to stop and find something, haul it out, and set it up was far greater than the irritation of a little clutter.

  As he looked around he let out a loud whoop, laughing like a young child. He was so deliriously happy! It still did not seem real. Was this really his home? He shook his head as if to clear it. Oui, at long last, he had a home that could not be taken away from him. His life as an artist was beginning.

  III

  Mic bounded in through the door just as Gastien was putting away the travel paints he had taken on his trip. Gastien looked at him, breaking into a grin. They embraced, kissing each other fondly.

  “It is good to have you finally here, Gaz,” said Mic. “I have missed having my best ami around every day. I thought this day would never come!”

  Gastien stepped back and smiled. “I know! Many times I also thought the same. Can you believe this, Mic? My own place! By the way, merci beaucoup for all you did to make it come together. It is exactly how I wanted it.”

  “You are welcome; it is good to know that you like it. I have to say you have great taste in decorating. This place is simple, but stunning. The space is to die for!” Mic looked again at Gaz. “Mon Dieu! You have finally reached puberty! You have grown facial hair. Congratulations!”

  Gastien slapped him on the head. “Puberty, huh? Very cute. Oui, I have even started to grow
a couple of hairs by my balls. Can you believe it?”

  “Well, please don’t show me those!”

  “I understand. It would make you insanely jealous.”

  “Keep on telling yourself that.”

  They both grinned. It was just like old times.

  “Actually, Mic, I am going to shave the facial hair off again. I have to use the things I have been given. There is no sense hiding one of my best assets.”

  “You mean your big mouth?” teased Mic.

  “Exactly. By the way, how did the upstairs turn out?” Gastien was curious to see that space.

  “Well, come up and see for yourself. I think you will lease it out in no time!” Mic said proudly.

  Gastien was pleased with how it looked. The layout was similar to his, with different furniture and placement. Mic had even had enough in the budget to get bedding and some dishes. Gastien saw a tub and laughed. He noticed the same “plumbing” pipe had been implemented.

  “I see you liked my plumbing idea.”

  Mic grinned. “Oui. I had to be constantly on top of things to make sure I stayed on budget. I thought a bathtub would be a very welcome thing for someone here, even if they do have to work at bringing up the water to heat. Bathtubs in Montmartre are a rarity. You should get top dollar.”

  “Oui, if any artist can afford it!” They both laughed. Gastien looked at Mic and smiled mysteriously.

  “What, Gastien? You look like you have just had my sister and are dying to tell me!” Mic chided.

  “Non, nothing…I am just so damn happy!”

  “I know. We will be going out and celebrating all night, unless you are too tired.”

  “Too tired for the celebration of the most important day of my life? I don’t think so. But I must warn you that I have not had any liquor for a full month, so I may be a lightweight. You will have to carry me home after two glasses of vin!”