Honey and Leonard

by Mark Paul Smith

  A mother with two children in her car was so unnerved by the sight of the nun attacking the priest that she pulled over and asked if anyone needed help. She spoke first in French but quickly changed to English when Leonard said, "No Francois."

  "Is everything good?" the mother asked.

  "Oui," Leonard replied with one of the few French words he knew and then switched back to English. "The sister is just confessing her need for God's help," Leonard said as Honey waved to the mother that everything was fine.

  "You're the one who's going to need God's help," Honey said as the mother drove away.

  "Settle down, Honey," Leonard said. "You're making the whole church look bad."

  Honey put her hands on her hips and stared at him with a look that said, "Pay attention."

  "Hold it, hold it," Leonard said. "Okay, I'll admit it. I was going too fast. Here, why don't you drive for a while? We're almost there. You can drive us into St. Tropez."

  "I'm not going to drive down this sidewinding road for you or any man," Honey said. "We're going to stay right here until you agree to get in that car and drive us slowly and safely into town. I am much too tired to watch you play race-car games behind the wheel."

  Leonard turned and looked down on the town in the distance. All he could see was the golden dome of a church. He hated to admit it, but he knew she was right. He had been having a bit of fun at her expense. He hadn't driven fast down a mountain road in some time.

  He turned around, took a deep breath and said, "All right. I'll say it again. I was going too fast. I'm sorry, but it was fun. So, I'll say it. You are right and I was wrong."

  "You don't mean that," Honey scolded.

  Leonard wiped the smirk off his face. "Actually, I do mean it. I did not mean to frighten you and I'm sorry I did. I keep forgetting what happened on the roof with your heart." He took another deep breath and said, "Come on, get in the car. I'll drive like a little old lady."

  Honey did not appreciate his sarcasm but she got in the car anyway. Leonard kept his word by driving cautiously into St. Tropez. They rode in strained silence most of the way, but as they came into the seaside resort town, Honey said, "Let's get a room and book it for a week. I need to stop moving for now. I need to rest."

  The tension in the car began to ease up as the glory of St. Tropez enveloped them. Soon they were in the center of the ancient port on a seaside road with a wall of four-story buildings on one side and massive yachts docked in the water on the other side. Leonard drove slowly out of the central chaos until he found an inviting hotel at the base of what looked like the largest hill in town.

  "We must be near the old fort," he said. "I think I see cannons up there on the hill."

  In the hotel parking lot, Honey changed out of her nun's habit and said to Leonard, "You wait here, and I'll see if we can get a room. This does look like a nice place. And by the way, I am sorry I got so mad up there. But you scared me. I guess I'm a little tired and cranky."

  "No need to be sorry," Leonard said. "We're both tired. We need a break from the road."

  Honey disappeared into the hotel. They had a much better chance of not being recognized if they were not seen as a couple. She was gone for more than fifteen minutes.

  Leonard had changed clothes and was basking in the early evening sun when Honey returned and said with renewed cheer, "I booked us for three nights. We got the last room they have. It was expensive but it's got its own little porch and a view of the water."

  "Come here, pumpkin, and give your sweetie a big hug."

  Honey threw her arms around him and said, "You big lug. You know I can't stay mad at you for long."

  "I don't want you mad at me even for one second."

  * * *

  Honey and Leonard entered the hotel in St. Tropez one at a time. After getting settled in the room, they took a walk up the hill overlooking the port city and the Gulf of St. Tropez. Honey took frequent breaks on the way up but she was surprised that so much of her stamina had returned since the rooftop heart event in Cassis. It felt good to walk and stretch after too much time in the car.

  The sun was just setting behind the far side of the harbor when they reached the top of the hill for the breathtaking view. Fishing boats and massive yachts seemed to be having a party on the shoreline docks. The town and its famous beaches stretched out for sandy miles. The entire landscape seemed overgrown with trees, still glowing green in the crepusculan light. The golden dome on the church below was beginning to lose its shine.

  "Here we are at the Citadel," Leonard said as they took a rest on the large stone remains of the ancient battlements. "You can see why they put the cannons up here. They could control the entire harbor. I read a pamphlet on it in the room. This fort was built a long time ago. I forget the date, but it's hundreds of years old."

  A huge destroyer anchored in the middle of the bay looked completely out of place in the idyllic scene. It was ominous and menacing. It had massive gun turrets all over it with long cannon barrels that looked like they could open fire at any moment. Honey and Leonard stared at it for a long time, neither one of them commenting on the obvious anomaly. They were tired. Tired from walking uphill. Tired of traveling, tired of being chased and tired of being famous, or notorious.

  "Doesn't that just say it all?" Leonard finally said.

  Honey couldn't help but laugh. She knew what Leonard was thinking. She was thinking the same thing. She grabbed Leonard's arm and said, "You don't have to say it. I'll say it for you. There's a gunboat in the middle of our sea of love."

  Leonard laughed with her, and their fatigue began to wash away. Honey saw the twinkle return to his eyes. Knowing what another person is thinking is the romantic payoff for sharing the rigors of the road.

  They held hands and watched the lights of the town and on the destroyer gradually begin to turn on and shine in the growing darkness. A peacock wandered into their view, not twenty yards away and slightly down the hill. With a mighty squawk that startled them both, he spread feathers and erected his train to form a shimmering fan of what appeared to be a bright blue arch in the twilight.

  "That's the male," Leonard said once he recovered from the surprise. "He looks like NBC. There must be a female nearby. He's putting on his show for someone special."

  "Look," Honey said. "There she is. See her? She's behind that large pine tree down there."

  As Honey spoke, the female peafowl took flight and landed on a branch halfway up the tree.

  "Whoa," Leonard said. "I didn't know they could fly. I've never seen one fly."

  "The male must have excited her or maybe he scared her. Look at her. She's looking right at me, like she's trying to tell me something."

  "I don't think she's looking at anything except all those male feathers. Look at that boy. Each feather looks like it's got an eye that can see. He's pulling out all the stops for that girl."

  "No, she's looking at me and she's saying, 'Look at the boys with all their feathers and battleships trying to impress the world.'"

  Leonard hung his head and chuckled in amazement.

  "What?" Honey asked.

  "Only you could connect peacocks and battleships."

  He took Honey in his arms and gave her a grateful kiss and a long embrace. When they uncoupled, the peacock and his potential mate were gone. The battleship was looking more and more sinister as darkness began to fall. Honey and Leonard decided to walk back down while they could still see the pathway.

  * * *

  They walked back into the hotel in St. Tropez as a couple. The concierge did not recognize them. He was busy helping other guests. After they freshened up in the room, they left out the back door and changed into their Catholic costumes at their black Peugeot in the parking lot.

  Leonard tried to hold Honey's hand as they walked down from the hotel to savor the sights and delights of the small city by the sea. Honey withdrew her hand and said, "Priests and nuns do not hold hands."

  "What if they're Episcopals?" Leo
nard asked, emphasizing the "pals."

  "Nobody knows Episcopal in France," Honey laughed.

  "I think they've got Episcopals in France."

  "It's Episcopalians, not Episcopals. And, yes, they are all over the world. But we are Catholic, not Episcopal. Besides, I don't think any kind of nuns hold hands with their priests."

  "That's why I hate these costumes," Leonard grumbled.

  "Come on, Father, don't be a grump. Let's go see St. Tropez," Honey said. "Here, let me straighten your hat. There, you look positively priestly."

  Leonard played along as they continued walking, but he couldn't resist giving Honey a playful spank on the fanny every now and then.

  Even in the dark, St. Tropez was colorful. Most of the streets were less than twenty feet wide. Five-story, stone buildings rising on either side of the street made Honey and Leonard feel like they were walking down canyons of culture. Ornamental streetlights hung off curled-iron hangers from the second story level. Bright, colored lights identified shops of all kinds at street level. Narrow sidewalks along the cobblestone streets were protected by rows of black, metal bumpers that looked like chess pawns on parade. On many stretches, however, the sidewalks were unprotected from the maniac drivers in their little compact cars.

  The worst drivers were on the scooters, passing cars through the most narrow of spaces and brushing pedestrians back against the walls of connected buildings. One particularly reckless Vespa driver nearly knocked Leonard to the ground with the tip of his handlebar.

  "Hey, what do you think you're doing," Leonard boomed. "You just about broke my goddamned arm."

  People nearby stopped dead in their tracks when they heard the priest cursing so loudly. They couldn't understand what the priest was saying but they knew he was saying it with too much venom to be a man of the cloth. Honey hustled him into a high-priced gift shop to avoid further scrutiny.

  "What do you think you're doing?" she scolded. "Did he really hurt your arm?"

  "Yes, he banged me good. I'll be fine. He just scared me. I know priests don't curse. But guess what? I'm no priest. Besides, nobody around here speaks English."

  "They don't have to speak English to know you don't sound like a priest when you lose your temper in the middle of the street."

  "The next guy who brushes me back with his scooter is going to lose his head."

  "Now, sweetie, let's not have you losing your head."

  They left the shop before the over-dressed employee could try to sell them anything and went off in search of something to eat.

  "I am hungry," Leonard said as the narrow street emptied out into a broad walkway by the bay. It was jammed with pedestrians. On the left, cafés had outdoor seating lined up like expensive box seats at a sports arena. Red and green and blue awnings proclaimed the names of the establishments and the types of food they served. On the right of the promenade was a formidable row of giant yachts, docked side by side, with light-metal gangplanks jutting out the back of the boats and reaching down to the wooden boardwalk.

  "Looks like we'll be dining with the rich and famous," Leonard said. "Hard to believe this was a sleepy little fishing village until Brigitte Bardot started getting her picture taken here in the fifties and sixties."

  "How do you know that?" Honey asked.

  "Oh, I followed Miss Bardot closely in the old days."

  "Who do you follow now?"

  Leonard smiled and made her wait for what he knew she needed to hear. "I follow the most wonderful and beautiful woman in the world."

  "And who is that?"

  "It is you," Leonard nearly shouted as he took Honey in his arms and swung her off her feet."

  Honey forgot herself for a moment. By the time she could get Leonard to stop dancing with her, a circle of impressed onlookers had formed around them. Leonard realized he had blown his cover, once again, and walked Honey through a gap in the circle of people to continue along the boardwalk. They didn't realize it, but a crowd was starting to follow them. Word began to spread that Honey and Leonard were on the boardwalk, disguised as a priest and a nun. Honey could feel the world beginning to collapse in on them.

  The yachts were floating palaces, mostly three decks tall, with space age communication devices on top. Each had a flag angling off the back and many smaller boats stowed on board. One particularly massive yacht had a helicopter on the upper deck. The largest boats were more than 20 feet wide and at least 150 feet long.

  "Now, that's living," Leonard marveled as they strolled by the ostentatious flotilla. "These people must really know how to live."

  "Depends on who they are," Honey said. "I'll bet some of the people who own these boats are just as miserable as they can be. And I'll bet some of them are going to end up in jail someday."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "I mean there are only two ways you get the kind of money it takes to own boats like these."

  Honey paused, waiting for him to ask her to complete her explanation. He didn't seem the least bit interested. He turned away and began walking, seemingly mesmerized by the splendor laid out in front of him. Honey hated being ignored but she could see Leonard's world beginning to spin. Everyone was getting louder and crowding in on him. There was no way to escape the curious crowd.

  Honey grabbed his sore arm by mistake and raised her voice to be heard, "Leonard, aren't you listening to me?"

  "Ouch. That hurts. But okay, okay. What were you talking about?"

  Honey grabbed him by the shoulders and said loudly, "I was talking about the two ways people get the money to buy these boats."

  "Hey, watch the arm. It's starting to swell up. It's getting worse by the minute. We'd better get some ice on it pretty soon."

  "Don't you dare forget what I'm talking about," Honey shook her finger in his face. Once again, people were forming a circle around the priest and the nun who were obviously having an argument.

  "Honey, people are starting to stare," Leonard whispered as he tried to take her hand down from being shaked in his face.

  Honey pulled her hand back, hard. When Leonard let go, she went sprawling, backwards, to the ground after tripping on her habit.

  Leonard bent down to help her up. He was trying to be of assistance, but it didn't look that way to the crowd. A couple of drunken Belgian bankers stumbled forward to grab Leonard and nearly knocked him into the water. Leonard held his ground. One of the bankers pulled on Leonard's injured arm. The pain instinctively infuriated him. With one swift motion he threw the priest hat to the ground and took a boxing stance, clenched fists and all. The crowd gasped collectively. This was no priest. Leonard looked like a prizefighter, which is exactly what he had been for a short time in his youth.

  "Come on, fool," Leonard snarled.

  Honey got up and threw herself on Leonard's back, trying to restrain him.

  "Hey," somebody in the growing crowd yelled. "It's Leonard. And that's Honey."

  "It's Honey and Leonard," somebody else shouted.

  "That's no priest. She's no nun," people chimed in.

  Everyone froze as the recognition settled in. Leonard dropped his fists. Honey slid off his back. The crowd began inching forward. Word spread quickly. From the back of the crowd, people were straining to get a better view of Honey and Leonard. By now, they had been front-page news in France for more than a week. Anyone who wasn't living in a cave had seen photos of the American couple in print and on television.

  Shore police noticed the commotion and tried to force their way through the crowd. This only made the excited onlookers surge forward all the more. Honey and Leonard took a step backward as though recoiling in horror at the mess they'd gotten themselves into. Their backs were against the water. There was no escape.

  The police kept coming. People were shouting and pushing each other to get a better view of the action. Whistles were blowing. A woman shrieked in pain as she was knocked to the ground. The crowd became a mob. Honey took a step backward in fear and tripped again on her habit.<
br />
  "Leonard!" she screamed as she lost her balance and toppled off the boardwalk, falling ten feet into the water with a sickening splash.

  The water temperature on that September night was breathtakingly cold.

  Leonard froze momentarily in disbelief as Honey disappeared into the darkness below. He looked at the faces in front of him. They tried to keep their distance but they were being pushed from behind. He looked back at the water. Honey had not resurfaced. He knew what he had to do. The police were about to break through the tightening half-circle of humanity. They would certainly arrest him.

  He jumped off the dock and splashed into the water at the same place Honey had gone under. The crowd gasped collectively. People strained forward to see where Leonard went under. No one could see if he came up for air. It was too dark.

  "Reculer! Everyone stand back," the shore policeman yelled. That warning wasn't enough to stop the mob's momentum. As the two policemen were staring into the murky water below and wondering what to do next, the human wave pushed them both over the edge and into the water. They howled obscenities on the way down and as they bobbed up, flailing their arms and gasping for air.

  More people were pushed into the water. The mob had no mind of its own. People looked like lemmings as they continued to be pushed off the dock and into the water.

  Pandemonium broke out along the boardwalk and in the yachts as well. Every five seconds another person was either pushed into the water or jumped in to aid in the rescue. There were twenty people in the water by the time the first policeman climbed the ladder back up to the boardwalk. Even if Honey and Leonard had come up for air, they could have easily been lost in the confusion.

  A man in a white uniform leaped from the upper deck of a yacht and into the water with two life jackets in his hands. He still had his white shoes on as he miraculously avoided hitting anyone. A woman in a black evening gown on the yacht to the right unhooked a long pole and thrust it into the water, yelling, "Saisir la perche! Grab the pole!"