Voulez vous...HUH?

July, 1984

London holds numerous memories for me. I made frequent trips there while in my 20's, one of which was in 1984. I had been staying at youth hostels there, my favorite being the one at Holland Park. The park itself was comforting to me with numerous flower beds, tennis courts and of course, the youth hostel. During my stay there was a large group of high school students attending from France and with them came the requisite chaperones. One of these chaperones was a girl in her mid-20's named Maryse. Maryse was tall and slim, about 5'9" or a little more and very statuesque. She had very dark brown hair, almost black, which she wore in a medium length. Upon closer inspection one might notice a light drizzling of freckels but you had to look hard to see this. To say that she was gorgeous would be an understatement. I liked her name very much. Maryse as in Mar-eeez, yes, it just rolls off the tongue. Mar-eeeeeeeeeeeeze like a summer breeeeeeeeeeze. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention that she had an exceptionally developed chest that guys would gawk at and women would die for. Not that I would notice anything like that though.
Maryse and I were attracted to each other of course (or else why would I write about it) and we ended up spending a little time together. One night the entire group took a tour bus to see London by night and Maryse asked me if I'd like to come with them. So off I went with a busload of young French boys and girls and their sexy chaperone. I sat next to Maryse and the tour guide spoke in French about the various London landmarks we'd pass by. London is great for this sort of thing as the city is lit up in bright blues and reds for the benefit of the tour companies. At one point the tour guide introduced Maryse and then much to my horror introduced me as as Maryse's "boyfriend" much to the delight of the boys and girls on the bus. The resulting whoops and catcalls were almost inevitable and Maryse sank into her seat with her hands over her face, laughing. All in all it was a lot of fun.
Eventually Maryse and I swapped addresses and we wrote to each other for months. I had planned on going back to London the following March and I asked her if she would still be in town. As coincidence would have it, she was.

March, 1985
I returned to London and stayed with a friend in Wimbledon, a friend I had met while he toured the States back in 1977. In one of her letters Maryse mentioned that she was working as an au pair and would be in London during the time of my visit. She gave me her phone number and when I arrived I called her to set up a rendezvous.(my French is tres bien, n'est ce pas?) I went by Tube to the nearest Tube station where she lived and walked the rest of the way. This involved taking the District Line north to Embankment where I'd change over to the Northern Line south until Clapham Common. As I made my way down the streets on that cloudy day I wondered what she'd be like, if she's changed at all in the nine months since I'd seen her. I also wondered what my feelings were towards her as well, what were my intentions, what was my end game? I had no idea and I'm not sure if that's a bad thing. Uncertainty is such a big factor in all of our relationships and it was this uncertainty that gives us that tingle, the weakness in the knees, the shiver in the hips and that jolt of excitement that tells us when someone wants us. All of this flooded my mind as I negotiated those London streets until I finally arrived at the brownstone row house where she was staying. I knocked once and she answered right away and I apologized for my tardiness. You see, there had been a rail strike and the Tube was overcrowded which meant they were running behind and...fuck all, it doesn't matter. She looked great and she was stylishly dressed. Not overly so but very tasteful which contrasted with my rather plain looking orange parka and blue jeans.



The day was ours! So we headed back to the Tube station as the City awaited us. We got off at Kensington High Street and walked all the way down to Holland Park where we'd met at the youth hostel. It was strange to see the hostel in the winter, nearly deserted compared to the overflowing hordes of summer. This was a weekday so there weren't any crowds of children or tourists, just us and the flowers and the birds and the occasional old person walking their dog. She'd mentioned something about going to Oxford Circus so we reversed course and made our way to the nearest Tube station and went there too. Plenty of outdoor cafes and posh shops for a beautiful French girl to peruse. That day was a bit of a blur and I can't remember too many more details of where we went. I do remember taking her home under a darkening sky, short days were the norm and we'd made the best of it but it was time to get her home. We boarded the Tube train and got under way and immediately I noticed something...this particular train was very very old. It was one of the older models with beautiful woodworking which harked back to the London of the early Twentieth Century. I felt lucky to be able to see one of these old trains and I promised myself that I wouldn't forget it. During the ride home I would catch her looking at me and smiling and one time after catching her I smiled back. I was sitting next to her and I felt her head on my shoulder and she then whispered to me "Would you like to be my husband?" I don't think she could see my eyes get as big as pie plates from where she was sitting. I cleared my throat and said "Well!" I cleared my throat some more and stammered that I thought it was rather quick for us to consider such a thing. I know, I'm an idiot. In what was left of the trip home I think I gently convinced her that we should hold off on such big steps until we knew each other better. And what better way to get to know each other than by sleeping together?
There was no one home at her place and we took advantage of our alone time. It felt rushed as if we needed to catch the train but it was lovely anyways. Perhaps we did feel rushed as she mentioned how we'd have to at least have our clothes on by the time one of her roommates came home and his arrival was imminent. We put on our clothes and went downstairs to the living room and like clockwork said roommate came through the front door. He was a few years older than me and after talking to him for a few minutes I found him to be a really interesting and engaging fellow. The three of us sat in the living room and he attempted to engage me in a discussion concerning the political leanings of The London Times and The Guardian. Now, anyone that knows me knows that I'm always up for a political discussion. It's just in my nature, I'm a political animal. But today was different. Politics and current events were the furthest things from my mind right now. All I could think of is that this gorgeous woman had asked me to marry her and I was probably going to break her heart. I pretended to be interested and engrossed in this conversation but I broke it off by saying that I needed to get going. I shook this fellow's hand and Maryse walked me to the door. I kissed her at the door and told her I'd call her tomorrow. I did call her, but I didn't see her again. I left London two days later wondering if I'd done the right thing. I think of her now and then and wonder what my life would have been like if I'd said yes and moved to France. Maybe it would have been a good life. I wonder. I guess "C'est la vie" doesn't cut it in this case. But it'll have to do.