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He’s twenty-one and fancy free. It’s high time Ben Wade sees the world.
Paris wasn’t exactly what he had in mind originally, but he needed to get out of New Orleans pretty quick after a poker game ended badly, so Paris it was.
The journey over by steamer isn’t as terrible as he imagined and Ben passes the time flirting with the daughter of a senator who’s easily charmed.
* * *
Paris itself is much better than he expected. The city is busy and charming, and Ben figures if a city were to ever catch his fancy, Paris would be it. He spends the first week gawping at the sights and drinking his way through the various nightclubs.
* * *
One afternoon during his second week, he buys a bottle of wine and drinks it, lounging on a bench by the riverbank, watching pretty girls go by in their spring dresses. Parisian fashion is very much to Ben’s taste and he’s enjoying himself in a leisurely fashion.
After some time passes an older gentleman walking along the boulevard catches his eye. The gentleman is plainly dressed, but nevertheless his manner commanded your attention. Military bearing, Ben thinks, army maybe or police. Ben’s skin prickles at the thought. He should skedaddle out of there, but the man intrigues him. He raises the bottle to his lips, pausing at the gentleman glances over at him. For a second they just gaze at each other, and then the gentleman looks away.
Ben’s distracted by the arrival of a lovely young woman making her way across the boulevard. She slips an arm around the gentleman, who tolerates the familiarity as she plants an affectionate kiss on his cheek. Now Ben is even more intrigued. Father? Uncle? Lover? While he likes the idea of them being lovers, it doesn’t seem to be like that. From their touch, they seem comfortable, but not that intimate.
He watches them walk across the grass until they’re out of sight.
* * *
Ben passes the rest of the day pleasantly, getting drunk and going to another nightclub. He takes in the delights of Paris’s nightlife with the utmost enthusiasm. Later as he’s thrusting deeply between the widespread thighs of a chorus girl, he can’t help thinking of the gentleman and the young lady.
* * *
He can’t explain why he returns to the same bench by the river the next day when he’s stirred from his slumber, only that it was nice enough afternoon.
Ben has a half doodled sketch of the street scene before him, lazily penciling in the various figures when a voice speaks behind him.
“I wouldn’t have presumed you were an artist.”
Ben tenses, and then slowly counts to three before he turns to look at the man standing behind the bench, watching him. The gentleman observes him, hands clasped behind his back as he gazes down at Ben.
“Oh, I’m not an artist.” Ben folds the paper in half and puts it his pocket along with the pencil. He turns more fully, blinking up at the man. “Afternoon.”
“You’re an American.”
“Yep.” Ben grins.
“Why were you watching us yesterday?”
Nothing slipped past this man apparently. Ben shrugs. “I’m on holiday.”
“I see.” The answer obviously doesn’t satisfy the gentleman.
Up close Ben’s more convinced than ever that he’s got army or police training. Neat appearance, polished shoes, the set of his shoulders is evenly held. There’s something there.
Ben tilts his head back even more, gazing upward. “Not allowed to look at a pretty girl?”
“Her father and husband might possibly object to her being an object of lechery,” the gentleman says dryly.
Husband, eh. Ben shrugs the comment off. Husbands are not a concern. To be fair, he’s not that interested in the girl anyway. It’s just a way to get the gentleman involved in the conversation.
“So you’re not her father then.”
“I am not.” Brusque, yet, reluctant. Perhaps the gentleman wishes he were her father, or possibly he feels that he almost is and to be forced to define the relationship as other than that is painful. It’s hard to decide.
“Good day,” the man nods to him at last, starting to draw away.
“Hey.” Ben stands, “I suppose you wouldn’t have a drink with me, Mr.”
“Monsieur,” the gentleman corrects him automatically, then after a moment’s deliberation, “Monsieur Javert.”
“Ben.” He sticks his hand out. “Ben Wade.”
Javert hesitates, then takes his hand warily, shaking it.
“It’s early.”
“Didn’t think that stopped you Frenchies.” Ben employs his most charming smile. “Come on, one drink.”
Javert studies him, then takes out his watch. He checks the time and then agrees. “One drink.”
Ben resists the urge to punch the air in triumph. Javert waits so Ben leads the way to a little café nearby that he spotted yesterday.
They sit at a corner table on and order cognac. Javert sits the same as he stands, resting his hand upon the table next to his glass.
“Army or police?” Ben can’t resist.
Javert’s gaze narrows ever so slightly. “Police. Former.” His posterior relaxes a fraction of an inch. “It’s still obvious, then?”
“You stand like a general on duty.” Ben tells him.
Javert’s lips suppress a chuckle. “My…companion would agree with that. He says I am always on duty no matter where I am, no matter how long I’ve been retired.”
Companion, eh? Ben stores that away. He sips his cognac, thinking it over.
“And you?” Javert studies him. “What is your profession?”
“I,” Ben considers his words carefully, “am in transitions and acquisitions.” He stifles the urge to snicker at the description.
Javert takes a sip of his drink. “So would I be mistaken in presuming that you’re a thief, Mr. Wade?”
“That’s a pretty broad leap,” Ben says. There’s a brief twist of nervousness in his gut. He’s still young enough to feel nervous. What if they know what happened in New Orleans, but Javert is waiting. “But you’re not wrong.” He licks his lips but there’s no outcry. “You don’t seem overly shocked, Mr…Monsieur Javert.”
“Please, just Javert. The monsieur still sounds,” Javert shakes his head. “But no, I am not shocked.” He studies his cognac, smiling wryly. “It seems my destiny to be surrounded by men with that particular proclivity.” He shakes his head. “In the past I would have compelled to arrest you immediately.” Javert looks momentarily wistful for those days. “But that is no longer my responsibility.”
Ben takes a deep breath. “Not gonna turn me over to the gendarmes either?”
“Do you have plans to orchestrate any transactions or acquisitions while here in Paris?”
Ben has to grin over that. “No. Like I said, I’m on holiday.”
“Good.” Javert says curtly. “Continue on like that and we should have no trouble.”
After a while Ben finds the cognac is warming him pleasantly, enough to be openly curious, and more bold than usual if that's possible. “So why were you walking there?”
“Pardon?”
“By the bridge.”
Javert hesitates. “I walk by the bridge most every day…”
Ben waits. If there’s one thing he’s learned, the secret to uncovering a good story is letting the teller take their time.
“…to remind me of what I nearly lost a long time ago.” Javert doesn’t say any more and for once Ben senses he won’t be more forthcoming than that.
“Another.” He signals to the waiter.
“I shouldn’t,” Javert protests, but accepts the drink when the waiter brings it over. He’s grown more relaxed, sitting here with Ben, and Ben likes it. He’s fascinated by the older man, intrigued by the smile that comes to Javert’s mouth when he speaks of his companion. Lover, Ben thinks. A man. Must be a pretty special man, is his guess.
“What brought you to Paris?” Javert inquires politely.
Ben sprawls back in his seat. “Had to get out of New Orleans for a while.” He wonders if Javert would be more lenient if he knew Ben had killed a man, or if that was where his tolerance would end. He doesn’t test it and Javert doesn’t ask.
“My mother,” Ben hesitates, “ My mother used to tell me about Paris. I always figured I’d go sooner or later. After she…was gone, I was at this boy’s home for a couple months.”
Javert makes no comment so Ben continues. “The priest there had always said Paris was a hotbed of sin.” He grins across the table at Javert. “Always knew I’d feel right at home here.”
Javert chuckle at that, and Ben silently congratulates himself.
He leans back in his chair. It’s pleasant here. The sun is warm and he wonders if Javert would mind…
…but Javert’s straightened up in his seat, smiling at something. Ben turns to look over his shoulder. There’s a man crossing the pavement, coming towards them. Ah, Ben thinks, this is the lover. He appraises the man critically, but can’t find any fault. The man is tall and broad-shouldered, handsome and impressive. Ben pictures the two of them together and downs the rest of his cognac hastily.
“Javert, I looked for you by the river.” The man eyes Ben curiously.
“I was distracted from my walk.” Javert nods. “This is Mr. Ben Wade, a young American, over here on holiday. Mr. Wade, this is,” there’s the hesitation again.
“Your companion,” Ben interjects, holding out his hand.
The man shakes it, glancing back and forth between the two of them.
“We should be going.” The man tells Javert. “Cosette’s expecting us.”
“Ah yes,” Javert reaches for his hat. “Well, it was pleasant to make your acquaintance, Mr. Wade, and I trust you will take care in your future business endeavors.”
“Thank you most kindly.” Ben shakes Javert’s hand a final time. The other man merely smiles at him, and then they set off. Ben reaches for his own hat, listening to their conversation as they stroll away.
“What was that about?” The man squeezes Javert’s hand. “Are you being lured away by a younger man perhaps?”
Javert laughs, brusque amusement apparent on his face. “You should be so lucky to get rid of me.”
The other man merely smiles affectionately at him.
Ben watches them till they’re out of sight. He pays his bill and sets off down the boulevard. Paris is nice, but there’s something in him that’s yearning and restless now. Maybe it’s time to go back home.