A response to a challenge: Brenda and Chya, here you go!
And you thought I couldn't get round the "slashy" stuff, 'eh? Ready to take the challenge ANY time?

Brenda fished out some odd words, thanks!

Keel buckled up the straps of the safety helmet, observed by Curtis whose face was a picture of wry criticism.

"What's that good for, Einstein? Afraid the sawdust in your head might get shaken up?"

"You, Sam, should try this. Exactly the kind of sport a stiff Brit like yourself needs."

"Stiff Brit? Well, thank you very much. That kind of sport is only for fools with a death wish."

The last kneepad was strapped into place and Chris jumped to his feet - to his wheels, to be more exact.

Immediately, he lost his balance, swaying wildly with his arms, helplessly rolling straight towards the edge of the pavement.

Curtis jumped forwards to prevent Chris from kissing the pavement, but the American came to a full stop in one experienced jump, revealing a passion and life-time's practice on inline skates.

"Fooled ya!"

"Get the hell out of here, Charlie Chaplin. We'll meet at Caroline's at "le Chevrefeuille", when you're done touring Paris by night. She promised to make me one of her famous Boeufs Bourguignons."

"Alright, alright, message understood: I'll grab some fast food while you eat à la carte. Never mind - I'll meet you there. See ya!"

"Bye. Don't break an arm - or Malone will personally break the other one."

A short laugh, and the two friends split.

***

Caroline was Sam's first foreign landlady ever. When he was a student and was living in Paris for six months, he'd been one of her tenants. Nowadays she was owner of a small, cosy and successful cafe-restaurant. She greeted Sam, very pleased to see her favourite lodger in the flesh again after so many years.

"Le Chevrefeuille" was still calm as Sam had arrived, and Caroline had come out with a grandchild on her arm, a lovely little girl with a cute smile and the most beautiful eyes Sam had ever seen. Caroline promptly placed the girl on Sam's lap as the telephone rang, somewhere in the back. The one-year old Nina looked at him with a wide, beautiful smile showing five little white teeth and then belched loudly. At the same time she produced a slimy cascade of drool and milk.

Oh no, not on the Armani,! Sam stared with disgust at the unstoppable flow that had landed on his trousers. Not on my new suit. Not on the Armani? not on the?

"Ah, Sam. I'm sorry, that was Severin, my son. Oh - what happened here?" Caroline took the little girl from him and cuddled her: "Did you do bah-bah all over uncle Sam?"

Sam looked so appalled that Caroline began to laugh.

"Come with me to the back, Sam. We'll have that clean in a minute."

While Sam stood in his jockeys in the kitchen and waited for Caroline to rinse off the stain, he looked into the garden where two old men were arguing next to an old car. Sam recognised one of them: it was Bertrand, Caroline's brother. He was hauling a heavy basket of geraniums onto the back seat of the vehicle. The other man, loudly grumbling in French, was trying to fill the boot with yet more plants and flowers. Eventually he got everything in.

Bertrand started the car. One big bang - and then the exhaust pipe coughed out a dark stinking cloud and the entire car suddenly sank 7 inches, the chassis finally coming to rest on the soil of the garden. The axle had broken - long live the Trabant, product of the former Iron Curtain community.

A stream of even louder curses followed and the men shouted and yelled and gestured at each other. Sam could barely hide his amusement. Their shouting was loud enough to hear, but the Marseilles accent too difficult to understand properly. He could make out one thing, though, that Bertrand repeated time and time again:

"I said it wasn't possible in the boot of a Trabant."

This was immediately followed by a shower of more abusive language from the other man.

Welcome to Paris, Sam thought with a funny kind of "coming home" feeling. Welcome to France.

***

Chris heard the spinning of the wheels and felt in seventh heaven. The mere sensation of flying as he crossed the miles during the Friday Night Skate Paris made him feel ecstatic. Amidst 15,000 other inline skaters, Chris was in his element - what a way to explore the town. Guided and guarded by over 100 policemen and 300 volunteers, it felt great to be part of this.

Such a shame Sam didn't like rollerblading. There was no bigger sensation then going downhill on eight perfect wheels while speed increased with every inch that was taken. Right now, only sex was better, but this was close, Chris decided, as he looked at the pretty behind of a young woman in front of him with pure happiness.

He slowed down and started riding next to her. She was young, in her early twenties and had a broad smile and red cheeks. She wiped the sweat away.

"Hi. You're okay?" Chris began. How original, he thought, I should work on my lines.

"Oui, but is ees a bit 'ot, no?" she said with the heaviest accent he'd heard in days.

"You should try to ease up a little more. Look, like this, shoulders a bit lower, the balance a bit further towards the front of your feet - and look: much more comfortable." Chris explained helpfully, holding her arms to prevent her from falling. Almost at once, a broad-shouldered man appeared on her other side. His dark eyes flashed angrily.

"Tek your 'ands off my girlfrien'." His accent was even worse - like someone scratching with a crayon over a black board.

Chris raised his hands in surrender and said quickly:

"Hoho, easy, just trying to be friendly."

The girl spat a series of not too kind words at her friend and then turned to Chris again.

"Excuse my friend. It was not meant like zat."

Chris nodded, but the friend was still peering at him suspiciously. For the sake of politeness he continued to ride next to the girl and her friend, but after some time he got fed up with the two arguing loudly - the subject of their quarrel obvious.

What an asshole, the American thought as he slowly moved away from them. What a jerk.

Then someone shoved a piece of cloth into his hands. He couldn't see who did it, because it was far too crowded, but as he unfolded the material, he saw it was a T-shirt. A devilish thought occurred to him - a tantalising, wicked idea. He slowed down until he saw the girl and the boy again, coming up from behind him. They were obviously still angry and still fighting. Quickly, he got behind them and approached the boy, carefully and with a guilty look on his face.

"Hey, buddy. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Pah! You Americans, you are all ze same." The boy snapped. "Every woman you see, you want, hein?"

"Peace offering?", Chris said and offered the friend the shirt. The girl immediately began a rapid series of words that the American couldn't begin to understand.

"I'm out. You can keep the T-shirt. Somebody from the crowd's giving them away." He swivelled and rolled off. Sparks of ill-concealed pleasure shone in Chris' eyes. He'd been a real Boy Scout tonight.

The drink he took on the terrace was cool and refreshing - he was enjoying himself tremendously among all these soul mates. Roll-mates, was a better word, he thought with pleasure as he saw tens of thousands of wheels around him. Then he heard a few Scotsmen, whom he had seen earlier, laughing out loud behind him.

"Look at that bloke's T-shirt. That's a good 'un!"

"Who? What? I can't see - wait? Yeah, now I ?"

Loud laughter. Chris looked innocently into his beer glass, eavesdropping on the conversation behind him.

"What did it say?"

"That," said Chris as he turned around, put the glass down and got up again, "is quite some T-shirt. I think it said -"

*Ride me, big boy*, the two Scotsmen filled in and the three of them laughed until their jaws ached. Chris had found some decent company after all.

Welcome to Paris, Chris thought contentedly as he skated further towards the Place d'Italie. Welcome to France.

***

Caroline greeted Chris with almost the same enthusiasm as she had welcomed Sam, although the two had never met before. She had kept some dinner for him, and even though it was after one o'clock in the morning, the American was hungry, wolfing it down with pleasure.

Sam had a large stain on his usually so immaculate suit.

"What's that, Sam? Been watching some sleazy B-movie in an equally sleazy environment?" the young American muttered with his mouth full.

"No. I had sex with an incredibly wild thing, in the Lotus - alright?" Sam snapped, half-angry, but Chris didn't let him off the hook.

"I see. And Malone happened to call at the same time, right? Desperate needs call for desperate measures. Now you know why they call it the 'emergency handset', Sam."

Caroline had to hold on to the chair from laughing. Chris didn't realise her English was that good, or that she had understood the banter - but she had, and wiped away the tears of mirth. She hiccuped, speaking between ever-recurring fits of chuckles.

"Maybe she wanted to do Friday Night Skate Paris too. But poor Sam, he's not that good on wheels."

Chris stuffed another chunk of beef into his mouth, seeing he'd driven Sam into a corner. The Englishman could usually handle his partner one-to-one. Now that a kindred spirit had emerged displaying an equally wicked sense of humour as the American, however, Sam was suddenly on thin ice.

"And you didn't have the decency to wait, now did you Sam?"

"Are you done?" his flat question sounded almost like a plea.

Caroline ran a hand over her eyes. Chris drank his beer. The silence was tangible - the truce was almost there. Sam held his breath.

"No NO! Not while I'm wearing roller skates!" Caroline suddenly squeaked in a high voice, imitating a woman in sexual ecstasy.

Chris almost exploded, beer spraying around. Caroline sunk to the chair, shaking and holding her stomach from laughing. Sam bowed his head - he knew when he was beaten.

Welcome to Paris. Welcome to France.

Elsa © June 200o. Feedback? Yes please: mail me!

Note: Friday Night Skate Paris, also known as Paris Roller really exists. In the summer, every Friday night between 22.00 and 01.00, an average of 12,000 enthusiastic inline skaters gather at the Place d'Italie to do "the Tour of all Skate Tours". It can be compared to the New York Marathon for runners: you have to experience it once, just to know what it is. Record number of participants: 28,000.
And just for the record: inline skates have 4 or 5 wheels in a row; roller skates have 2x2 wheels.