The Travelling Companion Read Free Page B

turn. Then Harry. Then me again. I had expected to feel queasy, but that didn’t happen. My cares seemed to melt away, or at least take on a manageable perspective. Once we had finished the joint, Harry produced a small cellophane wrap, inside which was a lump of something brown. He wanted two hundred francs for it, but I shrugged to signal that I didn’t have that kind of money about my person. So then he shoved the tiny parcel into my jacket pocket and patted it, gesturing to indicate that I could pay him later.
    We then fell silent as two new arrivals entered the alley. They either hadn’t noticed that they had an audience, or else they simply weren’t bothered. The woman squatted in front of the man and unzipped his trousers. I had seen more than a few prostitutes on my nighttime walks through the city—some of whom had tried tempting me—and here was another, hard at work while the woozy client tipped a bottle of vodka to his mouth.
    And suddenly I knew.
    The Travelling Companion…
    I lifted a hand to my forehead with the shock of it, while my companions took a step back towards their kitchen, perhaps fearing I was about to be sick.
    â€œNo,” I whispered to myself. “That can’t be right.” Harry was looking at me, and I returned his stare. “It doesn’t exist,” I told him. “It doesn’t exist.”
    Having said which, I weaved my way back towards the mouth of the alley, almost stumbling into the woman and her client. He swore at me, and I swore back, almost pausing to take a swing at him. It wasn’t the alcohol or the dope making my head reel as I sought the relative calm of the darkened Shakespeare and Company.
    It was Benjamin Turk’s message to me …
    I was unlocking the doors next morning when Mr. Whitman called down to tell me I had a phone call.
    â€œAnd by the way, how did you get on with Ben Turk?”
    â€œI have a note of the books he wants to sell,” I replied, not meeting his eyes.
    â€œHe’s an interesting character. Anyway, go talk to your woman friend … ”
    It was Charlotte. She had found work at a theater box office and was using their phone.
    â€œI need to pass the time somehow. It’s so boring here without you.”
    I was leaning down to rub at the fresh insect-bites above my ankles. The list from Turk was folded up in the back pocket of my trousers. I knew I had to tear a strip from it before showing it to my employer.
    â€œAre you there?” Charlotte was asking into the silence.
    â€œI’m here.”
    â€œIs everything okay? You sound …”
    â€œI’m fine. A glass of wine too many last night.”
    I heard her laugh. “Paris is leading you astray.”
    â€œMaybe just a little.”
    â€œWell, that can be a good thing.” She paused. “You remember our little chat, the night before you left?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œI meant it, you know. I’m ready to take things a bit further. More than ready.”
    She meant sex. Until now, we had kissed, and gone from fumbling above clothes to rummaging beneath them, but nothing more.
    â€œIt’s what you want, too, isn’t it?” she asked.
    â€œDoesn’t everyone?” I was able to answer, my cheeks coloring.
    â€œSo when you come back … we’ll do something about it, yes?”
    â€œIf you’re sure. I mean, I don’t want to push you into anything.”
    More laughter. “I seem to be the one doing the pushing. I’m thinking of you right now, you know. Thinking of us lying together, joined together—tell me you don’t think about that, too.”
    â€œI have to go, Charlotte. There are customers …” I looked around the empty upstairs room.
    â€œSoon, Ronnie, soon. Just remember.”
    â€œI will. I’ll call you tonight.”
    I put the phone down and stared at it, then took the note from my pocket and tore across it.