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Sorry for the delay in the current chapter. I shouldn't complain about overtime in the current economy but it's kicking my tail. Here is one shot/character sketch I was planning on saving for a treat. And if there are going to be treats on this week... well I'm planning a staycation for my 3 day weekend... cause it's more OT next week. <sigh>

Bill

This is probably not what Mom had in mind when she’d given the okay for him to spend the summer in Paris after graduating from high school. She probably figured some language studies maybe hanging at the louvre or other art museums seeing as how he was going to be going to school for art. Dad had given him a look and just reminded him when they’d been alone about the time differences between Paris and Port Charles and the slim likelihood of bail being forthcoming. Grandpa Edward had given him a wink and started some kind of really embarrassing talk about a boy becoming a man. Some how somebody’s parent had fast talked someone who owned a barge to rent it for the summer to eight guys who’d just graduated from high School from Port Charles, New York. Some of the guys were from Queen of Angels and some from PCHS. Eight guys two bedrooms and one bathroom. But it made the price right. And because it was a converted barge nobody really cared if he sat up on deck and played guitar or drew pictures of Paris and the tourists. Hell he’d unintentional made a few euros that way. And the other guys didn’t mind having him around... evidently the american accent wasn’t enough to get laid but a little blues guitar or a quick, flattering sketch melted the heart of many a french mademoiselle. Still living with eight guys for 3 months, there are a few he isn’t going to miss at all come the end of the trip. And living in the dorms would be lap of luxury as far as space.

“You get enough for me?” One of the earlier risers on the barge makes his way topside.

“For who ever showed first.” Bill Radcliffe shrugs and hands over a coffee and croissant as well as a part of the paper. He takes a seat at the bistro style table and chairs topside.

“This just about makes it worth waking early. Damn that’s a nice sun rise.” The other guy stretches his legs out and crosses his feet at the ankle. “Where did you take off to last night? We were all going to meet up at that club but you never showed.”

Bill gives him a look.

“Oh hell what did you do and are we going to get busted for it.”

“Did you know that the age for gambling here is 18?”

Choking on a bite of croissant and then clearing his throat with a gasp. “You were what? Playing cards all night?!”

“Yeah. I was. It’s kind of nice to be playing and not have to worry about someone backing out on their bets cause I’m not 21.”

“I can’t believe you found an all night poker game.” The guy shakes his head. “Hey wait a sec... did you win?”

“I was in it until the last five. So yeah, I did okay.”

“Okay or okay?”

“I’m not taking everyone out to dinner. Not the way you guys drink.” Bill’s tone is wry.

Adam laughs. “Good point. So what is on the book today?” Adam knows that Bill’s mother Skye is good for something fun to do everyday while keeping it within their budget. If there were things to do during the day she is a good resource.... as far as nightlife is concerned however she’d kept her suggestions to a minimum. Bill had also gotten suggestions from his extended family on things to do. His cousin Fancy had been to Paris as well as her mother Kristina and some of his other cousins as well– Karin and Twink. Another guy in their group had sources as well. His grandmother lived in France, as much as she lived anywhere. Robbie described his grandmother as a cross between Auntie Mame and Mrs Pollifax. His grandmother had used to be a spy back in the day, and a cop, and basically an adrenaline junkie. According to Robbie she still is but had tempered it a little with the fear of breaking a hip. Robbie mostly hung with the guys who were from Queen of Angels. Which is the way the rooms had been divided on the barge. PCHS in one room and the Queen of Angels guys in the other.

“One of the museums– the D’Orsay, is having a free day. There are only going to be three of them the whole time we’re here.” Bill tilts his head back to enjoy the morning sun.

Adam grimaces. Didn’t matter how free it is. He isn’t going to be spending an afternoon in a museum.

“Hey it’s my cheap day what can I say.” Bill shrugs. “Going to hit the museum, have a people watching lunch and maybe make a few post cards.”

Adam nods knowing Bill means what he says. The guy hadn’t bought a single postcard since coming to France. He’d had a book of blanks and had basically been drawing his own postcards. “Since it’s your cheap day... how about we eat here for dinner and then go out afterward. I’ll shop if you cook.”

Having worked in a dive bar since he was 13, Bill is familiar with a grill and cooking what is commonly referred to as pub grub. He’d even made a few bucks over the years drawing patrons on cocktail napkins when bussing tables. “Deal.”

Adam grabs the coffee and croissant and with a toast with the coffee cup heads back downstairs to get dressed for the day before the rest of the guys woke up and tied up the bath.

Glancing at his watch, Bill does the math– 6 hours earlier in Port Charles. He calls his dad at the bar.

“Jakes.”

“Hey Dad.”

“Bill. What the hell you doing up so early? You didn’t get arrested did ya?”

“Nah but I think mom is going to kick my ass.”

“Don’t even joke about that. You know she keeps a pair of italian pumps for just that purpose.”

Bill laughs at that but he’s heard the stories and knows that his mother does have a legendary temper even if she’s never laid a hand on any of her kids. The fact that his dad and Kyle had put a pair of shoes in a glass case in the living room complete with sign that read In case of loss of temper, Break Glass. Mama Skye’s disappointment is normally enough to have any kid doing wrong brought back to the path of the straight and narrow. “I won ten thousand euros in a card game last night.”

“Son of a bitch. You’re paying for your own damn college. And you’re right. Your mother isn’t going to care if you won. That’s gambling and gambling is potentially addicting– it falls in the same category as drinking, smoking and drugging... and I don’t want to know.” Cole says quickly before Bill can interrupt. “What happens in Paris stays in Paris. Ten thousand euros. ****. That’s what about 15 grand? What did you start with?”

“Two hundred entry.”

“Fine. Two hundred back in your vacation money. Give yourself a four hundred bonus and wire the rest back to The States or put it in the bank over there for bail money. And you better get your mother and sisters something nice. Fifteen Grand. Son of a bitch. You at the tables your sister on the stock market. What the hell.” Cole mutters.

“I know. Surprised me too.” Bill admits. “I just played every hand as it came. Watched for the tells like Dr Cam taught us, the whole body language thing.”

“That’s good really good. Your mom starts losing it, you can blame it on Dr Cam. I like it. What is your plan for today?”

“Free Day at the Orsay. I’m going to spend the whole day there. I figure I go on all the free days, I’ll see like a tenth of what there is to see. It’s like the Smithsonian. I could live there all summer and not see everything.”

“That reminds me. I need another postcard. These animals wore out the last one you sent from the Crazy Horse. Which is another thing we’re not telling your mother about.”

“I’ll see what I can find. Love you, Dad.”

“Love you too, son. And save that money for bail.”

Bill laughs at that and terminates the call. He leans back and closes his eyes enjoying the morning sun on his face as both sides of the Seine start to come to life.

A few days later.

“Aunt Tracy.”

“Why are you calling me?” Tracy snaps. Bill Radcliffe her “nephew”. She had to be nice to Skye’s rugrats other wise her father and Hill would both make her life a living hell.

Bill doesn’t make any more of it than anything else that Tracy would say to him. “I sent a present for Hill. It’s some vintage Hermes scarves I found at a flea market, and yeah, they’re vintage but...”

“You want to make sure that she doesn’t cut them up to trim one of her hats.”

“I found of something called a twilly which is a...”

“Hermes Silk ribbon. I know.”

“That’s why I’m calling you. They’re her present and she can do with it what she wants. It’s hers but if she has a clue.”

“And what is in it for me?”

“It’s not vintage and it’s right on top of the box.” Bill knew there was going to be a cost and planned for it. “I’m having it sent to the Mansion. I figure it’ll arrive before next Sunday’s tea. Using the same courier Baby used for Fancy’s french lessons.”

“If it’s not too late then put my scarf on the bottom of the box. Vintage might be able to pass through customs without having to pay duty.” Tracy isn’t one to pay more taxes than she absolutely had to.

“Right.” Bill agrees. “I can do that. Anything I should be on the look out for, for Grandfather?”

Tracy sighs. She’d love to tell the boy something sending him on the french version of a snipe hunt. “Father was there for The War. Normandy. Something from Normandy.”

Bill can hear the difference in her voice. Aunt Tracy is having a rare soft moment. Doesn’t matter if he ignores it or not-- it will soon pass. “Right. Whatever I find I’ll send to you at the office. You can figure out if it’s going to bring back too many memories or something.”

“My postcard get lost in the mail?” Tracy demands.

“Damn. Must have. I’ll work on that.” Bill hangs up before Tracy can. There is a certain one upmanship in dealing with his Aunt. Next call Tracy would probably hang up on him to get the last word.

“She knows it’s coming now?” The flight attendent asks in French as she zips the skirt of her uniform as she comes out of the bedroom and slips into the two and a half inch heels that she’d be walking the aisles of an international carrier for six hours on the flight from the City of Lights to The City.

“Oui.” Bill agrees. Wrapping a hand around her waist he pulls her in close and gives her a passionate kiss. Their conversations are always held in french.

It’s closed eyes and a head clearing sigh as Margot pushes him to arms length. “You’ll make me late.” Then trying to find the mundane. “Your french is getting much better. Maybe by the time the summer ends you’ll be able to go to the movies without the subtitles.”

“It’s already working.” Bill kisses the palm of her hand. “The dreams I’m having of you aren’t in English.”

“The dreams you have of me don’t have vocabulary just lots of action.”

Bill grins at her but doesn’t deny it. “When will you be back.”

“I haven’t left yet.” Margot retorts but then tells him when she’ll be back in Paris. She starts to pack the last items into her carry on.

“Aunt Tracy says to pack her scarf in the middle of the vintage stuff I picked up for my sister.” Bill makes sure that the attendant has enough money to pay the duty even if she claims everything at the value he paid for them.

“Anything you want me to bring back from The City?”

“You in something I can ravish you in.” Bill slips something into her purse while she’s busy zipping up the carry on. It’s a slight of hand. She’d find it later but she never caught him doing it. It’s a carry over from the days when his mother had always put a note into the lunch boxes that his dad had prepared. Just his twist on a quick note.

“Put me in that book of yours. I’ll let you know if there is any delay.”

“Have a good flight and know where your exits are.” Bill makes the nonverbal sign as if standing at the front of plane pointing with both hands two fingers extended as if to the back of the plane, to the wings and then to the front.

“Always.” She looks around her place to make sure that all the lights are off and small appliances unplugged. There is no need to dump the milk, her roommate is due in about eight hours in a flight from DC. Bill opens the door for her and she rolls the carry on out and hands him the keys to lock up. He quickly does and hands the keys back to her. They walk to the Metro together and then with a last kiss go in their separate directions.

....

“Well have you found it yet?”

“It wasn’t in any of my pockets and I was the one who packed my carry on.” It doesn’t stop her from checking her coat pockets again.

“Maybe he forgot.”

“He hasn’t yet.” The attendant retorts to her coworker. They should really be setting up the cabin but both of them had been searching her gear to find it.

“Your purse maybe?”

“I don’t know when he...” Margot grabs her purse out of her locker and sure enough tucked into a side pocket is a postcard blank. The card is a cartoon version of her clearly identifiable in her uniform even if the heels are higher, the skirt much shorter and the top tighter creating more cleavage than would be professional outside of a strip club. In the picture she has hands extended with two fingers pointing on both. The caption reads in french. “She who must be obeyed.”

“Aww... that is so sweet. I love it.” The other flight attendant takes the card and examines it and makes no secret of reading the message on the back of the card. “Where can I get one of these American boytoys?”

“He is visiting the summer with seven others from their hometown. But I don’t think any of them would be quite like Bill.”

Luckily none of the guys with Bill have exactly the same interests except maybe girls and even then tastes are distinct. None of them had much in common with the others, other than this trip. They’d gotten together a few times back in Port Charles when planning the trip but the agreement had been in place early on that they would not be in each other’s pockets. It’s about the only way that they could fit eight guys on the barge without killing each other. Someone was always gone on an excursion– could be mountain climbing, could be bicycle riding, could be a trip to Rome, could be a trip to North Africa, could be a trip to Switzerland. With three months on the Barge it really gave them the opportunity to make the most of their rail passes and the hostel system and have a place to come back to. There are only a couple of guys who are spending the whole summer in Paris and even they head out of town on the weekend or worked hard on getting a girlfriend who had her own place... or at least a place with less than potentially seven roommates.

There was a white board in the living room of the barge that had been discovered the morning after their arrival. There had been eight colors so each had picked a color and used the board to indicate where they were and when they’d be back. There are a couple of guys due back who’d spent the last week diving in Nice. It had turned into a handy idea so whenever someone’s parents called they could be clued in where their progeny was... or not depending on the activity. Everyone figured it was enough of a monitoring system to at least let the others know if the cops were needed. The board isn’t particularly tidy. Just a collection of notes all over the board without any lines or organization. It looks more like graffiti than a schedule. Picking up his color he writes Normandy and a date two out for his return time. He’d probably be back sooner but if he wasn’t back then they’d start calling. Grabbing up his backpack he heads off to the train station. The trip to Normandy would take about 90 minutes probably less. There would be enough time to do some people watching on the train and maybe get some postcards done. There would also be time to do some research on Normandy and it’s place in history.

Ghosts. Even now the place is lousy with them. He could feel the weight of the battle there even without the reminder of the german fortifications toward the beach where Allied forces had get on and up the beach while being cut down by the German guns. The cemetery might be over the hill but this is the graveyard. He’d felt the same way when his parents had done their summer we oughta vacation and toured civil war sites back in the States– Gettysburg, Antietam, Shiloh. The curse of too good of an imagination. If he closed his eyes he could see it, could smell it– the salty smell of the ocean mixing with spilt blood. The smell of spent ammunition, the ear piecing rifles and the bigger guns mixing with the screams of pain and maybe worse the soft grunts of those cut down running beside him. Bill reopens his eyes quickly. Not going to do that one again.

“Are you okay?” Another tourist this one with a accent of the american midwest asks curiously.

“Yeah. Had the same kind of creepy feeling at Gettysburg.”

The tourist nods. “It needed to be done. Such a loss of potential. It always is, but it needed to be done. It’s why I’m finishing here rather than beginning.”

“What do you mean?”

“I started at Dachau and Auschwitz.” The tourist shakes his head. “If you have that kind of reaction to this place, to the cemetery here, then don’t go there– buy the book instead.”

“Sounds like good advice.”

“You believe in reincarnation?” The tourist asks seeming out of the blue.

“Today, maybe. Or maybe I just believe Those who don’t remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

The tourist looks at him in surprise. “Most people don’t do that Santayana quote right.”

“My mom is a firm believer. She writes a lot of editorials for our newspaper back home with that quote as a base.” Bill stuffs his hands in his pockets. It’s a warm summer day but he still feels a chill as well as the hair still being up on the back of his neck.

“Cliche, because it’s been proven too often to be true.” The man stuffs his hands in his pockets as well. “Kel Lewis, Minnesota.”

“Bill Radcliffe, New York. Really didn’t know if it would hit me this way, like Gettysburg. Guess I should have. Gettysburg’s eighty years older. Just supposed to be here to get something for my grandfather.”

“How old are you, Bill? Eighteen or there abouts?”

Bill nods.

“Thinking of joining the service?”

“Not right now.” Bill counters. He shakes his head. “This and Gettysburg definitely battles that needed fighting. Haven’t been so good at picking our battles lately.”

“Yeah, you ain’t kidding there. But I can’t complain too much. It paid my way through college, got me the loan for my house and took care of the medical bills for having both of my kids. So what’s your story... off to college in the fall?”

Bill nods. He gives the guy a look out of the corner of his eye. “Art.”

Kel laughs and doesn’t hide his surprise. “I would have thought history. You have a feel for it.”

“You haven’t seen my art.” Bill shrugs. Pulling out a post card blank from his back pack he quickly sketches the man and enough of an impression of the beach and the German fortifications that the word Normandy and the date at the bottom of the card are redundant. He hands the card to his fellow tourist.

“This is good. Really good. Thanks. Maybe you should be a teacher make History come alive for other kids.”

“A teacher? After the way I tortured my teachers back in High School? I think Principal Reynolds is on medication now and really hoping that my little sister doesn’t follow in my footsteps. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that she’s worse she just never looks guilty.”

“Surely you had a teacher who made a difference in your life.”

“The person who really made a difference in my life wasn’t a teacher... She was a social worker. And I couldn’t do what she does or be a foster parent like my folks were. I’d be up on murder charges before a year was out. It was nice meeting you.”

Kel looks down at the quick sketch likeness and calls out to the young man walking back toward the twon. “It was nice meeting you too.”