One Perfect Night by Christiane France

I loved writing this story, it was a real trip down memory lane for me. I was born at Guys Hospital in London, I lived in a small village near High Wycombe, went to school in Marlow, and for several years took the train every day from High Wycombe to Marylebone Station in London. I’ve also taken the Eurostar train under the Channel from London to the Gare du Nord in Paris. Wow! It’s an experience that should be on everyone’s bucket list. 

At one time I worked in an office between Tottenham Court Road and the University College Hospital, and “Gino’s” café is/was a real restaurant. If it had a name I never knew it, but I always ate breakfast there--white coffee and a crusty roll filled with cheese and butter which I sprinkled with pepper and salt. It was delicious.

The incredibly hot summer evening in Termini Station in Rome is also based on a real experience. I was with a girlfriend and we were waiting for the train to Florence when she decided she had to buy Baci chocolates. In that heat they melted so fast I think we got more on our hands than we did in our mouths, but again they were soooo good. 

The hot dogs we bought one cold October afternoon from a street vendor on the Champs de Elysees in Paris were just as I describe—a sausage tucked inside a hollowed out baguette and slathered with Dijon mustard. The only beverage the man had left on his cart that day was Grand Marnier, but it was fine with us. A few minutes earlier we’d had the amazing good luck to get front row seats for that night’s opening of the musical, Napoleon. I don’t know if it was the result of a last minute cancellation, the ticket seller liked our faces, or if it was pure dumb luck. But after standing in a line-up for a couple of hours listening to people being turned away or being told the only tickets available were for months later it was totally unexpected. 

Marylebone Station, London

Marlow, Buckinghamshire

In ONE PERFECT NIGHT, Paul and Nico meet at Termini Station in Rome, then lose touch. Two years later, they reconnect in London and arrange to meet later that same night at a bar in Soho:

 “I guess not.” I (Paul) sipped my beer. We’d pretty much covered our jobs, now what? I’d eaten an apple for lunch and couldn’t remember what I’d had for breakfast, nothing there to talk about. I didn’t follow sports closely enough to risk making comments, nor did I know if we had any interests in common.

I was feeling more awkward by the second. I didn’t have a clue what to say next and I could tell it was the same for Nico. I should have expected it. Vacation friends had memories and shared experiences to fall back on. We were strangers who’d met in a crowded railway station and struck up a conversation while waiting for the trains to resume running. That hadn’t happened, so we’d spent the rest of the night together in a hotel room, not talking but screwing like a pair of bunnies in heat. Now here we were, still wanting one another like it was the next morning rather than two years later, and we still hadn’t exchanged last names. A simple case of sexual chemistry? Or was there more to it than that? Something written in the stars or ordained by Fate that made our meeting again a pre-programmed given?

I wanted to touch Nico, feel the heat and hardness of his body pressed against mine. Most of all, I wanted to assure myself what I felt for him was real and not an attack of morning-after-the-night-before madness that had lost nothing by being put on hold for two years.

As if he’d read my mind, Nico pushed back his chair. “Come. Let’s dance.”

I followed him onto the floor and stepped into his arms. It felt good, like this was where I belonged. I put my worries on hold and tried to relax.

The music was soft and slow and he held me so damn tight I could feel his heart beating. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pressed my face against his. He smelled delicious, exactly the way I remembered—a heady mixture of his own unique scent and a vague hint of some woodsy cologne. Most of all I loved the way our bodies fit together as we moved around the floor. I was hard. I was ready. I nibbled his ear, willing him to move his head so I could kiss him. I wanted to feel his mouth on mine. I wanted us to go somewhere we could get naked and make love.

I wanted all that and more. I wanted to believe Nico and I had something special that would last, something that was meant to be.

Or did I have it all wrong? We’d parted so abruptly that night in Rome—like walking out in the middle of a meal or halfway through a show. Was this some kind of postscript? The universe’s way of giving us one last kick at the can? Tonight we’d get everything out of our systems, and this time next week I’d say, Nico who?

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One Perfect Night by Christiane France is now available at Amber Allure.

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