Gastien: From Dream to Destiny: The Gastien Series, #2

Gastien: From Dream to Destiny

By Caddy Rowland

Book Description

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"I am Gastien Beauchamp, artist and lover. Any Frenchman would tell you that a peasant could never own property in nineteenth century France. Yet here I am, in my very own studio. The personal cost was horrendous. I barely survived the choices I made, and my sanity was pushed to its limits.

Still, I finally now have security, peace, and freedom. For the rest of my life I can spend time making love to the color, making love to beautiful women, and enjoying the wild nightlife of bohemian Montmartre. What more could a man need or want?

Then, one night, I see her. One look at Sophie, and my heart wants to betray me! I try to tell myself that I know better. Who needs love, anyway? I am already married-to my art!

No woman would ever understand and accept my lifestyle; nor am I about to give that lifestyle up. Not when I paid so dearly for it! Besides, I am too badly damaged to ever open up my heart...and if Sophie found out about my past she would not want to even know my name. I can't take that chance. I have had enough pain to last me a lifetime."

This historical fiction novel is book 2 of a 5 book drama/family saga for adults (The Gastien Series). Each book can stand on its own, but is most compelling read in order.

Books by Caddy Rowland:

The Gastien Series

Gastien: The Cost of the Dream (Book 1)

Gastien: From Dream to Destiny (Book 2)

Tristan Michel: Bloodline of Passion (Book 3)

Giselle: Keeper of the Flame (Book 4)

Gastien: Circle of Destiny (Book 5)

There Was a House

House of Pleasure (Episode 1)

House of Pain (Episode 2)

House of Trickery (Episode 3)

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Blog:http://www.caddyrowlandblog.blogspot.com Writer of Fiction, Painter of Life & Energy

Author Email: caddyauthor@yahoo.com

All honest and fair reviews are appreciated

Published by Caddy Rowland

First printing, December 2011

Copyright © Caddy Rowland 2011

All rights reserved

Manufactured in the United States of America

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy or copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Cover Design by Robin Ludwig Design

This book is dedicated to the color.

You have always owned me. You always will.

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Author’s Note:

If you have not yet read Gastien: The Cost of the Dream, please do so before reading this book. You cannot fully understand or empathize with the character of Gastien unless you read about his struggles when he first came to Paris, and what it cost him to achieve his dream. Please do not do him, or you, a disservice by not first reading that journey.

Readers, Gastien has been anxious for you to know the rest of his story. Let’s not keep him waiting any longer.

-Caddy Rowland

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NOTE: Glossary for all italicized words

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Gastien: From Dream to Destiny

Prologue

April 1899

Gastien came back to the present, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Looking out the large window, he realized that it must now be about eight o’clock in the morning. He had been lost in the past since five, while sitting here at his easel.

All of it seemed ages ago! Yet, at the same time, it seemed like only moments ago he had been eighteen. How had twenty-five years gone by?

The childhood beatings, leaving the farm for Paris, life on the streets; he could still smell the garbage in those alley bins. How fortunate he had been to end up with a dying mans money! If not for that stroke of fate, he would have died in those stinking back alleys before he had even gotten a real chance.

Then there had been Nathalie. Gastien smiled fondly. It was easy to understand getting lost in the past when it came to Nathalie! She had taught him everything he needed to know in regard to pleasing women. She had been a fantastic lover and an even better confidant.

He was thankful that she had understood that life with him was not what she was cut out for. Theirs had been a steamy relationship, but it was not something that would stand the test of time. Not when she was so privileged and he just an artist. Elliot was one in a million, excepting Nath and Gastien’s child as his own. Non, he did not regret anything about that situation.

And, of course, Michel. Mic was still his best ami to this day. They had enjoyed Paris many nights, along with all of the antics so typical of young, single men. Mic had left for Montmartre a year before Gastien; then the rooming house where Gastien lived had burned down. Gastien was back to square one, living in a dump. Rent was going up, and he had run out of options.

Jean Luc and his family had commissioned him for a year of painting just in time. Jean Luc had seemed like a godsend at first, becoming like a father to him. However, it had turned out much differently. Oui, he had ended up with this studio; and all the money he would need to live a reasonable life...but the price had been extremely high.

First, Jean Luc had gained young Gastien’s love and trust by convincing him that Gastien was the son he had always wanted. Then, once he knew how much Gastien needed him, he had propositioned him. Jean Luc offered a ridiculous sum of money in exchange for sexual favors. At first, Gastien was horrified. But with the nightmares of living on the street becoming so intense that he could no longer sleep, he had little choice. He agreed to use his mouth on Jean Luc in exchange for the huge monthly sum, plus referrals for two years.

Unfortunately, Jean Luc fell deeply in love with him. Even worse, he convinced himself that Gastien felt the same way. When it was made evident that was not the case, Jean Luc raised the stakes higher. He set Gastien up: a beautiful studio in Montmartre, completely his, in exchange for performing those same sexual services with five of Jean Luc’s amis.

Once again, Gastien refused; however, by this time he had been used many times by one man. He had reasoned that five more and one night would not make a huge difference, and so he agreed. It was the only way he would ever have the security of owning his own studio, of possibly ending the nightmares. The wealthy of France made damn sure the poor could never own property.

He sat now, sweating and shaking, thinking about those five men: Sébastien, Thierry, Rémy, Gérard and René. Despite Jean Luc’s promise that he would only have to use his mouth, it had gone horribly wrong. They had blockaded Jean Luc out of the room; then all five cruelly raped him after putting drugs in his vin. The abuse had gone on for hours, with Gastien being used by each of them more than once.

Sébastien had been the cruelest. That man was downright evil. In the morning, Sébastien had taken a knife and sauntered over to Gastien, who was still lying naked on the floor. He had decided to castrate Gastien. Thankfully, the others had stopped the cruel act just in time.

Many times over the years he would hear their voices; the things they said to him while he was being used. In addition, he had never forgotten their faces. Those faces routinely visited him during sleep. He had thought he was finding a way to end the nightmare about living on the streets, a way to have the security of his own home and studio. In fact, although he did end up with his home and studio, he had traded one nightmare for another.

That was a major reason he had felt that he should not allow a woman to get close to him. What shame she would feel if she ever found out what he had done! Not to mention the fact that they might look for him again. If they found a woman with him, what might they also do to her?

Gastien forced the thoughts of those men away. That was over and in the past. He meant nothing to them, other than one night of brutal cruelty and savage entertainment.

A month had been spent in a cottage by the sea, trying to come to grips with what had happened; and hoping to heal both physically and emotionally. He had thought he had done so, until the new nightmare started showing up after settling in Montmartre. Still, he had enjoyed many good times and lots of happiness over the past twenty-three years.

Gastien stood up. Mon Dieu, he was hung over! His damn head still pounded painfully. Well, he was just going to ignore it, and move on with the day. It was time to paint something to be proud of again. It had been too long! First, though, he decided to make himself presentable, since he sat right by the large window where passersby could see him.

He went out back to relieve himself. Next he washed his face and underarms at the pump. He would bathe later, before going out tonight. For Gastien knew without a doubt that he would, once again, be going out. He could not stand to be alone anymore at night.

After brushing his teeth, he quickly shaved; then brushed his long, dark hair. Coming midway down his back, it was still a source of pride to him. There were now a few stands of grey throughout. He tied it back with a leather strap.

Pouring a new cup of coffee, he sat down to paint. He had a good two and a half hours before it would be noon.

Looking outside once more, he watched the artists painting at Place du Tertre. He could see the back of Mic’s head, the reddish gold hair, as Mic stood painting yet another Montmartre scene. His heart was full of love for his ami. Mic had stood by him through everything.

What a time the two of us have had in our beautiful, creative, bohemian Montmartre, he thought. There would never be another place quite like it...

19th Century Montmartre (1855-1899)

The village of Montmartre was in the process of great change when Gastien arrived there to make his home. While it still maintained some of its village innocence in the 1870’s, that would soon change. Never in the history of the world has there been such a gathering of true artistic genius, either before or since. Nor have there been many other times in history when so much freedom was allowed.

Drugs like cocaine, hashish and opium were not only prevalent, they were legal. In fact, by the end of the nineteenth century, the Montmartre and Paris areas would have over 1,500 opium dens operating legally. Cheap vin rouge, absinthe, brandy, and whiskey were also plentiful; dozens of cafes and cabarets were open all night. Prostitution was rampant, offering both females and males for rent. Lesbians and homosexuals also found Montmartre a place where they could live without fear. Everyone – and almost everything – was accepted in this rural village.

Montmartre was technically made the 18th arrondissement of Paris in 1860, but for all intents and purposes it remained independent of the city. The people certainly maintained that they were not a part of Paris! This independent attitude fostered much political unrest and nonconformist living.

When the reconstructing of Paris began, it drove the artists out of the city and into outlying areas, where they could afford rents. Montmartre was particularly appealing because it had no taxes and a nunnery that produced cheap vin rouge. Although Montmartre did not have running water, gas lighting, or any of the niceties that were beginning to be common in Paris, it did have picturesque views of Paris because of being on the highest hill. It also had plenty of light, which was coveted by artists. Although there were some cobblestone streets, most were dirt roads. Steep stone stairs climbed to the various streets until reaching the top of the hill.

Many artists had studios or worked around the community of Montmartre: Dali, Modigliani, Monet, Cézanne, Picasso, and Vincent van Gogh; Matisse, Derain, Valadon, Renoir, Degas, Utrillo, and Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, to name a few. Groups of artists such as Les Nabis and the Incoherents were formed. Not all of these artists were in Montmartre at the same time; however, over a span of about fifty years this area gave birth to more world famous artists than any other area in history.

At any café in Montmartre who might one find? Everyone! There were artists, writers, bourgeois and gentry out on a lark; prostitutes, pimps, thieves, circus performers, and anarchists; all sitting side by side. The young grisettes, girls of their late teens and twenties who were working as seamstresses or at other jobs, were tasting freedom from traditional female roles for the first time. They were not afraid to dine at restaurants, drink in cabarets, or take lovers.

The majority of bohemians (as the Montmartre artists were called) were anything but attractive. Most of them lived in tenements with no heat and no water, along with plenty of lice, rats, and roaches. Many people described some of the artist’s homes as more trash heaps than buildings. One artist was even known to have gone to a doctor because his ear was bothering him, only to find out that his ear was being used as a nest for bedbugs!

Those facts did not stop women from sleeping with the artists. Nor were only grisettes were interested in sex with them. Creative types have always appealed to vast numbers of women. Perhaps this is because they seem alternately wild and sensitive, or maybe it is because the women think they need some tender loving care. The reason did not matter to these nineteenth century artists. They were just happy to have sex available as often as they wanted it! Sex gave them a short interlude during which they could forget about the misery they were usually surrounded with while trying to paint or write.

Gastien had experienced worse poverty than most while living in the alleys of Paris. He had no desire to live in one of those communal apartments and experience poverty again. Many artists actually came from bourgeois families. They could go home or get money if times got tough.

That was not the case for Gastien. He was truly pursuing the dream of becoming a full time artist. His studio meant everything to him, and he would work hard at his art for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, because his visions were far ahead of even the Impressionists and Les Nabis, most of his work would never be appreciated by the public.

There were still a lot of windmills in Montmartre during this time. One famous windmill sat on the property of the Moulin de la Galette. At the top of the hill, Moulin de la Galette drew people from all over Paris to dance and drink. The famous Moulin Rouge would open in 1889 at the bottom of the hill, when Gastien was 33.

One of the two most popular places to go in art circles was Au Lapin Agile. Opened in the 1850’s, it had been known as Cabaret Des Assassins, because the owner’s son was murdered on the premises. In 1875 an artist named André Gill (pronounced like Jill) painted a sign, a rabbit wearing a chef’s hat and jumping out of a frying pan, on the outside of the building. This was in reference to a delicious rabbit dish that was featured on the menu. The place then became known as Le Lapin a Gill (Gill’s rabbit). The name quickly morphed into Au Lapin Agile.

Au Lapin Agile was known as one of the roughest places in Montmartre during Gastien’s life, which, considering the lack of restraint in the village, says a whole lot. The artists were given free rein to paint, write, drink, get high, whore, and fight. Police would not be called. If they had no money, they could exchange a painting for a meal; if any passed out, they were left alone to wake up and leave when they wished. People from all social classes went there because all kinds of exciting things happened at Au Lapin Agile. You were as likely to sit next an outlaw Waggoner, with his huge knife plunged into the wooden tabletop, as you were to sit next to an artist!

Le Chat Noir was another very important place for artistic types. The owner, Rodolphe Salis, was an artist; the son of a wealthy brewer. When he moved to Montmartre other artists flocked to his apartment to talk, smoke, and show their work.

At first these were weekly meetings, with Salis providing drinks. Gastien would start going there right from the beginning. This was the place to go because all of the most creative, wittiest men showed up there. They put on shows for each other, wrote songs, and sang together (many of the songs were satirical and disrespectful of the bourgeois). Many discussions about art were heard over glasses of vin.

The crowd got so large that Salis bought the building next door, opening Chat Noir shortly after Gastien’s 26th birthday. Although it was also known as one of the raunchier cabarets, once again people from all social classes came together with one goal: having a good time. The list of who’s who at Chat Noir would rival any restaurant in Paris.

It was at Chat Noir that comic monologues got their start. Soon they started putting on shadow plays, with scenes cut from paper, and back lighting. Music and narration would be included at times. Thus, the beginning for cinema was born. These shadow plays were very popular; many famous people flocked there to see them.

Gastien and Mic both fell in love with the place because it was relaxing and entertaining. Many times one or the other would bring paintings for display, where they would get critique from other artists. Gastien would find that, although the public and traditional artists never could understand what he was trying to accomplish, many of the avant garde artists at Chat Noir liked his work; they also deeply respected his talent.

Gastien would continue to paint portraits for extra spending money to be used for the pursuit of pleasure; however, as the years went by he did less portrait painting and much more of his own work. He would have liked for people to understand his work, but it was not necessary. Gastien was in his own world; it did not matter to him if he became famous. All that mattered was creating. He would have probably found fame to be a great irritant, as it would have disrupted his private painting time.

Gastien became amis with many other artists, partying with them, sometimes painting with them, but seldom becoming close. Painting was his reality and his safe haven. It frustrated him when people did not get his work, but he did not expect or want to lead; becoming a voice for a movement did not interest him at all. What he painted stood on its own for better or worse. He loved discussing art and could get passionate during those discussions, but in the end, what others thought mattered little. For the first twenty years, he had paid extremely harsh dues to get to this place in his life. Moving forward he created his world just the way he wanted it.

This is the Montmartre that Gastien would arrive to after returning from the seaside at L’Estaque. He had visited Montmartre several times to see Mic and other amis; he was aware of the artistic lifeblood that flowed through its streets. In his opinion, giving up running water and gas was a small price to pay for the artistic energy that would surround him in this unique village.

A Home at Last (September 1876)

I

Once the train arrived in Paris, Gastien made his way to the 6th arrondissement. He needed to remove his money from the safety deposit box he had kept at a bank in Paris. Once that was done, his dream would finally become reality.

He would take out all of it, along with the ring and watch the man dying in the alley had given to him. Everything would be put into a safe built into a wall of his studio, behind a desk that was custom built. The desk had a secret opening to the wall in the back of it. His money had cost him dearly; no one else would be trusted with it ever again.

Gastien had been without a woman during the full month that he was at L’Estaque. Now he found that his need was quite great. A little diversion before heading to his studio would certainly be welcome. Knowing that many wives of the wealthy shopped and dined around this area, Gastien knew there was a good chance his wish would be answered. Most of them knew him, or had heard about his lovemaking skills.

He was not wrong in his assumption. As he walked toward the bank to get his money, he heard a female call his name.

"Gastien! Mon Dieu, many of us have been talking about you. We thought you had died!"

Gastien turned to see one of the wealthy wives that he had previously spent time in bed with. He gave her his best smile and hurried over.

"Chèri! Non, non, I went south for a month. He kissed her hand. You look beautiful! I take it you have not missed me too terribly."

She giggled. Ah, Gastien...how could I not? You do have certain talents. I am in a terrible hurry, but I would love to partake in those talents again. Are you by any chance interested in a quick interlude?

Gastien smiled. It appeared he would not have to wait long after all to have a woman. "Chèri, you are just in time to save my life! I have been without a woman for a month, as I badly needed solitude. Could I be so lucky as to enjoy you within minutes of my return?" What luck, he thought. If I remember right, she is quite a naughty thing; she would be open to a quick deviation before moving on with her day.

She leaned closer. Well, I could get a room at the hotel across the street...but I only have about a half hour. And, Gastien, I don’t want my hair messed up! I have an important luncheon. I must look my best, or those women will eat me alive! Are you game?

Gastien offered his arm. Lead the way.

She glanced up, taking his arm. By the way, I don’t care for the facial hair on you. Please forgive me for saying so. You have a beautiful face that women love! Why are you hiding it?

Gastien had decided to grow a Winnfield mustache that thinly came down each side of his mouth, ending with a petit goatee. He had hoped that the facial hair would make him less beautiful and more handsome, resulting in it being less likely that homosexuals would find him attractive. He had only grown it a few days, but it was already looking quite filled out. It was not good to hear that she found it unattractive.

She was right, he realized. His face was one of his greatest assets. Making a mental note to shave if off once he got settled today, he promised himself that he would never hide it again. Since almost all men had facial hair, not having any would make him stand out. With a clean shaven face and thick, long hair he would be even more unique.

He decided that if men made the mistake of thinking he was homosexual he would make it clear that he was not interested. If they refused to believe him, his fist would give them their final answer.

"Merci for being kind enough to tell me that, chèri. The last thing I want to do is disappoint! It will be removed as soon as I get home."

I am glad. She caressed his face. You have the most beautiful face in Paris, male or female. Don’t hide it! she chided. When they got to the room, she reminded him, Remember not to muss up my hair.

Gastien laughed. He lay down on the bed, unbuttoned his pants, and pushed them down.

Beckoning, he said, "Come over here, chèri. Lose the undergarment, lift your skirts, and sit on me. I promise to only hold your hips. As she removed her undergarment, Gastien continued, After a whole month, thirty minutes will be plenty of time. If I finish too quickly I will make sure you are happy."

She quickly took him up on the offer, sighing contentedly a half hour later. You are always so thoughtful, Gastien, making sure that I get my pleasure, too. That is something most men don’t even consider. My husband certainly doesn’t.

I am glad you are happy. I see no reason for it to be one sided. He stayed on the bed as she straightened her clothes.

Well, I had heard you were getting quite ruthless during your trysts. I am glad to see that is not true.

Gastien shrugged. "I had a brief period of darkness, chèri. That is now over. I have promised myself to only be ruthless if the woman asks me to. By the way, I am leaving today for Montmartre; I now have a studio there. You must pay me a visit!"

Montmartre? Oh, all of you artists are moving there! I will come see you, I promise. I will spread the word that our darling Gastien has left us for the village! We will make sure you are kept busy, both at the easel and at other places.

Gastien laughed. My studio is also my home. You will find it most accommodating. However, I will be more choosey regarding those I make more comfortable. I no longer want to be seen as a toy to be used by everyone. That is another change I have made.

She pouted. Are you saying this was our last time?

"Not at all, chèri. I find you extremely enjoyable. You will be granted special privileges, should you take the time to visit me. I am just going to be more selective."

Splendid. I like you very much, Gastien. You are lovely to look at, amazing in bed, and a good conversationalist as well.

"I like you, too, chèri. Don’t tell the others that I am being more selective, as it would be in bad taste. Just tell them that I have my own place now in Montmartre; if they ever need a portrait they must come visit me."

I will, darling. I will be kind and let you break the bad news if they offer and you decline. She laughed gaily. I must admit, I would dearly love to see a few of their faces when you turn them down.

Shame on you! You are such a little devil!

I know. Still...

He kissed her tenderly. "Until next time, chèri. You don’t want to be late for your lunch. Please greet everyone for me!"

Are you not coming down with me?

"Non. I will come down later on."

Once she left, Gastien ran the tub. There was hot and cold running water at this luxurious hotel; he was not going to pass that up. It would save him the time of heating up water on his coal stove and transferring it to his new tub later today.

Once he was done, he left with a smile on his face. No doubt she had, too. Gastien did not feel guilty about having sex so quickly upon his return. He liked her, and she liked him; he had been in need, and she had left satisfied. He sighed happily, totally relaxed. Sex felt damn good; there was no doubt about that!

Gastien then went and bought a large satchel, got his money, the watch, and put on the ring. It still fit; the ruby winked at him. Putting the money and watch in the satchel, he nodded at the bank clerk and walked out.

There were quick stops to touch base with Dr. Morel and then with Maurice, his old boss at Le Procope. Maurice was happy to see him; excited and pleased when he found out that Gastien now had his own studio. Wishing him luck, he tucked a bottle of champagne under Gastien’s arm.

Please drink a celebration to your new studio and home from me.

Gastien thanked him and found a cabriolet to take him to Montmartre. He was finally only a few minutes away from his dream.

Gastien was heading toward his first real home.

II

Once the cabriolet pulled up to his studio, Gastien could not have felt giddier if he had guzzled the bottle of champagne he carried. Quickly paying the driver, he hurried to his front door and turned the key in the lock.

He stopped in his tracks upon entering. It was absolutely breathtaking! Tears of joy sprang to his eyes. He was afraid to move for a minute, because he might only be dreaming again.

The wood on the floors gleamed; the new furniture looked clean and welcoming. Gastien had been approached by a furniture maker who had asked to rent part of his space that he had walled off. Instead, Gastien arranged barter for furniture, wood to stretch canvas on, and carved frames for paintings. Both men were pleased with the arrangement.

Gastien had not ordered fancy furniture, except for his bed. He planned on entertaining a lot on that bed. It was a Louis XV, with intricate panels of various woods both in the head and foot boards. The furniture maker made this especially for him, with the bed being much wider than most double beds at the time. Gastien and his partners would not end up on the floor, no matter how lively they got.

He had also rejected having a feather mattress because he found that if the bed was too soft one could not get the full impact of sexual union easily. He wanted to make sure that his thrusting caused the woman to fly with him. Looking at the bed now, he knew he would be giving women a lot of flying lessons on it.

Mic had seen to it that everything was set up according to his drawing. The kitchen area was to the left as one entered the studio. It had a preparation area and counters, along with a small coal cooking stove; there was a sink that could be plumbed once running water came to Montmartre.

Behind it, along the same wall, was the huge fireplace. A table and a couple of chairs were in front of it. On the back wall was a large window by the table, with smaller windows that could open on each side, then a door out to the back yard. To the right of the door was his writing desk (with the fireproof safe in the wall behind it), followed by another large window.

His bed was along the window, with the headboard on the next wall; or the wall to his right, at the far back. Next to it was his armoire for clothing, a chest, a stand with a mirror, and basin for shaving; next to that a large coal stove for heat. The fireplace and coal stove had both been there. There was no reason to give up the stove, or to wall in the fireplace. The fireplace was a work of art in itself. At the foot of the bed was his wonderful bathtub on a pedestal, so that he could drain it when finished. The pipe ran from the tub end close to the back wall right outside to the ground.

In front of the coal stove was a large work table for various art projects and finishing work. Many times in the future he would sit there with other artists, painting and talking. On the right side immediately after you walked in was the area with his easel, and a table where he would also paint with a custom easel fit around the table. It was by another huge window with smaller windows that could open, then the wall, and finally another set of the same windows. That ended at the wall where he had sectioned off the building.

The area behind his painting table was his living room. Gastien did not have traditional, fussy French furniture. He had huge easy chairs, a few very plump chaises for reading, and a huge table in the middle of it all. These pieces were made according to his directions, instead of bowing to anyone else’s style. There were a couple of bookcases that he hoped to gradually fill.

As time passed, he would decorate with various odd items he found at quirky shops in the area. His walls would eventually hold his paintings, most times with no rhyme or reason. He wanted to look at them, so they went up wherever there was room.

Wanting the beauty of the wood, there were no rugs down. When it got cold outside he would make sure the coal stove, and the fireplace if need be, kept the studio plenty warm. Gastien had no desire to ever be cold again. A lot of coal and wood would be used, as he preferred being barefoot at home.

As time passed, there would be various paintings propped around the whole living area in different stages of progress. The back storage room would also hold hundreds of them. Like a typical artist, Gastien cared more that things were out where he could get them easily than if his living quarters looked tidy and neat. He did not want to have a dirty home, but clutter he could live with. Clutter was just part of doing art. The irritation of always having to stop and find something, haul it out, and set it up was far greater than the irritation of a little clutter.

As he looked around he let out a loud whoop, laughing like a young child. He was so deliriously happy! It still did not seem real. Was this really his home? He shook his head as if to clear it. Oui, at long last, he had a home that could not be taken away from him. His life as an artist was beginning.

III

Mic bounded in through the door just as Gastien was putting away the travel paints he had taken on his trip. Gastien looked at him, breaking into a grin. They embraced, kissing each other fondly.

It is good to have you finally here, Gaz, said Mic. "I have missed having my best ami around every day. I thought this day would never come!"

Gastien stepped back and smiled. "I know! Many times I also thought the same. Can you believe this, Mic? My own place! By the way, merci beaucoup for all you did to make it come together. It is exactly how I wanted it."

You are welcome; it is good to know that you like it. I have to say you have great taste in decorating. This place is simple, but stunning. The space is to die for! Mic looked again at Gaz. "Mon Dieu! You have finally reached puberty! You have grown facial hair. Congratulations!"

Gastien slapped him on the head. "Puberty, huh? Very cute. Oui, I have even started to grow a couple of hairs by my balls. Can you believe it?"

Well, please don’t show me those!

I understand. It would make you insanely jealous.

Keep on telling yourself that.

They both grinned. It was just like old times.

Actually, Mic, I am going to shave the facial hair off again. I have to use the things I have been given. There is no sense hiding one of my best assets.

You mean your big mouth? teased Mic.

Exactly. By the way, how did the upstairs turn out? Gastien was curious to see that space.

Well, come up and see for yourself. I think you will lease it out in no time! Mic said proudly.

Gastien was pleased with how it looked. The layout was similar to his, with different furniture and placement. Mic had even had enough in the budget to get bedding and some dishes. Gastien saw a tub and laughed. He noticed the same plumbing pipe had been implemented.

I see you liked my plumbing idea.

Mic grinned. "Oui. I had to be constantly on top of things to make sure I stayed on budget. I thought a bathtub would be a very welcome thing for someone here, even if they do have to work at bringing up the water to heat. Bathtubs in Montmartre are a rarity. You should get top dollar."

"Oui, if any artist can afford it!" They both laughed. Gastien looked at Mic and smiled mysteriously.

What, Gastien? You look like you have just had my sister and are dying to tell me! Mic chided.

"Non, nothing...I am just so damn happy!"

I know. We will be going out and celebrating all night, unless you are too tired.

"Too tired for the celebration of the most important day of my life? I don’t think so. But I must warn you that I have not had any liquor for a full month, so I may be a lightweight. You will have to carry me home after two glasses of vin!"

"In that case, we will eat a big dinner first. That will help. And then we will head over to what you probably think of as Café Des Assassins. The name has changed to Au Lapin Agile, but the place remains the same."

"Mon Dieu, you really are planning on getting me plastered if we are going there!"

Plastered or higher than hell, your choice. Let me show you out back.

They clamored down the back stairs to the yard. Gastien was thrilled to see that the old privy was gone, and a new one was built with a dirt system. In fact, there were two.

Mic said, I ran a tough ship here, Gastien, and convinced the men to build another for the person upstairs. That way you don’t have to share.

Gastien was pleased. That was really a nice thing for Mic to think of. Privies were bad enough without having to share them with others not in your immediate household.

"Good job, Mic. Seriously, I don’t think there has even been an ami like you in the history of the world!"

I care about you, Gaz. You have shown me how badly a person can want something; how much they will go through to achieve it. Not many have that force of will or determination.

Or are foolish enough! Gastien added and they laughed. Mic, I was just coming to get you. There is something I want to show you. Come back inside.

When they walked in, Gastien pulled out some papers from the satchel he had taken to the bank. Sit down at the table, Mic. I have something for you.

Mic sat down, with Gastien across from him. Gastien quietly passed the papers to Mic. As Mic read, he looked up questioningly.

This looks like a deed, Gastien. If you are planning on selling the upstairs instead of leasing it, why are you asking me to look it over? I know nothing about legal documents.

I know you don’t. But the man who is coming in about five minutes does. I assume, however, that you do know how to sign your name.

Mic looked blank. Pardon me?

"Don’t you understand French, ami? I said I want you to sign your name when the man comes."

Oh! As a witness! You have already found a buyer! Do I know him? Mic looked worried. I hope you will find him a good upstairs neighbor, Mic warned.

"Oh, I know