Monsieur Lambert Rousseau, of the Rousseau Estate in Avignon

[PART ONE IS HERE]

“Qu’est-ce que c’est?” I fumbled with the telegram. “Your presence is requested at the Police Station, 9 Rue de la Canard, Paris,  to contest the character of a Milou Sur La… Table.” Oh for heavens sake! I pinched the paper with great stress in my fingers, moments away from shredding it and raining it all down upon myself. I exhaled a great grunt of complaint and let my hands collapse to my sides. Milou, Milou, what have you gotten yourself into? I gave my apartment door a longing look and then turned away from a hot bath, dinner, and a glass of wine, descended down the steps, and yet again graced the cobblestones.

I requested directions from the train station clerk only to discover it was the direction from where I’d just come – the office. I dreaded being spotted by co-workers as I approached the police station. If someone reputable saw me go into such a facility…I sighed yet again, adjusted my coat, then walked inside with stiff posture.

I presented the letter to the attendant and was directed to the sheriff’s office. He was a portly man with a rectangular face and lantern jaw, a nose that had been broken once jutted out a great deal between bright green eyes. Emotions showed easily on his ruddy face.

“Ah, Monsieur Rousseau, thank you for coming so soon! I’m Sheriff Dubois.”
I shook his hand in return. “I had not settled in for the night, so no inconvenience to me. What is this matter regarding Milou?”
“Well, he was arrested this afternoon-”
“Arrested! Whatever for?” I nearly dropped my briefcase.

“For homosexual prostitution.”
Thunk, went the briefcase. “For… oh mon dieu.”

The sheriff eyed me. “What is your relation to Milou? I have to admit I wasn’t expecting a gentlemen of your class and standing.”
I knelt down to retrieve my case which gave me a couple seconds to collect my wits. “I buy papers from him.”
“Papers?” Dubois repeated.
“Yes, newspapers, for many years now…a dozen now is it? Back from when he was just a lad.”
The sheriff shoved his hands in his pockets and scoffed, “He’s a bit big to be a paperboy.”
I snickered,. “Well yes. I noticed that too. Yet he never seems to outgrow his britches… they always seem to be falling off.”
Dubois threw his head back and guffawed, “Well that’s what got him in trouble!”
“Oh Milou, that brat, what happened exactly?”
The sheriff tilted his head in one direction and we began to walk out of his office and down a hallway of mostly empty cells. “The plaintiff claims that Milou propositioned him for sex, and even after he declined, Milou did not relent, so the plaintiff reported him to a policeman on patrol. Milou denied it, but there was an abnormal amount of coinage on him. When asked what he was doing, he replied that the money was not his and he was trying to earn up for …socks, if you believe that.”

I dropped my forehead into my gloved palm, the noise resonating on the stone walls. I was going to murder him. No one would convict me. No, what that boy needed was a spanking with one of my sister’s flat wooden hairbrushes. Then, a glass of wine and maybe murder.

The sheriff lifted an eyebrow. “Mr. Rousseau, are you well?”
“Has all the color drained from my face?”
He examined me. “Yes.”
“I thought so. I knew that streetboys often do not receive an education, but I was under the impression Milou was not an imbecile. The punishment for sodomy is so severe….”
The sheriff abated in front of a cell and I realized there was only a set of bars between us and Milou. He was sitting on a stone bench, legs drawn up to hide a black eye. When he witnessed my presence, his good eye widened to the size of teacup.
I tried not to look at wounded face as I continued, “You see, Sheriff Dubois, this is a grievous misunderstanding and partially my fault. Milou has been promoted to a higher ranking paperb-… newspaper seller and now collects the earnings from a league of smaller children under him. That explains the coins.”
“Indeed it does.”

I continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “I also must confess my guilt from earning a great deal more income than him in business, solely as a result of luck and benefiting from my father’s high standing. Thus, I paid Milou more than a fair price for the papers and Milou informed me he saved up those Francs and purchased a pair of shoes for himself. I suppose he couldn’t wait to save for the socks.” I tipped the end of my explanation with ice in my voice, pleased to see Milou glance away, defensive and sheepish.

The sheriff digested my story which he was scribbling onto a notepad which had apparated from his back pocket. “That is a believable tale, but to risk imprisonment for homosexual prostitution for socks seems ..misplaced.”
I clasped my hands and briefcase behind my back as if discussing the weather, although my mind was racing. “Yes, it was a remarkable lapse in character, but I do not believe his intent was to prostitute himself.”
Dubois paused his note-taking, “How can you be sure?”

“Well first,” I gestured to Milou, “Look at him. He’s dressed like an urchin, not a whore. You can tell because whores take baths once in a while.”
“Hey!”
“Also, that is a terrible area for prostitution. My father’s brother has a habit with the ladies and he never frequents this area. It’s too near the Elysee Business District. I cannot speak for his intent, but even if that was the case, I petition that you pity him for incredibly poor decision making. My best guess? Winter is coming. Milou was probably trying to appeal to that gentlemen for work and his self-conscious nature misinterpreted the whole thing.”
Dubois snorted then flipped through his chicken scratch. “So…Milou has never propositioned you?”
“No.”
“You have never performed a sex act with him?”
“No.” Technically that was true. He did the performing. I just stood there with my cock in his mouth. I could sense Milou’s eyes boring into my soul. His whole life rested in my ability to weave bald-faced likes to a man of the law. If I sold him out, Milou would no doubt find out where I worked and ruin my life…. walking a wire, we were.
“Have you ever seen him behave inappropriately with any other male clients?”
“No.”
“…Or the children?”
I retracted as if I’d been struck, “Sheriff Dubois, I refuse to even consider such filth. He is kind to the children. Abused children do not smile and laugh.”
He put his hands up in defense. “Sorry to have touched a nerve, but it is procedure to inquire.” He shoved the notebook back into its stretched pocket. “We do not have a previous record on Milou, so I’m inclined to agree with your testimony here. I will release him on bail into your care.”
My knees nearly gave out. Oh sweet mercy, I did it. “I wince to think the cost, but Milou will return it in free paper after this, I am to assume.” I shot the prisoner a glare, then returned to the administrative office where he drew up the release papers. 

I wrote up a bank slip while the sheriff went to collect Milou and his belongings. Not ten minutes later, we were both standing in the lobby free as birds. I shook hand with Dupont, thanked the front desk clerk, and escorted Milou out to the sidewalk.

The sun had not yet set as the days were still long now; however a chill was slowly replacing summer’s humid nights. Milou looked particularly exposed, clutching his newspaper bag, barefoot and clad in only pants. He opened his mouth to say something, but I wanted the first words. I grabbed Milou by his arm and dragged him into the alley next to the station.
“Monsieur Rousseau I’m really-”
I raised my arm to deliver an open-handed blow to his face, but stopped my hand about an inch from his head, his features already twisted and bracing for the impact. A rush of shame at my almost act of barbarianism flooded through my chest. Instead, Instead, I grabbed the strap of the newspaper bag around his chest and yanked him close.
“What in gods name got into you?” I seethed. “Are you an idiot, an imbecile, a child? I offer you for you to take up residence with me and you decide you’d rather spend your life in jail?! or executed? For soliciting sex in a business district? You must be mentally incapable of rational thought.”

Milou held his hands up in defense, too cowardly to look me in the eye. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I never meant for you to get involved in this I just thought-”
“You weren’t thinking, but go on.”
“…-when you asked me to move in with you, it infuriated me. I’m not a stray dog to be taken in and commanded what to do!” Milou’s eyes were wet and bright and he was gesticulating with exaggerated motions. “I’ve taken care of myself on these streets for years. Just because I suck your cock doesn’t mean you own me!”
“SSHHH! Not so loud, are you daft!” I hissed.
Milou winced, but mercifully lowered his volume. “I just…thought…well, this girl I know is a mistress. She gets paid a lot of money to be a rich man’s girl and I thought maybe I could do the same, be a dandy…”
“To a man? I know we are in a period of experimentation but the law disagrees. How did you expect to accomplish this?”
The young man glanced at his bare feet. “I was…doing research…”

I released the strap and ran my fingers through my sandy hair, “I apologize if my offer sounded like you’d be my slave. It was not my intent. I just…Milou, I want you to have some sort of security When I saw the telegram, my heart nearly froze. You said you can take care of yourself, but out of all your friends and co-workers, you chose me to bail you out. Your subconscious is trying to tell you something. Milou, you can’t live like this when you’re forty…fifty. No man is an island, mon cherie, there is nothing wrong with accepting an offer to get ahead.”
“What…?”
“Well if you don’t have to focus your time and energy on day to day survival, you could study for an education certificate. Attend business classes. Bring some skills to your trade of selling newspapers.”
Milou stared at me with an uneven gaze, his bruised eye socket a deep purple hue. Our adrenaline was crashing. His stomach growled. Mine answered. He chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure what to say.
“Oh you are such a trouble maker, Milou. It’s getting late. You are going to come home with me. I am considering punishing you for scaring the wits out of me, but you will take a bath, eat, and spend the night because I cannot worry about you anymore today, I’ll have an apoplexy. Tomorrow morning we will talk about how you will pay off the debt for your bail,” I stated, adjusting my clothing and straightening my back, doing my best to maintain my air of an authority figure.

Milou turned his head toward the city scene beyond the alley, business persons rushing to and fro. Automobiles competing with horses for street space, the overhead lamps casting their oily glow on it all. It called to him, its grungy dim corners and hidden alcoves, so easy to disappear. I could almost hear the clock gears of his mind turning.

The lad was shaken from his brush with captivity, his face pale and half swollen. He sniffled and wiped his nose on his arm. “Alright. For one night, I will let you take care of me, in thank you for the rescue. But no sex play… I need to think.”
I smiled. “That’s a smart lad. Just…one more question, Milou?”
“Oui?”
“On the telegram, why on Earth was your last name listed as Sur La Table of all things?”
A grin slid across his face. “I don’t have a last name. My father’s was not worth carrying. When the arresting officer asked me it for the arrest form, he had me bent over on a table at a cafe in the Square… so I told him to put that down.”
I patted him on the back, “Oh Milou, you’re exhausting. Don’t go teasing me now with images of you bent over a table.”
He blushed from head to toe.

[TO BE CONTINUED]

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Sorry this took so long to get out. I didn’t expect there to be a chapter 3, so I had to work out some plot holes as big as Miami. The photo of Lambert (which is pronounced Lahm-behr, not Lamb-bert) is from a series titled the Ultimate Dandys by Karl Lagerfeld, published in Numero Magazine. If you see any typos or errors, please message me.