“Where are you?” I stepped into the dark room, my shadow crept up the bed and I could make out his figure. He sat on the edge of the mattress. His...elbows braced on his knees, he was hunched over and rubbing his head. As he swayed, the chains from his wallet clinked like a wind chime. “Are you okay?”“Yeah,” he tried to stand, but staggered. He reached behind, feeling for the bed and I helped him sit again.“I stumbled coming out of the bathroom. I think I hit my head on the door frame.” He. It was true that she was French, but it didn't mean she was perverted or anything like that. Her middle-aged spouse was one of the one percent of rich businessmen who lived off the sweat of the other 99 percent that did all the work.Marie was always dressed impeccably. She liked to wear the latest fashions from Paris and her thoughtful hubby never put any constraints on her purchases of clothing or items designed to make her more beautiful for his admiring eye. In fact, he encouraged her to buy. More

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