Chapter 8 chapter eight

Jeff didn't care about anything after that.He has tried his best to achieve everything a man can expect, whether it is material achievement, emotional investment, or playing the role of father, but in the end it is still in vain. He is left alone again, alone and powerless, with hands and heart. Got hollowed out.He is back where he started, why start if all his efforts are bound to go to waste in an instant? He couldn't bear to see Judy again.This girl with a sweet face was not the woman he should love deeply, she was just a blank sheet of paper that could become that woman.Knowing that the result will only be emotional and spiritual death, insisting on repeating the process of shaping life is meaningless, even self-abuse.

He went back to the nondescript bar he had discovered long ago on North Choyhill Road and started drinking every day.When the time came, he played his old trick again, convincing Frank again.Medoc helped him bet on KFC's Marseilles, and flew to Las Vegas as soon as the money came in, alone. After three days of wandering around hotels and casinos, he finally found her, sitting at a minimum-stakes blackjack table in the Dunes Casino.Same black hair, same perfect body, even the same red dress he'd ripped apart on the couch in the living room of her tiny duplex apartment in one moment of unbearable passion.

hi, he said, my name is jeff.winston. She gave him that familiar smile.My name is Shara.Baker. Well.Do you want to go to Paris? Shara stared at him with puzzled eyes.Mind if I finish this first? There is a flight to New York in three hours, and you can directly connect to the Air France flight.So you still have time to pack. She bet sixteen and it busted. Are you serious or kidding?she asked. I am not kidding.Are you going? Shrugging, Shara picked up the remaining chips and put them in her purse. Of course, why not? Yes, Jeff said, why not? Hundreds of Gallic and Gypsy cigarettes smoldered, and a pungent smell hung like a fetid fog over the club.

Through the mist, Jeff saw Shara dancing alone in the corner, her eyes half-closed, drunk.This time she seemed to be drinking harder than he remembered, or maybe she was just following his steps, because now he was drinking harder than in the past.At least the wine made it easy for him to get together, and tonight there were six people at his table, most of them ostensibly students, more interested in the city's never-ending nightlife than their books. Do you have a club like this in the US?Yet.Claude asked. Jeff shook his head.The Cellar Husette is a classic-style jazz bar in Paris, a stone-walled basement where the music is as ethereal and pungent as the cigarettes that everyone here lives on.Unlike newer discotheques, this style of bar has not caught on in the United States.

Yet.Claude's red-haired girlfriend, Michelle, smiled languidly, *what a pity* No one likes my hometown, so I have to come here to play my own music. Jeff made a noncommittal gesture and poured himself another glass of red wine.Current racial issues in the United States are a topic in France, but he has no interest in stirring up such discussions.Anything serious that made him think or recall the past didn't interest him now. You have to go to *Africa*, Michael said, it's beautiful and there's a lot to know. She is a monk.Claude had only recently returned from a month in Morocco.Jeff was kind enough not to mention France's recent rout in Algeria.

＊Attention, attention, please be careful＊!The bar owner stood on the narrow steps, leaning over to shout into the microphone. ＊Ladies and gentlemen, dear friends, Hushet Cellar is pleased to introduce to you the passion blues and the master of blues, the unrivaled Sinibecher＊! Amid thunderous applause, the old musician who had emigrated to France came onto the stage, holding a clarinet in his hand.He opened with a rousing rendition of "In the Cave Blues," followed by a sensual and captivating interpretation of "Frankie and Johnny."Shara continued to dance solo in the corner, her body undulating in waves to the piercing music.Jeff finished his red wine and waved for the next bottle.

When the second piece ended and the youngsters in the audience roared their love for his exotic art form, the older bluesman grinned and nodded. *Take a break, take a break, take a break*.Betsy yelled. *My posting is not very good*, he speaks French with a strong Afro-American accent, so I'll stick to my own language, I can tell you all know what the blues is.Did you hear me? At least half of the audience understood his English and responded enthusiastically.Yes!They cheer, of course!Jeff drank the glass of wine he had just poured in one gulp, expecting the music to take him out of reality again and wipe away all his memories.

All right!Bei Xue's voice came from the stage, while wiping the mouthpiece of the recorder.The next piece I'm going to play now best captures the spirit of the blues.You all know there's a blues song for people who have nothing, a sad blues but the saddest blues is for people who had everything and lost it and know it's never coming back.There is nothing more painful in this world than this.This blues piece, we call it <Now I've Lost All>. The music began to flutter, and the low voice of the minor key conveyed the emotions of disillusionment and regret, which were irresistible and unbearable.Jeff slumped in his chair, trying to get the music out of his mind.He reached for his glass and spilled the wine.

What's up?Michael asked, touching his shoulder. Jeff wanted to answer, but couldn't. *Come on*, she said, pulling him up in the smoky nightclub, and we went outside for some fresh air. It was drizzling lightly when they stepped out of the pub and onto Hushet Road.Jeff raised his face to the cold rain, letting the raindrops trickle down his forehead.Michel raised her slender hand and placed it lightly on his cheek. Music is sentimental.she said softly. Um. not good.How do you say the best *forgotten* in English? forget. *Yes, that's what it said*.Best to forget. That's right.

Forget about it for now. Forget about it for now.He agreed, and they walked toward Michel Road to hail a taxi. They went back to Jeff's apartment on Foch Avenue.In the drawing room Michael filled a small tube of crushed marijuana with an equal amount of opium.She sat on a small oriental rug next to Jeff, and after Mikhail lit the powerful concoction, he handed the pipe to Jeff.He took a deep breath, and when the fire went out, he lit it again. Jeff also had an occasional weed, mostly for boredom during his first life.But the attempt brought a joyous peace welling up from the depths that he had never felt before.It seemed to be carried far away by huge still wings; but the anesthetic kept his head running and kept him from falling into a deep sleep.

Michael lay back on the rug, the green silk dress rolled up on his lap.The raindrops hit the window in an uninterrupted rhythm, and she shook her head to the rhythm of the rain, her lustrous auburn hair fell over her cheeks and fell onto her bare shoulders.Jeff stroked her calf, then her inner thigh, and she whispered softly something that seemed acquiesced and longing.He leaned forward and unbuttoned the front of the dress, and the smooth material slid away from her girlish breasts. On the floor, the two of them satisfy themselves with each other's bodies silently and almost furiously.When he was done, Mihail filled a tube of opium-laced marijuana and smoked it in the bedroom.This time they climax together in ennui under the duvet.Their legs and arms intertwined in a newly-acquainted sense of relaxation, and when the bells of the morning mass in the Church of Saint-Noir sounded, Michel climbed on top of him again, her slender buttocks riding in the joy of play. with him. At the dawn of dawn, Shala dragged her tired body back to the apartment.Good morning.she said as she opened the bedroom door, looking exhausted.Do you guys want a cup of coffee? Michael sat up in bed, shaking his messy hair.Could I add some brandy? Shara took off her crumpled dress and looked in the closet for a nightgown.Sounds good, she said, Jeff, do you want it too?He blinked, rubbing the smoke out of his eyes.good. Mikhail got up, went into the bathroom as if nothing had happened, and took a shower.When Shara reappeared with the dinner plate, the petite redhead was sitting on the edge of the bed, still brushing her hair naked.As they sipped coffee and brandy, the two women chatted cheerfully about a new laundromat opening on Severly Street. Shortly after nine, Michael said she had to go home and change because she had a brunch appointment with another friend but didn't want to show up at the café in the previous night's dress.She kissed Jeff good-bye, gave Shara a quick hug, and left. As soon as Michael was gone, Sara took the coffee cup off the bed, pulled the sheets back, and slid her warm tongue down Jeff's stomach.He was still soft when she took him in her mouth, but soon hardened again.Jeff didn't ask where Shara had been all night: it didn't matter. The Mediterranean laps softly on pebbly sands, its still waves whispering like an eternity.The aroma of fresh Bouillabaisse wafts from the neighboring café. Jeff was hungry, and as soon as the girls swam ashore he suggested lunch. It began to rain for about a week in early June, and they were monks.Claude, Michael and others were then blown down by the Mistral to the south of France.They were all drunk when the train arrived at Toulon, and a party of eight crowded noisily into two taxis for a ride from Toulon to Saint-Tropez, forty-three miles away. Ever since Vadim and Bardot (Annotation: French director Vadim's 1956 film "Et Dieu... became popular and became a world-renowned sexy superstar. The shooting location of the film is Saint-Tropez.) Discovered here, let this place replace the dull Côte d'Azur resorts such as Antibes and Monton, which were loved by the old wealthy gentry, and become a popular place in Guangzhou. After becoming a popular hangout for young people, the tiny fishing village has undergone a major transformation over the past six years, but it has maintained its original vibrancy and has not allowed itself to be rendered uninhabitable by suffocating hordes of tourists. Just like its fate in the decades to come. A shadow passed over Jeff's half-closed eyes, he was pressed into the sand by a pair of smooth woman's thighs, and someone was sitting on his ass.Shara?Michael?The woman's bare tits then caressed him across his back, her nipples hardened by the sea breeze. Chika?He guessed, and at the same time raised his hand to touch the girl's hair, wanting to feel its length and thickness.She started giggling. *You are crazy*!The girl continued to tease him, pinching him tighter with her thighs and pressing her breasts directly against his back: smaller than Shara, a bit plumper than Qijia. It couldn't be Michelle, he said, reaching back and patting her tight little ass, much fatter. Mikhail cursed in French, and at the same time opened the waistband of his shorts, and poured a glass of iced lemonade into it.With a yell, he turned and shook her off, pinning her backside up in the sand, her arms playfully struggling out of his grasp. *Sadistic*.She smiled.Jeff quickly freed one hand to shake an ice cube out of his shorts while she grabbed his cock through the thin cloth.see?she says.You love this set. He wanted to conquer her immediately, her loose and wild hair, her breasts and belly gleaming in the sun, and her white bikini panties vaguely outlined the slightly raised crotch.Her fingers slid down the front of his shorts, squeezing him harder.He took a sharp breath. There are people nearby.He said nervously. Mikhail shrugged and kept moving his hand on his cock.He glanced down at the crowded beach and saw Shara walking towards them, her bare chest dangling in the air, one arm around Jean.Claude's waist. Michael.he whispered eagerly. She leaned her gritty hip against him, rubbing his cock faster and harder.He couldn't stop.Jeff closed his eyes and moaned, feeling his lips touched by another, a tongue in his mouth, a pair of nipples against his chest, his shoulders pressed, and then he felt the hair , a pair of breasts, a mouth, a hand and he cums, and Siala kisses him when Mikhail makes him cum; or is there some other way?Anyway, is there any difference? Everyone's hungry, huh?Yet.Claude said with a smile. Jeff told Michael what happened that night, after everyone had enjoyed a few pipes of opium-laced bong in the hotel garden, when Monk Shara.Claude, Qijia, and another couple were walking towards the room with ease.The drugs had opened him up, and the secret that had been burning inside him for years was now desperate for an outlet, and Mikhail just happened to be there. I've lived this life before.He walked through the pine trees of the Pinewood Inn, looking at the setting sun. Michael sat cross-legged with her bare legs crossed, her white cotton dress bulging on the surrounding grass. *Looking at the phenomenon*, she smiled, and I do too, sometimes I feel this way too. Jeff shook his head, frowning.I mean literally I've lived my life, including here, you, Shara, everything, but Then he began to pour out all the thoughts and memories he had hidden for a long time: the heart attack in the office, the first morning back in Emory's bedroom, the fortune won and lost, his two Wife, his daughter, and repeated death. Michael listened quietly.The setting sun illuminated her red hair from behind.Let it become a flame, and her cheeks were gradually cast in darker and darker shadows.What he said to her was so unbelievable that his voice finally weakened with frustration. It was already dark, and he could not see the expression on Michael's face.Did she think he was crazy?Or do you think he's just depicting a dream he's in after taking opium?Her silence was beginning to erode the relief he'd felt for a while after telling the secret. Michael, I didn't mean to scare you.I She was on her knees, her slender arms wrapped around Jeff's neck.The neat curls of copper-colored hair lay softly on his cheeks. So many lives, she whispered, so many pains. He hugged her young body tightly and took a deep breath of the fresh, pine-scented air.There were bursts of laughter coming from the woods, and then they heard clear, sweet, lively music, that was Sylvie.Watang's latest album. *Come on*, Michelle said, standing up and shaking Jeff's hand, come join the party, *a great life awaits us*. In August, when the rain started falling again, they all returned to Paris.Michael never mentioned to Jeff again what he had told her that night in the gardens of Saint-Tropez; she must have dismissed it as marijuana gibberish, and that was all right.Neither Jeff nor Shara had spoken publicly about the group sex, or the drugs that were now a regular part of their lives.It just happened and they let it go.As long as everyone is having fun, there's no reason to discuss it. Among the couples who occasionally joined their activities and then faded out, a couple introduced them to a carnival club on the Rue Chatelier, just a few meters north of the place that had been called the Etoile until his death in 1970. blocks.This is one of several thriving rave clubs in the city from the 1920s onwards, and this one is lavishly furnished: a collection of antique dolls in glass cases in the living room, and walls of decadent paintings Thick fuchsia rugs in matching colours. The place has two floors of well-appointed, spacious rooms, in which three or forty nude couples hang out and play, served by three liveried maids. The Saint-Tropez gang started visiting the place every weekend.One night, Jeff and Shara had a threesome with a starlet, a bubbly American who had just arrived in Paris and would soon be more famous for her radical feminist stance than for her show; Haier, Shala and Qijia impromptu decide to have a competition to see who can sleep with twenty men at a party the fastest.Shara won. They casually and openly fucked beautiful strangers in an endless roundabout, and Jeff was amazed how quickly he took everything for granted; Plagues of his day like herpes, AIDS.The sense of security from fear makes this depravity feel back-to-basics, like naked children playing in the Garden of Eden before the fall of man.He wondered what would have happened to these rave clubs and their counterparts in the US and other countries in Europe in the 80s?Even if he survived, he must be shrouded in paranoia and guilt brought about by the disease. The 1980s was a time of loss, broken hope, and death.And he understands that everything will happen again, and it will happen too quickly.