fic | status quo (a "lest they leave" song)

STATUS QUO

?

Where to do the thoughts go,
When in Rome?
Oh, nothing like a good status quo.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do,
Like they say,
But no one in this whole damn city
Thinks about mice as much
As little old me.

Paris was another place,
Wasn’t Paris a bit like a dream?
Did I go to sleep on this side of the street,
And did I wake up here, too?
Where the houses seem
Without a single trace
Of that Paris sky blue.

I lied when I said:
“No Paris sky can truly match that.”
Because I saw
How the Paris sky had dripped
Into your blue, blue eyes
That were the whole of the law
To me, and all that jazz.

Where to do the thoughts go,
When in Rome?
Oh, nothing like a good status quo.

When in Rome, do as the Romans do,
Like they say,
But no one in this whole damn city
Knows the taste of your breath,
So shaking, so silly.

Oh, but no one in this whole damn city
Knows the parts of your body
That you gave me, your left arm.

Your fanny.
Your fanny.

So, little mouse girl,
Pass my old, blue house by
With your blue, blue eyes dry
And don’t guard my memory like a pearl.
If you must remember me, remember me
With anger, if your emotions say: “Drag her”,
Drag me, yes, drag me back to Paris, chérie.
And let me forever live there
In the smoke of your ciggy.

But where to do your thoughts go,
When in Rome?
I find myself wondering,
Are you on this side of the street tonight,
Or are you home?

How silly.

[ MUSIC ]

Who can really tell,
Perhaps you’ll stay with me until I die,
And as I descend into the pits of Hell,
Mephisto himself will call after me:

Nothing like a good status quo,
Isn’t that true, mademoiselle Paolo?

fic | november 25th, 1927 (a "lest they leave" sequel)

NOVEMBER 25TH, 1927

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Dearest Nina,

Oh, you no doubt already guessed, I wanted to surprise you, but you never were one to be surprised, were you? Shaking you was always beyond me, although – by God – I’ve tried, many times… You are the one whom I miss, most out of everyone, back in the City of Lights. Since I didn’t call it home then, trust me, I shan’t start now.

Your house was a house of freedom, though, chérie, and blue skies aside, vast and unrestricted as they may be, Rome simply can’t live up to that little plot of Parisian soil anymore. Much has changed since I left it here. Even more since the time when you led the way out. Would you recognise this place at all? Would you recognise your little star in her current state? A lot of age can weigh on a girl in the span of a few months, believe me! At least I haven’t gone grey like you, cara. I could never wear that look so charmingly. So elegantly. With such sophistication. I ascribe that to your own unique talents.





As you can see, my dear friend, I am in quite a sticky situation. Jobs are scarce as it is and the pay is awful under any circumstances so that during the day, my soft and tender hands must be so rudely hardened by factory work, because as we both know, a girl’s got to eat. You wouldn’t recognise my touch any longer, chérie, it’s as tough as the balls of a cavalry soldier! Awful, I say. But I live… No, I survive, and today I had two portions of bread for dinner, which made me believe I should celebrate by writing you finally, Nina, you have not left my mind or my heart all this time. While I hackled the price of this rat’s nest of a room, while I had to beg for work, getting offered only bit parts, because no one here knows who Elvira Paolo is, and to be honest, a luxury I can afford with no one else but you, I barely know who that girl is myself yet. Well, while I pathetically persisted, you lived rent-free in my memory. The way some people insist on doing, because they are stubborn and because they are special.





Therefore, I shan’t ask how you’re faring. I imagine, better than me, and that’s good enough, principessa, that’s quite dandy. I simply send you a thousand kisses to distribute as you please, just don’t let them go to waste. Lipstick is expensive and this is my last canister of the good one. I am asked, on the daily, when “the signorina” intends to marry, and around these parts it can’t that easily be laughed off. Even if not a husband, I suppose I must look for a man to once more provide the champagne and the parties for me, because as well as you, I do miss all that. Only, you aren’t here, and the skies might very well be free, but the earth certainly isn’t. Rather, the floor is lava here. Like all of Italy is Naples now. Like all of Italy is Pompeii.





Send me your liberties, dear Giovannina, and send me your cool. More than any one body that could be named but won’t, I miss them so desperately.

A kiss and a thousand,
E.

fic | december 31st, 1927 (a "lest they leave" sequel)

DECEMBER 31ST, 1927

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My darling Nina,

Luck favours the prepared, they say, and I can confirm. Bringing my one remaining evening dress, slightly out of fashion, but who checks the neckline or measures the skirt’s hem in the dim corners of a ballroom in order to find anything but nude legs and exposed cleavage, from its Parisian box to the New Year party at the theatre tonight, that place where I’m currently slaving away, it did me every imaginable favour. His name is Leonardo, he’s tall and broad and owns a cabaret in the eastern part of town. “Do you dance?” he asked me, first, to which I could assure him, “Absolutely, tesoro, I do”, because I can do both the waltz and the Charleston, and whatever lies in between those two extremes must surely just be degrees of same old. Then, he wanted to know, “Do you sing?” and although I can’t carry a tune, not for this pathetic little life of me, I said with great confidence, “I’ll sing anything you want me to sing, chéri,” and Leonardo was satisfied. Because I spoke French fluently, and my English was so-so, and I could deliver a line with great conviction. Besides, I also suck cock; meaning yes, he was satisfied, you know how they are. Men.





Such did the party play out, you suck off a guy, and a girl unironically asks you if you’re okay; the conclusion must be that I am getting old, Nina, and some of my edges have been smoothened over by the tides of time, which is naturally my one regret, not to be razor sharp and unapologetically so anymore, because there was once when I would have told that girl, “Kiss me, anima mia, and suck it up, you only get this one chance.” Knowing well, we all disappear. We’re all dinosaurs on this Earth. Tonight, instead, I kissed the fine-boned knuckles of her hand, and that was rather than giving it a slight squeeze which was too soft even for me in my current state, and I told her, “Come back soon, principessa, we aren’t done yet.”

Oh, believe me, cara, she’ll come. Because she knows where to find me. That is more than many girls get, from the celebrated mademoiselle Paolo.





It’s a new year in just a few minutes. What wishes do you have for it? If the answer is none, I’m grand, I’m fine, I’m dandy, I don’t live in a literal fortress of a land, like some lady in a tower, waiting for her knight, then I have a wish for you, chérie, that you can ignore or draw your own conclusions about, but it is what it is. When a cute, blonde girl comes to you, maybe in January, maybe in February, maybe later, and she wants a space to be herself, because England couldn’t provide it, and most of France is far from your little plot of Parisian soil, Giovannina, don’t give her space. Give that girl a hug. Please embrace her with your arms that are softer than mine were. Embrace her and let her in, she has come a long way to get to this point.

That is my wish for the New Year. Anything to do with myself, I’ll figure out on my own. Oh, no worries. You know me.

I’ll see myself out, thank you,
E.