The dim red lights from the tables below the stage cast reddish shadows on the pianists face, it made him look even madder than he was. He swayed to the tune he played and sung in French, the words slightly slurred, it didn’t matter though, he still sounded brilliant. The music people loved, the lyrics they admired and the singing, although wasn’t brilliant still had conviction, depth and feeling. His music wasn’t about how well his voice sounded, but the brilliance of his words. they cut deep as he sung about infidelity, sex and alcoholism, the fact that he was drunk made the show and him all the more intoxicating.
The club was the best unknown club in all of Paris, it was underground and there was nothing mainstream about it, musicians from all over Europe flocked there to perform but none quite captured the audiences attention like he did. The other musicians sang about love and lost love, they were all too scared to break out of the expectations and push the boundaries of the still very censored 1950’s.
He had finished the song just as he had finished his cigarette, he lit another and the audience cheered for more, he got up and walked off stage, he wouldn’t give them such satisfaction. Lucien loved the admiration, he loved how the begged for more and he love the smell of fame.
Lucien put on his coat and scarf, picked up his flask of scotch and lit another cigarette as he walked outside into the cold winters night. He took a swig from the flask and began his journey through Paris to his apartment a few kilometres away, he hated going home, going home to his wife who would be asleep, no more life in here. Laurá and Lucien met in passionate circumstances, in a town outside of Florence, they fell instantly in love and lust and fucked everywhere they could in Italy, rumour has it they even made love in the Sistine Chapel or so he claims. After three years of mad Bohemian adventures through Italy, where Lucien busked and made a name for himself as a musician, Laurá painted and sold her artwork to local shops and bars. They lived a life that was full of sex, intellect and passion, they would have twelve hour conversations, get into made fights and then make love for two days straight, not once leaving the house, not even to eat. The fun and passion ended soon after Laurá fell pregnant with their first child who tragically died during child birth, Laurá was never the same, her light had been extinguished and she no longer painted or had any passion inside of her. Rather than being understanding and supporting his young wife through her grief, Lucien drank and had affairs that would last for days or even weeks with his adoring female fans.
Lucien stumbled up the stair cases of his apartment, until he reached the front door of the apartment he loathed so much, he felt as if it were a prison, it had stolen his freedom, his nomadic ways and his ability to go and travel the world. He opened the door and apartment was silent, all he could hear was the ticking of his grandfather clock, the silence killed him. Where was she? His Laurá who a year ago would have been dancing naked to one of his records, while sipping wine and smoking all of his cigarettes. ‘Laurá…où ês-tu!?’ he yells out as he trips on his music stand. ‘Laurá!’
Silence. He walks down the hall way, past the walls once covered in her paintings, that now lay bare. He reaches their bedroom and slams the door open, I said ‘where are y-?’, Laurá is not there, all that lies in her place is a note that reads ‘je t’aime mon chéri. Laurá x’.
The next week Laurá files for divorce, Lucien signs.
To be continued…..