OUR MAN in EUROPE/dave delacroix/Part 31: "Jules & Jim"

Part 31: "Jules & Jim" (the Road to Georgie Gold)

Jules & Jim. Constantine & Dave. Ocassionally (rarely) in your travels you meet a real pal who you warm to more than most.
Constantine, from some "kleine stadt" (small town) in East Germany, fitted this bill; an Engineer by profession, music-art orientated, altruistic and an all round good bloke.
I crash at his pad for a coupl´a days.

I allude to the classic Truffaut movie, "Jules & Jim" because - of course - it involves a mutual fascination with an enchantress named Lenore who we BOTH meet, simultaneouly whilst I´m cracking out tunes on the Friday nights streets of Karlsruhr (which, incidentally, means Charles´ retreat or Rest).
They love my music, the 3 of us go for beers at Radio "X", a music bar, and have a fine old time... And so begins a few days, a´la a Roman Holiday, filled with mucho mirth and a few melodramas/mishaps which includes my losing my wallet/I.D./credit card...and breaking my old faithful guitar!

(Lenore´s MOM, the Lady Monika, provides me with a new 6 string!)

The beautiful Lenore of course, is an Artist (like Natasha, in Paris); raven-haired, mysterious, vivacious, adoreable, and whilst she conquors both mine and Constantine´s heart, it is implicitly clear that neither of us will win her love beyond the parameters of the warmest friendship... And in this unique instance we are - maybe just 3 lonely people - happy in the concorde of togetherness and freed of romantic/sexual tension?

...During one interlude when Constantine is/has to leave for a business commitment, Lenore & I do the town, Lenore, pounding the Pilsners, matching THIS old War Horse, beer for beer, ending up at an old abatoir/slaughter-house, now converted into a Punk rock bar called, the "Alte HACKerei" (the old butcher´s shop/factory). And I dont really know how it worked out for Edgar Allen Poe (Lenore/died, probably...) but MY Lenore took suddenly ill/got drunk and began "barfing" (vomiting) in fine style.

Firstly, on the bar´s table (fortunately the place was dark and we were seated in
a corner/loud Punk music going on), so I run to the toilet, grab paper towels, return to table, but the "beautiful, raven-haired Lenore" has also "chundered" (Australian for vomit) all over the floor!
Back to the toilet. Get more towels. Rush back to the table.

BARF!!!

Lenore is pumping her guts!
(go get some more towels)

...Meantime, the other "Alte HACK-erei" patrons, several in number, wearing on & off Punk reagalia (Brit Union Jack flag tee-shirts/studs, etc) and the female barkeep (bleach blonde/anaemic) and 2 waitresses...seem little disturbed by Lenore´s plight; the latter, probably happy that I am cleaning up the mess!

...(Also) Meantime, the "beautiful, raven-haired Lenore" is kissing Wood/face down on the table, dribbling bile on the beer mats and the carpet of towels that I have provided, looking pale as death...and I´M taking her (wrist) pulse, telling the gawkers that "she´s my ex-wife/just flown in from L.A./ jet lagged/time zoned out/funny water, etc"...but am still astounded that NO-ONE really gives a crap...unlike in Denver (USA) where we´d be busted, Eighty-Sixed! -She´s 21, I`m her dad`s age, ergo, I go to jail for whatever the (summoned) ambulence/cop people can jam me up with!

Anyhow; nothing. And eventually, I relax (sort´a-kind´a), but when not semi-comatose/dribbling vomit, the "beautiful, raven-haired Lenore" is STILL unctuous, electively bolemic, whatever? -Let the Games begin!

ME: "Lenore, Sweetie? CARROTS & PEAS!"
Lenore: "BARF!"
ME:  "Spaghetti meatballs!"
Lenore:  "BARF!"
Me:  "Chicken Vindaloo!"
Lenore:  "BARF!"
Me: "Waterloo!"
Lenore: "BARF!"
Me: (lol) "BOOG-A-LOO!"
Lenore: "BARF-BARF!!!"

And so on, Lenore, like an "at your command" Squeezy Doll, she barfs on que...a date from Hell turns into a Comedic fiasco.

Constantine?... Well, buddy, ya should´a been there!

Cheers!.....:)

c 2010. Cafe "Le Journal", Karlsruhr/ Marnia bar tending/davedelacroix/our man in Europe.