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Millie's Paris Vacation

The room Millie rented in Paris was on the fifth floor, it had the disadvantage of a one person elevator but eventually it got you there. At night the entire view outside of her sliding door windows was of the Sacre Coeur. It was lit up beautifully so it could be seen by everyone in the Montmarte district. While munching on a blueberry muffin she began to cough, hacking up yellow phlegm. "I hope this isnít pneumonia again," she said to herself. As she lit a cigarette, the phone rang.

"Millie? Jonathan, how are you?"

"Oh, itís so wonderful to hear a warm friendly voice, itís been freezing here," she said. "How is Santa Barbara treating you?"

"Well Darling, Iím sitting here on the terrace chomping away on white chocolate and watching the sunset, do I sound too unhappy?" he laughed.

Jonathan is a tall, slim, attractive man. He is a respected artist, know nationally for his portraits of cats and dogs. He is hopelessly attracted to men, but that never seriously hurt his career. Jonathan is Millieís nephew. They never let a week go by without talking on the phone.

The following week Jonathan picks up the phone to call Millie. They had scheduled a 6pm, Paris time, call appointment. He listens to the ringing sound for quite a while until he accepts that she doesnít appear to be home.

"Iíll call back later, sheís probably out sightseeing," he reaches for his dog Piggy.

Through the streets of Montmartre, an ambulance, sirens blasting, races to another emergency.

Story by:

Eileen Elkinson

Eileenkw@aol.com

submitted at 1:09am

1 July 2009