Retrospective: Paris - How we started

1.4 Francesco De la Cruz - Suzette

Winter 1992, local laundromat

Since Francesco had made the decision to get out of Diego's reach, life had become harder than before. He had nothing, no money and nowhere to stay. Finding a job without a residence was impossible, and finding a place to stay impossible without a job.
He was surprised when he found that people threw him some change while he was playing mindlessly his guitar on the streets, but nevertheless grateful. It was something, at least.

Today was not a lucky day, though, and the tips he had gotten from playing in front of that cafeteria barely were enough to pay the laundrette and for the entry fee to the local pool for a hot shower. So no dinner today. He stuffed the wet clothes back into his bag and left the laundrette.

There was no snow yet, but the fresh night air was so cold. Now he regretted that he hadn't gotten another blanket. One day he would freeze to death in that abandoned building if he wasn't careful.

"Tiens! There you are, François. Diego was looking everywhere for you."
A female voice called out to him in French.
Shit.
Suzette.
That crazy agent Diego was friends with.

"Don't worry, I'm not telling him about you", she said.
"Vete a la verga."
"Are you rude again? Don't be. I want to help you. You probably don't have anything. And Paris is a – how do you Spanish say it? A puta loca."
Not exactly the term Francesco would have used, but still it was somehow fitting.

She wouldn't stop following, so he turned around.
"What do you want?"
"You know." She smiled. "You have offended me in the worst possible way, but I can be forgiving. I still can get you your dream job, and a place to stay."
So she was still on that trip. He knew what she wanted. She wanted to fuck him and beat him while doing so. And enjoy that he agreed to that because he was desparate enough for a job in the music industry.
Disgusting.

Another ice cold gust of wind blew through the narrow street. He was so sick of the cold. Today he could barely move his fingers on the guitar handle. Sick of spending almost all his tips on laundrettes and hot showers in pools and train stations so at least he could feel like a decent human and not a homeless fuck up. And sick of starving because he couldn't always afford a meal in these overpriced tourist traps which were everywhere.

"I know you want it. The money, the fans, the fame. Everyone wants it."

No, Francesco didn't care for that anymore.

But he needed a way to get out of here, and he knew he couldn't make it on his own.
It was worth a try. He could always disappear again.
"No beating", he said.
He saw a spark of excitement in her eyes. She had compromised.

"Oh. No boyband, then" she said, faking disappointment. She still couldn't help but smile that disgusting smirk of hers.
"Whatever."

Francesco followed her to her car around the corner. Suzette was just another insane person in this – puta loca of a city, but she could help him get out of this mess. And other than Diego, she was predictable. She thought she owned him, but this he had under control.