“Why can’t I stay in the theater, or at the Abbey. The Abbey’s nice; it’s quiet.”
“Sorry, Henry, but you’re my muse and we have work to do in the City of Lady’s. This is where I need you.”
“I hate the dress!”
“Yeah, well, I’m not that comfortable either, but it’s the whole Christine Pizan thing I told you about. Just trying to blend in. And speaking of blending in—we’re going to look suspicious if you keep hugging the shadows,” I told him, as he dodged a circle of light spilling down from an old fashioned gas lamp. “Maybe it was a bad idea waiting until dark, at least in the daytime we could walk a straight line.”
Henry looked at me in horror and his blond wig quivered in distress. He mummbled something under his breath.
“Now what?” I was beginning to lose patience. Henry and I have worked on and off with each other for years. I try to overlook his timidity and moodiness but, there are times when it takes all my effort just to prop up his frail ego.
“Yyyy-you always say-aaay you’re honest! This is a llll-ie”
“Fine! Here’s my building. You want to go back? Leave! Go!”
“Bbbb-by myself?”
“Of course, by yourself! I have work to do, with or without you! Come on, Henry, don’t we always have fun with Enchanteur’s prompts? Remember the donkey ride? The times with Oreo and Tookie in the Abbey?”
He managed a weak smile. “I guess–sss, but what if they c-c-c-catch me?”
“Worse case scenario, we’ll be a little embarrassed, but I’m certainly not the first woman to smuggle a man into her apartment. Ah, good the elevator’s here. My apartment’s large and the living room couch pulls out so you’ll be quite comfortable. We both need to get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s walking tour. I think the first stop is the catacombs, that should be interesting. Henry? Henry! Oh, darn, where are those smelling salts?”
(To read how Henry and I met, please scroll about two thirds down here,
It’s called How Henry Became a Muse–of Sorts.)
