Free Good Morning, Midnight by Jean Rhys

finished. I have no papers. But if I could get a passport, I would go to London. I'd be safe there. I could get in touch with fiends.'
    I say: 'And you think I can help you to get a passport? I ? Me ? But who do you think I am ? This must be one of my good nights.'
    At this moment I find everything so funny that I start laughing loudly. He laughs too.
    'I can't stay on this damned terrace any longer. It's too cold.'
    He raps on the window and, when the waiter comes, pays for the drinks. 'Now, where shall we go?' He puts his arm through mine and says, in French: 'Now, where?'
    Well, what harm can he do to me? He is out for money and I haven't got any, I am invulnerable.
    There we are, arm in arm, outside the Closerie des Lilas and when I think of my life it seems to me so comical that I have to laugh. It has taken me a long time to see how comical it has been, but I see it now, I do.
    'You must tell me where to go,' he says, 'because I don't know Paris.'
    I take him to the cafe where I go most nights - the place that is always empty. This is the first time that I have seen him in a bright light, close by. It is also the first time that, on these occasions, I haven't cared in the least what the man thinks of me, and am only curious to see what he looks like.
    He doesn't look like a gigolo - not my idea of a gigolo at all. For instance, his hair is rather untidy. But, nice hair.
    Another brandy and soda. I suppose all this money that he is spending on me is the sprat to catch a whale.
    The waiter, giving him change, brings out of his pocket the most extraordinary collection of small money. Pieces of twenty five centimes, of ten, of five - the table is covered with them. When he has slowly collected it all once more, he goes into the corner of the room, takes of his shoes and starts cleaning them.
    I say: 'This is my sort of place - this chic, gay place. Do you like it?'
    'No, I don't like it, but I understand why you come here. I'm not always so fond of human beings, either.'
    Well, here's another who isn't as stupid as all that.
    He says: 'You know, that waiter - he was quite sure we loved each other and were going to be very happy tonight. He was envying us.'
    'Yes, I expect he'll stay awake all night thinking of it. Like hell he will.'
    He looks disconsolate, tired; as if he were thinking: 'No good. Everything's got to be started all over again.' Poor gigolo!
    I say: 'About your papers - there are people here who sell false passports. It can be done.'
    'I know. I'm in touch with somebody already.'
    'What, and you only got here last night! You haven't wasted much time.'
    'No, and I'd better not, either.'
    He is in some sort of trouble. I know that look. I want very much to comfort him - to say something to cheer him up.
    'I like les mauvais garcons,' I say. He smiles. 'I know exactly what you want,' I say. 'You want somebody very rich and very chic.'
    'Yes,' he says, 'yes, that's what would just suit me. And beautiful.'
    'But, my dear, you're not going to find that at the Dome.'
    'Where shall I go, then? Where shall I find all that?'
    'Ritz Bar,' I say vaguely.
    After this I start my piece. I tell him my name, my address, everything. He says his name is Rene, and leaves it at that. I say I am sick of my hotel and want to leave it and find a lat or a studio.
    He is on the alert at once. 'A studio? I think I could get you exactly the place you want.'
    I am not so drunk as all that.
    'I thought you said you'd just escaped from the Foreign Legion and only got to Paris last night and were going away again as soon as you could.'
    'Why should that prevent me from trying to get you a studio if you want one?'
    (Let it pass, dearie, let it pass. What's it matter?)
    'Can I take you back to your hotel?'
    'Yes, but it's too far to walk. I want a taxi.'
    We sit in the taxi in silence. At the corner of the street we get out. I let him pay. (So much the worse for you. That will teach you to size up your types a bit better.)
    'Let's have one