The Beginning

Ch. 46 - The boutique

"Hello everyone, this is your Captain speaking. We have reached our final destination, Charles de Gaule airport. It's currently seven-twenty p.m., Paris time, with a temperature of fifty-four degrees Fahrenheit, twelve degrees celsius. Please return your seatbacks to the upright position and remain seated until the flight staff have dismissed your aisle. Thank you and on behalf of myself and your flight deck, welcome to Paris."

"Bonjour à tous, c'est votre Capitaine qui parle. Nous avons atterri à l'aéroport Charles de Gaule. Il est actuellement sept heures vingt, heure de Paris, avec une température de cinquante-quatre degrés Fahrenheit, douze degrés Celsius. Veuillez remettre vos dossiers de siège en position verticale et rester assis jusqu'à ce que le personnel de bord ait quitté votre allée. Merci et en mon nom et au nom de votre poste de pilotage, bienvenue à Paris."

"Keanu."

Sandra reaches across to where he is still stretched out in their first class cabin. He has his eyes tightly closed and just a hint of drool in the corner of his mouth, but he doesn't stir when she calls his name.

"Kea—," she rubs her hand up and down his arm. "Keanu? We're here. Get up, sleepy head."

He squints one eye open, trying to focus. "We're here?" he asks in a gravelly voice.

She looks at him winsomely, ruffling his hair a bit. "Yeah we're here, dude. Shine and rise."

They gather their belongings and Keanu stands to remove both of their carry-ons from the overhead compartment. After being escorted through customs and collecting their luggage, the studio car drops them off in front of the Hôtel de l'Arcade in the eighth arrondissement, near the center of Paris. They are kicking off their European press tour for Speed, starting tomorrow.

Sandra takes in the grand chandelier hanging from the ceiling as they saunter into the lobby.

Keanu sets one hand on the counter in front of a young man in a suit and tie. "Bon soir, monsieur. Une réservation pour Keanu Reeves et Sandra Bullock, s'il vous plait?"

She elbows him. "You speak French?"

"A little," he shrugs. "It's pretty common in Canada."

"Well aren't you full of surprises?"

"Ahem," the concierge clears his voice to get their attention. "Ah, oui, monsieur. We have a suite for you."

"Um, no. No-no," Sandra interrupts. "We're not in the same room."

"Je ne comprends pas. Cette réservation, euh, this reservation is, for two. In one suite."

Sandra laughs, shaking her head. "We're, we're not together. I mean we're together as colleagues. We work together. Check again."

"Merde," he whispers, standing bolt upright, veins standing out in his neck. "Pardon, mademoiselle, monsieur, mais non, this is the only room we have left. Je suis desole, I'm so very sorry."

With eyes so wide her entire iris is surrounded by white, Sandra turns to Keanu. "We need to call the studio. This has to be a mistake."

"Sandy, it's four a.m. there," Keanu replies, looking at his watch. "What's it like?" he asks the concierge. "What's the arrangement?"

"Qu'est-ce que c'est? The arrangement?"

He glances at Sandra.

Was that a wink?

"Does it have a sofa? Un canapé-lit?"

"Ah, oui, monsieur, it does, yes."

"We'll take it then. Merci, monsieur."