Okay, now that I have been ‘retired’ for a little while, you may be wondering how things are going. Let’s see, how are things going…
I returned to the Louvre only to have to perform some corporate boss-ass-kissing to the nth degree. Really gross. I spent the first few weeks looking over some really boring documents for clues as to their origin. I had forgotten how boring this was on a full-time basis! The funniest thing that happened was when a coworker’s tie got stuck in the paper shredder. I’m kidding, of course. There are no paper shredders in an archivist’s office - probably due to some corporate concern that an ancient and somewhat valuable piece of parchment would meet with an unfortunate and fairly irreversible accident. This means that absolutely nothing of any consequence happened for weeks.
A steady stream of flowers, cookies and stuffed animals continued to arrive at my neat and orderly apartment door, courtesy of Jack.
At night, I work on the menu for Chez Sheila. My Steak and Leaves creation has been a smashing success.
On Valentine’s Day, Jack sends a car to pick me up. The driver takes me to a house in a Parisian suburb. Jack shows me around before dinner. We sit down to a wonderful meal. He must be taking cooking lessons. Anyway, things are absolutely lovely and romantic, but then there is a knock at the door. Jack tells me to wait while he answers it. After a few minutes, my curiosity gets the better of me. I go to the entrance to find Jack talking to none other than Andre le Couer (or Andre le Queer as I have come to know him). He tells me that the driver is an informant and told the gay detective that he had dropped me off at Jack’s house. There are several things of note here. One – Jack didn’t tell me that he had bought this house (of course, I hadn’t asked). Two – why is le Queer still following us around? Three – Andre tells me to stay retired. Excusez moi? I tell him not to tell me what to do. I am tempted to take on a ‘side job’ or two just to piss him off. It’s one thing if retirement is my idea, but quite another if some stupid French shit tells me to do it.
By the time Andre leaves, the mood is spoiled. I am not sure what Jack’s plan is – buying the restaurant for me, buying himself a home in non-hospitable-to-terrorists-named-Jacques France and gambling to excess, but I will keep my eye on him.
Anyway, the next day at work brings a pleasant surprise. A painting has arrived at the museum and even the experts are unsure as to the identity of the artist. Now, I can’t tell a Rembrandt from a Picasso, but I am tasked with looking into the origins of the masterpiece through its familial inheritance. I get to travel through Europe without any bad guys, Interpol or other spies following me! This is a new experience. I am still carrying a gun though, as ex-spies can’t be too careful.
I arrive in a small Alpine village, probably not unlike the village that Jack destroyed with a cell-phone induced avalanche. Wisely, I turn off my seismic cell phone. My trip goes well, and I leave with information regarding the origins of the painting.
I return to my neat and orderly apartment. As I am enjoying a boring and quiet evening at home, there is a knock at the door. It’s Karin. She’s on her way to America for yet another ISIS mission. Ha ha.
I share a pitcher of Martikis with her before she leaves.
Back in the office, I am bored. Another boss-type has dumped an armload of boring documents back on my desk. I seem to have too many bosses and not enough excitement here. Maybe I’ll try to cut my hours back to part-time.
Later that day, I receive a phone call from Karin. It seems that they will be working to protect yet another daughter-of-a-rich-man while she treks across the U.S. She tells me that, as expected, (Up)Chuck is issuing orders and ignoring the actual job descriptions of his teammates, Paris is making lots of reservations, Rossi is excited at the prospect of driving some ISIS vehicles, and Diamond has a small limo … I won’t even go there.
I snuggle into my Bonnie Prince Charlie slippers, take a pitcher of Martikis and sit on the couch to watch a movie about some successful spies. Lord, I hate fairy tales…