Campy pulled out a stool at the bar and sat down. He took his helmet off and let his golden locks of hair fall over his shoulders. Pierre poured a glass of red wine and sat it in front of Campy. The Little Sparrow was playing softly in the background and a couple were having coffee at a table near the window.
While Girlymann raised the glass of wine, Pierre went to a case, opened it and pulled out a roast chicken. He cut the chicken in half and put it on a plate. Then took a loaf of French bread and put that on another plate with cheese. He placed both plates in front of Campy.
The hungry cyclist ate, drink and when he finished the cold chicken, Pierre gave him the other half, filled the wine glass again and placed olives in a bowl in front of Campy with more bread and cheese.
"Ah, it is good to see such a strong man eat," Pierre said with a big smile on his face.
"It's been a long ride, had some trouble in Italy with a sports car. Guess the guy didn't like being passed on a down hill curve. I had to rescue his ass when he went over the side trying to pass me. That's why I'm a little late."
"Campy, you bad boy, challenging sports cars." Pierre pinched Campy's cheek then replaced the carcass of chicken bones for a plate of roast duck with pommes and Spring peas.
"Oh, I have a special wine for you to try," Pierre went quickly to the wine rack and pulled out a bottle, opened it and poured Campy another glass, setting the bottle on the counter as well.
"I have a soup in the back, I'll bring you a bowl with some fresh bread," Pierre said before he disappeared behind a curtain that led to the kitchen.
The cafe was beginning to fill, now that the stage was over and people noticed Campy's bike and heard of how he took the stage from the French team and gave it to a Belgian domestic. When they saw Campy sitting on the stool, his hard butt clamp to the stool like a vice in his Lycra shorts, the mammoth trunks of legs corded with muscle, the chest that stretched his jersey's seams to the breaking point, they gathered around and watched him devour plate after plate of food and then three bowls of soup with bread.
"He eats like a pig, not a Frenchman," said someone standing nearby, but Campy ignored him.
"What is he, some kind of girly man?" said another lifting one of Campy's golden locks and giving it a tug.
Campy wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and downed the rest of the glass of wine before he turned to the guy that pulled his hair.
"I'm more man than you'll ever be and more girl than you'll ever have," Then Campy grabbed the man by his head and forced his tongue down the guys throat as the hair puller squirmed to get away.
When Campy was through with him, he tossed him like a sack to the floor. "Anyone else want to kiss Campy Girlymann?"
To be continued.....
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