37. Didier Shows Me a Special Night Club and a Co-ed Spa in Paris.
Ever since I met Didier back in July, he’s been very determined to entertain me with some unique Paris excitement.
Bienvenue to the 37th article in my Medium publication, Inside Me Inside Paris, a work-in-progress memoir about my 2016 deep-dive into Paris & my journey to find my soul amidst the onslaught of depression…
C’est 13 août 2016.
Didier feels some inherent pressure to impress me, the guy from the mecca of film and entertainment. To quote from a Depeche Mode song, there have been countless feasts laid at my feet / forbidden fruits for me to eat. Like a Ferris Bueller gone off the rails, I thrive on diving into the rabbit holes of the night.
I’ve been in Paris for over a month, and up to this point, except for dinners with Solene and Nico and late night solo walks through Paris, I haven’t had much of a night life, particularly because I don’t have a wingman. As a creature of la nuit, night life is as essential for my health as oxygen. But tonight, Didier took me to a night club called Club 41 on 41 Rue Quincampoix, in the 4th Arrondissement.
When we arrived, there was no sign except for the number 41 on the door. Didier knocked and a bouncer slid open a little peep-hole where we could only see his eyes. Didier spent about fifteen minutes negotiating something this something that in French but we finally got in. He leaned into me, and with glee, said, “this is a special night club. Are you ready?”
Finally, a Parisien rabbit hole, dark and mysterious, and certainly not the Instagram Paris. “Ready? I’m from Los Angeles, Holmes.”
If anything, I’m well-practiced at having a good time so importing the spirit of Los Angeles night life was something I was proud to show him. The sections of the club were barely illuminated and it was practically empty, except for a couple making out in a booth. I bought us bottles of vodka and gin and mixers like we were playing it totally VIP and he loved the feeling of being a Very Important Person. Eventually, more people came in the club, which of course, in Europe, night clubs tend to get lively at around one o’clock in the morning. People noticed our special set up and then our spectacle drew a woman’s attention. She was at least 50 years old, and she seemed to have a role here at Club 41. There was something about love that she needed and wanted and hadn’t gotten and no one was giving it to her. Was she someone who basically wanted to be shown a good time or was she a lady of the night? In any case, I knew this story all too well. They give you attention one minute and then they forget about you the next and I was not going to take the bait. She went into another room and two other men followed and then I understood what Didier meant by this being a special night club. It was a sex club and despite her acting job coming off sexy and alluring, I could see in her eyes that she enjoyed being here like one might enjoy working at the DMV. Another day, another dollar.
I’m here in Paris to rediscover my path, and ironically at the moment, Didier and I are wandering and meandering around the city.
I watched the fracas from afar and I can’t tell you much more than that, except that we were officers and gentlemen of the night. You know what the French say — what happens at Club 41, stays at Club 41. Didier and I continued to drink like VIPs and next thing you know, it was five in the morning and time to go home. So our evening ended with me in the same place as it has been for over a month and change — coming home empty-handed and empty-hearted. But at least Didier had a big kid’s smile on his face. Ah, the simple things.
C’est 20 août 2016.
A week later, Didier took me to a mixed gender spa in Saint Paul where guys and girls alike walked around naked together. He promised me that this was going to be “very, very good,” in the way that a vendor in a Middle East bazaar might try to hawk me their wares. Didier can be a bit like an innocent teenager in that way. There weren’t a lot of Parisians at the spa, as most of them are still on holiday en masse. There was one lady in her forties, and frankly, it creeped me out to be naked in the same room with her, much less look her in the eyes and say, “bonjour, ça va?” The spa was a cheap ass version of Burke Williams, but it was a nice swim and the spa provided free hot tea in a styrofoam cup. I wasn’t into the sauna, however. Something about lying down in a fucking hot steamy room on slabs of wood, glazed with other men’s scrotum and rectum sweat doesn’t feel relaxing to me.
After sauna time, we meandered through Le Marais and passed Georges Pompidou. Didier asked me about the tattoo on my left forearm that said, “Stay on Your Path,’ which I got the year prior. I intended the tattoo to be a daily reminder to stay focused on my own desires and needs and my heart and not listen to the noise of everyone else’s opinion, especially Hollywood’s, but as soon as I finished the tattoo, my path unraveled.
I’m here in Paris to rediscover my path, and ironically at the moment, Didier and I are wandering and meandering around the city. I’ve been making it a habit as a way of discovering Paris in a random way.
Last week, after visiting the Musee d’Orsay, I intended to hop on the metro to get home, but I saw a Velib bike station, which is one of many stations throughout Paris that make bikes available for rent. I decided to call an audible like they do in the National Football League and I rented a Velib bike. Without a map, I rode around Paris, and because I knew I lived in the east end of Paris, I headed away from the sun. I found myself riding for forty minutes, winding from the 1st Arrondissement through Le Marais, to the 11th, and up the hill all the way home to the 20th and experiencing Paris from a completely different vantage point than I ever had up to this point.
Simultaneously, while it’s great that I’m embracing the unknown when it comes to getting lost finding the Picasso Museum, wandering around with Didier or tooling around Paris on a bike, but as it relates to other aspects of my life, like my career path or my creative endeavors, it doesn’t instinctively feel good to wander through the unknown. The randomness is uncomfortable because I can’t anchor this experience with a tangible objective. It feels that in not having a plan or a target outcome, I’m potentially not maximizing possible outcomes that may be even more fulfilling.
I also want more than random sightseeing. I want Parisien adventure and Parisien rabbit holes and flirting and meeting strange and crazy people and live music and thrills and ecstasy because while I’ve had many adventures in my almost two months in Paris, I’m dying to shake things up with more handfuls of danger.
To be clear, I’m grateful to have Didier attempting to entertain me in my state of depression. I don’t think he suspects my struggles, but I know I’m a difficult person with which to keep company.
Thank you very much for reading this memoir I’m workshopping. I’m a writer/photographer based in Burbank, California. Some of my work is visible on my Instagram.
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