Patrice Pastor in the Village of Monaco: A Real-World Reflection of Patrick McGoohan's 'The Prisoner' After arriving underground by train from Nice, I walked up the stairs, stepped into Monaco, and immediately noticed how clean the streets were. I looked up at the buildings and saw how perfectly maintained they were. Everything around me seemed new and fresh.
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A Night in 1980s San Francisco: A Maserati-Powered Citroën SM and a Romance
I had awkwardly asked several ladies to dance with me, but each time they declined. Just as discouragement set in, I spotted an attractive lady near the dance floor, leaning against a pillar with her arms folded. She seemed relaxed, her long, curly hair cascading over her bare shoulders, her large brown eyes framed by thick, manicured eyebrows.
Approaching her, I braced for another rejection as she too might decline my request, so I asked her the clichéd question: “Do you come here often?” To my surprise, it led to a conversation.
And it turned out we had something in common: she, too, had worked at the Carnelian Room restaurant (on the 52nd floor of the Bank of America,the top floor and highest floor in San Francisco back then) and we knew some of the same people. Her name was Monique. We then danced and soon thereafter she told me she wanted to leave the club, and asked me if I wanted to come along.
Out on the street, Monique’s car was parked under a bright streetlamp. It was a Citroën SM, my favorite car. I was stunned to see one in the U.S., and Monique was stunned that I knew about Citroëns.
In Holland, the finest Citroën I’d seen was a Pallas. A friend’s father once drove us back from a tennis tournament at 180 km/h (110 mph), the car slicing through the wind like a spaceship. Its hydropneumatic suspension lowered automatically at high speeds, a feature of its aerodynamic design. Citroëns were pioneers, with front-wheel drive and swiveling headlights that turned with the steering wheel, illuminating the road ahead.
It was just past midnight when we drove off. Beyond entering a new day, I felt I was entering a new world. Instead of walking back to my basement apartment on Larkin Street or taking a trolleybus, I was now sitting beside a beautiful woman who was driving me through San Francisco in a Citroën SM. Life was beautiful.
While Monique’s eyes were on the road, mine were on her. As she drove down Van Ness Avenue under the passing streetlights, it seemed as if there were paparazzi everywhere taking pictures of her. Monique was a star.
She handled the Citroën with great skill. And what a beautiful car. Its leather interior was so comfortable as its Maserati engine pulled us forward. At one point, Monique glanced over and asked, “So, where do you want to go?” I said: “Let’s go to your place.” Monique gently smiled while keeping her eyes on the road, not responding to my request verbally. But moments later a garage door rose and the Citroën dipped down into a large pool of darkness.
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| Citroën SM |