Dear Anne,

Paris in the morning! It's glorious! I love to wander the street early in the morning. I buy a beignet and a hot cup of coffee and eat breakfast while walking around the marvelous streets and alleyways. One could easily get lost in the labyrinth of winding ways. I attest to the fact that I was hopelessly lost a few days ago. I stumbled around for an hour or more looking for a way back to normalcy. Finally, I stumbled upon a wide boulevard I recognized and wound my way back to my garret.

Are you a morning person, Anne? You might think, with my bohemian ways that I lie in bed until noon, but I am usually up before dawn and on my way. The morning light is the best for us artists. I capture the best of Paris in the morning when people are just starting their day. I spend four days on the streets drawing scenes and three in my garret putting the final touches to my creations.

I set two paintings out when I set up on the street yesterday. I didn't sell either one. A few passersby stopped to look. I felt anxious and hopeful, but they passed on without a word of encouragement or otherwise. My ego deflated immediately. Perhaps when I have a large collection, I will sell one. Mine seem meager compared to the other street artists around me. I can only improve, I tell myself.

Do you get anxious about your writing, Anne? I wondered if we shared the same feelings. You mentioned you submitted a few short stories to the New Yorker. Did you receive a favorable response. I've heard that you rarely get responses for submissions. You'll more than likely get a few rejection slips before you sell a story. How is the novel going? You're a good writer, Anne. I can tell by your letters. You know how to put words together.

I was a dunce in school. You can imagine that I'm sure. I got by in English but failed math and science. My chemistry experiment was an utter failure. You know you failed when your compounds explode, and the fire brigade shows up. I got an F for the entire semester. My father was most displeased. He's an authoritarian. I'm not just saying that because I'm his son, and he expects more from me. He's a man in charge. He dislikes failure and defiance. I give him very little encouragement. He expects far too much from me.

Did you have a happy childhood? Please tell me about it. I know so little about you, but I feel we are closer. Closer than just mere friends. Do you feel it also? I want to know everything about you. You said you grew up on the Jersey shore. It's far different from my mid-west lifestyle, I expect. I've never really seen the ocean. Describe the waves and sand for me in your next email, please. I want to know everything you know.

My obsession with Café Girl has dissipated. I have not seen her and rarely look for her now. I expect that brute is keeping her locked up in his garret. She escaped that day and stole a few moments of sunshine and roses before he located her. Now she's his prisoner again. I call her Minette. It's a beautiful French name, don't you think? But here I am thinking of her again when I said my obsession was over.

Can you write a story for me about Café Girl? I bet you could from the few details I have already given you. Please, Anne, for me? For your little Corey?

Mamma used to call me Little Corey. Father was Big Corey, of course. I have never told you my full name. It's impressive. Alexavier Corey Marcus Claremont III. Mamma was the only one who ever called Father Corey. He's Marc to everyone else or Alex. I was always known as Corey except in school when the teachers called me Alexavier. The class would snicker around me because everyone knew me as Corey.

Anne is such a plain name. A plain Jane. What's your second name? Something pretty and unusual, maybe. Please tell me it's not Marie. I don't see you as an Anne Marie. Anne Vallery sounds nice. I do like the name Vallery. If I ever have a girl child, that is the name I will give her. I will insist, you know. Say you like it also, please.

Here I am rambling again. I want to say everything at once. I think of things to say while I'm waiting for your next email. Then I want to cram all my thoughts in at once. I guess my obsession has shifted from Café Girl to you. Take a selfie and send it to me. I have your face etched on my mind, but I don't want to lose it. I shall take one of me, perhaps with the Eiffel Tower in the background. You will know I am in France for sure if it is there. You never doubt me, do you?

I don't know when I'm coming back to the States. I will let you know in plenty of time. I want to see you again. I feel uneasy because we have only seen each other once. Can you get to know someone really well from a distance? I hope so. It's hard not seeing you day after day. Maybe someday soon we will spend every day together. It's a dream of mine, Anne. Am I going too fast for you? I feel the urge to hurry about you. I think of us together--walking the streets of Paris in the morning. Thinking of you keeps me grounded.

Goodnight for now. It's growing late. I haven't said half of what I wanted but I'm up early in the morning. I must get my beauty rest. Haha

Affectionately,

Corey Clairmont