From Morocco to Paris by Lydia Nyx Read Free Book Online

Valley once, and that was hell on earth. This is going to be much worse.” As they passed through the shadow of thick trees, the window darkened and he saw flashes of Davey’s face in the glass.
    “We’re going to be living like animals in the desert for a month or so,” Davey said. Zane felt his shrug. “I’ve stayed at my best friend Troy’s house before. It’s pretty much the same thing. Without the desert.”
    Zane turned, glaring. “Do you really understand what this is going to be like? No cushy hotels. No TV. No phones. No bathrooms. Port-a-Potties, at best, if not a latrine. We’re going to be living hardcore, French-army style.”
    “Taking every shit job in the industry,” Davey said and folded his hands over his chest in sanctimonious fashion. “Your words. We suffer for our education.”
    Zane scowled and looked back out the window.
    “You’re about to learn what ‘suffering for your education’ really means,” Zane said.
    “Zane, I’ve suffered for my education in ways you probably wouldn’t believe.”
    “Yeah, let’s see if they compare when you’ve had nothing to eat but army rations for a month.”
    “Zane, sometimes when I was in college, I was so broke all I had to eat was dog food.”
    Zane looked around at him. Davey smirked.
    “Just kidding. I wanted to see your reaction.”
    “You’re an ass,” Zane said.
    “Don’t think I haven’t suffered though. Not just for my work,” Davey said, seeming serious this time. “Life is about suffering. That’s how you learn the important lessons.”
    “Is this where you’re going to tell me what a hotbed of despair your life has been?”
    “Hey.” Davey fixed him with a stern look. “You don’t know about my life, and you barely know me, so don’t get snarky.”
    “I could say the exact same thing to you.”
    “Listen,” Davey said and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Elliot told you to enjoy these last two days before we go. You have to lighten up. Give yourself a break.”
    Zane drew a deep sigh and nodded, looking out the window again. They were passing some ancient buildings which looked liked they’d grown right up out of the earth, towers of ragged stones baking in the sun.
    “All right, I’ll try to relax,” Zane said.
    “Good. So what did you buy?”
    They had spent the morning at the medina in Marrakech at a souk, a great marketplace where one could buy just about anything. They had picked up a guide, who spoke the language fluently and kept Zane, more than once, from getting ripped off. Davey didn’t always bother to use the interpreter and yet made a spectacular show of getting things across with gestures and by holding up various quantities of money. Zane admired his resourcefulness. He had bought far more than Zane and didn’t come out broke.
    “I just got some stuff for my family back home in Kentucky,” Zane said. “Souvenirs and stuff. I always send them stuff from shoots.”
    “Nothing for yourself? God, you do need to lighten up.” Davey leaned over and started sorting through one of the bags at his feet.
    “Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll have some bruises and cuts to take back with me. Maybe even a nice infection.”
    Davey whipped out a long garment, a robe with a hood, made of thin, gauzy material, dark blue with lighter blue stripes.
    “This is a djellaba .” Davey pronounced the word succinctly. “Very fashionable here,” he said, stroking his fingers over the fabric. “Isn’t it sexy?”
    “It looks like something my grandmother would wear.”
    Davey held the robe against himself. “You don’t think it would be sexy on me? What if I wasn’t wearing anything underneath?”
    Zane hoped the other passengers around them didn’t speak English.
    “Somehow I didn’t expect you to wear clothes under it to begin with,” Zane said.
    “I’m going to try it on when we get back to the hotel,” Davey said and folded the djellaba carefully on his lap. “I want to see what it feels