I Heart Paris

by Lindsey Kelk

  ‘I just don’t really think it’s my place to fill you in on this stuff.’ Graham placed a big, bass-playing hand on my shoulder. ‘But don’t sweat it Ange, everything is awesome with you and Alex. This is just an unexpected, uh, I don’t know, hiccup? One never to be seen again once we’re back in New York.’

  I nodded, he was right. If we hadn’t come to Paris, none of this would be happening and once we got back to New York and Alex and I moved in together, it would be as if it never had. Because I was well known for being able to let things go. Crap. Why had I come here? Why, oh why, oh why had I listened to the voice in my head instead of someone sensible? This was what happened when Jenny Lopez wasn’t around to counsel me. Clearly it was her fault.

  At last, the lift pinged gently to announce its arrival and I was so relieved to be leaving, that I actually smiled for the first time since I’d stepped out of my taxi. And I absolutely didn’t see her coming.

  ‘Graham!’ Solène sidled into our path with two cups of beer and planted her customary kisses on his cheeks. ‘And Angela, you are here. I love your dress.’

  The smile slid halfway off my face, not sure whether the compliment was genuine or not.

  ‘And such beautiful shoes.’ She handed us the cups. ‘I am underdressed.’

  Solène was barefoot. And wearing black jeans and a long black T-shirt. Exactly what I’d been wearing all day long and not in any way a six-hundred-Euro silk dress with a cat on it and borrowed five-inch heels. I felt like a complete tit.

  ‘Your flat is beautiful,’ I said, stepping slowly backwards as Solène directed us back into the living room and away from the lift. ‘Really, it’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Oh, thank you.’ She gestured to the arm of one of the giant sofas and practically pushed me backwards until I was sitting down. Would I ever be able to balance properly in big girl heels? ‘Graham, please could you get me a drink? Red wine?’

  Graham looked from me to Solène and then back to me again.

  ‘Actually, I was just gonna take Angela out to grab a cab,’ Graham pulled me back up again. ‘Alex has this whole romantic dinner thing planned for her and she needs to leave right away.’

  ‘Does he?’ Solène asked, pushing me back down again.

  ‘He does?’ I asked.

  ‘Uh, yeah, it’s supposed to be a surprise,’ Graham said, taking the beer out of my hand and balancing it on a coffee table behind him.

  ‘Then I will call a taxi for Angela,’ Solène said, squeezing my hand and giving me a big smile. ‘There are not many outside. This is Paris, not New York.’

  Graham pushed his square, black glasses up his nose and pushed me up the arm of the sofa, settling down beside me. ‘That would be great. As soon as you can, please.’

  ‘The phone is upstairs with the red wine,’ Solène replied, flashing another smile. ‘You can bring it to me.’

  Reluctantly letting go of my hand, Graham practically made a run for the stairs. Solène watched him go, laughing quietly.

  ‘Graham, he is so funny,’ she said, dropping lightly on to the sofa beside me. ‘I miss him.’

  ‘You spent a lot of time with Graham on tour?’ I asked, trying not to feel like a ginormous, overdressed idiot.

  ‘On tour yes, and of course when we all lived together,’ she said casually. ‘He seems different now. Maybe not so happy.’

  ‘When you lived together?’ I had already put two and two together and I didn’t like what I was coming up with. ‘You lived with Graham?’

  ‘For a while,’ she said, twirling a long strand of icy blonde hair around her finger. ‘He left his boyfriend and moved in with Alex and I. It was for maybe two or three months.’

  Right. Of course. He moved in with her and Alex for two or three months.

  When she was living with Alex.

  When she was living with my boyfriend.

  ‘I miss so much about Brooklyn, tell me, how long have you been living there?’ she asked.

  ‘I, uh, I live in Manhattan,’ I managed to say, leaning forward to grab my beer.

  ‘Alex moved to Manhattan? He sold his apartment? With the beautiful views?’ Solène asked, plaiting the strand of hair she’d so carefully separated from her elegantly styled bird’s nest. ‘I cannot believe he would leave.’

  ‘No, he’s still in Brooklyn, in Williamsburg.’ I was having to think so carefully about my words. Talking really shouldn’t be such a struggle. Breathing really shouldn’t be such a struggle. ‘We don’t live together.’

  ‘Oh, so it is not serious?’ she asked a little bit too quickly for my liking. ‘With you and Alex?’

  ‘It’s serious,’ I replied, equally speedy. ‘It’s totally serious. I’m moving in when we get back to New York actually.’

  ‘That is good.’ Solène watched as I chugged my beer. ‘For a long time he was so hurt. Of course, I know that was all my fault. I am so happy he has found you.’

  ‘He was hurt,’ I repeated, not sure if it was a question or not. Where the hell was Graham?

  ‘I know, you must think I am a horrible person, Angela.’ She let go of her hair and took the (now empty) cup out of my hand, before holding on to both of my hands. I couldn’t help but notice that even though her hands were soft and tiny, she had calluses in all the same places as Alex. ‘I just was not ready to settle down. Alex, he was just so desperate to get married, to have babies. I was so young, so far from home. I was very confused. But I realize it was a mistake. I had never wanted to break his heart.’

  And I had never wanted to break anyone’s face.

  Solène hadn’t had ‘a thing’ with Alex, they hadn’t dated.

  She was the one.

  The ex who had cheated on him with his best friend.

  ‘Angela, please, if Alex is not coming tonight, I understand, but I hope you will tell him that I am still very sorry.’ Two big fat tears rolled down her cheeks, streaking her porcelain skin with smoky black lines. ‘He still will not speak to me and it is years ago. We were happy before, I am too sad that we cannot ever be friends again.’

  I gave up on Graham and pulled my hands away, standing up. ‘I’m sorry Solène, I don’t think I should really be talking about this.’

  She nodded tearfully and dropped her head to her knees.

  Not cracking her head open with my shoe was the most civilized thing I had ever done. Which wasn’t to say that I wasn’t desperately fighting a very strong urge to pull off a Louboutin and play to my strengths, but I was determined to be the bigger person here. For once. That was the plan in the first place, wasn’t it?

  I left her on the sofa and strode back to the lift as fast as my heels would carry me. My eyes burning only slightly less than the balls of my feet, I jabbed the, button over and over until it pinged and the doors slid open.

  ‘Angela,’ Graham yelled over the crowds that had now filled the apartment. ‘I’m sorry, I got stuck with Craig and then I couldn’t find the phone or the wine and, Jesus, are you OK?’

  I nodded, holding the lift door. ‘Probably would be better if I hadn’t just found out Solène and Alex and, well, everything. From her.’

  ‘Probably.’ Graham winced. ‘Angie, I’m real sorry. But it’s history. Ancient, you know? It just doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Hmm.’ I stepped into the lift. ‘Yeah.’

  My eloquence astounded me at times.

  ‘I called a cab, it should be downstairs by now,’ he said, holding the door open. ‘Can I come with you?’

  ‘Um, I think I need five minutes actually,’ I said. It was the most diplomatic version of ‘piss off, I want to be on my own’ I could come up with.

  Obviously there was no taxi outside when I got down there and none to be seen anywhere in the street. I wandered around to the front of the building and leaned over the wall, staring out at the river. Notre-Dame was all lit up on the opposite side of the bank. The huge towers were so beautiful, but totally intimidating and just a little bit scary. I wondered if Solène ever cl
ambered around the roof under cover of darkness and jumped about. Or maybe she just clung to the edge like one of the gargoyles. Except, you know, a really beautiful gargoyle who had seen fit to break my boyfriend’s heart and then expect us all to play BFFs. Bitch.

  There was only one person who would appreciate my rage at that exact moment. Rummaging around in my bag, I found my phone, almost out of charge, and pressed the first speed dial button.

  ‘Jenny Lopez,’ she answered on the first ring. Thank God she never checked caller ID before picking up the phone. Or however you answered an iPhone.

  ‘Jenny, it’s me,’ I said quickly, surprised to hear a few tears in my voice. ‘Can we talk? Please?’

  ‘Angie, I’m sorry, I can’t right now,’ she sounded tense, but not angry. ‘I have a ton of problems to sort out so you’re gonna have to wait.’

  ‘But I’m having a bit of a crisis,’ I started. If I could just get into the bitching soon enough, she’d be powerless to resist.

  ‘Let me guess,’ she cut me off. ‘Uh, Alex is being an ass or you fucked up the Belle job. Which is it?’

  Wow. I really did not have an answer for her. It didn’t strike me that she’d be too impressed if I replied with, well, it’s a bit of both really.

  ‘Can’t do this right now, sorry,’ Jenny went on. ‘I’ll call you later.’

  ‘But Jenny,’ I tried to stop her, but apparently that was a bad idea.

  ‘Ah, you didn’t have time to talk to me when you kept diverting my calls yesterday, now I don’t have time to talk to you. Go take care of your crisis, I have stuff to do.’ And then she hung up on me. Actually hung up.

  I stared up at Notre-Dame again. No chance of divine intervention? Apparently not. Possibly because I’d never stepped foot in a church in my life unless there was a promise of cake, a three-course meal and a free bar at the end of it.

  I fought the urge to break out into a chorus of ‘On My Own’ from Les Mis and looked back at my phone. I didn’t really know who else to call. I couldn’t cope with a panicking Louisa and I was seeing her in a couple of days anyway. Erin would tell me I should have put a shoe through Solène’s skull, and I just didn’t feel like I could talk to my other New York friends about this stuff. They didn’t need to know the ins and outs of Alex’s sexual history. Of course, I was forgetting the one person who wouldn’t need a brief. I was pretty sure Alex was familiar with all the details.

  I pressed the second speed dial button and waited for it to ring through. And it did, straight to voicemail.

  ‘Hey, it’s me.’ I started walking towards the bridge and over towards the cathedral. Surely there would be taxis around there? ‘I’m on my way back to the hotel, sorry I’ve been such an idiot today. I blame Paris, it’s so pretty I can’t think straight. Plus, I haven’t had a hot dog since Monday and I think it’s done something strange to my brain. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Or call me and I’ll come and meet you. Or, well, whatever you want to do. I love you.’

  Hanging up, I convinced myself he was in the shower, making himself all pretty for me, and continued on my mission to find a taxi. On my own. Pretending he’s beside me.

  Sniff.

  One hour and several blisters later, I hobbled into the reception of The Marais looking incredibly pitiful. Pale grey silk might look beautiful in a shop window or at a terribly stylish cocktail party (there was no classier accessory than a good caipirinha), but after an hour’s mad wandering around a strange city on a sweaty August evening, it wasn’t the most becoming outfit a lady had ever worn in Paris. But then there was a pretty strong case to suggest I wasn’t that much of a lady. Apart from the fact that I hadn’t smacked Solène in the face, which was very reserved of me. The second I stepped through the sliding glass doors that lead to the reception, I threw myself into the nearest chair, a big plush, red velvet affair this time, and fought with the tiny straps on Virginie’s Louboutins. Damn the fabulous craftsmanship.

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ I wailed, dropping my head on to my knees. I couldn’t go another step with these torture devices strapped to my feet. Beautiful torture devices though they might be.

  ‘Madame?’ a voice asked across the room.

  ‘Mademoiselle,’ I barked back. Really, how many times?

  ‘Mademoiselle, can I help you, please?’

  I looked up to see my good friend, Alain, from the concierge desk. Along with a familiar look of concern, he was also wearing a coat and a backpack.

  ‘I’m not drunk,’ I said too quickly. Not that he would have believed me anyway. ‘I just had to walk back from this party and I didn’t really know where I was going and, well, I had a map, but I’m not very good with maps and I kept getting confused with gauche and droite and the battery on my phone ran out and I don’t have my charger and—’

  ‘You would like to borrow a charger?’ He looked incredibly relieved to have a reason to cut me off. ‘We have many different kinds. May I see your phone?’

  I handed over my BlackBerry, so mad at myself for not thinking to ask at reception before now.

  ‘Thank you so much,’ I said, finally managing to wrestle the shoes off my feet and gingerly trotting after him. ‘Honestly, that’s amazing. You’re just like my friend Jenny, when I first met her she had everything in the world in her little office at the hotel.’

  ‘Et voilà!’ Alain held out a neatly coiled BlackBerry charger with an almost smile. ‘May I help you with anything else?’

  ‘Not unless you’ve got a super secret insider’s guide to Paris in there,’ I smiled back, slipping the charger into my bag. ‘Or a charger for my laptop.’

  ‘I am sorry, no.’ Alain looked back in the drawer again, just in case. ‘But there are many computer stores in Paris.’

  ‘Oh, I know, but it’s for my Mac and my friend didn’t think I’d be able to get one very easily,’ I replied, trying to ignore the burning in my feet long enough to get through one sensible conversation with Alain. It was a shame he lived in Paris, Jenny would have loved him. Tall, blonde, bright blue eyes and an unwavering commitment to the art of the concierge. Also, totally handsome, but I’d had enough problems with hot hotel workers to last me a lifetime. I was staying well clear of this cutie. ‘It’ll be a relief just to get my phone working again.’

  ‘There is a store very nearby, it specializes in Apple products, I am sure they will be able to help,’ Alain suggested, taking a map of the city from the desk and marking on a very short route. ‘It is open quite late, I think.’

  ‘That’s amazing, thank you so much,’ I said, staring at the map. ‘Maybe it opened while Virginie was in New York or something. She mustn’t know about it.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, swinging his rucksack back on to his shoulder. ‘My shift is over for today, but if there is anything else we can help you with, please let my colleagues know.’

  ‘This is brilliant, thanks again.’ I stepped lightly from foot to foot. At least the marble flooring was cool. ‘I’ll bring the charger back in the morning.’

  ‘D’accord.’ Alain went for a full smile and just about cracked it. ‘Have a lovely evening.’

  ‘You too,’ I said, tiptoeing backwards towards the door. ‘Oh, and Alain, erm, I’m really sorry about being in a bit of a state last night.’

  ‘Not at all Mademoiselle.’

  ‘Ahh, thanks.’ He’d called me Mademoiselle. About bloody time.

  ‘Hey, Alex? I’m back, I’m so sorry I took so long,’ I shouted through the door, fiddling with the lock. ‘I swear I’m not leaving this room again unless I’m with someone who knows exactly where they’re going or I’m getting in a cab.’

  But the room was empty. Alex wasn’t there.

  ‘Alex?’ I called out, flicking on all the lights. ‘Are you in the bathroom?’

  He was not in the bathroom. I pulled the shower curtain aside, as though he might be hiding. Why did people always do that? I flopped down on to the bed, half relieved to be off my feet and half freaking o
ut about Alex’s mysterious absence. It was almost ten, I should have been home at least an hour ago and there was nothing, no note, no phone message, nothing. I plugged in my borrowed BlackBerry charger and waited for the battery icon to flicker on to the screen.

  ‘Come on,’ I said quietly, staring at the screen. Nothing. ‘Bugger.’

  I pressed the speed dial button to try to call him, but it just wouldn’t connect. Probably not enough charge in it, I told myself, setting the phone down on the bedside table. I wriggled out of my dress and lay back on the bed. He’d be back soon enough, Graham and Craig were at Solène’s and besides, Graham would have called me and left a message if Alex was with them. There was nowhere else for him to be. I closed my eyes for just a moment, willing my feet to stop throbbing, my stomach to stop rumbling, my head to stop aching. The sheets were so cool and the bed was oh so soft, I couldn’t help, but let my eyelids flicker once more. Reaching out to the bedside table, I turned on the TV, settling on a noisy translation of Grey’s Anatomy. It didn’t seem to matter what language certain shows were in, it was hardly difficult to follow.

  ‘Oh, McDreamy,’ I mumbled quietly at the screen. ‘Make up your bloody mind.’

  I reached over to grab my BlackBerry, only managing to knock it on to the floor. The homepage was back up, but there was no signal at all. I waved it around with one feeble, half-raised arm, but nothing was happening.

  ‘Crappity crap.’ I dropped it back on the bedside table with a clatter and rolled over on to my back. Alex would be back soon, hopefully with the number of a takeaway, there was no way I could manage to be vertical again today. In fact, he’d be lucky if I was even awake when he got—

  I had no idea how much time had passed when my eyes snapped open, fresh from a dream about desperately needing the toilet, but finding them all occupied by Solène lookalikes, but I found myself both desperately needing the toilet and asleep under the sheets in my underwear. The TV was off, the lights were out, but Alex wasn’t in bed beside me. I sat up, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and the globs of mascara that were gluing them shut. Worried that I might actually wet myself, I hopped off the bed and into the bathroom, pushing the door shut and peeing in the dark. I washed my hands and blinked back into the bedroom, not quite managing three steps before I tripped over something in the middle of the floor and went flying across the bed.