by Lila Lacroix
“Well, that depends. Would you call what we just did there a walk?” I replied back with a grin. He grinned back.
“No, walking doesn’t usually get my heart pounding that fast. What do you say?”
“That would be nice,” I replied. I needed some air anyway after what had just happened. Like seriously, holy shit. This wasn’t the sort of thing I did. I had never randomly made out with someone, ever. I wasn’t the type of girl who did things like have one night stands. I was all about serious, long, committed relationships, and I’d even given up on those after Mike. So what was I doing at a random party, completely sober, swapping spit with some random, no matter how hot he might be?
Philippe led me out the front door. Despite having been outside only minutes before, this felt different. I suddenly felt the chill of the night air penetrating me, and I zipped my jacket back up.
“Just so you know… that umm, that sort of thing isn’t something I usually do,” I stammered after we had walked about ten meters.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I don’t really do the fling stuff. There was just something about you I couldn’t resist, but it’s just not me. There’s just something… different about you.”
“You are trying to tell me you are not a slut, is that right?”
“Basically, yes,” I replied. It was a blunt way of saying it, which I chalked up to a bit of a language barrier, but the point was true.
“I must admit, it is the same for me. But I like your smile. And the more I speak with you, the more I like you. There is something different about you too.”
“Well, I’m American, I guess I grew up in a place so different to Paris that you definitely would think so.”
“No, it is more than that. As much as being American makes you strange,” he teased with a smile, “there is more than just that. You are special, Sophie.”
I could feel the blush crawling up my face, and I was glad it was pitch black out. What was it about this man that made me react this way? I wanted to ask him about his warning the other day. I wanted to ask him about why he told me to stay away from Jacques, but this wasn’t the right time. Why had this guy come into my life like this?
“If it is not too forward of me to ask, Sophie, I would like to take you out sometime. Perhaps to the Louvre?”
“Sure, I’d like that,” I replied. Maybe then I’d find an opportunity to ask him again about Jacques. We walked in silence for a while. It was funny, I’d never been comfortable around anyone else in complete silence. I guess it came from my childhood, where silence usually meant something bad, but here it felt, well it felt right. For the first time in my life I truly understood the phrase ‘comfortable silence’. I was experiencing it, right here as I walked down this suburban street late at night with Philippe.
Finally, I broke the silence.
“Have you lived in Paris all your life?”
“No, I actually come from a village in the country. My sister and I moved here together when we graduated from the Lycée, what I think you would call high school.”
“Oh, you have a sister?”
I must have imagined it, but for a second as I looked up at Philippe, it seemed as though a shadow passed across his face.
“Yes, Stephanie. She has left University after getting her first degree, rather than continuing on with a Master’s as I have done. She now works for a consulting firm in the city. She is so smart, so beautiful, one could not ask for a better sister.”
“Are you the same age?”
“We are twins, yes. She is the older one, and she never lets me forget it.”
“Do you prefer the country, or the city?”
“Wow, the questions just don’t stop with you, do they?” Philippe teased. “It is my turn! You have asked me questions, now I want to know about the strange foreign land you come from.”
I laughed. “Ok, shoot.”
“What?”
“Oh, sorry, ‘shoot’ is kind of an American term meaning ‘go ahead’, as in ‘go ahead and ask your question’,” I replied, silently scolding myself for not realizing that of course Philippe wouldn’t know the expression.
“Ok. Is France the first foreign country you have been to?”
“Yes. My family wasn’t rich growing up, so we never had the opportunity to go overseas.” It wasn’t a total lie, only the part about me actually having a family.
“What do you think of France?”
“It is a nice country. It’s very different to America. I don’t know. I think it would be like comparing apples and oranges. There are a lot of things that I like about France, but there are also a number of things about America that I miss.”
“I can understand that. You must miss your family.”
I don’t know why, but the way Philippe phrased that made tears come to my eyes. Maybe it was the fondness with which he spoke of his sister earlier, or the question he had just asked. After all, the French people generally seemed to be so close to their families, much more so than my friends back home. But something about it made me start to cry. I tried to hide it from Philippe, but a light coming from a house lit up one of the tears that slowly made its way down my cheek.
“Oh Sophie, I am sorry. I did not mean to ask a question I should not have,” he exclaimed, wiping my tear away with his finger. Again, heat and electricity coursed through me at his touch.
“It’s, it’s ok,” I replied, wanting him to touch me again.
“Let’s go back to the house. I’m sorry, Sophie. I did not mean for such a sensitive topic to be spoken about.”
“It’s not your fault,” I replied with a small smile. He wrapped his arm around me as he led me slowly back towards the house, and I thought I was going to melt into him. The entire time, the entire walk back, Philippe asked nothing about my reaction. I was so appreciative of the space he gave me. Most people, as soon as they learned even a tiny bit about my home life, wanted to know everything. They pressed me, like I was some kind of animal in a zoo to be gaped at, and the more they pressed the more I curled up into my shell. Philippe didn’t do any of it. It was like he was happy to comfort me without even knowing what he was comforting me for.
When we got back to the house, Philippe and I exchanged phone numbers, and we held each other’s gaze for a few minutes before he left. It was so intense, so electrifying, I constantly felt I should look away, but I didn’t. I didn’t stop looking at him. Finally, Philippe told me he would text me soon and left.
I turned back into the house to find Noelle and Claire and realized I had the goofiest smile on my face. I hadn’t felt this happy, well, ever, if I was honest. And all because of one walk? I’d been so upset only minutes earlier, what was wrong with me? This felt weird. I wasn’t used to being so idyllically happy. I thought back to sitting by the lake with Mike just before summer vacation ended last year. I thought that was the peak, I thought I could never be happier than in that moment. I was wrong. I was happier here, alone in this house full of drunk people where I was the only sober one, thinking about a guy I barely knew that I’d just made out with.
Seriously, what was wrong with me?
Chapter Nine
When my phone made that little boing noise it makes to tell me I got a text around noon the next day, I practically dove for the phone, hoping it was Philippe. When I saw it was Jacques, however, I was immediately relegated to feeling a sense of guilt instead. I had almost completely forgotten Jacques existed! And yet, he was so nice to me. He took me to places I could have never imagined, he never pushed my boundaries, but at the same time he also never made me feel those things I felt with Philippe. I read the text:
“Sophie, I have decided I would love to photograph you. If you are interested, come to my studio at 3.”
My initial reaction when I read the text wasn’t one of excitement. I was kind of nervous, and not really enthusiastic about this. I wasn’t the type of person who shone for the camera, growing up I had always shied away from atten
tion. I guess it’s kind of natural when you grow up like me. Anyway, because of that, I had very few photos of myself. It’s not like my mother went out of her way to take pictures of me, and actually having a professional shoot me, even one as nice as Jacques, wasn’t something I was super comfortable with.
Eventually, despite my reservations, I decided I would go. After all, I hadn’t spoken about it with Noelle and Claire, who were both almost certainly horribly hungover, but I knew if I had they would be all over me to do it. Getting professional photos done was basically the dream of every girl my age. And it wasn’t like it was going to be with a complete stranger. Jacques was going to take my photo. Jacques, who had shown me things in Paris that I could have never imagined existed. Jacques, who was always so polite, kind and thoughtful. Jacques, who was a famous photographer known around the world in fashion circles. Yes, I was going to do this.
I arrived at his studio at five to three. I knocked on the door, and Jacques himself answered.
“Ah, Sophie, fantastique, I hope you are ready for this!” he exclaimed, motioning for me to enter. I had the address from his business card, but I had never been here before.
It was basically a converted old warehouse. At least, that’s what I assumed. The ceilings were super high, the walls old brick that had obviously been painted numerous times in the past, but the paint had long since worn off in places, so the brick was patched with various colors symbolizing the different eras through which this building had lived over the years.
Light streamed in through high windows near the ceiling and from soft lamps hanging from the ceiling. The floor was restored hardwood, probably the original, and all in all the whole place had a very charming feel to it.
The main studio section was at the far end of the room. There were backdrops and fold out tables with a few computers set up, a tripod with a camera on top and a whole bunch of boxes with film, camera bodies, lenses, that sort of thing. Wires passed across the room everywhere.
“Please, choose some clothes, and feel free to change in the room over there,” Jacques told me, motioning to a rack to my left and a makeshift fitting room. I went over to the rack and immediately recognized the labels from their advertisements in magazines, although I’d never seen any of these brands in real life.
“Wow, Jacques, are these really…” I started, trailing off.
“Yes, of course Sophie. They are gifts from companies I work for, and I use them for when I do my own work, such as today. I do hope they are your size, I chose everything that I found that looked like it would fit you.”
Despite my initial reservations about this, I was beginning to feel like a princess. An absolute princess. I chose an outfit to start with, a beautiful, flowing black Chanel dress. When I came out of the dressing room, I felt incredibly self conscious given how expensive the dress I wore must have been, but also confident at the same time. This dress felt expensive, it felt like it fit me perfectly. I slipped on a pair of black stilettos to go with the dress, which were about half a size too big for me, but oh well. Close enough.
“Sophie, you look amazing!” Jacques exclaimed when I came out. I smiled shyly. I felt amazing. I felt beautiful, more beautiful than ever before.
“Thanks… I wasn’t sure I was going to be up to doing something like this, it’s so unlike me, you know, but I wanted to try.”
“I will make sure you will not regret it. In fact, with this dress, this style, I will not shoot you by the backdrop. Please, Sophie, go to the stairs over in the corner.”
I looked to where Jacques indicated and noticed the stairs mentioned. I didn’t even realize that this place must have had a second floor. It was enormous! It was no surprise to me that Jacques was a very successful photographer, but I still didn’t expect him to have a space like this, it must have cost a fortune.
I gingerly climbed up a few steps, and Jacques grabbed his camera.
“Amazing. Amazing. You’re a natural at this. Now I want you to move your arm slightly to the left.”
I did as he asked and smiled. “Good. Now move your head towards me just slightly.”
“Lean over the railing, and look up, like you’re trying to spot someone. Let your hair drop towards me.”
“Drop down and look in between the bars of the railing, holding one on either side of your face.”
For hours we went on like this. It actually felt really nice to be the complete and total center of attention like this. It was just the two of us, Jacques telling me exactly what to do, exactly how to look.
I changed outfits and we moved to different parts of the warehouse from time to time. I briefly wondered what time it was, but in reality I didn’t actually care. I would have stayed here until the middle of the night doing this. I couldn’t believe I had actually been a bit wary of going through with this.
Our last set before we took a break had me in a peasant skirt and blouse, with an old style bucket, mop, broom and clothes as props. I sat on the floor of the warehouse, pretending to be cleaning, while Jacques directed my poses.
I was starting to get tired, and I couldn’t imagine how Jacques felt. After all, he had been moving around, taking pictures, directing me, he must have been exhausted. I could see in his face that this was his passion though. Photography, taking pictures obviously made him happier than anything else. It was written all over him.
Finally, Jacques motioned for me to get up.
“Why do we not take a break? I will be right back.”
Jacques went upstairs for a minute and came back with some water bottles and some snacks. I realized I was actually pretty hungry, so I nibbled on the goodies.
“I have a question Jacques. Why did you invite me here today? What are these pictures for?”
“They are for you, my dear. I had the day off, and I thought to myself that with your past you must never have had so much as a family portrait. You are easily beautiful enough to model, and so I thought I would give you the opportunity. I will edit the photos and give them to you.”
I was so touched, I didn’t know what to say.
“Thank you,” I finally whispered, and I could feel tears beginning to form in my eyes. This was such a sweet gift. Jacques had just given me not only the gift of these photos, but the gift of knowing I was just like all the other girls my age taking selfies in the bathroom mirror. I could be like them, feeling like a princess as I got dressed up and modeled.
“Do you want to keep going?” Jacques asked, and I nodded.
“If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. There are still so many outfits for you to try!”
I changed into something more modern, a nice blouse with the top few buttons undone and some denim shorts. I paired them with some flats I found.
“Beautiful. Go up against the wall, I will bring the flash over.”
Jacques photographed me for a while. The longer it went on, the hotter I got, the flash constantly going off in my face. The slightest sheen of sweat began to form on my skin and I was getting tired.
We went on for a few hours again, and by the end of it I could tell that Jacques was almost as exhausted as I was. He moved me into the position he wanted, his hands gentle as they molded my body to his exacting standards.
I knew as he continued that the photos would look amazing.
“Just another short set in this pose, and then we finish for the night, you think that is a good idea?”
“Yes, I’m getting quite tired. That sounds good,” I replied, smiling. Jacques took the last few photos, then moved in front of me as I leaned against the wall, my head back, my eyes closed. When I felt him in front of me, I opened my eyes.
Without warning, without knowing what had happened, Jacque’s lips were on mine. He was kissing me! I couldn’t believe it. I wanted to pull away, but I was pressed up against the wall. Finally, I squirmed and pushed him away.
“Forgive me Sophie, I am so sorry,” Jacques told me, a look of guilt on his face. “I do not know what h
appened to me, I have never done anything like this before. I’m so sorry. You’re just so beautiful, I couldn’t resist. Oh goodness, I am the worst friend.”
“No, no, Jacques, you’re not a bad friend. Not at all. It’s just… I’ve sworn off dating men for a while,” I told him with a small smile. It wasn’t entirely true. After all, I’d been making out with Philippe less than twenty four hours ago.
“I completely understand. I should not have done it. I crossed a line, and I’m sorry. You’re such an amazing model Sophie, I cannot wait to see how these photos turn out.”
I welcomed the change of topic.
“Do you really think so?”
“Yes, oh yes. If only you had come to the city when you were a young teenager, perhaps a career in modeling would have been in your future. Now the world will never see your beautiful face as frequently as it should.”
“I’m sure it’s all in the skill of the photographer.”
“No, absolutely not. I mean it, you are beautiful. I may bring out the beauty in my photos, but I cannot invent beauty from nothing. Yours is real.”
I was starting to blush from the compliments. It was so nice of Jacques, who must have photographed hundreds, if not thousands of models in his lifetime, to say something like that.
“Now Sophie, I have to ask you to leave me here, so that I may edit the photos. I promise you, I will send you the photos when I am finished. Do you have a courriel?”
“Email address? Oh, yes, of course,” I replied. I wrote it down on the piece of paper and handed it to him. Our hands grazed as he took it from me, but I didn’t pull away immediately. I felt bad about my reaction to the kiss. After all, was it really that bad? Sure, it had none of the fiery intensity that I had with Philippe, but Jacques was a really nice guy.
“Thank you Sophie, for doing this with me today. I have enjoyed it very much,” Jacques told me at the door.
“I have as well, thanks Jacques,” I replied, smiling as I left. As I walked to the Metro station to get back to my apartment, my phone binged in my purse. I dug it out and checked the message. It was from Philippe. My heart began to race as I read the words. Really, body? He’s not even here, this is just a text from him. Why are you reacting this way to just a text? I read the words on the screen:
