by Aubrey Dark
“Alright. How was your day? Do any sightseeing?”
“I walked around outside. I went to meet that art collector—”
“Great! Hey, listen, wait one second. I just remembered an email I need to send off before dinner. For business. Do you mind?”
I seethed inside, but I tried to remain calm.
“Sure,” I said. “I have to take a shower anyway.”
“Mmm,”Jake said, stroking my arm with his hand. “I might have to finish my email early and join you.”
But he didn’t. I washed my hair and dried off, and when I had finished getting ready, he was still on his laptop. As I walked out of the bathroom, he closed his computer and grinned up at me.
“Ready to go?” he asked.
“Sure,” I said.
“So is this collector going to buy any of your paintings?” Jake asked.
“I don’t think so,” I mumbled. “It was nothing, really. Tell me more about your day.”
If Jake wasn’t going to talk to me about the women he was meeting for business, I decided, I didn’t have to mention my art collector. It made me feel strange to keep something from him, but he gushed all through dinner and never brought it up again. Instead, he talked about all of the potential business that the deal could bring, the different negotiating techniques the French used, and how interesting the world of advertising was becoming.
All the while, I couldn’t stop thinking about the woman Jake had kissed on the cheek. I wanted to bring it up, but there was never a good point. I smiled at his jokes and forced out a few laughs, and he didn’t mention anything at all.
By the time we got back to the hotel room, it was nearly midnight and I felt exhausted.
Jake slipped his hand and cupped my ass, but I slid away from him.
“I’m tired, Jake,” I said. I got undressed quickly and got into bed, pulling the covers up around me.
“Is there something wrong?” he asked. “Lacey, you know I’m busy with this negotiation. I can’t take you around Paris—”
“That’s fine!” I snapped. “I—I’m just tired, is all.”
“Alright,” Jake said. He slid into bed near me and put his arm over my body. I shivered even as he drew me close.
Ask him about the woman.
I knew that it was stupid to put it off. I should just ask him about her. She was probably one of the lawyers. Probably there was nothing at all going on, and I was worried over nothing. I twisted my neck.
“Jake?” I whispered. There was nothing but silence, the sound of his breath coming softly against my neck. I wiggled a bit in the bed.
“Jake?” I said, a bit louder. All I got in response was a light snore.
I sighed. I would talk with him about the woman later. Tomorrow morning, first thing. Closing my eyes, I tried not to think about.
When I woke up in the morning, though, Jake was already gone. In his place on the side of the bed was a note.
Made you breakfast. Hope you have a fun day. Dinner party tonight, I’ll pick you up at seven. Love, Jake.
I groaned. I was going to talk it out with him, but I suppose it would have to wait. My phone rang as I headed into the kitchen. It was Steph.
“Hey!” she said excitedly. “Is it too early to call you?”
“No, it’s fine,” I said. “I’m awake.” I saw that Jake had left me a plate of pastries, along with another note.
Okay, so I didn’t really make breakfast. OJ in the fridge.
“How’s Paris? That is so exciting! What have you seen so far?”
“I—I went to the Louvre yesterday,” I told Steph.
“To see the Mona Lisa? Or is that too boring for you? I know, I know, it’s overrated.”
“I actually didn’t go in the main building,” I said. “There was a collector who showed me around a few private collections.”
“I hear it takes a week to go through all of the museum anyway,” Steph said. “Oh my gosh, do you know what happened?”
I smiled. Hearing Steph’s voice on the other end of the line was doing wonders for my mental health. And at least she was excited about something.
“What is it?”
“Lucas Black. You know, Jake’s friend?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I remember.”
“He asked me to cater a party for him! I’m doing a cake and also a bunch of cupcakes. He wants them individually done for each of the guests. It’s probably the biggest catering thing I’ve ever done. Isn’t that exciting!”
“That’s pretty awesome,” I said. “You’re doing such a good job with that bakery.”
“Lucas is over in Paris, right?” Steph said. “Have you seen him?”
Oh, right. He was helping Jake with the magazine deal today. I realized that today was the day that Jake was going to meet him at the magazine headquarters. Immediately my mood turned sour.
“Lacey? Lacey, are you there?”
“Sorry,” I said, resting my head on my hand. “It’s just that Jake was gone when I woke up this morning.”
“And?”
“And it’s supermodel day. Today is when he meets everyone at the magazine. All of the models, the magazine editors, everything. They’re planning the next big advertising push.”
“So you’re jealous.” Leave it to Steph to get straight to the point.
“Is that bad?”
“No, it’s not bad. It’s normal. But you trust him, don’t you? I mean, it’s just business.”
The image of Jake bending forward… his lips brushing the woman’s cheek…her fingers against his chest…
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m just being silly. I think. It’s strange here. I don’t know.”
“It’s Paris syndrome,” Steph said decisively.
“Say what?”
“Paris syndrome. Lots of tourists come to Paris expecting this magical burst of romantic perfection. But it’s just a big city. So they’re so disappointed that they feel sick over it.”
“Paris syndrome?”
“It’s a real thing, I’ve heard about it.”
“Maybe that’s it.” I was sure it wasn’t. Paris was fine. It was the people in Paris that had me on edge. No, it was Jake in Paris that had me on edge. Jake and all of the supermodels.
“Anyway, if you see Lucas, tell him I’ve already planned out half of his cupcakes. I’ll need to talk with him about the others when he gets back from Paris.”
“Oh, sure. That’s why you need to talk to him.”
“What?” Steph asked. “I’m serious.”
“You wouldn’t want to talk to him about anything else… like his sexy blue eyes?”
“What?!”
“You’re adorable when you have a crush on a guy, Steph.”
“I don’t! This is just business.”
“Uh-huh, right. Just business. I saw the way he was looking at you during Jake’s going away dinner.”
“He wasn’t looking at me! He had a date with him!” Steph cried.
“Right.”
“Just business,” Steph insisted.
Just business. Again, I felt sick.
“I gotta go, okay?” I said. “Talk to you later?”
“Sure, babe,” Steph said. “Love ya!”
“Love you too,” I said.
I put the phone down and stared bleakly at the kitchen table covered in chocolate croissants and strawberry danishes. I wasn’t in the mood for pastries anymore.
Chapter Six
I reached half-heartedly for a chocolate croissant. Honestly, I didn’t want them to go to waste, no matter how uneasy my stomach was feeling. As I reached over the phone that I’d just put down, it rang.
My body jumped back and I laughed nervously. I picked up the phone and looked at the number. My heart, already skipping beats, did a full on leap.
“Hello? Jean-Luc?”
“Lacey!” His voice was warm and inviting. “Will you come to my studio? We are having a class today, and I would love for you to come and join us.
”
“Yes, absolutely!”
I found myself nodding into the phone. Ridiculous. I raised my eyes to the ceiling and tempered my enthusiasm.
“Where is it?”
“Let me send my car around. You’re staying at the Milliard over on the Champs-Elysees, is that correct?”
“Yes,” I said. I wondered how he had known. Perhaps Jake had told him. I wondered if Jake had ever met him, or thought to meet him. I wondered if Jake would be jealous of me if he knew how young and handsome this art collector was.
Jean-Luc’s voice brought me out of my ruminations.
“—be there in ten minutes, at most.”
“What? Oh, you mean now?”
“Yes, of course. Don’t eat anything; I’ll have a little brunch prepared for us.”
“A—alright,” I said.
I put the phone down and ran to get dressed.
The driver dropped me off in front of an old building in the north of Paris and told me to go up to the third floor. I climbed the spiral stairs, clenching the iron railing the whole way up. I didn’t trust old stairs in Paris, but I trusted old elevators even less.
When I opened the door onto the third story, I was shocked to see a huge room, an art studio stretching out for what would have been many office spaces.
“Hello?” I called.
Jean-Luc’s head popped up from behind a counter on the far side of the room.
“Come in, come in,” he said. I realized that he was watching the stove—that side of the room had a kitchen built into the wall. Easels were propped next to the dining table. He came around and pushed them aside, waving me into a seat.
“Thank you,” I said, sitting down. I lifted my chin and was greeted by the signature Parisian kisses. “Oh! Oh, hello. Bonjour.”
Were we the only ones here? It looked like it. I wondered if Jean-Luc had an ulterior motive for inviting me over. I eyed him warily, but he only smiled with a brightness that got under my defenses. And whatever he was making smelled delicious.
“First we eat,” he said, producing a plate heaped with crepes. The scent of roasted apple and cinnamon wafted over the table, and my mouth immediately began to water.
“Then,” he said, pulling out two wine glasses, “we drink. And then we will do some art. The students will be in later.”
“Oh, alright,” I said, a bit relieved that there would be other people arriving soon. I felt bad for thinking that Jean-Luc would try to do anything with me. And I felt, too, a hint of disappointment.
I didn’t have long to think about my own feelings. Jean-Luc sat down next to me, pulling his chair close. I tensed at how close he was. I wanted to impress him, but I didn’t want to invite any… unwanted attentions. I sat up straight and tried to look professional.
Then I took a bite of apple crepe and my eyes widened. I guess it’s hard to look professional when you’re stuffing your mouth. That might have been why Jean-Luc leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, his face suddenly serious.
“Why are you an artist?” he asked.
“Uh…” I started, then kicked myself for stammering. I shouldn’t be stammering. “Well, I grew up in Iowa on a farm, and—”
“Did I ask you your family history?”
“N-no.” He wasn’t asking angrily, but the stern tone in his voice made me shiver inside.
“Then let me ask you again. Why are you an artist?”
“I—um, I like to paint,” I stammered. God, I needed to stop that.
“You like to paint,” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“And are you any good?”
“Any good?”
“At painting.”
“Oh. Um, yes. I think so?” I got the feeling that I wasn’t answering these questions right. His dark stare was so blank that I couldn’t tell if he was about to kiss me or about to throw me out of the studio.
Jean-Luc sat back in his chair, and I let my breath out in a sigh of relief. I picked at a drop of paint on my knuckle, trying not to look straight at him.
He lifted the wine bottle and leaned across the table. As he poured the wine for me, he looked into my face silently. I twitched in my seat. I was doing this all wrong. I had messed up. I hoped he wouldn’t tell Jake exactly how bad I’d messed up.
I picked up the glass of wine he’d poured for me and took a sip.
“I think you’re a genius painter.”
I coughed, catching myself before I could spit the mouthful of wine across the table.
“Excuse me?” I asked, after swallowing back my sip of wine.
“You’re a genius,” Jean-Luc repeated. His dark features were expressive as he waved his wine glass in the air. “Your paintings. Such emotion. How’s the wine?”
“Uh…uh, great,” I said. To be honest, I hadn’t tasted it. I took another sip now. It was bitter on the back of my tongue. I wasn’t exactly a wine critic, but I nodded enthusiastically at Jean-Luc.
“I wanted to know what your inspiration was.”
Inspiration? I couldn’t very well tell him that half of my paintings were up on most of the subway lines in Brooklyn. And I certainly couldn’t tell him that Jake had slammed my body down on more than one canvas and made love to me until we were both covered in paint.
“I try to paint emotions,” I said instead.
“Emotions?”
Jean-Luc leaned forward. His knee was definitely brushing mine under the table, but I had nowhere else to move.
“Yep,” I said, taking a sip of wine and avoiding his eyes. “Most of my paintings are meant to recreate an emotional experience.”
“How did you meet Jake Carville?” Jean-Luc asked.
That was an abrupt shift in conversation. A flush rose to my face. I didn’t know if it was because of the wine or because the way I met Jake Carville involved a smushed cake and his fingers inside of me.
Or maybe it was because of the way Jean-Luc was looking at me. I swallowed another gulp of wine before answering.
“We met at a party,” I said. I didn’t say that it was his birthday party, and Jake had mistaken me for a gift.
“Are you two close?”
I was pretty sure now that Jean-Luc was one of Jake’s friends and not a real art collector. I wished I’d had time to look him up before coming here.
“I suppose so.” I finished my glass of wine. “He’s been very supportive of my art.”
“But are you his girlfriend?”
I squirmed in my chair. I wasn’t sure how to answer that. Jake hadn’t really introduced me to anyone as his girlfriend yet. I didn’t want to say anything I wasn’t sure of.
“No, not… I mean, I suppose we’re dating. I don’t know. We haven’t talked that much about how serious things are between us.”
Jean-Luc smiled and poured me another glass. His dark eyes sparkled, and I felt a slight pressure against my knee.
“Tell me more,” he said.
Chapter Seven
By the time I’d finished the plate of crepes, Jean-Luc had poured me two glasses of the most delicious Chardonnay and I was well on my way to the third.
“I never knew I liked white wine before,” I said. I hiccupped and covered my mouth. “Excuse me!”
“Nothing to excuse.” He leaned closer to me and lifted his own glass. “It’s a very full body of wine, don’t you think?”
I had no idea that wines had bodies, but I nodded in agreement. Jean-Luc smiled, a kind smile that reached his eyes. He seemed like a very kind person.
I decided that I needed to stop drinking. I needed to be professional. But his body’s nearness set off a feeling inside of me that made me feel warmer than any alcohol could have.
“Jean-Luc?” A woman’s voice interrupted our lunch, and I remembered that I was there for an art workshop.
“Come in!” he cried. As though on cue, two more art students came in behind the first woman. It was a young group of artists, more women than men.
“We shall get
started. You will paint today with us, yes?”
My mouth dropped open. I’d thought that I would be watching a class, not painting. I had no idea that this was what Jean-Luc had in mind for me. My tongue fumbled around my mouth for an answer.
“I—uh—I didn’t bring any of my brushes or anything,” I stammered. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize—”
“Of course, you are on a trip! You will use my brushes.”
Jean-Luc spoke in a way that made any thought of arguing with him seem utterly impossible.
He set up an easel for me with oil paints and brushes. I stood nervously, waiting for him to be done. I hadn’t thought that I would be painting today, let alone painting in front of a bunch of students.
And my dress! It had cost more than my entire wardrobe back at home, and I was sure to get paint on it. No. I would have to be careful. I could be neat and tidy if I wanted to be.
Jean-Luc was speaking to me again as he finished setting up my brushes on a stand next to the easel. All of the other artists were ready, their easels set up in a semi-circle around the middle of the room.
“Perhaps you will sign a deal. I would be interested in commissioning a mural piece here in Paris.”
“A mural?” I was so dumbfounded that I could only repeat his words.
“Yes. Public art is very important to the French, you see. A two-week project, fully funded for three hundred thousand.”
“Three-three hundred thousand dollars?”
“Euros. But the price is negotiable. You must sign.”
The rest of the artists seemed to be waiting for us to finish our conversation. I opened my mouth to speak.
“I—sure,” I blurted out. “Sure. Let’s talk about it later.”
“Excellent,” Jean Luc said, smiling. “Yes, we will.”
He clapped his hands and any remaining noises stopped.
The first woman who had come in stepped into the front of the room. It was then that I saw she was wearing a robe—and nothing else— under her coat. She pulled the robe down from her shoulders and stood in front of all of us, completely exposed.
“Oh.” I spoke the word out loud as I realized that yes, it was that kind of class. The two artists on either side of me glanced my way. I flushed and busied myself with arranging Jean-Luc’s paintbrushes.
