Sleeping with Paris

by Juliette Sobanet

  Brad, who, as it turns out, was Lexi’s step-brother, (their parents got married when they were really young, so she just refers to him as her brother), was a lean 6’4” with short, jet black hair, coal black eyes, and muscles in all the right places. He was the male version of Lexi in the looks department. One of those men who undoubtedly left trails of drooling, gawking women in his wake wherever he went. Dylan, his friend, was about six feet tall with messy, sandy blond hair, green eyes, and pearly white teeth. When he hugged Lexi, he held her for an extra few seconds, leading me to believe that something had gone on between them in the past. And if they hadn’t already slept together, they certainly would tonight.

  “Charlotte, this is my brother Brad and his friend Dylan.” Lexi walked over to the bar to pour them each a glass of wine as the two men greeted me with bisous. They were both American, so I was impressed that they went in for the kisses instead of the more impersonal, American handshake. How culturally aware of them.

  The four of us relaxed in the elegant living room and enjoyed the incredible view of the Eiffel Tower while working on the never-ending supply of wine and champagne in our suite. Feeling light-headed and giddy from all of that expensive alcohol sloshing around in my empty stomach, I was relieved to hear another knock on the door. This time, it was room service bringing us our Christmas Eve dinner.

  As two polite French men dressed in spiffy red and black uniforms placed the silver platters on a candle-lit table, I tried to hide my child-like excitement in front of Lexi, Brad and Dylan, who acted like this was just another average Christmas—as if.

  Dinner was amazing. As an appetizer, we all started with a bowl of soupe à l’oignon that had about an inch of gooey, melted gruyère cheese layered over top a hot, bread-filled broth. Next, I dug into a small niçoise salade topped with tuna, juicy red tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, and some type of small, unidentifiable bird egg that I tried just for the hell of it. Finally, I nibbled on a juicy chicken breast with buttery carottes fondantes on the side.

  For dessert, we feasted on seven different types of cheeses, from the light and creamy camembert to the pungent roquefort. And, just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, Lexi lifted the lid off a platter of chocolate praline cake.

  Brad scooted his chair closer to mine and smiled deviously in my direction as he dipped his fork into the fudgy icing and held it out for me to take a bite.

  “Do you like chocolate?” he asked.

  I nodded as I opened my mouth and let the thick, sugary icing melt on my tongue.

  After he fed me another bite of the moist cake, I took a sip of champagne to wash it down and smiled.

  “I don’t want to eat your whole piece,” I told him.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not a big chocolate fan. It’s too rich for me.”

  Just then, a memory of Luc lying naked and feeding me chocolate in bed flashed through my mind.

  “Here you go,” Brad said, luring me back to the present moment as he held another bite out for me to taste.

  I suddenly wasn’t that hungry for chocolate.

  I waved his hand away. “Thanks, but I think I’m all set. You’re right—it is a little too rich.”

  As Brad led me over to the living room, I noticed that Lexi was now cuddled up with Dylan in a corner of the suite, her legs draped over his lap, their eyes locked in a lustful gaze.

  Brad and I relaxed on the sofa together, his arm stretched loosely behind my shoulders. “So, how long have you been living in Paris?” he asked as his penetrating black eyes met mine.

  “About four months now. I’m taking some time off work to take classes at the Sorbonne.”

  “Oh, so you’re a smart one, eh?” He winked at me as he edged a little closer.

  I laughed as a flush crept up my neck and cheeks. I wondered if it would be weird to do something with Brad considering the minor detail that he was Lexi’s step-brother and that Lexi happened to be staying in the same hotel suite.

  But I knew it was more than that. No matter how incredible this night was turning out to be, and no matter how gorgeous and sexy the man sitting next to me was, I couldn’t ignore the one thought that kept flashing through my mind.

  I wanted Luc to be the one feeding me chocolate.

  I missed him.

  “So what about you?” I asked Brad, shaking Luc’s sweet face from my memory. “Lexi hasn’t told me where you live or what you do.”

  “I’m living in Rome right now, but I’m thinking about moving up here actually. I spend a lot of time traveling in France for work, so I’d rather have a place in Paris anyway . . . but enough about work. Let’s get you another glass of wine.” Brad didn’t actually say what he did, but I got the feeling that whatever it was earned him a lot of money. Or maybe “work” was traveling and meeting women. Who knew?

  He came back with two glasses of Port, took my hand, and led me toward the master bedroom.

  As I followed Brad’s broad shoulders and felt his hand wrapped around mine, my stomach churned. Something didn’t feel right about this.

  I glanced over my shoulder to see what Lexi and Dylan were doing, hoping Lexi would sense my hesitation and stop me from doing what I knew would happen if I followed Brad into this room . . . but they were nowhere in sight. They must’ve disappeared into the other bedroom.

  Brad gestured for me to take a seat with him on the king-sized bed that spread out before us.

  “Cheers,” he said as he clinked his glass with mine and shot me a mischievous grin.

  I drank two large gulps of the rich dessert wine, hoping it would relax me and help me to push aside the gnawing feeling in my gut that I had made a mistake in turning down Luc’s invitation.

  Brad reached over and took the wine glass out of my hand, gently set it down on the bedside stand, then led me over to the bedroom window. The streets below now appeared cold and desolate, all of the last-minute shoppers having returned home to spend the evening with their families. The Eiffel Tower stood alone, far out in the distance, lighting up the frigid night sky.

  As Brad’s warm body pressed into my back, and he wrapped his muscular arms around my waist, Luc’s hurt face from the night of the ballet flashed through my mind. A pang of guilt swept through me as I thought of how I could’ve been with him at that very moment, meeting his family, and drinking hot chocolate.

  Brad may have sensed that I was somewhere else, because he grabbed my hips, turned me around to face him and pressed his lips against mine while he explored my body with his strong hands. I pushed Luc’s face out of my mind. I could feel bad all I wanted, but that wouldn’t change the past. I was about to spend the night with a sexy, attractive man in one of the most expensive and beautiful hotel rooms in Paris. As far as the Charlotte on my blog was concerned, this was exactly what I needed to reaffirm my decision of staying away from relationships. If I had committed to Luc, I wouldn’t have gotten to experience this. And the Charlotte on my blog would think that would’ve been a damn shame.

  So, even though my instincts weren’t agreeing with my blog that night, I pushed my doubts aside and allowed Brad to take me.

  He slid my slinky black dress over my head, took off his shirt, and kissed me from head to toe. After slipping off my lacy black bra and panty set, he picked me up, laid me down on the bed, and buried me beneath his tan, cut body.

  As his hands roamed over my skin, I felt disconnected from myself, as if it was some other girl—a girl I didn’t know anymore—lying there under the weight of his touch, going through the motions.

  Brad leaned down, and as he grabbed a condom from his jeans pocket, two more condoms spilled to the ground. It was clear that he hadn’t been planning on feeding me hot chocolate and giving me presents all night long.

  After slipping on condom number one, Brad lifted his muscular body back on top of me, then pushed into me with the force of a Clydesdale. After a few strokes, I started to adjust to the feeling of him inside of me, and I forced myself to get into
it. I replayed the lessons I had laid out on my blog over and over in my head. Every time Luc’s lovable smile entered my mind, I pushed it out. I tried to focus on Brad, on his intoxicating scent that threatened to envelop me as he thrust further and further into me. On his eyes, burning into mine as he pleasured himself.

  But, no matter how hard I tried to enjoy the feeling of Brad’s hands all over me, I couldn’t. It just didn’t feel right.

  “Charlotte, you’re so damn sexy,” he whispered in my ear. And then, not long after he’d begun, he moaned and collapsed on top of me.

  Moments later, once he caught his breath, he rolled over to his side and closed his eyes. I held my breath, hoping he would just fall asleep. Low and behold, after about two minutes, Brad began snoring.

  I tip-toed out of bed and into the bathroom. As I flipped on the light and leaned into the porcelain sink to wash my face, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I didn’t see the sexy, confident woman that Brad had seen earlier in the night. I saw a scared, sad, shell of a woman. I wasn’t sure what would fill this shell, or if it would ever be filled.

  ***

  On Christmas morning, I awoke not to the sound of a fire crackling in the hearth or to the scent of pine needles and sugar cookies and cinnamon, but instead to the sound of Lexi sobbing in the hotel suite. I jolted out of bed, her cries startling me from my sleep. The dim morning light beaming through the window revealed an empty side of the bed where Brad would've been.

  Lexi’s muffled cries grew louder as I ran, disheveled and disoriented, through the suite. In the second bedroom, I found Brad leaning his forehead against a closed bathroom door, Lexi howling on the other side. Dylan was nowhere in sight.

  “Lexi, open the door,” Brad said.

  She didn't respond. Instead she wailed louder.

  “Lexi, open the door now.” Exhaustion outlined his profile as he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

  “Brad, what's going on? What happened?” I asked.

  Brad turned to me, his eyes bloodshot, his face pale and sunken in. He shook his head. “It's best if you leave, Charlotte. I'm sorry.”

  “Is she going to be okay? Did something happen with Dylan? Maybe I can talk to her.”

  Brad walked toward me, wincing as another anguishing sob emanated from the bathroom. “Trust me, she won't want you to see her like this. I can handle her. I . . . I'm the only one who can handle this.”

  “But—”

  “Please, just go, Charlotte.”

  By the time I gathered my things, Lexi’s cries had only intensified, and she still hadn't opened the bathroom door. I tried one more time to see if I could help, but Brad only waved me away.

  As I rode the pristine elevator down to the ground floor, I wondered what in the hell was going on? What could've happened to Lexi to make her so upset? And where was Dylan? Had he tried to hurt her? What did Brad mean when he'd said that only he could handle this? Was there something I didn't know about Lexi?

  Even as I walked through the gorgeous lobby, I could still hear Lexi’s loud, gut-wrenching sobs ringing through my ears. I really hoped that whatever had happened, she would be okay. I only wished I could've helped.

  “Joyeux Noël, Mademoiselle,” the doorman said with a smile as I exited the lobby.

  “Et vous aussi, Monsieur,” I responded, realizing that today would probably be the least merry of Christmases I'd ever had.

  I checked my phone to see if Luc had called or sent me a text message. He hadn’t. In fact, I had no missed calls. No text messages.

  I wandered alone down the deserted Champs-Elysées, the bitter cold air stinging my finger tips and turning my nose bright red. On the busiest street in Paris, there was hardly a soul in sight. The hoards of miniature cars that normally sped up and down the avenue had disappeared. The tourists had vanished. Even the rows of trees that had been so lovely and magical the night before now appeared barren, their skinny branches reaching in vain toward the cloudy, gray sky.

  It seemed that everyone in the world had somewhere important to be on Christmas morning.

  Everyone but me.

  I thought of my parents and wondered where they were, and if they were feeling as hollow as I was. Even though it was the middle of the night in Florida, where my mom was now living with my aunt, I dialed her cell.

  After five rings, she picked up, but instead of hearing her voice, I heard booming bass and men shouting.

  “Mom?” I yelled into the phone. “Mom, are you there?”

  “Hello? Charlotte, is that you?” she yelled back over the raging music.

  “Yeah, Mom. It’s me. Where are you?”

  “Oh, Charlotte! I’m so glad you called. Hold on, let me just get around the pool so I can hear you. This DJ is amazing!”

  She was at a pool party on Christmas Eve? With a DJ? Was this really my mom?

  “Whew, okay that’s a little better. Can you hear me?” she screamed into the phone.

  “Um, yeah, I can hear you now. What’s going on?”

  “Oh, Aunt Liza threw a big Christmas Eve bash, and you should just see all the beautiful men that came out. You know Aunt Liza, she always knows how to have a good time.”

  But you hate Aunt Liza.

  “Isn’t it like four in the morning there? You’re still up?” I asked her.

  “Oh, is it that late? I didn’t even notice, I’ve just been whooping it up all night! Oh dear, my bikini is falling down. Hold on just one sec. Oh . . . oh, there we go. All set. Gotta keep those babies into place.”

  Oh dear. My fifty-five year old mother who was usually wearing a red and green Christmas tree sweatshirt for the holidays was wearing a bikini? I had never seen her wear a bikini. Ever. I had no words.

  “It’s so much fun here, Charlotte. You really should’ve come out for Christmas. I could’ve introduced you to Frank. He’s Dave’s son, and you would love him. He’s a real hottie.”

  “Who’s Dave?”

  “Oh, this wonderful man that Aunt Liza introduced me to. But don’t worry dear, I’m not getting married again or anything silly like that. Just dating around and having my fun. I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on this for the last thirty years!”

  You missed out on this because you had me and Dad. Remember?

  “I just wanted to call to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

  “Thanks, dear. You too. I miss you so much and wish you were here. Oh . . . oh!” she squealed into the phone. “Dave, stop it. I’m on the phone with my daughter.”

  That was enough of that.

  “Okay, Mom. It sounds like you’re busy there, so I better let you go.”

  “I’m so glad you called, sweetie. Do come visit soon, okay? I’d love for you to meet everyone. I’m sure you’re having a glamorous Christmas in Paris. Love you lots! Toodooloo!”

  Toodooloo?

  “Bye, Mo—” I started, but she had already hung up.

  I picked up my pace as I headed for the metro. After a few seconds I broke into a full-out sprint. What the hell was going on? Where did my mom go? Who was this woman? Running around in a bikini at pool parties on Christmas Eve? I’d never felt so angry in all my life. My parents had thrown away our family so they could run around and have sex with other people. It was sick.

  I slowed down and caught my breath as I reached the metro. I waited alone in the drafty, underground station for fifteen minutes before the next train came, and as I climbed on board, I realized I was the only passenger.

  I rode home in silence with my head in my hands, listening to the sound of the train barreling down the tracks, its doors opening and closing, but no one climbing on.

  I felt so alone, in that clattering, forsaken train all by myself. I would’ve given anything to have a hug from my mom. Not the Florida pool-party mom I’d just spoken with though. I wanted my sweet, innocent Ohio mom. I wanted to tell her what was going on in my life. That I wasn’t sure if I was making the right decisions with Luc. That I felt empty and con
fused after what I’d done with Brad. That I couldn't get the sound of Lexi’s cries out of my head. And that I was scared. I wanted to feel my mom's soft hands stroking the back of my head, like she always used to do, and hear her soothing voice telling me everything was going to be okay. And that even if it wasn’t, she’d be here for me.

  But she wasn’t here for me anymore. It was Christmas, and she didn’t even seem to care.

  As the train rattled to a stop, I wrapped my violet pea coat tighter around my waist and ran across the windy, abandoned boulevard Jourdan, the masses of students having evaporated, leaving me to confront the day alone.

  What was I going to do by myself on Christmas Day? I wanted to be with Luc and his family, but there was still so much I didn’t know about him. What if I committed to him and fell in love with him, only to have it end in disaster, just like my parents’ marriage? I was sure that my mom and dad hadn’t envisioned a divorce in their future when they stood up at the altar saying their vows. I was sure they’d never thought there would come a time when they wouldn’t even care to talk to their own daughter on Christmas because they’d be out partying instead.

  I wouldn’t let that happen to me. Ever.

  When I reached my dorm room, I cranked up the heat and bundled up in as many layers as I could pile on. I sat down at my computer, pulled up my blog, and began typing.

  Merry Christmas, ladies. As I sit here shivering at my computer, I realize that I don’t have any magical formulas for you today. Just a few things I’ve picked up over the past few weeks that may help you along your journey.

  Rule #1 – Avoiding relationships at all costs, as I have advised you to do, doesn’t necessarily give you a warm and fuzzy feeling at the end of the day. I still stand by my earlier statements that you should go out, date like a man and have fun without being in a relationship. It is inevitable though, that at some point, one of the men you’re dating will try to take things to the next level. And you may actually like this man. If you can continue having fun with him without committing, by all means, go for it. If you can’t see that happening because of the feelings one or both of you may have for each other, this is where you’ll have to trust your instincts. If you like him but instinctively don’t trust him, then it may be best to take a step back. Beware though, taking this step back may make you feel awful. Take comfort in remembering that marriage is likely to fail and that you may have just saved yourself from heartache.