by Cara McKenna
I considered that, and my own fears. “I sort of understand. I mean, I’ve got social problems. With men, obviously.”
“But you’re braver than I am. You’re trying to change.” He smiled. “Perhaps that makes me your therapy.”
“Actually, yeah. That is how I’ve thought about it.”
We were quiet for a minute then Didier asked, “Do you pity me?”
I stared right into his eyes. “No. Well, maybe. I’m not sure. But is this what you want, to never leave these four rooms?”
“No, of course not. All the time, I try to leave. I make it halfway down the hall, maybe even to the front door, my hand shaking on the knob…then an idea comes into my head, of seeing someone robbed, a car crash, an animal being hurt, simple rudeness. All these injustices and disasters, things I have no control of. Though of course at the time, I think nothing so rational. I feel as frozen and terrified as I might with a train speeding toward me. But I don’t even fear for myself, really. I don’t fear death. I fear helplessness, of being in the midst of a bad situation, and being unable to do anything about it.”
“And it doesn’t make you feel helpless, not being able to leave?”
“Of course it does. But it’s far worse feeling helpless in the face of other people’s cruelty or carelessness.”
I know what he means. Every balanced, empathetic human knows that frustration and shame and anger, witnessing assholery. The shame of not challenging it, or the powerlessness of knowing your actions won’t change anything fundamentally. I tried to imagine multiplying that nauseating, worthless sensation by ten or fifty or a hundred, and having to endure it. I’d hide in my flat too. Probably under the covers. With a bottle of gin.
“Do you feel like the bad people are what keep you in here?”
He shook his head. “I know it’s only me. It is my fear of experiencing those ugly feelings that keep me here. It’s a terrible, suffocating fear that maybe I’m right. Maybe the world is as senseless as it feels, and if I go outside, I’ll find proof of that. I fear the potential of what could happen, if I left.”
“Oh.”
“But of course, locking myself in this flat proves nothing. But I cannot explain it any better than I have.”
“You don’t need to.” My goodness, how did he stay in such fantastic shape? Sit-ups? There was a rack of iron weights in the corner of the living room, but sex wasn’t enough cardio for a man in his thirties, was it? So many questions… “Were either of your parents that way? Agoraphobic, or whatever it is?”
“It did not occur to me until recently that my mother likely was, but not the way I am. Like me, she hates the unknown. But the space she called familiar and safe was all of Paris, whereas mine is merely these few rooms. But yes, take her away from the streets she knew and loved, and she got very mean, very edgy and snappy. When I was growing up, I thought she was just spoiled and demanding. Selfish for not taking me traveling. Now I know better. And she always loved men from other countries. That must have been the only tourism she knew how to indulge in. Men and books and films, and her foreign language tapes.”
I nodded.
“But I don’t blame her for the way I turned out. This is just how I am. Who I am. I’ve always liked going inside, more than out, to explore. Inside objects. Inside people, in whatever manner you wish to take that—emotionally, sexually.” He sipped his wine. “It feels safer inside.”
“I’m sure.”
“This flat is almost like my body now. The idea of leaving…it would feel like walking around without any skin holding me together.”
“Yikes.”
“Being exposed, outdoors… It’s always done something to me. Made me so poor with direction, because I can’t focus outside. When I am out there, there is just so. Much. It is like being barricaded in a room with fifty televisions turned on, all loud, all on different programs.”
I remembered my first visit to New York City and the anxiety attack the crowds in Times Square had given me. I’d wanted to run back to the Met and spend the rest of the trip hiding in the relative quiet of the galleries, where the frames and plinths and soothing-voiced docents herd you, guide you, instill order.
“I think I understand. It’s an awful shame though. You’re really quite an extraordinary man. It’s sad so few people get a chance to know you.”
Didier’s nostrils flared with a tight, harsh breath, his gaze darting around the floor and our legs.
I leaned forward to touch his knee, offering a kind smile. “I’m glad to be one of the lucky few though.”
“I’m glad you are too.” He looked up, glancing around as though just realizing where he was. “Well, here we are again. On a date that I’ve dampened with my stupid rain clouds.”
I laughed. “Not at all. You’re far better company when you’re imperfect. And much less intimidating.”
“No one should be intimidated by me,” he said with a crooked grin. “I am just some strange, broken man born with my mother’s good genes. And her bad ones. I’m one of those watches, fine on the outside, but my gears…”
“Someone put you back together wrong?” I offered.
Didier covered my hand with his and gave it a squeeze. “Yes, I think they did.”
“It’s okay. That’s how my mother was too. How she is, I mean.”
“She’s still alive? The way you spoke about her before, I thought she was not.”
“She is. But we rarely talk. On Christmas, basically. For a while she was doing well, living at a residence. But she left and went off her medications, and she’s back to how she was when I was a teenager. She’s living alone in New Hampshire, probably raising hell for her neighbors.” I drained my glass.
“That’s very sad.”
“It is. I have an older brother who lives two towns away, where I grew up. If he wasn’t keeping an eye on her, I’d be worried. But he’s always been good with her. Plus he’s a gigantic guy. He can handle her when she’s in one of her really dangerous moods.”
“You haven’t talked about your brother.”
“No, we were never super-close. He’s twelve years older than me and moved out when he was sixteen, so I don’t remember ever living with him. He’s a good guy, but I don’t think we’ll ever have that bond. What about you? Any siblings?”
“Three half-siblings. Two sisters and a brother, who all grew up in Portugal, with my father.”
“Younger than you?”
Didier pursed his lips.
“No?”
“Older,” he confirmed. “I suppose you might say that my mother was my father’s mistress for a summer, though I do not think she knew he had a family back home.”
“Oh my.”
“When she got pregnant, he told her everything. I do not know exactly why she had me… To spite him or perhaps to try to keep him, because I do believe he’s the only man she ever loved. It’s easy to forget sometimes, that our parents were ever as young as us, younger. She was even younger than you, when I was born. But needless to say, I was not welcomed warmly by my stepfamily those few times I went to visit. I did not even understand who they were. I thought this must be my aunt and my cousins.”
“God.”
He nodded. “It was all very confusing. But my father was a good man. I’m sure it was not his choice for me to be born, but he didn’t keep me a secret. He did his best to make things right, though there was really no right to be found, in that situation.”
“Well, my parents did everything the way you’re supposed to. High-school sweethearts, engaged while my dad was in college, married, bought a house, had my brother. They checked every box in the right order, and it still fell apart.”
“But they raised you, and you’re successful.”
“I guess I’m on my way. But the first twenty years of my life I was a real train wreck. If I hadn’t fallen in love with art, who knows what I’d have gotten into.”
“Well, I’m so glad you did. It’s brought you here, to Paris. And her
I blushed. “I’m glad too. Everybody dreams of having some amazing love affair in this city. I did too. Then I started to think it’d never happen. But now it sort of has, just not quite in the way I’d imagined.”
He held his glass out and I clinked it with my empty one.
“What’s it like,” I asked, “being with someone as inexperienced as me? Do you feel any different about it than you would a woman who’s already had lovers?”
“Of course I do.”
“How so?”
“Well, I feel a bit possessive of you, I suppose.”
My body roused at the notion.
“And I do feel… What’s the right phrase? Full of myself.”
I laughed.
“I won’t pretend it’s not a thrill, knowing you waited so long, and that you picked me. And that I’m the only man you’ve known. I think that is engrained in a man, to wish his was the only cock a beautiful woman would ever want or ever feel.”
“You really think I’m beautiful?”
“I do. You do not?”
“No, I don’t. I’m less of a freak than I used to be, but I don’t think I’ll ever look in a mirror and see what’s there now. Only what I grew up seeing.”
“Well, I think you’re very beautiful. You have very soft hair.” He draped his arm along the back of the couch to smooth a curl behind my ear. “And this.” He traced my jaw and cheekbones with his finger.
“I hated that when I was little. I was always mistaken for a little boy, even when I had long hair.”
“In the art and fashion worlds, interesting faces are treasured. Androgyny too. Are people surprised to find you’re American?”
“Yeah.”
He nodded. “I was too. Surprised to see you at my door, after your postcard said you’re from the States. You look…I’m not sure. Dutch, perhaps. Pale and haunted.”
I laughed.
“Americans are so robust, we think. Soft and pink-faced and smiling and loud. You are none of those things. Although I do occasionally see the pink in here.” He leaned in and held my face, running his thumbs across my cheeks.
“That’s your fault.”
“Oh yes, such a scandalous man I am.” He let me go to sip his wine.
“Can I ask how you started…you know. It started with modeling, I imagine.”
He nodded. “It did. It always held much appeal, any money I could make at home. Even before the incident.”
“Of course.”
“It began as a favor of sorts. The line between posing for a photo for someone you’re attracted to, someone you might sleep with anyway… They blended together. A woman who paid me to model for her drawings came here every week, and things evolved, as they do. But some sessions, we did not get around to the drawing.” He bit his lip, his shyness charming me. “But she still paid me, those days. That’s how it happened. And once such a thing happens a few times with a few different women, those women become clients, and word gets around. And I won’t lie, I enjoyed the attention. Whether I’m wanted for a photo or a painting or in someone’s bed, the excitement to me is the same.”
“I see.”
“I want to be whatever people wish of me. Perhaps because I’m so broken in other ways. And actually, you… You’re the first client I’ve had in a very long time where I do not feel as if I’m playing a part. Maybe that first night, but even then…”
“Well, I have no idea what I want. That probably helps.”
He smirked. “And here I thought perhaps you just wanted me, exactly how I am.”
Never has a sentence filled me simultaneously with such sadness and delight. My lips trembled as I returned his smile. “Perhaps I do.”
“I’ve gotten so used to modifying who I am for women, I lost myself a little. Being with you feels very nice. I feel very pleasantly naked, like a costume has been removed.”
“I’m glad.” I wanted to tell him so many things—how not only did I feel I’ve rediscovered who I am, in this flat, but that maybe I never even knew who I really was until I met him. I was like one of his projects, busted and hollow until I arrived here, opened up and cleaned and put back together the right way, reanimated.
For a long time we sat in thoughtful silence, until Didier finished his wine and a deep yawn overtook me.
“It’s time?” he asked.
“I think so.”
I got my shoes on and he walked me to the door, as always. To the edge of his aquarium, as far as he could go without risking asphyxiation.
Didier took my hand. “Much has been said since we spoke about seeing one another on Friday. Do you need time to rethink anything?”
I felt my eyes widen. “What? No.” I laughed. “I don’t feel any different, knowing all that. Well, I do, but I certainly don’t think any less of you.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “I think you’re lovely. I’d like to see you on Friday. Is there… Do you need me to bring anything? Wine, or anything else?” Anything, anything at all.
“Would you like to bring an appetizer, perhaps? It’s supposed to be cold and rainy, I heard on the radio. I could make us soup, if you’d bring something as well.”
“Perfect.”
“Not so perfect as this evening.” Didier stooped to kiss me, light and fond.
It occurred to me anew—I’d just lost my virginity. “Indeed. Thank you, again.”
Another kiss and we bade one another goodnight, sweet dreams.
After I turned the corner to the stairs and heard his door close, I doubled back. For a minute or longer I stood staring at the iron panel beside the elevator, before I finally pushed the call button. The car rattled and clanged, every terrible noise a promise of my violent, plummeting demise.
At least I wouldn’t perish a virgin.
But when the death-cage squealed to the fifth floor, I hauled the folding gate aside and stepped in. My heart hammered all the way to the foyer, yet when I wobbled down the steps and into the cold breeze, I felt lighter. Slightly nauseous, very shaky, but dizzy with delight as well as adrenaline.
I passed couples on my way to the subway, and though my chest ached to know I’d never enjoy even the illusion of such a thing with the man I adored, I couldn’t feel poorly. I’d had sex tonight, and ridden in an elevator. I may not ever hold hands in the streetlight with a handsome man, but I would be okay. Every day, I was more okay.
And every day, I felt more and more like the woman I’ve always wanted people to think I am. The woman I want to be.
Friday
The Fourth Visit
I spent thirty-five euros at the deli up the street from my museum, on cheese and fruit and salty meats and fancy crackers. That’s fifty dollars’ worth. Easily enough money to feed me for an entire week, but the pretty packaging seduced me, as always.
I felt a bit inadequate, not having had time to make something impressive from scratch, arranged just so on in a pretty dish. But in the end, showing up with a plastic sack full of self-contained deliciousness was best, as the rain Didier’s radio had predicted touched down as something closer to a monsoon.
I arrived nervous and excited as always, if perhaps wetter than usual. We kissed and he asked me about my day. I felt strange when I asked him the same, knowing he’d been here, only here.
“It was a quiet day, until the storm arrived,” he said, taking my dripping umbrella. “You look nice.”
I laughed, looking down at the leggings plastered to my thighs, the puddle forming beneath me. “Thanks. You too.”
Didier looked far better than nice, of course. And that night he was wearing jeans, which appealed to me far more than I’d have guessed. Such an any-guy piece of clothing, when I’d grown so accustomed to this exceptional man verging on formal. But goddamn, he looked good. Cozy.
Which was perfect for what I had planned. I pictured my pajamas, folded in my overnight bag. Cozy, cozy, cozy.
“Wine?” he asked.
“Sure. And I have to get my half of dinner put together, if you’ve got a platter and a cheese knife.”
He set me up at the butcher block and uncorked a bottle. The kitchen already smelled fantastic from whatever soup was in the pot on the stove.
“Wow,” he said, watching me unloading the various goodies on the wood.
“I went a little crazy in the shop.”
“And I was worried I would not have enough to feed us both. Here.” He handed me a glass.
“Thanks. Cheers.” We clinked. “I have a favor to ask you tonight.”
He sipped his wine and set it aside. “Anything.”
“Tonight…” I took a breath, petrified to utter my wishes. “I was hoping I could pretend you’re my boyfriend.”
Didier smiled in that way that exploded inside my chest, my heart a water balloon full of warm, squishy pleasure, bursting. “Of course.”
“But I mean, I guess… Just be how you’d be, with a woman you’ve just started sleeping with. I trust you, sensing what my boundaries are. You seem to know what they are even before I do sometimes.”
“Okay.”
“So no asking me permission before we do anything we haven’t before. Anything you want to initiate, please just do.”
“Very organic.”
“Exactly. I don’t want to be reminded that I’m calling all the shots, you know?” And I didn’t want to be reminded that I was paying to get whatever I wanted.
Didier didn’t nod, didn’t utter an agreement. Instead he skirted the island and took my jaw in his hands and kissed me, brief but forceful. He licked his lips as he stepped back.
“That was exactly what I wanted,” he said.
Heat rose, flooding my cheeks. “Good.”
“May I be frank?”
I nodded.
“I’m very attracted to you.”
The blush burned hotter. “Oh?”
“And you’re asking me to treat and approach you as if this was not all under your direction, everything done with your permission already tendered.”
“Right.”
“So please tell me, honestly, if it’s too much. If I come on too strong. What you and I have done before… Nothing is an act with me. I’m a passionate man.”
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