by Ann Jacobus
They push past a dark window.
“Ack,” Summer screeches. “There’s someone sitting in there!”
“Look again,” Kurt yells back. Light spillover from the huge searchlight momentarily illuminates a life-size wax dummy of Monsieur Eiffel in his late-nineteenth-century waistcoat and jacket, forever at his drawing table.
“Creepy.”
Frigid air blasts from the northwest and the English Channel, whistling—screaming around every wire and solid surface. They struggle to the south side of the deck and stare out at the million lights of Paris way, way below. Above, it’s starless. Even in the lee of the covered observation area, the noise is fierce and their coats slap their legs. Her face is numb. She fishes the wire cutters out of her coat pocket.
She squeezes the handles as hard as she can, working on one bit of the surprisingly thick wire above the wooden banister, atop a denser metal mesh railing. She works with concentration she hasn’t had in years. The wind is too loud for conversation anyway. The Champs de Mars park stretches out far below.
“Need bolt cutters,” Kurt yells into her ear.
Her hand aches. The tool is simply too small for the thick wire. “You could help, you know.”
“Nope. Not my job. Besides, I’m saving my strength for the important part.”
“Running away?” she mutters. She does wonder what he means. Will he push her or something? No. But she already knows he’ll desert her, as usual.
It doesn’t matter.
She pulls a flap of the wire backward and tears her leather glove. She works at it a little longer. It’s ridiculous, it will take weeks.
“Kurt. Can you just give me a hand here, please?” she yells.
He shakes his head. With effort, she dislodges another piece of the cut metal and with the blades, pushes it back. Great. She has a five-inch hole now.
“If your cutters are too wimpy,” he says into her ear, “there’s always the river.”
Summer nods. “Yep. I guess you were right. Maybe we should just head on down there—”
Over the roar, they feel rather than hear the clunk of the elevator below them on the lower level. Kurt holds his hand up, as in Wait and listen.
Some security person has come to bust them. It might even be the police.
She pulls Kurt by the arm. They move farther along the walkway behind the apartment and wait. There’s too much noise to hear anything. Summer leans out from the wall to see the spot where the stairs come up. Her pulse is banging in her ears.
Nothing.
But two seconds later, a figure appears at the corner of the deck, illuminated in the glow of the red and white tower lights. It’s Moony! She could recognize his tilted silhouette anywhere. He sees her and yells something that’s lost in the wind.
“Get rid of him,” growls Kurt, stepping back farther into the shadows.
She steps out. Moony has on only his thin navy fleece jacket, and no gloves or hat. Or cane. He limps over to her moving as quickly as she’s ever seen him move. He’s panting and wild eyed.
“What’re you doing?” he demands between gasps.
She doesn’t know what to say. It seems kind of obvious standing there with her wire cutters.
“Someone with you?” His hair is plastered to his forehead and his jacket and eyelashes are beaded with rain.
“No,” she lies.
“Come on. Get hot chocolate.” He reaches for her hand.
She steps back against the railing and wire cage. “Moony, please go.”
“No way.” He takes her by the arm. Over the wind, a siren wails far below.
“You’re being a helper,” she says, an attempt at a low blow.
But it doesn’t work. He won’t let go of her arm.
“Why are you even here?” she demands. The powerful beam of the searchlight shoots over their heads and their shadows spin beneath them.
Moony says matter-of-factly, “I love you.”
His brown eyes lock on hers with defiance. She lets her breath out and looks away, then back at him. “I know. I love you, too.”
There. They both said it. They love each other.
But it’s not enough.
“I still have to do this.”
“No. You absolutely don’t!” he screams into the gale. “Let’s go home.”
“I guess it’s silly to expect you to understand.” She’s contemplating her options. No matter how she kills herself, she has to get him to leave. If she talks to him calmly, reassures him—
He wraps his arms around her and holds on. She struggles to break free of him but he’s stronger. She pushes him off, huffing. He grabs her again.
“Let me go! You’ve ruined everything!” she cries. She’s got to get away.
“Going over with you then,” he says.
“Oh, for chrissakes.” He will not let go. Summer looks around for Kurt. He’s going to have to help if he wants her to do it tonight.
He’s nowhere to be seen.
She’ll have to plan this way better next time. She did, after all, call Moony and tell him exactly where she was going.
They stand as the wind screeches around them. Then Moony pulls her, arms still locked around her, down the metal stairs to the elevators.
The sparkling lights are on. They can’t help looking down at the wider sweep of the tower below and seeing the hundreds of thousands of lights twinkling.
A night guard waits by one of the elevators. He stares at Summer with dark Gallic wariness.
“Smile,” hisses Moony. “Said you came up on a dare.”
She forces a smile. Moony rattles off something reassuring to the man in French. He probably paid him off, too, to get up here. If he’d told them his real suspicions, there would be a squad of police with handcuffs waiting for her below.
When they arrive at the second platform, Moony drags her to the metal stairs. “Lower elevators closed. Gotta walk down.”
As if she has any choice. “Okay, freaking let go,” she says. “I’m coming with you.”
FIFTY-THREE
It takes forever getting down the Eiffel Tower stairs from the second platform to the bottom even though Summer helps Moony the whole way. She has to.
“Why do you even like me?” she asks him as they round yet another landing. “It’s sick to like me.” She knows it, he knows it.
He hesitates, then says slowly, “On some level, suspected this.”
“You mean … jumping?” She’s shocked.
“Admire your attitude. Also sucker for lost causes.” He smiles weakly.
“Now, that makes more sense. Damn straight.”
Then he says what she’s thinking. “They thought I was a lost cause. Proved them wrong.” He goes on. “You think you are. Give anything if you could see through my eyes. What a gift and privilege life is. How it can get better.” They pause on a landing and he gazes at her.
She shakes her head. He can’t understand.
His face hardens. “Think it’s all brave to want to die.”
She takes his hand and holds it with both of hers. “Don’t you see? I love you. Moony, I do. But I’m a black hole! Can you understand that? More than anything I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”
He says nothing.
She adds, “I don’t think it’s brave. There’s no way I can make you understand.”
“You’re wrong. I do understand.”
“I can’t bear living.”
“Brave enough to die, then you’re brave enough to live.” He grips her hand. “Have the freaking courage to get help, to get better.”
He makes it sound so straightforward and easy. “You have no idea. I’ve tried so, so many times. It’s not a matter of courage. It’s a matter of energy. Now it takes way more energy than I have. It’s like I’m already dead.”
“Bullshit,” he spits.
It stuns her, coming from him. She pulls her hand away.
His eyes flash. “Can’t belie
ve how lame—how pigheaded—you’re being. You are backing down from only thing that matters. Living.”
“It’s unbearable! I can’t do it any longer!” she cries.
“You’re the only one who can make it bearable!” he screams. “You! You! Not others!”
“But I can’t. It’s not worth it. And I can’t hang on any longer. I don’t want to live. I want to die.” She drops her head in her hands. “I want to kill myself.”
Moony bellows, “You have everything … you need … to get help … to find meaning. We all do. Fucking look for it! It’s everywhere. So much you could do if you stop feeling sorry for yourself, being the world’s biggest brat.”
Summer’s jaw drops. “But—You—I—You’re not supposed to say that to a suicidal person.”
“You’re saying … everything … I fought for … suffered for, since accident, is … worthless!” He shakes his head in disgust then glares at her. “Should be executed.”
“Me? Oh, that makes a lot of sense! Go ahead. Please! Shoot me now. And while you’re at it, fuck you.”
“You’re the one throwing away life.” He takes a deep breath, then says quietly, “And love.”
They walk the rest of the way in silence. Red fury at Moony bubbles. She hates him. She wants to kill him. No, she doesn’t. Herself is enough. But her brain is a tilt-a-whirl bouncing around her skull. Which way is up?
Finally on solid ground again, he grips her by the arm, all the way across the plaza beneath the tower. The sparkling lights come on again, blinking all around them, like a fairy disco land. One whole hour has gone by.
It’s midnight and December 17 is over.
“I am not riding that scooter all the way home. I’d rather be executed,” she says, scowling and pulling her flask from her coat pocket. Strangely, a part of her doesn’t want it. But she does need it right now. Plus it will annoy the hell out of Moony.
She takes one sip. Then holds it up for him.
Moony sighs. “Taxi, then.” To her surprise, he takes her flask and throws his head back. Two, three glugs and hands it back empty.
“What?” he says.
“Nothing.” But it bums her out, if it’s possible to get any lower. She’s why he did that.
As they pull his scooter over to a bike rack and he locks it, she contemplates bolting. Moony is only delaying things. But her energy is gone.
He takes her by the arm again and they walk to the street. It’s thirteen minutes past midnight, an impossible time to find a taxi in Paris because it’s the same time everyone goes home from dinner out. Plus it’s still drizzling. Moony calls for one, and gets a recording. They try to flag down two taxis to no avail.
“Anyone at your house?” he demands.
“No.”
“Staying with you. Métro,” he says, fatigue flattening his voice. He gazes down the Seine. “Bir-Hakeim’s closed. Trocadéro.” The two nearest metro stations.
Now Summer just wants to go somewhere and sleep. They cross the bridge. She doesn’t look over the side at the dark river because Kurt might be loitering beneath like a troll.
They shuffle past the big fountain, heading for the wide plaza and museums of the Trocadéro and the Métro entrance there. The rain has stopped.
Moony calls his mom and says he’s taking Summer home and will stay at her house.
They climb all the Trocadéro steps. Moony drags. They pause to rest finally on the plaza and look out at the Eiffel Tower on the other side of the river, and the shimmering lights of the city beyond.
She takes his hand. “Please don’t be mad. I’ve never had a friend like you.”
“Never had a friend like you,” he says. They laugh. His gaze says … what, she’s not certain. Not sorry, that’s for sure.
“I’m not saying it’s worthless,” she says softly.
“You are,” he insists. “But I’m not you. Haven’t lived your life.”
“I just can’t stand it anymore,” she murmurs.
Moony closes his eyes, as if to end any more discussion. He grips her hand.
Underground, the next train isn’t due for six minutes according to the electronic sign, and is the last one. Her trainophobia disappeared. Of course, she thinks. Trying to jump off the Eiffel Tower cures it.
No, she’s not afraid because Moony is with her.
“Summer?” he mumbles. “You’ll get help? This iss serious.” He slurs his words.
She nods, and means it. A bit of her has thawed somewhere.
They sit in two plastic seats bolted to the mustard-colored tiled wall, leaning against each other. The lights above them gleam harshly. Moony looks ill. There’s no one else on their side, and a bum sleeps against the wall directly opposite them. Moony slumps against her in exhaustion.
“Jeez, Moony. I’ve got to get you home. By the way, did you see your present before … you came to find me?” she asks.
“Present?”
“In front of your door.”
“Never went up. Jus’ got the scooter.”
“Oh. Then you’ll see it tomorrow. It’s for after your operation.” She clears her throat and holds his curled hand. The pathetic bag of gummy bears is the only thing she’s ever done for him. He just saved her stupid, hopeless life.
And for what?
Her eyes look down the empty tunnel, then follow the curved ceiling above them, down to the platform on the other side of the tracks.
In a hot-orange seat with his legs crossed, sits Kurt. He moves his ankle in time to some inaudible beat. Behind him is a huge wall ad of a naked woman for Acide perfume. He winks at Summer.
She glares at him and wishes with all her being he’d just give it up for a while. He walks out the exit to the stairs to the main level.
The hairs on her arms rise. She’s not only ready to back down, but to run like hell.
“Moony? Um, maybe we should take the scooter,” she says, standing, but thinking of him having to walk all the way back. Her mind is racing. Could they find a taxi easier on this side of the river? Or call a car service? Could she carry him piggyback? “I, uh…”
“Train’ll be here, three minutes,” he murmurs.
Already Kurt appears out of the passageway on their side of the tracks. He strides toward them, staring at Summer. Here he is, she thinks. Prince Not-So-Charming. Wrong guy at the right place and time. A groan escapes from her throat. Moony turns to see.
“You,” he says, standing unsteadily. “I knew it.”
FIFTY-FOUR
Kurt saunters over, trailing his pungent smell. He and Moony scowl at one another.
“Introductions not needed, then?” says Summer. Her mouth is dry. Moony not only sees but knows Kurt.
“We’re acquainted,” Moony says. He puts his hand over his nose. “Whew.”
“When did you know Kurt?” Summer steps between them.
“Azzy,” Moony corrects. “Several times—post-rehab depression, when addicted to painkillers. And … a time or two lately.” He sighs and sinks back into the seat.
“We’re old pals.” Kurt smiles and pats Moony on the back. Then pulls Summer to him.
Summer says, “Oh.” Moony knows him all right. But how did he … avoid him?
He said lately.
Kurt grips Moony’s weak shoulder. Moony holds his forehead in his good hand. “Swear, though. Wonder why I fight it. Him.”
“What?” says Summer. Her scalp and neck prickle.
“Not going to make it to old age anyway.”
“Don’t say that,” she says, grabbing his other shoulder and stepping away from Kurt.
“This operation. So sick of it all,” he whispers. “Would be so. Much. Simpler.”
“Moony! You’ll do fine!” she insists.
He shakes his head.
Kurt says, “You won’t make it, brother. Sadly, it’s a hopeless situation this time. But you can still take control. Keep your honor and dignity.” He pulls Summer to him again.
“How do you know
?” demands Summer, shrugging Kurt off.
“Really? You doubt me?” he asks.
The train approaches.
Kurt takes Summer’s hand. “Come, Razorback. It’s time.”
Do I doubt him? What is true? It doesn’t matter, she thinks. Ambivalence is a funny thing. I’ll destroy myself. I’ll live. I won’t. I will. It can all be over, now. She still wants that. The date doesn’t matter.
But what about Moony?
Kurt extends his other hand. “Come, my brave Moony.” He grins. “How romantic. A love triangle.” He raps, “You love each other. You both love me. That makes us a threesome … for eternity.”
“Spare us,” says Summer.
“It’s best,” says Moony, standing unsteadily.
“What?” cries Summer. “You’re Super Moony. You help everyone. Don’t help him!”
Moony doesn’t look at her.
“Kurt and I are one thing. But you’re entirely another. You’re the only true thing I know!” Summer wails. “You just told me that meaning is everywhere. Wait!”
From the tunnel at the head of the station, the rumble of the coming train amplifies.
“No waiting,” Kurt says. He pulls them to the edge of the platform. The headlight is now visible in the tunnel.
The old guy against the opposite wall stares at them with a worried expression. He catches Summer’s eye and shakes his head.
Dad chose to go with Kurt. Isn’t she just like him? He’s the one who told her to not back down.
They balance on the concrete edge. The familiar stale air pushed out of the tunnel by the oncoming train washes over them, along with the scent of old urine, and even a pungent whiff of the bum’s unwashed body. In addition to Kurt’s stink. In her line of vision, the toes of her boots emerge from the bottoms of her jeans out over the gravel, the silver gum wrapper, torn chips package, and the tracks.
The face of the driver in the illuminated cab rushes toward them from the darkness. A woman. She observes them without expression, then her eyes widen.
