As the sky grows dark, they linger with coffee and a chocolate soufflé; when night settles over the city, the tower is lit with a golden glow. At the stroke of the nine o’clock hour, a trail of sparkling lights flitters up and down the tower. Max watches with the wonder of a child, and her eyes reflect the sparkle of the lights. The table Andrew has selected sits in the center of it all; he smiles knowing this was indeed a good choice.
When they leave the restaurant, they walk back to the Hotel Vendome. It is a long walk but seems too short. He walks with his arm circling her waist, and she curls herself into him as if she is meant to be there.
~ ~ ~
Julien is still sitting in the corner chair. He has left it only for a few moments at a time—long enough to grab another container of coffee or use the toilet. For twelve hours he has watched the door, waiting for her return.
He sees them as they step into the lobby. The man with his arm around her like she belongs to him. The two of them walking together as he once did with her.
They pass him by as if he doesn’t exist.
Julien stands and calls out her name. “Maxine!”
She turns quickly; her face drains of color. “Julien?”
Andrew looks at the stranger and then turns back to Max. “Julien? Is this the Julien that…” The remainder of his question hangs in the air.
Max nods then stumbles through an introduction. “Andrew,” she says warily, “meet Julien Marceau. Julien, Andrew Steen.”
The men shake hands, but it is the handshake of two boxers readying themselves for battle.
Andrew gives a slight nod.
Julien doesn’t do even that. He turns to Max and says, “I’ve got to talk to you.”
For a long moment Max stands there and says nothing, her expression stony and the muscles in her back rigid.
“Why now?” she finally asks. “What are you looking for this time, Julien?”
Andrew notices that she doesn’t say no. She is hesitant, but she doesn’t turn him away; there is still a question in her mind.
“Please,” Julien begs, “it’s important. There are things I have to say.”
Andrew looks down at Max. “I’d better go. You and Julien obviously have things to talk about.”
Before she can deny this, Andrew turns and walks away. There is no kiss goodbye, only the back of his broad shoulders disappearing into the night.
Andrew Steen
Maybe walking away is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life, but the truth is I had no choice.
Yes, I love Max; I’ve come to realize that more with every minute we spend together. But loving someone doesn’t guarantee they’ll love you back. I want her to love me and I’ll do anything in my power to win that love, but I won’t take it by default.
I knew from the start that she came here looking for this man, but I thought maybe by now she had forgotten him. Unfortunately I don’t think she has.
The instant he called her name, her expression changed. I can’t say what was going through her head. Shock, maybe? Anger? Love?
There was a moment when she could have turned her back and walked away, but she didn’t. She waited and let him reach out for her.
In the courtroom I have all too often seen the faces of desperation, and this Julien had that same look on his face. Perhaps he wants Max as much as I do. It’s impossible to know why he’s here or what he wants.
Him I don’t care about.
But where Max is concerned, this much I know: there can be no “us” until she has rid her heart of “him.”
The Conversation
As soon as Andrew is gone, Julien grabs Max’s hand and holds it to his heart.
“Feel the pounding,” he says. “It’s caused by a fear of losing you.”
Max looks away, not allowing her eyes to meet his. “Why are you here, Julien? I have nothing more for you to steal.”
Julien’s face takes on a look of shock. “Mon dieu! You think I would steal from you?”
“You did already,” Max says. “You and your girlfriend took my phone, my wallet and the last bit of dignity I had.”
“Not me!” he exclaims. “The little witch, she is the one. I knew nothing of what she was doing. Only later I learned, and then it was too late.” He heaves a great sigh as if this thought burdens his heart.
He pulls the phone from his pocket and hands it to her. “I came here to return this.” He stops in the middle of his words and focuses his eyes on the floor. “I am ashamed to say the money she has kept.”
Max slides the phone into her pocket and turns away. “Why should I believe anything you say? You’ve lied to me before, and—”
“I was a fool,” Julien cuts in. “I was a fool to let you go, but I was a fool in love. I thought what I was doing was right. I had nothing to offer and believed you would be better off without me.”
As Julien speaks tears roll from his eyes, and Max sees this.
“You could have let me know,” she says. “You could have sent an email or found some way to contact me. Maybe if you would have said something…”
Julien sees this crack in her defenses. “Let’s go to your room, some place private where we can—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then come and sit with me. There is so much we need to talk about.” He takes her hand and tugs her to the corner of the lobby.
She sits in one chair, and he sits across from her.
“Your being here is a bad idea,” she says. “I’m going home tomorrow—”
He drops forward and falls on his knees, his head in her lap. “Please, Maxine, don’t go. Now that I’ve found you I can’t bear to lose you again.”
He utters a sob-like sound, and Max feels the quivering of his shoulders. There is a part of her that wants to reach down and comfort him, cradle his head in her hands and say that she also knows the pain of the past three years. But she holds back.
“Please don’t do this,” she says. “It’s too late, too much has happened—”
He lifts his head and looks into her eyes. “It should never be too late for a man who is truly in love.”
His words are like opium, a drug that poisons with visions of beauty.
He tells Max he has left the little witch, that he wants to start anew, make a life together. At some point his words start to sound truthful. Perhaps because they are the words she has waited so long to hear.
He pleads with her not to leave, saying he still loves her, that he has never stopped loving her.
The three years of longing are there, just beneath Max’s skin, but now they are mixed with other emotions. A voice in the back of her mind whispers, Once a liar, always a liar.
After almost two hours of listening to his pleas and promises, she pushes him away.
“You should go, Julien,” she says. “There is nothing more for us to talk about.”
“You’re wrong,” he says. “I know I’ve hurt you, but that’s in the past. I’m a changed man. Just give me a chance to prove—”
She stands and walks back toward the elevator.
He follows her. “One chance. That’s all I’m asking for. You came here in search of me, and now I’m here, giving myself to you.”
She steps into the elevator and as the door closes she hears him say, “I’m not going to let you go like this. We can be happy together; I know we can. All I’m asking for is a chance to—”
Troubled Minds
The walk back to the Hotel Baltimore is long, and to Andrew it seems even longer than it actually is. His thoughts are like a movie reel circling through his mind. There are images of their days together and of Max tilting her mouth to his, but they are intermingled with the picture of her looking into the face of Julien, the ex-lover. Early on Max said she’d come to Paris in search of this man. Now that she’s found him, what next?
By the time Andrew reaches the Hotel Baltimore, both his brain and body are weary. He would like nothing better than to fall into bed a
nd close his eyes, but sleep is impossible to come by. Closing his eyes only starts the movie all over again. There are no answers in the images, only questions.
~ ~ ~
Max is exhausted, and her head aches. It is nearly two-thirty and still she cannot sleep. The logical part of her heart argues that she should rid herself of Julien for good, but the old memories refuse to let go. He is like a shoe that pinches your foot. Uncomfortable though it may be, you hang on to it because of its beauty.
Perhaps if she took an aspirin… As Max rummages through her bag in search of an aspirin, she sees the tea Annie gave her. Remembering the calming effect of the tea, she pulls the box from her bag. A cup or two might allow her to sleep.
At 2:30AM she pulls on jeans and a tee shirt and goes to the tiny breakfast room in back of the lobby. Come morning this room will be thick with the aroma of coffee and crowded with people, but now it is dark and empty. Running her hand along the wall, she feels for the light switch and snaps it on. Good, they have left the teakettle on the counter. She fills it with water and sets it on to boil.
Opening the box, she takes the infuser and fills it with the last of the mix. The kettle whistles, and she pours water into the cup. After the tea has turned a golden amber color, she sits at the table and sips it slowly.
It is sweet without sugar and as relaxing as she remembers. She curls her fingers around the warm cup and remembers Annie’s words. There is no such thing as a love potion, but this will protect you from making a mistake.
Thinking back over all that has happened, Max remains there for a long time. When she finishes the first cup, she brews a second and carries it back to her room.
~ ~ ~
Andrew watches the clock tick the minutes off. It is one-thirty, then two, but still he is thinking of Max. Surely by now she has decided something. Will it be to allow this ex-lover back into her life or turn away from him?
By 2:35AM the questions hammering at his brain are more than he can stand. He picks up the telephone and calls Max’s hotel.
The Vendome is a small hotel, and there is no night attendant. There is only a mechanical voice that says to dial the room number of the person you wish to speak with. This message is repeated first in French and then English. If you do not know the room number, it says, press one for the directory.
Andrew presses one; then, using the telephone keypad, he taps out the first four letters of Max’s last name. The voice responds with “Maxine Martinelli, Room 3-1-7.”
He clicks 3-1-7, and the telephone in Max’s room rings. He waits. It rings nine times; then another voice comes on saying his party is not available and asking if he wants to leave a message.
Andrew doesn’t. He hangs up; leaving a message is like watching another rerun of the reel in his head. It raises more questions but offers no answers.
He wonders if Max is still in the lobby. Is it possible they are talking things over? Perhaps this Julien has been searching for her just as she came searching for him. Andrew pictures the look of desperation he saw on Julien’s face. He is certain a man with such a look wants something.
Andrew tries to imagine the possibilities. He came to catch up on old times? No, he looked too desperate. Borrow money? A possibility. Ask her to take him back? A very real possibility. In the past she belonged to him; did he come to reclaim her?
When the thoughts begin to grow heavy in his head Andrew goes to the minibar, opens it and removes a tiny bottle of scotch. He pours the amber liquid into a glass and takes a sip. For almost a half hour he paces the room; when he is too weary to continue pacing he sits on the side of the bed and tries to think.
His thoughts go back to Liza, and he remembers the pain of separation. This is not something he wants to go through again. These memories of yesteryear argue that he should forget Max and move on, but he finds this impossible to do.
In the short time they have spent together he has felt happier than ever before. He tries to tell himself that, despite this, there is the possibility that it simply wasn’t meant to be. But he doesn’t believe it. Not for one minute.
~ ~ ~
When she finishes the second cup of tea, Max yawns and leans back into her pillow. Minutes later she is sound asleep.
The room is unfamiliar, and yet there are pieces of it that Max recognizes: the teacups from her mother’s china, the parson’s chairs pictured in her Someday portfolio, a scrap of fabric folded into a napkin. On the far wall a large window overlooks a stretch of grass. Scattered along the edges are bursts of color. Azaleas, hydrangeas, bluebells and a dogwood tree heavy with blossoms. She catches the scent of jasmine, and from somewhere close by she can hear the sound of children at play.
Annie sits across from her and holds a baby on her lap. She tickles the baby’s tummy, and it giggles. These sounds are familiar, but from where Max cannot say.
“This is all so confusing,” she says.
Annie smiles. “It’s not that confusing; you’ll get used to it.”
Max studies the room, soaking up every small detail: the potted violet on the kitchen windowsill, the aged patina of the wainscoting, the sheer curtain drawn back with a single ribbon.
“It’s seems I know this place,” she says.
Annie laughs. “I should hope so. You designed it.”
“But…” Max stutters, “how did I get here?”
Again Annie laughs. “You made the right choice.”
“How? How could I make the right choice when I’m still so confused? Was it because of the magic in the tea?”
“There is no magic,” Annie says. “The tea only calms you so you can see the truth of what’s in your heart. The magic comes from loving someone.”
“But—”
“It’s late, and I’ve got to get home,” Annie says. “Oliver will be—”
“This isn’t your house?” Max asks.
Annie laughs again. “Of course not. Oliver and I are still at Memory House. We’ll be there for the rest of our lives and then some.” She stands, calls to the children playing in the yard and then hands the baby to Max.
As Annie shoos the two youngsters out the door she turns back. “Don’t forget, we’re expecting you and Andrew for dinner Sunday.”
Max looks down at the baby in her arms and sees it has Andrew’s soft gray eyes. A swell of love comes into her heart; it is so huge the force of it wakes her.
Max
Last night when Julien said how much he needed me, I have to admit I was swayed. How could I not be? I’ve spent the last three years hoping and praying to hear just that. Wishing for something for so long and then turning away when you finally get it feels kind of weird. It’s like climbing a mountain and then moments before you step onto the summit turning and going back down. Even if in your heart you know the top of the mountain is a volcano that will suck you in and destroy every dream you’ve ever had you still reach for it, because it’s what you’ve been wanting for so long.
Don’t worry; I’m not going to make the same mistake twice.
Spending this past week with Andrew has made me see what love should be. Love is supposed to be sweet and kind and thoughtful. Love shouldn’t be endless days of heartache and feeling miserable. I wish I had realized this years ago; I’d have saved myself a whole lot of heartache.
I know Andrew likes me—a lot. I can’t say for sure he loves me. I can’t even say for sure I’m in love with him. It’s too soon. But this afternoon we’ll be flying home together, and once we get back to Virginia we’ll have time to figure things out.
Hopefully.
When Andrew left last night he didn’t even stop to look back. I imagine he is pretty disappointed in me. Disappointed and maybe even hurt. He’s a great guy and doesn’t deserve that. I need to let Andrew see that I like him every bit as much as he likes me, and I think I know how to do it.
The sun isn’t even up yet and I’ve had less than four hours sleep, but I really don’t care. I’m going to jump in the shower, get dressed and hu
rry over to the Hotel Baltimore. I’ll go straight to Andrew’s room, and when he opens the door I’ll wrap my arms around him and kiss him smack on the mouth. That ought to show him exactly how I feel. Afterward I’ll suggest we go to breakfast together. That’s when I’ll tell him Julien is ancient history. I can already see the smile Andrew is going to have when he hears me say that.
I’m not going to mention the dream. It’s too soon, and besides it really was only a dream. Wasn’t it?
Missed Connections
It is a long while before Andrew finally falls asleep. He dozes for less than two hours then is awake again. It is almost six o’clock; surely she is back in the room by now. He again calls the Hotel Vendome, and when the mechanical voice answers he taps in 3-1-7. The telephone rings nine times; then the recording answers.
Andrew slams the phone down. “Dammit!” He stomps back and forth across the room several times then decides.
It takes him less than ten minutes to pack; then he storms out of the room. He is a fool to care. A fool to let a week’s worth of fun morph into something more than what it is. He stops at the desk, checks out, then leaves the hotel and climbs into a taxicab.
“Charles de Gaulle airport,” he says.
~ ~ ~
Max turns off the shower and listens. A moment ago she thought she heard the telephone. Wrapping a towel around herself and leaving a trail of drips across the bathroom tile, she hurries in and lifts the receiver. A dial tone, that’s it. The message light is not flashing, but still she taps 4 and waits.
“You have no messages,” the recording says.
“That’s odd,” she mumbles then returns to the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later she is dressed and ready to go, but still she is thinking of the telephone call. On the off chance that it was Andrew, she picks up the telephone and calls the Hotel Baltimore. It will spoil the surprise of her standing right there in front of him, but better that than to have him call and think she is avoiding his call.
What the Heart Remembers Page 18
