I followed her to the neighborhood of Pigalle. We passed brothels and sex shops and I began to get excited. Maybe Mel’s Paris life was going to prove to be salacious after all. But no, she turned off into a bistro, La Cantine de la Cigale. It was a red-walled little place with low-hanging lights and large blackboards with specials. Outside, there were rows of heavy steel chairs, all facing outward as they did in Paris, where people watching seemed to be part of the culture.
I hoped she’d take one of those chairs, where it would be easier to eavesdrop. But of course she headed inside instead, choosing a table by the window. I pulled my jacket tighter and took a seat outside. Mel was facing away from the glass, but I hoped that catching glimpses of the face of whoever she was meeting might give me a hint to what was going on. I had to twist my body to see inside so instead I watched the door. Within minutes, a young woman approached. I knew her face well, but she looked different in three dimensions. I had seen her smile, flattened and filtered, many times on Mel’s Facebook. She was one of her best friends, Léa. As she passed me, she caught my eye. I looked away quickly.
I’d had a look at Léa’s Facebook page a few times as well in those long hours at home alone. I always checked out anyone Mel posted about. Léa was French, but her English seemed to be flawless. From what I’d gathered, it seemed like she’d studied acting along with Mel, but given up on it soon after. Now she was a production manager on a French soap opera, spending her days running around with a headset on and dealing with actors’ tantrums and costuming catastrophes.
At the bistro, she shared a cold cuts platter with Mel. I just had a black coffee, wrapping my hands around it to keep them warm. I wished there was some way I could sit inside. Mel was probably spilling all her secrets to her friend right now.
I twisted around to look at them. Mel was dipping a pickle in the pâté, and gesturing with it as she talked. She got her phone out and was showing something on the screen to Léa. I could almost see it. I wrenched around even farther. The chair’s legs on the opposite side lifted off the ground. I was suspended for a moment, scrambling to readjust. It was too late. I fell, arm scraping against the ground, chair falling next to me with a loud crack. Fuck. I lay still on the pavement for a moment. She’d seen. Surely, she’d seen.
“Ça va?” The waiter had emerged.
“Fine.” I waved him away. “Sorry. Yeah. Totally fine.”
My cheeks burned. Slowly, I looked up at the window, expecting to see her face, mouth open in shock and disgust and fear. But she was facing away from me. She was still looking at the screen of her phone. Léa on the other hand was looking straight at me, an expression somewhere between concern and amusement playing on her face. I threw some money on the table and rushed away from my upturned chair, heart pounding. I rounded the corner, then leaned against a wall, my breath coming in bursts, skin prickling with panic, hot against the chilled air. That had been so close. Too close.
I inspected the damage. My coat wasn’t ripped, thank God. There was blood dripping down my arm though. My wrist and the side of my forearm had gotten the worst of it, a dirt-encrusted graze throbbing painfully. I looked through my bag and recovered a scrunched-up tissue from the bottom. I held it to the wound, wincing.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, Mel and Léa emerged. They kissed on each cheek, then walked in opposite directions. I followed Léa. She walked north, in the direction of Montmartre. I still felt too shaken to follow Mel, too worried that I might do something stupid again, that she might see me.
Léa seemed to be window-shopping. She went inside a bookstore for fifteen minutes, idly flipping through paperbacks. She went to a dress store, and spent a while inspecting an edgy-looking leather bag while talking to the salesgirl in clipped French, but she didn’t end up buying it. I waited outside, too afraid that she’d recognize me again, or that my bloodied wrist would attract the chagrin of the salesgirl. Léa hesitated outside a small shop, then went inside. Looking up, I noticed the neon cross that connoted a pharmacy. I paused, an idea forming in my head. Then I took a deep breath, tried to conjure back some kind of confidence and followed her.
She was standing in front of the skin-care section, sniffing hand creams. The bell sounded as I entered, and I let her catch me notice her. She looked away quickly. I went over to where the Band-Aids were and took some off the shelf. Then I turned to her again. She looked up at me, and I smiled.
“Anglais?” I asked.
She nodded.
“You saw that, at the bistro, didn’t you?” I pretended to be embarrassed.
“Yes.” She smiled. “I don’t know how you managed it. It was a spectacular fall.”
I put my hand to my head, angled it so she could see my injured wrist. “So embarrassing! I think I should just go back to Australia now.”
I saw her eyes flick to the graze. “You hurt yourself?”
“Oh—” I looked at it “—it’s nothing. Actually...could you help me?”
A weariness flashed across her face. “With what?”
“It’s okay, actually, don’t worry. Sorry, I shouldn’t be bothering you. I just can’t figure out which one is antiseptic, but it’s fine.”
I turned away from her, went back toward the Band-Aids. I stood there for a moment, pretending to be focused on the vials and bottles. I heard movement behind me. Léa came to stand next to me. She was taller than me and, turning toward her, I noticed a small mole just below her bottom lip. I felt a warmth go through me, a wanting. That pull toward someone I hadn’t felt since Evan.
“This one,” she said, pulling a red-and-white bottle from the shelf and handing it to me. I took it from her, let my hand touch hers just slightly.
“Thanks,” I said.
* * *
“She said he just suddenly jumped out of his chair and said he had to go, but as soon as they were outside he said he needed to use the bathroom and he went back in.”
“Strange.”
“Yeah, she thinks that maybe he spotted someone else in there he liked the look of better.”
“Did she go and check?”
“Don’t think so but I think she’s been texting him.” She pulled the blanket until it reached our chins. “I don’t usually do this in the middle of the day, you know.”
I rolled onto my stomach and grinned at her. “Me neither.”
“So, how long have you guys been friends?”
She looked at me out of the corner of her eye, and I knew I was starting to push it. I kissed her bare shoulder. “Don’t know why I’m so interested. I guess it’s nice to hear about another Australian in this city.”
“Which city are you from?”
“Perth,” I lied. “What about her? How strange would it be if we knew each other.”
“No, she’s from Melbourne.”
“Did you guys ever...?” I let the question hang.
“Oh God no,” she laughed. “That girl is as straight as they come. The only reason she’d show me any of that kind of interest is if she thought I could get her a role.”
I resisted any remark.
“How long are you staying for?” she was asking me. “I’d like to see you again. You’re sweet.”
We were in her studio apartment. It had large windows and sheer white curtains, one wall was stacked high with magazines, a mixture of the white spines of art journals and the yellow of National Geographic.
“A week or so,” I said. “Not long.”
“Can I convince you to extend?”
I’d been considering it. I was only just starting to get a sense of how Mel lived now. I still had no idea what I was going to do to her, but Celia’s money was starting to run dry.
“Maybe.”
I had a long hot shower at Léa’s place, whose bathroom was much nicer than the mildewy tiles at the hostel. My flesh was feeling reawakened. C
leansed. I wasn’t afraid of being touched anymore. It had been different with Léa than it had been with Clem—better. I had actually enjoyed it, actually let myself forget everything for a few moments and just be in my body. Her skin was so warm and soft, her touches so tender. As I washed myself with her expensive, creamy soap it struck me that I hadn’t felt this good in a long, long time. Maybe it was because I was so close. Once I got back at Mel, made her feel how I had felt, even for an instant, then I knew I could move on. And for the first time it felt like there was something for me after all this, that despite everything I knew about myself, I might be able to have some sort of life of my own after all.
Re-dressed I sat down on the bed, where Léa was sitting up with a blanket around her waist, not seeming at all self-conscious of her exposed breasts. I gave her my email address—I had no French phone—and kissed her goodbye before making my way back down to the street.
There was a café nearby. I found a seat under the heater outside and ordered a coffee and crepe, even though it was late afternoon. I was ravenous.
Something was changing in me. Being here, seeing how big the world was, how different things could be, it was making me see things differently. An idea was fluttering around inside me, the idea that maybe it was possible for me to be something else, to do something else. Maybe it was possible for there to be a different life out there for me. Once I got even with Mel, made amends for what had happened between us, then maybe I could start over.
The waiter slid the crepe and coffee down in front of me.
“Merci,” I said.
When I cut the crepe into bits, melted cheese oozed out of my incisions. It was hot and creamy against the crispy dough. The tomatoes squirted their juices between my teeth as I chewed. In front of me, two women talked in quick French. One of them was standing with her back to me, balancing a baby on her hip. On the back of her arm, just above the elbow, was a tattoo done in fine black ink. Thin circular lines that looked like a solar system maybe, or perhaps just a design, I wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it meant something to the woman, whose face I couldn’t even see. It was significant enough to her to want to stamp it onto her flesh forever. And the baby. He was permanent. This woman had that confidence. She could make a mark on her own life, shape it, make decisions that lasted forever. For a moment I envied her fiercely. I wanted that tattoo. I wanted that baby on my hip. I wanted to be hemmed in by my choices, have a set path in front of me. But then the baby turned to look at me. Its cheeks were wobbling over a small chin. It surveyed me with its beady little eyes. Then, its eyes squished closed, its skin turned red and blotchy, its mouth opened huge and wet and pink. It let out a piercing cry. The woman began bouncing it in front of her. She began making low soothing noises as she tried to pacify the red, screaming thing.
I downed the remainder of the coffee and left some money on the shiny tabletop. Making my way back to my hostel, my ears were still ringing from the baby’s cries.
31
I was starting to find it hard to fill my days. The construction site behind Mel’s house had workers on it until nightfall, and Mel was going out less and less. At night, I’d watch her. She did strange things in that room, alone. To begin with, she was always just watching television and eating takeout. But now, it was different. It was like she’d sensed the change in me, that somehow she’d felt my shift after I’d made love with Léa that day.
Since then, she’d started turning her heater on high, I’d seen her fiddle with the knob. Then, she’d strip all her clothes off. In her underwear, she’d read French novels or drink glasses of whiskey and suck on the ice. It was as if she was posing, expecting some fashion photographer to be in the corner of her bedroom snapping pictures of her.
Saanvi and Theodore had so much more in their lives, things that they’d worked for, things I could take away. But not Mel. Like me, she didn’t seem to have put down roots. On those long, cold nights staring into that square of light. Mel lying across her bed in the false heat in her matching lace underwear, my limbs stiffening and my nose running, I’d started thinking more and more about the future. Watching people had used to make me feel so good, so powerful and fulfilled. But for some reason, watching Mel wasn’t working. But I couldn’t stop now, I was here, I was so close.
I’d been saving up my coins to call Bea. My bag was heavy with them. The straps bit into my shoulder and the contents jangled as I walked. It took me a while to find a phone booth. Now that everyone had mobile phones, they were starting to become redundant. Eventually, I found one with cracked glass and graffiti, on the corner of a busy intersection.
Feeding coin after coin into to it, I dialed the country code, then Bea’s home number, crossing my fingers that she’d be in.
The phone beeped, went silent for a few seconds, then began to ring.
“Hello?”
“Bea!”
“Ava?”
Just the sound of her voice made me want to cry; I hadn’t realized how much I’d been missing her.
“Yep, it’s me! How are you? I’m just at a phone booth, not sure how long I’ve got.”
On cue, the phone beeped. I fed some more coins in and pressed the plastic black receiver tightly to my ear as a motorcycle bellowed past.
“It’s so good to hear from you! How is it going there?”
“It’s great. The food here is amazing, I...” But then I hesitated; her voice had sounded strange. Something wasn’t right.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep, course,” she said. “What were you saying?”
I fed some more coins in.
“Are you sure?”
I could hear the crackle of a heavy breath. “I didn’t know whether I should tell you. I think you should just have fun while you’re there. Evan was here for dinner last night and—”
The phone beeped again, and her voice cut off. I quickly shoved in the coins. My hands were shaking.
“Bea?”
Why did she mention Evan? My throat felt tight, I was sweating, and I felt a deep longing and pain stronger than I thought I could feel.
I pushed in more coins.
“Ava?”
“Hi! You’re there! What were you saying?”
“Oh. Well, it’s not good news. I didn’t want to tell you but Evan said he thought you’d want to know.”
“What is it? Just tell me!”
“It’s Celia.”
“What about her?”
“She’s really not doing well, Ava. I’m sorry.”
That was just like Bea, being so overly vague and nice. “What do you mean not doing well? Can you be specific? Is she just sick or do you mean she’s dying or what?”
“The cancer has come back. Aggressively. They’re saying if she doesn’t do chemotherapy now she’ll only have a few months. Even if she does do the chemo, it’s not looking very good.”
I couldn’t say anything.
“Ava?”
“I’m here.” I tried to clear my throat. “So is she going to do it?”
“Nancy is trying to make her, but you know what she’s like.”
“She doesn’t want to lose her hair?”
“Bingo. But listen, A—”
The phone beeped again, and I put the remainder of the coins in.
“Bea? What did you say?” I asked.
“I said try not to think about it. Don’t let it ruin your—”
The phone beeped once more, and then returned to a dial tone. I stayed where I was, phone to ear, watching the traffic careen by around me.
* * *
In Paris, people leave their garbage on the street. They don’t fill plastic bins like we do. They don’t wheel them out only once a week and leave them standing in neat rows like soldiers out front of their houses. No. Every night, there are bags of garbage piled on the footpath. The crows get into th
em. Slicing the plastic with their sharp beaks, pulling it apart with their razor claws. Then it’s the rats’ turn. They sniff and prod with their little noses, worming their way into the crows’ holes and scampering off in front of you, a furry blur, as you walk past.
I watched my feet as I walked to Mel’s. I’d almost screamed when I’d accidentally kicked a bag I hadn’t seen last week and a crow, impenetrably black and huge, flapped and thrashed from it. At least it wasn’t a rat.
For some reason, the crow made me think of the ones that were always foraging in the mud of the empty lake back home. I never thought I’d miss that place. But for a moment, I did.
The scaffolding was waiting for me, like the nest of a funnel-web spider. The moonlight glinted off its edges. I didn’t even look around anymore to see if anyone was watching. I didn’t even care. This city had started to feel different to me in the days since my conversation with Bea. Before I’d felt independent and free; now I just felt alone.
I pulled myself up, using the route I knew. The beams I was confident could hold my weight, that wouldn’t wobble. I was used to the coldness of the beams against my palms, to the stretch of my muscles as I pulled up my own weight. I was starting to get good at climbing. Jumping onto the roof I fell silently, then trod as softly as I could over to the square. It was lit up, bright and white. Mel’s light must be on.
Bending down I looked in through the glass. She was in there alright, and she wasn’t alone. She was lying on her back, totally naked, a man crouching between her thighs. She bit her lip, arched her back, gripped onto the sheets with her fingers. I couldn’t hear her, but I could imagine what she’d sound like—Oh yes, baby, just like that. She’d be making those girlish little mews that sounded just right, breathing heavy. He got up from between her legs and clambered on top of her, began kissing her neck.
I looked a little closer. I couldn’t see his face, but I recognized the body. I recognized the messy bun of his hair. It was Clem. I leaned even closer, just to be sure, putting my nose right up to the glass. It was definitely him.
The Spite Game Page 16
