by Vega, W. H.
He lathers his hands with shampoo and gently begins to wash my hair.
“Oh my gosh,” I moan as he scrubs my scalp. It feels so good. He rinses, and then conditions my hair, and by the time he’s finished, I want him so desperately that I’m ready to jump out of my skin.
Luckily, Luc feels the same way and we have an encore of our couch performance against the steamy shower doors.
It figures that now Luc and I are on the same page, time seems to be rushing by. Another week comes and goes, and we are down to our last ten days in Paris. The thought is depressing, even though I miss my family.
Cleo seems to be depressed about leaving Paris too, and she flops down on the couch next to me when I come back in from my private lesson with Luc. If Luc hadn’t a meeting to attend after our private lesson, I would probably be roaming the streets with him now.
“I’m not ready to go home, are you?” she asks dejectedly, running her fingers through her long ponytail.
“No. I’m not.” I gaze out at the Eiffel Tower. Who would ever want to leave when they had this view?
“I think I got too involved with Philippe.”
I look over at her and she does look incredibly sad.
“Oh, Cleo.” I put my arm around her and hug her. She hastily wipes away a tear and lets out a rough laugh.
“My own fault. I’m the one who said we shouldn’t get attached, and then I go and get attached.”
“What about Philippe? Does he feel the same way?”
Cleo gives a little shrug. “He’s sad about it, but I don’t think he’s as upset as I am. He says he wants to come to New York in the summer with some friends, but who knows?”
The summer is a long way off and I feel for Cleo.
“Did you guys really have a good connection?” I can’t help but asking. Cleo had treated things so casually. I should have known better, paid closer attention, but then again I’ve been so caught up with Luc.
“It just started out as purely physical, but yeah, I think we’ve really connected. We have fun together. I mean, don’t get me wrong, we have sex pretty much every single time I see him – but that’s normal, right? I mean, don’t you and Luc do it pretty much every time you’re together?”
For some reason, what I have with Luc seems so sacred compared to other relationships. I don’t know why I should think that my relationship is any better than Cleo’s, but I like to think that what Luc and I have is about more than sex. When Cleo phrases it that way though, I can’t deny it. We do have sex every time we are together.
I squirm on the couch, uncomfortable with where this conversation is going. Luc and I are definitely about more than sex. I’m not sure how to phrase it tactfully to Cleo. Plus, I’m uncomfortable talking about sex in general, even with my best friend.
“Yes, we have had sex every time, except for once when we were fighting. But we’re in those early stages, you know? And I don’t get to see him as much, so we have to make the most of our time.”
Cleo gives me a sour look. “Are you really going to argue with me and try to tell me that your relationship is about more than sex?”
Here we go. I knew she would get defensive.
“Our relationship is about more than sex.”
Cleo rolls her eyes.
“It is,” I say defensively. “Why the hell else would we have gotten back together?” But I know how Cleo is going to respond before the words are out of my mouth.
“The sex!”
“Look, the sex is definitely hot. Okay, it’s more than hot. It’s indescribable. But that doesn’t mean that all it’s about the sex. We want to be with each other. We’re going out of our way to be with each other even though it’s going to make our lives more difficult. We want a future.”
Cleo just stares at me for a moment, then she smiles. “If you say so.”
I don’t want to feel pissed off, but I do. I feel like Cleo isn’t taking me seriously. But then again, I don’t have anything to prove to anybody. I decide to change the subject.
“So what will your family do for Christmas? It’s hard to believe it’s only a few weeks away.”
“I know,” she sighs. “I need to finish my shopping. I want to buy all my gifts before we go home.” She stretches her legs out, examining her pants. “We’ll do Christmas Eve at my aunt’s like always, but my parents are hosting Christmas this year. They just renovated the bottom half of the house, so they want to show it off.”
I’ve been to Cleo’s house a few times over the years. The train ride from New York to Philadelphia is only ninety-minutes. Her parents own a beautiful, cozy house nestled in the suburbs.
“You’re planning on staying in New York after graduation, right?” she suddenly asks.
“I think so. Yes, I’m pretty sure. I don’t know where else I could make my music.”
She nods. “I’m leaning towards staying in New York too. Maybe I’ll see if I can make it. If not, I can always head home to Philly and try to teach music or something like that.”
The prospect of Cleo staying with me in New York is comforting. “I’d love that. And then I wouldn’t have to look for a new roommate!”
“Well, you’re stuck with me for now!” she laughs, getting off the couch. “Come on. We’re running out of time in Paris. Let’s go out drinking!”
“What? Now? It’s only four in the afternoon! On a weekday!”
“Exactly,” she smiles. “That means we have hours and hours to have a good time! And it won’t be as crowded.”
“You’re crazy.”
She grins. “I know. Now go put on something sexy!”
Two hours later, Cleo and I are perched at a high top table in a new restaurant we’ve discovered, already onto our second bottle of wine. We are also having dinner in the hopes that the food will balance out the effects of our first bottle of wine.
“This is sooo good,” Cleo moans, stuffing another forkful of food in her mouth.
I giggle. “I think it’s so good because you’ve been drinking.”
“Bull shit. It’s so good because it’s…good.” She laughs again, realizing that she’s making no sense. “Maybe I should call Philippe,” she says suddenly.
“What? I thought this was girls night!”
“Don’t you want to call Luc?” she teases.
“Not if it’s girls night.”
“Well, I could call Luc and you could call Philippe.”
“And how would that work, since you’re the only person that’s allowed to know that Luc and I are dating.”
“Please! Philippe isn’t going to tell anyone.”
“Nope. Can’t do it. Why don’t we just have fun by ourselves?”
“Fine. Party pooper.”
Cleo soon forgets about Philippe, and after we finish our dinner, we head out onto the street looking for a new bar to pop into. We’re in one of the hip sections of Paris, and we stumble upon a block that is filled with trendy, Parisian bars.
“Jackpot!” Cleo crows and we slip into the first bar, Rouge. We’d been drinking wine, but Rouge’s menu was filled with unique shot creations. We try a few, and before I know it, we’re at a different club, gyrating on the dance floor with a bunch of people.
I feel dizzy and light-headed, but completely in control at the same time. In reality, I have very little control.
I toss my head back and laugh, feeling freer than I’ve felt in a long time. “How did we get here?” I yell over to Cleo.
She gives me a funny look as she shimmies next to a tall guy with dark hair.
“I don’t remember coming here,” I explain.
Cleo laughs, leaving the guy behind her and throwing her arms around my neck. “It was those shots,” she insists. “They were strong! We’ve been here for over an hour!”
“What? No way!”
“Yes, way!
A guy comes up behind me and begins dancing. I dance with him until he wraps his hands around my waist.
“No thanks!” I say, scoo
ting away and dancing with Cleo again. A small circle gathers around us and a few guys hoot and holler as we shimmy against each other and toss our hair back and forth. We continue to dance with each other, giggling like lunatics, until I hear someone call out Cleo’s name.
Cleo suddenly throws herself at the person, kissing them passionately and I stare at her in confusion. What the hell? After a moment, I realize that the person Cleo has wrapped herself around is Philippe.
Unbelievable.
Out of all the bars in Paris, he happens to be in the same one as us! Though something tells me Cleo called or sent him a text.
“Cleo!” I drag her away, and Philippe waves at me. “Did you tell Philippe you were here?” I demand.
“No! Why? How amazing is it that he just happened to be here too?”
I’m not sure if I believe her. “Yeah, it’s really amazing. Such a coincidence, too… I just thought this was our night.”
“I didn’t plan this, Maddie, really. Let’s just all hang out! It will be fun!” She slurs the last few words and I reach out to steady her as she falls to the side a bit.
“Okay, sure.” I’m still feeling pretty happy from the alcohol, and I like Philippe. I was just hoping that it would only be Cleo and I.
I follow Cleo off the dance floor and we cram into a small booth with Philippe. We start talking about the people at the club, and we each order a glass of wine. I think it’s best for me to stay away from the shots, though I’m not ready to switch to water or soda yet.
“Maddie and I have been having a great night,” Cleo says, practically sitting in Philippe’s lap. Philippe, who doesn’t seem quite as drunk, nods.
“Where have you ladies been tonight?”
Cleo starts rattling off the names of the bars and restaurants and I’m impressed that she has remembered them all.
Before Cleo is finished speaking, Philippe kisses her. Cleo gasps and then kisses him back. Embarrassed, I look away. It’s more than a little kiss. It’s a full on make out session, and they should really get a room.
“Okay, guys. That’s enough,” I chuckle, hoping they break apart.
Instead, their kiss deepens, and I flush bright red.
“Cleo,” I hiss, but she waves her hand at me to stop talking.
I wait another few seconds, but then I swear I see Philippe’s hand under Cleo’s skirt.
“That’s it!” I fume, jumping out of the booth. I’m not going to sit here and watch Cleo and Philippe practically have sex. I storm to the bathroom, and spend extra time there, adjusting my clothes and touching up my hair. Unlike Cleo, I’ve worn pants since it’s December and freezing outside. They are leather leggings, and still very sexy. I’ve paired the leggings with spiky black heels, and a deep red, plunging blouse.
After I’ve finished fluffing my hair, wiping my smudged eyeliner, and reapplying my lip-gloss, I head back out into the club. It seems that the lights have been dimmed even more, and it takes me a minute to find the booths where we were sitting. Hopefully, Cleo and Philippe have finished trying to suck each other’s face off.
I circle the booths, but can’t seem to find them. I circle one more time, and then realize there’s another group of people in the booth we shared. Annoyed, I walk through the club, checking out the dance floor and bar, looking for Cleo and Philippe, but they are nowhere to be found.
They couldn’t possibly have left without me.
Or could they?
Feeling a rush of anger, I move into the corner, hold my hand over one ear and try calling Cleo. It rings and rings but she doesn’t pick up. Taking a deep breath, I try two more times.
“Cleo, it’s me,” I bite out, leaving her a voicemail on the third try. “Where the hell did you go? I went to the bathroom and when I came back, you two were gone!”
I hang up and toss my phone in my purse, too pissed off to even wait and see if she calls back. I stumble out of the bar and the cold air hits me like a tidal wave, stinging my face.
“Fuck!” I cry. I’m still drunk, but now I’m mad and drunk and I don’t remember where I am. I look up and down the street and I make out a glowing letter M signaling a Metro station. I hurry down to the Metro. Once I get inside, I can figure out where I am, and hop on the next train heading towards our apartment.
I make my way into the Metro, cursing Cleo for leaving me alone while drunk. That’s a rule that we never break. I blame it on Philippe. I get on the Metro and head towards our apartment.
I make my way to our apartment, but outside our building, I have a change of heart.
Perhaps it’s the alcohol.
I walk past our building and hurry around the corner. It only takes five minutes, and I’m knocking on Luc’s door.
It takes a minute for him to answer, and it dawns on me that he might be sleeping. Hmm. I didn’t consider that.
He pulls the door open and he’s definitely been sleeping. His hair is sticking out at strange angles, and he’s rubbing his eyes.
“Maddie?” he asks confused, his voice groggy. “Are you okay?”
“Umm, hi. Crap, it’s late. I shouldn’t have come here.” I turn on my heel to leave, but I feel Luc’s warm hand wrap around my wrist.
“Come on, get in here. What’s going on?”
He pulls me into the apartment, and I hug him fiercely.
“I’m drunk,” I whisper.
He lets out a soft chuckle. “I figured. Come on. Want me to make a pot of coffee? Do you need to sober up?”
I pull back and stare up at him. “Yes, please.”
“Okay, sit down.”
I flop down on the couch, and Luc flips on a couple lights and pads into the kitchen. He starts a pot of coffee and comes back to me, looking slightly more alert.
“So, explain to me why you’re dressed sexily and showing up drunk on my doorstep?”
I sigh. “Stupid, Cleo.” I curl up on Luc’s lap.
“What happened with Cleo?”
I launch into how Cleo and I planned a girl’s night out at the last minute, and how we were having a great time until we ran into Philippe. I explain how they began making out, and then when I got back from the bathroom they were gone.
“What?” he growls.
“I know,” I say a little too loudly, and then giggle and clasp my hand over my mouth. “Sorry.”
“I can’t believe she just ditched you like that. What the fuck is wrong with her?”
“We have a rule that we never leave the other person. Ever. Especially, if we’ve been drinking.”
“I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, but there’s anger behind his voice, and I notice he’s clenching his hands into fists. I can see a vein bulging in his forearm.
He gets up and stalks into the kitchen, coming back with a mug of coffee and a glass of water for himself. He seems a little calmer.
“Can I assume you’re staying the night?”
“Yes, please,” I singsong, reaching for my coffee.
He laughs just a bit. “Exactly, how much did you have to drink?”
“Umm, I’m not really sure. But I know I had some shots that definitely sealed the deal.”
He nods knowingly, and puts his water down. I hang over the couch and watch him disappear into the kitchen. He comes back a few moments later with a cup of water and some Tylenol.
“Take these,” he says, handing them to me, “This will help with your hangover tomorrow.”
“I don’t think I’m going to have one,” I say stubbornly, but I still take the Tylenol and water.
Luc smirks. “We’ll see.” He puts his arm around me, and pulls me close to him and we sit cuddled up on the couch like that. I sip my coffee, and then put the mug down on the table.
I must have fallen asleep because I wake up to the sound of Luc’s voice. At first, I’m too asleep to register what he’s saying. Even though he’s whispering, I can tell he’s incredibly angry.
“- out of your mind?” he growls into the phone. I missed the beginning of his se
ntence.
Wait. Is he on my phone?
“Is that how you treat your friends? You leave them drunk at a bar in a foreign city?”
Another pause.
“Well, she’s here and she’s fine, no thanks to you. I hope you had a great night,” he says scathingly.
“Hey,” I murmur, my voice thick with sleep. “Is that Cleo? Give me the phone.”
Luc ignores me.
“She’s staying here for the night. You can apologize tomorrow.” He hits end and hands the phone back to me.
I give him a quizzical look.
“Sorry,” he apologizes, “I couldn’t help myself, and she kept calling.”
“I didn’t even hear it.”
“You were out.” He rises, and gently pulls me up with him. “Come on,” he says softly, “Let’s go to bed.”
I stagger after him to his bedroom. He helps me out of my clothes, and gives me an oversize t-shirt.
“Do you need bottoms?”
I shake my head, pulling back the covers and crawling into his warm bed. Luc slides in next to me, and pulls me to his chest. I’m asleep instantly.
The next morning I wake up alone in Luc’s bed. It takes me a few moments to remember, and then I start putting together the pieces. I was drunk. And judging from my headache and rolling stomach, I am definitely hung over.
I showed up at Luc’s apartment and he took care of me.
Cleo abandoned me for Philippe.
I feel a surge of warmth and love for Luc and a flash with anger thinking about Cleo.
I wait for my head to stop spinning and then I get out of bed and go to find Luc. He’s in the kitchen, dressed and showered, drinking coffee and looking out a small window.
“Hey,” he says when he hears me behind him. He tries to hide a smile. “It was a tough night, huh?”
Geez, I must look pretty rough. I’m wearing one of Luc’s t-shirts, and I feel at my hair, which seems to be a mess. I imagine I probably have raccoon eyes, too.
“Can I have some coffee?” I croak.
“Sure thing.” He hands me a cup and waits politely for me to sit and take a sip. “How are you feeling?”
I moan. “I’ve been better.”
