Fighting Gravity

by Julie Adams

  I can’t say I love you. And I can’t seem to tell him about my past.

  I sigh.

  “If he really loves you, he’ll give you what you need. If you ask him for it.”

  “What if I blew it? What if he’s so put off by my rejection that he’s done? What if he thinks I’m just using him?”

  Beth rolls her eyes in a very American way. “You didn’t. He’s not, he’s way too confident for that. And he doesn’t. Nothing about you says gold digger, you couldn’t even if you tried.”

  “Did I ever tell you, you’re the best?” I ask holding out my mug for another refill.

  “Only when you’re sauced.” She winks and pours.

  Later, when I’m drinking lots of water to make sure I’m not hungover from all the brunch drinking with Beth, my phone dings. I turn away from my band search and grab it. It’s Nathan.

  Nathan: I hope my declaration didn’t scare you off….

  I grin. Just like that all the anxiety I had been carrying around over this dissipates.

  Me: I was hoping my lack of declaration hadn’t scared you off…

  Nathan: Funny, usually the thought of someone declaring their love for me would scare me off. I’m in no rush, whenever you feel like telling me, I’ll be here.

  God, I feel it right now. But it isn't something I want to say in a text. But I have to say something.

  Me: You make it hard for a girl not to fall for you, Nathan.

  Nathan: That tells me all I need to know. I love you, Lily. See you soon?

  Me: Absolutely.

  I can't stop smiling. My face feels warm. My whole body feels warm. Pushing open the window I let the cool spring air soothe me. I close my eyes listening to the sounds of the city.

  That peculiar feeling of being watched again. I look down scanning the sidewalk and street. I don't see anyone, I squint into the shadows looking for anyone lurking.

  I breathe in deeply. It’s no one, you’re safe, you’re safe, you’re a million miles away.

  I close the window and shut the curtains. I'm alone in the apartment and I don't like what I'm feeling.

  I check the door again, making sure it's locked. I'm halfway back to my room when I hear shuffling on the landing.

  I go back to the door and press my face to the peephole. A shadow crosses the hall and the hair on the back of my neck prickles. I crane my neck looking as far as I can to the left through the peephole. Trying to see down the stairs.

  My ears tingle from how hard I’m trying to listen for anything on the other side.

  I nearly scream when a face comes into view.

  Brent.

  I take a step back and laugh hysterically so I don’t cry from my foolish fear.

  My brother opens the door and looks at me, his brows raising. “You okay?” He asks at my laughing.

  “Fine. Just scared myself, and seeing your big ogre face didn’t help.”

  “Love you, too, Sis.” He jokes, tossing his keys on the entry table. “Maybe lay off the coffee. Especially, when Beth spikes it. Woman has a heavy hand when it comes to pouring alcohol. It’s one of the many things I love about her.”

  I roll my eyes. We both know I don’t mean it.

  “You should have gone with her to her parents, they really like you.”

  “Sometimes, a girl just needs a beautiful Paris apartment to herself,” I say, gesturing to my homely outfit of sweatpants and spaghetti stained tee.

  “Classy. Better not let your posh French boyfriend see you like that, he’ll swear off American girls for good.”

  It’s a little startling to hear someone call Nathan my boyfriend.

  “Lily, I’m just kidding. He’s clearly got it bad for you.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not that…”

  “You’re smart, you’ve got your guard up this time. And I’ll fucking kill him if something happens to you, I’ve got my eye on him, too, don’t think I don’t.”

  I shake my head. It was hard to think of him as a tough guy when I remember him carrying around a threadbare blanket until he was seven. I appreciate the sentiment, though.

  “Goonies and popcorn?” He asks.

  “I’ll get the popcorn. You burn it every time.” I say going into the kitchen and getting the extra butter popcorn that our mom sends us every month.

  Sixteen

  Nathan

  I stare at Frankie. He's Looking at me like I’m some sad sap, I had told him about everything that happened with Lily at the hotel. Well, not everything. Some things innocent dogs shouldn’t know about.

  I don’t know why I told her I loved her, of course I had meant it. I just hadn’t meant to say it. And it wasn’t the best feeling in the world that she hadn’t said it back. But what did I expect? We haven’t known each other long. She wasn’t willing to share her past with me. And I had one hell of a secret I wasn’t willing to share with her.

  I groan. “This was so much easier when it was just fucking.”

  Frankie snuffs, offended on her behalf.

  “Yea, I know, you like her, too. Tired of it being a bachelor pad around here?”

  As if responding, he snuffs again.

  I pat his head. “I think she’s closer to saying she loves you than me,” I console.

  And I swear he looks smug.

  I have to get out of this apartment. I’ve only been here and work in the past three days. Since that night in the hotel. I haven’t seen Lily in that time either, she’s been busy with work. We’ve kept in touch, texting every spare moment I get and a few phone calls. One that turned X-rated.

  Hooking the leash on Frankie I open the door taking us both on a walk.

  Paris is bustling tonight, like it is most evenings. Us city dwellers don’t really like being in our apartments more than necessary. I’m an exception to that rule. I like being home. There was only one place I liked being more and I can’t go there anymore.

  I’ve already said goodbye.

  I carefully plan my route, lest my feet try to take me down familiar paths.

  We end up near the tower. I usually avoid it, it’s always packed with tourists. And it is tonight, but it’s different. I’m not in a rush to get somewhere, I’m not trying to figure out work. I’m just a guy walking his dog and thinking about a woman.

  I haven’t had a lot of experience dating women seriously, I screwed around, I didn’t court. And I absolutely did not fall in love.

  My mother had taught me a little about courting, and I saw the way my stepfather treated her. Like she was the moon, and he was but a man trying to pull her closer. And I get it now. Lily is like that to me. She’s positively ethereal and I am but a mere mortal.

  My fingers tap against the leash, notes coming into my head. I need to get back to the apartment, I need play this and get it down.

  After bribing Frankie with food from a street cart, we head back home.

  At the piano with a glass of scotch on the bench beside me, I trill a little tune. Warming up and letting the scotch do its work. The little diddy turning into the notes I had thought of in the park. The notes inspired by Lily.

  It would have been better on a sax or violin but I couldn’t play either of those. I perfected the piano, I was damn good and it would have to do.

  I stumble a few times but press on, changing and perfecting the song until my heart is pounding and I've broken out in the faintest of sweats.

  It’s 2 A.M. when I finish. And I know it is perfect, and that it will never be on any album, that no one but me would be playing that song.

  I want to show Lily, wonder if she will love it as much as I do. But I need sleep, my day will be starting all too soon.

  Putting the finished sheet music on top of the piano, I close up the room and go to bed. Stripping down to my boxers, I stretch beneath the sheets.

  I sleep sound, not waking until my alarm rings.

  I push open the door to my apartment and see the b
uilding's concierge gesturing wildly at a crew in coveralls. “Just get it cleaned up before our tenants see it!” I didn’t try to look. It wasn’t the first time someone had vomited on the sidewalk after too much indulgence.

  My phone vibrates.

  Lily: Can’t help but thinking of you every time I get dressed

  I can imagine the smile on her face as she teases me. Evoking the image of her in that fucking lingerie.

  She’s poetic in everything she does. And now I have to try and discreetly adjust myself. She can turn me on with just a word, touch, or look. That is something special.

  The office is as always a quiet flurry of chaos. Working with Siren’s Song has amped up the team. We’ve crammed in studio sessions, hired a team of producers, a photographer, publicist, and an expensive bunch of other show business hands to get their EP ready ASAP. We’ve booked a handful of shows at slightly bigger venues and are working on getting them an opening spot on a headline tour. This has become more than work, this is a passion project.

  In my office, I’m surprised to find a takeout container on my desk. I glance from the doorway to Caroline. “Who sent this?”

  “It was delivered by a pretty girl with dark hair… another admirer?” She teases. Everyone knows of my playboy reputation.

  “Did the pretty dark haired girl have a name?” I hadn’t seen anyone since Lily, it had to be her. But I wanted to be sure.

  “Lauren… Lila… Lily?” She knows what her name is, she’s testing me, seeing if I remember.

  “Lily, Caroline. Her name is Lily. Did she leave anything else? A message?”

  Her eyes twinkle, telling me she’s been waiting for this day for way too long. “I just saw the container, but I let her leave it on your desk. I watched from the door.”

  “You let someone in my office?” I ask surprised.

  “Nathan,” She rarely uses my first name, but when she does it means she’s unofficially clocked out and is my friend, not my employee. “All these years I’ve been working here and not one woman has ever brought you food. Scandalous other gifts, offerings of their bodies? Yes, too damn many times. But never food, there’s something special about a woman wanting to feed a man. And she looked too sweet to be up to no good.” I raise a brow. “Women my age know these things about other women.”

  “Caroline, you’re in the wrong field, you should be an advice columnist, a matchmaker, or in some Austen novel.”

  She taps her chin dramatically, “All wonderful options. But the pay is crap, and I get better benefits working for you, Boss.”

  I chuckle shaking my head and go back into my office and shut the door.

  I sit at the desk and by the aroma, I can guess what is in the box. Sure enough, it’s an omelette filled with mushrooms, sausage, spinach, A side of fruit and a takeout cup of coffee. I grin, this is a first.

  Tucked in the corner of the box is a little slip of paper.

  And I can’t stop thinking of you every time my mouth is full.

  Xo, Lily

  I nearly spit out my coffee. She’s definitely got a way with words. She’s even kissed the note in a shade of pink lipstick, leaving a perfect lip print.

  I rub my face, suddenly hungry for something other than food. I take out my phone and text her.

  Me: Thank you for breakfast, you’re the first woman I’ve ever dated to feed me. I want to return the favor. Dinner tonight at my place? Afterward, I’ll show you just what you’re words have inspired in me, you little minx.

  I’ve eaten half the food when she responds. Damn it, she’s the only woman who’s ever kept me waiting. I like it and hate it.

  Lily: You’re very welcome. I’d love to come over tonight. And I fully expect to find out what my words have inspired in you since you’ve been inspiring me since the day I met you. My hero ;)

  And with her few lines I know nothing can touch me today. I’ll be on cloud nine through all the chaos.

  Seventeen

  Lily

  I flit through the clothes hanging in my closet for the third time. Nothing.

  I had packed light when I came to Paris, leaving my more frilly clothes behind. Which meant I had nothing to wear on a date. I had exhausted the few dressy work outfits I had brought and I wanted to feel pretty. Not to mention I was gaining some weight back and was no longer able to borrow from most of Beth’s wardrobe anymore.

  Shopping. I have to go shopping.

  I have money saved from my previous job. And Beth and Brent pay me more than I want, but less than they would have to pay someone else.

  I get a cab to the covered shopping arcade, a place Beth showed me. The little passageways lined with shops and cafe tables, covered by a big glass skylight and ornate floors. Each shop unique and charming in its own way. I wish we had them in the States.

  It’s more crowded than I had ever seen. Tourists pouring into the city to see the pink blossoms on the trees. I hadn’t even thought about the crowds, a few months ago I would have factored them in, let them deter me from coming.

  I'm getting better. I'm safe.

  My chest closes up and I force myself to breathe through the tightening sensation. I have to work through this, it’s part of the reason I’ve come here, to put the past firmly behind me, to become stronger and more resilient. To be more like the person I was before.

  I forge on through the people browsing and shuffling from the cafe and bakery to find a table. I don’t mill about, I walk straight to my destination. Just going through this tight space filled with people is enough for now.

  The little vintage shop is around the corner, small display windows showcasing accessories lead the way to the shop front. Reine Du Bal, is spelled in curly red script.

  Through the window, I can see the racks of clothes and mannequins inside. I can only describe it as cluttered Parisian chic, the walls black striped with pink neon signs. Racks and racks of clothing, mirrored bookcases displaying bags and shoes along one wall. A massive gilded framed mirror takes up most of another, near the dressing rooms.

  The owner has a different colored Marie Antoinette hair-do every time I stop in. Whether it’s real or a wig, I’ve never been able to tell.

  Today she’s wearing a canary yellow pantsuit with a pearl Chanel brooch on the lapel. And her hair is done up in a pink bouffant that looks like cotton candy.

  “Bonjour,” She chirps from her seat on the store counter next to the register, she’s untangling a mass of jewelry. “You’re Beth’s American friend?” She asks recognizing me. Beth knows someone everywhere and in every occupation, it seems.

  “Oui,” I realize she’s speaking English and I don’t have to try to reply in French. “I am.”

  “What can I help you with today, Mademoiselle?” Her voice is breathy and soft.

  “I’m looking for something for a date…”

  “The venue?” She asks abandoning her jewelry and hopping from the counter. Clearly excited about this.

  “His place, he’s making me dinner.”

  “I would suggest the shop down the street for lingerie,” she winks. I blush. “Kidding, Beth’s friend. Let’s see what we can find for you.” She tilts her head for me to follow her.

  An hour later, I’ve tried on four outfits and Tally-we made introductions- keeps bringing me more and handing them over the dressing room door.

  On outfit number eight, I think I’ve found it. A black V-neck sweater dress that hits mid-thigh. I’m standing in front of the gilded mirror debating on which heels to wear when Tally curses colorfully in French. I turn my head to look at her and see she’s staring out the shop window making a shooing gesture.

  “Pervertir! Aller! Laisser” She shouts. I translate clumsily. Pervert, go, leave. I just catch sight of a man slipping back into the throng of people. Indistinguishable amongst the others, his features lost in the shadows.

  “What is it?” I ask feeling my hands begin to shake. Dread fills me.

 
; “Pervert,” she snarls. “Sometimes they stand at the window, as if we can’t see, and they watch our customers, hoping to catch a peek of the dressing rooms or a wardrobe malfunction!” I gasp and cover my mouth. “Has only happened a couple of times, and they never come inside. Cowards, too afraid to approach a woman.”

  I shudder, ready to leave and get back home but also very uncomfortable about the prospect of running into that man outside of the store.

  Tally rings up my purchases and puts them in a pretty striped bag. She either notices my hands still slightly shaking or sees something in my expression.

  “Do not worry, there are police officers in the area. And here, take this.” She reaches beneath the register and hands me a tiny can of hairspray. “Use it for protection. What do you call it in America… um- pepper spray,” She snaps her fingers when she alights on the word.

  I smile at her kindness. “Merci beaucoup,” I say, the anxiety inside me abating some. I feel a little better knowing I have something to defend myself with. I had never gone and bought mace when I arrived in Paris, although I had carried it religiously back in the States, I even slept with it on my nightstand.

  Slipping back into the arcade with my makeshift mace clutched in hand, I try to keep right in the middle of it. It’s hard for someone to grab you and pull you into a dark space if they’ve got to drag you through and past several witnesses.

  My skin is prickling on the back of my neck, I can’t tell if it’s just paranoia or if someone is watching me. I look around, a man standing in the doorway of a shop, he gives me a polite nod before a little boy takes his hand.

  Someone brushes by my shoulder. I look, just a woman hurrying to get somewhere.

  I need to get out of here. My breathing is quickening with my heart rate.