A Second Chance in Paris

by Ziv Amit

  “That’s right, that’s precisely my kind of thing and you can leave, you’ve left once before, you know how it’s done.”

  “OK then, and you’re a saint, right? You’re never wrong?”

  “Not that kind of wrong.”

  “Then have a nice hotel evening,” I’m trying to speak without my voice trembling while zipping up my boot. The last thing I want right now is to go to the show, but I feel like I can’t back out of it. I also can’t stay in one room with him.

  Three high-heel taps from the bed to the purse that’s on the chest of drawers, three high-heel taps to the jacket that’s hanging in the little closet, eight high-heel taps to the door, fifteen taps from the door shutting behind me to the elevator on the way to the street.

  A Dark Street, after the Rain

  “Maybe I’m making a mistake and I should go back to the hotel?” An evening-time autumn wind is blowing at me and I tightly fasten my jacket around my body, as my red boots tap on the street’s paved stones. I feel that as my hands are firmly clutching the jacket against the wind, they’re also holding back the lump in my throat from exploding outwards into tears.

  I straighten my back as I walk, feeling like I was right, and yet feeling so bad and so alone. “This is your marriage which is falling apart, is it really worth it to fight over the right to make choices and decisions?” I ask myself. I know the answer is yes, I need to fight for my principles, but right now I’m feeling very unmarried and very lonely, walking to a cabaret show where I’m meant to have fun.

  How will I be able to enjoy that kind of show? Sit alone at a table for four, with a strange couple and a bottle of champagne, look left and right with an apologetic or humiliated smile, and have such an obviously empty chair beside me. Try not to notice the men who are looking at me with a hungry stare and the women who are checking me out with despising or pitying looks. I’m definitely feeling sorry for myself right now.

  I think the metro station is after the next turn.

  “Maybe I should just sit at a café or go watch a movie at the cinema instead of going to the show?” I think up ideas to myself. The main thing is to pass the time, I’ll sit around for a couple of hours, or a bit more, stare at the silent smartphone, it’ll stare back at me, we’ll have an evening of silences, me and the smartphone. Reminiscent of the recent evenings spent with Adam. Afterwards I’ll return to the hotel as if I ended up going to the show, invent a story or two about the awesome show and the bare-chested dancers, and we’ll go to sleep, each of us in our own virtuous corner of the mattress. Maybe that’s the best solution.

  “You’re not doing this, you’re not giving up this time. This has nothing to do with Adam, you’re not giving up on yourself, as it is you already back down when you’re up against him way too often and way more than he deserves,” I tell myself off. Even if the show is terrible and packed full of naked girls and perverted men without any women in the audience, you’re still going there.

  “Not really.” After all, you know yourself, you know that if the crowd at the entrance looks disgusting you’ll turn around and walk away and you won’t dare to go inside. “Agreed.” So I sum up the options in my mind. If that happens, we’ll move on to the café option. Then afterwards at the hotel I’ll tell him a made-up story about how amazing it was. I actually don’t feel at all like telling him anything or sharing anything with him after he hurt me like that. “Besides,” I continue my supportive line of self-defence, “this is your vacation and this is your freedom and you deserve to have fun”, with or without him. “I back down enough as it is, the decision of joining me or not was his, but the decision to have fun or not is mine,” I recite an encouraging sentence and try to smile, even just a little smile, I deserve it, even though I don’t actually believe the sentence will work.

  A light drizzle starts and I tighten the jacket around my body even more, straighten my back decisively and try to walk faster towards the metro, all the while trying not to slip over the wet paved stones, I should have taken an umbrella with me.

  Another four metro stations to the club and then I’ll decide how much fun I’m going to have, I already need to pee.

  Parisian Cabaret Club, Ladies’ Room

  I’m standing in the little stall, trying not to touch anything, but I have to pee and I can’t hold it in anymore. “The things that an autumn chill can do to a woman’s bladder,” I thought to myself as I departed the tall leather sofa at the corner of the dimly lit club, stumbled over the legs of the couple sitting next to me at the table, mumbled apologetic and embarrassed words and stepped through the low lighting to the ladies’ room. In the background I can hear the music in the club, the audience’s laughter erupting every so often, reacting to the three dancers and the clown. Yes, even laughter is giving my bladder a hard time, even though I don’t understand the language. My cheerfulness was also heightened by the two glasses of champagne that I had received. That we had received, but now it’s just me so I’m allowed to drink for two, that’s the rule, right? If he doesn’t want to come with me then his glass of champagne is mine, same goes for the heart shaped chocolate. I quietly shut the door of my stall, plant my booted feet on the floor, lift my skirt up, and prepare to remove my pantyhose when I hear her in the stall next to mine. She’s speaking quietly, I think she’s on the phone, she’s almost whispering and I don’t understand a single word she says. Nevertheless, I try to listen and I move my ear closer to the dividing wall at a safe distance from its surface, lest I should touch it. “Idiot,” I silently talk to myself, “you don’t understand anything anyway, what are you eavesdropping for? And why are you being as quiet as a mouse?” But I remain motionless, half-standing and half-sitting in mid-air, my hands clutching at my pantyhose. Her conversation is becoming more audible, I think she’s angry about something and I also think she’s starting to cry. Her words are coming out faster and faster and seem fragmented and less clear, she occasionally blows her nose but it doesn’t stop her from speaking, and she’s moving her hands around creating sounds of fabrics rubbing and a metallic clink of bracelets or a necklace. I’m starting to get uncomfortable in my current position, also my pee is still waiting for its turn and I’m beginning to feel ridiculous. But the feeling of embarrassment she’ll experience by suddenly realizing that there’s someone next to her prevents me from moving. I always find it difficult to think of people hearing me when I’m using the ladies’ room, I even get embarrassed with Adam, who has been living with me for a few years already, I’m always aware of him being outside and I come out blushing every time I think I made too much noise. What am I going to do with him now in that little hotel room? Maybe I’ll use the ladies’ room in the lobby? I try to quietly peel off my pantyhose, it shouldn’t make any noise but I hear a masculine voice answering her and talking to her, more like kissing her, or at least that’s how it sounds to me, like they’re kissing.

  She’s still talking and getting angry and crying but there’s also kissing and the sound of fabric rubbing and his fuzzy words mixing with her words and something falls on the floor, or maybe it’s actually her shoe hitting something, and I think I hear something unzipping and mixed ambiguous sounds of fabrics and a slam on the wall and she’s breathing heavily and I hold my breath.

  I’m finding this difficult, my muscles are starting to hurt from the uncomfortable position and my feet are aching from the boots, the heels aren’t that high but they’re heels nonetheless, I’m out of options and I have to decide whether to sit or to lean on something, and I’m grossed out and I support myself with my hand against the wall and oh the pee, I need to pee so badly.

  Their voices are getting louder, I imagine him leaning her against the wall and penetrating her or touching her with his fingers and I imagine her caressing him, breathing heavier and faster and making these little wailing sounds like a cat. I would die if I made sounds like that, but I don’t think she cares. He’s whispering wo
rds I don’t understand that sound like he’s excited by her and she suddenly gives one major wail and then just breathes heavily, and he’s breathing heavily and I hear them slamming into the wall, grabbing at something or at each other and he’s groaning and speaking strong blunts words at her, and she’s just breathing and suddenly silence and breaths. Breaths and the sound of fabric and a zipper and mumbling and a door shutting quietly and I’m shaking from the effort of not moving, my hand leaning on the disgusting black wall. Disgusted as well as turned on, I’m definitely turned on, I feel it in my underwear, but also disgusted at the thought of my hand touching that wall.

  I breathe in slowly, allowing them to leave the ladies’ room and leave my mind. I lean and finally pull my pantyhose down to my knees and I crouch, hoping no one comes in.

  I’m done and I come out and shut the stall door quietly behind me, turn around to the sink and for a moment I feel like I want to die. The couple from the stall, at least I think it’s the couple from the stall, is standing in the ladies’ room by the sinks. She’s with her back to me, looking into the mirror with her hands behind her, tucking her white blouse into her black leather skirt, and he’s leaning against the wall looking at her. When he notices me, he turns to look at me and smiles politely. I turn bright red, and I’m already preparing to quickly get out with my head down and escape to the cabaret hall or India, whichever is closest, when the guy turns to me, invites me with a polite hand gesture to wash my hands in the sink, and moves away to the side wall to make room for me.

  His partner, or his girlfriend, or his whatever, turns to me for a second, gives me a quick smile and returns to fixing her bra and her blouse buttons in front of the mirror. As if the fact I was in the stall next to them while she was making those sounds has nothing to do with her. I slowly and hesitantly go to the sink next to her and turn on the faucet, making sure to look straight into the mirror as I wash my hands and praying that the spotlight above the sink isn’t revealing how red and embarrassed I am. I try to refrain from sneaking glances at the woman who is standing a few inches away from me. She’s busy fixing her lipstick, she passes the dipped brush over her lips back and forth and when she’s done, she puts it away and presses her lips together with a satisfied look. Another moment of embarrassment on my part coupled with hidden glances and I see how she leans down and stuffs the lipstick and brush into her boot, fixes it with her fingers until she’s comfortable, and rises back up. The woman parts company from me with a smile and goes over to her partner, who has been waiting for her on the side of the dimly lit room, and they turn to leave and vanish, not before the guy sends me a smile and slightly bows his head at me. I’ve been washing my hands rigorously this entire time, trying not to follow them with my eyes, just trying to stare ahead, staring at my blushing self through the mirror, but eventually not controlling myself and looking.

  I go back to the cabaret hall, cram inside the little alcove back to my seat, mumble another apology at the couple who are sharing the table with me and are having to move their legs aside again while I push myself onto my seat, aware of my pantyhose brushing against their legs and thinking that they’re probably wondering why I was away for such a long time in the ladies’ room. There’s a muscular acrobat on stage wearing blue tights with white stars, he’s flinging around a bare-chested dancer with a golden smile to the sounds of the music and the crowd’s cheering and I’m making sure to look at the stage, careful not to let my eyes wander to the crowd sitting on the dark leather sofas, worried that I might stumble upon that guy’s smiling look or see the woman. The acrobat in tights and the dancer are taking a bow to the sound of applause and all I can think about right now is why I don’t have red lipstick in my boot, in case I need it.

  Hotel Hallway, Silent and Still

  It’s late at night. I come out of the elevator and step out into the hallway quietly, not in a rush, thinking about the sounds and the applause and the cat. The sound of my heels is swallowed by the smoky pink wall-to-wall carpet, the night’s tranquillity and the closed doors along the hallway remain undisturbed. For a moment I stand in front of our room’s door and take a deep breath in, wondering what’s waiting for me when I open it. Is Adam waiting for me, am I at the starting point of a new fight and blame-fest? I don’t think I have the strength for another fight. I just want us to feel good together, I’m even willing to make it up to him for having spent the whole day in the room, even though it was his choice.

  I’d like him to apologize for the way he’s behaved since our arrival here, I’d like him to wait for me with a smile, even without flowers, a smile would be better. I’d like him to tell me he’s really sorry and that he was worried sick the whole time I was gone, that he wandered the streets looking for me and couldn’t find the way to the club, that he was scared that I was kidnapped and raped by horny men and now he’s so happy to see me and he loves me so much and from this moment on we’ll have a wonderful vacation. Anything but another fight, and silences. I take a deep breath in, get the key card out and open the door.

  To my surprise the room is almost entirely dark. I see Adam’s silhouette asleep on the bed, lit by the TV screen showing a golf tournament. I shut the door, not bothering with keeping quiet. I kind of want him awake, worrying about me, caring about me, not about golf. Maybe some drunken taxi driver had taken me to the woods in order to rape me, and now I’m trying to escape from him? Or maybe I was robbed and am now lying dead in some street? Or maybe I met some aging millionaire at the cabaret who made me an offer I couldn’t refuse? The only thing Adam has to offer me when I return on my own is a dark room and a golf tournament on TV?

  “There won’t be a fight here tonight,” I tell the little white golf ball as it rolls slowly towards its hole on the TV screen, “nor will there be any wild sex or some version of rekindled love.” I sit on the bed, hoping my moving of the mattress will wake Adam up, but he keeps sleeping and doesn’t move even as I lean to unzip my boots and free my tired feet from this whole night and from the walk back to the hotel.

  I’m standing in front of the bathroom mirror, wiping makeup off my eyes and lips with a wet wipe, I love putting lipstick on at the beginning of the night and feeling the excitement of what’s to come, but at the end of the night, the lipstick that’s left over seems a lot closer to reality, imperfect with remnants of red shine. I straighten my back and imitate the movements of the woman who stood next to me in the ladies’ room. Hand movements of fixing the bra and blouse buttons as if you’re the only one existing in the world after fucking, and there’s no woman next to you washing her hands and looking at you. I’m aroused by getting into her character, I wonder what it’s like to fuck in the ladies’ room like that, go into a stall hand in hand with a man, shut the door and let him undress me or open his zipper with my fingers. It seems so filthy and disgusting to me, fucking like that in a public restroom, or even caressing another man or letting him touch me like that, no way could I do that, it disgusts me. But the thought arouses me more and more and for a moment I run my fingers over my skirt and underwear, imagining it’s a leather skirt, like the one that the woman from the ladies’ room had on. Why don’t you and I ever do wild things like that? I want what she had. I want you to smile at me politely after you fuck me, I want you to smile politely at the whole world after you fuck me, I want you to fuck me and afterwards hold me tightly.

  Now I’m actually jealous of the woman from the ladies’ room and it’s a little bit ridiculous. “You don’t really know her and you’re not even sure it was really her, maybe it’s just your imagination?” I tell the mirror. Maybe her life is crappy and that ladies’ room fuck is the boldest thing she’s ever done, and she’s actually a really boring woman who works at a bakery selling chocolate cakes from morning till night? At least there are similarities between us, my life is crappy too and I too want to fix my blouse. I could maybe do it in a sparkling clean ladies’ room that was never used and was built especially for m
e, that is, if only Adam had cared about me and had been waiting for me, worried that I may have been kidnapped or raped, not asleep in front of the golf on TV.

  It’s difficult for me to fall asleep on a strange bed, the room is totally dark and the curtains are dark too, the kind that are made especially for hotels and prevent the yellow light of the street from penetrating in. What if there’s suddenly a fire and I’ll have to escape through the dark and unfamiliar room? The blanket is different too, I’m not used to sleeping with a wool blanket covered by a sheet, and Adam lying next to me also seems unfamiliar all of a sudden. The room is small and the mattress is small and he’s only a touch away from me and yet seems so far away, maybe I should put on the fishnet outfit that I purchased online especially for us? The one with the holes in all the places that usually don’t have holes. I can wear it and sit on him, that could be a great way to end an era of sulking and start the process of making up. The couple’s voices are still wandering around my mind and I do want to, but it seems like he’s sleeping so deeply that if I try to wake him up he’ll only get more upset. Sorry, fishnet outfit, your performance will commence tomorrow morning.

  I try to be quiet, press my legs tightly together and sleep, but the people and sounds from the club are wandering through my mind, a mixture of lights and applause, dancers with exposed breasts and one woman’s wailing. I’m quietly lying in the darkness and I’m wide awake, looking up at the black ceiling and unable to fall asleep.

  Day Two

  Hotel, Room 314, Bathroom, Early Morning

  I feel weird putting on the fishnet outfit and going to wake him up with caresses. The whole idea of waking him up with a sexy outfit suddenly seems inappropriate to me. As if I’m a character in a story about someone who’s standing in the bathroom of a little hotel, looking at herself in the mirror, and looking for some courage to go wake up a man with caresses. “What exactly were you thinking when you ordered this outfit online?” I ask the stranger standing in front of me on the other side of the mirror. She’s wearing a shiny black fishnet leotard which is covering my stomach, which I dislike, but is totally exposing my breasts and ends at the bottom with two thin straps, which are pressing on my lips and don’t really feel comfortable. “You should have ordered one size bigger,” I tell the woman facing me, as I lean down and try to lengthen the straps as much as possible. “What about lipstick? Shall we add red lipstick to the outfit?” I ask myself, “are you crazy? He’ll get a heart attack from you waking him up like this.” But I can’t resist.