A Second Chance in Paris

by Ziv Amit

  “And which real people do you usually shoot?”

  “I meet them here and there, it’s not a regular thing, people who seem special to me, interesting, who have a fascinating story behind their gaze, those are the ones I offer to shoot.”

  “Then I’m interesting, not pretty?” I accept my fate in this world, if you only knew how interesting my story really is. I think my story’s at my hotel room as we speak.

  “That’s not what I said,” he smiles at me.

  I keep quiet and smile back at him embarrassedly. I feel so pathetic, but there’s something so enticing about the way he gets excited by art and creativity.

  “The person I’m most interested in shooting is my Beauty, and she’s not a model,” he adds as his hand climbs a little bit further up under her dress, she in turn looks away from me, gently kisses his cheek, and returns to look at me with a smile. I think he’s making her feel really good.

  “She really is special,” I think to myself and look into her eyes. This entire scenario seems real strange to me, I’d like to know how many more women have already been in this situation with these two. I don’t actually think that I’m the first or the last one, I’m better off being realistic and not allowing myself to fall into any delusions of thinking I’m special or something.

  “And do you shoot The Beauty often?” I turn the subject over to her.

  “As often as I can, when we have the time and the right mood for a shoot.”

  I want to continue the conversation and ask him if he shoots her in the nude too, I’m curious about that, but I don’t dare, so I keep quiet.

  “Tomorrow morning before sunrise, we’re doing a shoot by the Pont Neuf Bridge, maybe she can join us and watch?” The Beauty answers my thoughts, asking the photographer while looking at me.

  “That could work,” the photographer thinks for a moment, looks at The Beauty, I think he’s deliberating with himself, and then turns to me and says, “Do you want to come?” He makes the invitation official and they both look at me.

  I’m tired and it’s already late, but the offer seems charming to me. Charming and stressing and also a little enticing, especially with the photographer’s hand continuously caressing The Beauty’s thigh with small strokes that I can’t ignore.

  “I’ll probably just get in the way,” I play hard to get. Don’t give up on me, please.

  “Not at all, it’s not in the nude or anything like that, just a little bit of revealing clothing,” The Beauty answers me and I’m glad she’s the one doing the talking.

  “If it doesn’t bother you, I’ll be happy to come along,” I answer with a polite tone but inside I’m celebrating.

  “It won’t bother us at all, on the contrary, it’ll be nice and you’ll enjoy it, will you know how to get to the bridge?”

  “I’ll find the way,” I promise both them and myself.

  “Arrive one hour before sunrise and dress well, it will be a little bit cold, I want to shoot The Beauty before the sun rises, that’s the best light for a photoshoot.”

  “I’ll be there,” I say with a smile and rise from my seat, I want to stay with them for a little while longer, I want them to take me in to their nice and touchy-feely couch, I don’t want to go to The Tall One’s cold hotel, but I think they want their alone-time now and I’m becoming a third wheel.

  I walk over to the front door and The Beauty runs after me, grabs me tightly and whispers in my ear “do come,” and with that word I march back to the hotel at this late night hour.

  Hotel, Room 314, Late Night Hour

  Kate

  I quietly shut the door to the room behind me and try to get my eyes used to the darkness. The window facing the street has the curtains drawn almost fully, with just a narrow crevice of yellow light penetrating through their gap creating a thin line of light along the little room. I consider whether or not to turn the light on, I don’t know if Adam is in the room and I don’t want to wake him up if he’s sleeping, on the other hand it’s stupid to be feeling my way through the darkness like this if he’s not even here. I eventually choose a compromise, I want to turn on a little light so I start going through all the switches, hoping the switch I choose doesn’t light up the entire room.

  The bathroom light spreads shadows over the room, and I now see him sleeping in bed, covered in the blanket. I wonder if he spent the whole day here in the room or if he went out to see the city, the main thing is that he’s sleeping on his side of the bed and not invading my half of the mattress.

  I sit myself down on the edge of the bed, trying not to rattle it too much, and quietly take my shoes off. I see him moving a little bit and I freeze, the last thing I want right now is for him to wake up. I have neither strength nor desire to hear him. I don’t want him to ask me where I was, I don’t want him to start looking into what I was doing, I don’t even want him to decide he should apologize right now. If he wants to apologize that badly he can wait till morning, not now.

  My feet ache from all of today’s walking and I massage them gently, I carefully remove the Band-Aids and look at the red skin on my heels, I lean down and slide my hand along the aching skin with a slow and tired movement, I have to buy myself new shoes.

  I quickly undress and throw my clothes on the chair, all I want to do right now is crawl into bed, cover myself with the blanket and sleep, but I feel smelly from this whole day. Walking the streets, smoking that cigarette, the touch of that man who danced with me at the party which made me feel uncomfortable, the humiliation from this morning. I have to shower, I won’t manage to fall asleep like this.

  “Go to sleep already, you have to wake up real soon.” I try to forgo the shower, lie down on my side of the bed keeping a distance from him, but even with the exhaustion I can’t fall asleep, I turn from side to side and eventually give up and get up to shower. And still, even with the scent of the soap and the face cream, I can’t fall asleep.

  I shut my eyes and imagine the photographer’s hand, climbing up and caressing The Beauty’s thigh while they’re talking to me. I want to be caressed that way too, out in the open, without him caring whether or not anyone’s looking, his hand climbing up my thigh, making me close my eyes, making me tremble, I so miss being touched. “I could have let the local tall man play around with me a little bit,” I whisper to myself, but I didn’t even like him, his touch didn’t feel nice and I’m not aroused at the thought of him, I need to think about someone else. “And what about the photographer? Do I want him?” I liked the photographer a lot more. There’s something attractive about how his eyes stare, channeling his blasé attitude towards what others think of him, that willingness to enjoy life as it is without having to account for anything to anyone, as if only his desires exist in the world, but I don’t know if he’s suitable for me or not, I can’t manage to decide. I don’t really have to decide anything, he has The Beauty and I have the man who doesn’t want me, the one sleeping with me in the same hotel room right now, so all I have left is my imagination.

  I’ve never been in that kind of photoshoot. Do you think she’ll strip in front of me when he shoots her? Outdoors in the nude like that? I don’t think so, though I don’t think she’d really mind being naked at a photoshoot. They didn’t even talk about nudity, why am I thinking about nudity straight away? I mean, she actually said that tomorrow he’s not shooting her in the nude. Would I be willing to be photographed in the nude? There’s no way I’d agree to that, but it turns me on to imagine myself undressing. Will he want to shoot me tomorrow? If he asks me, I’ll turn him down.

  Without noticing, my hand shifts down my night shirt and starts gently caressing my nipple, pleasant movements which correlate with my thoughts. “You’re definitely not going to fall asleep this way,” I think to myself, but the feeling of my nails against my nipple is nice, as are my thoughts.

  I lie on my back and start stroking my thigh with gentle
movements the way the photographer did in front of me, imagining his hand slowly climbing upwards and imagining The Beauty’s closed eyes and smiling lips, thinking about how I would feel were I in her place, but then I feel Adam turning around and my hand freezes and I hold my breath and stop the stroking.

  Why do you care if he hears you? He can’t hear a thing, he’s sleeping like a log. If he were awake he’d probably be charging at you with allegations and wanting to know where you went and what you were up to. He can stay asleep in his corner and you can continue with your thoughts, and your stroking.

  But I can no longer concentrate on The Beauty and the photographer’s hand and I press my thighs tightly together, trying to fall asleep in spite of my fantasies.

  Also at the Hotel, Room 314, Late Night Hour

  Adam

  I’m lying in bed and trying hard not to fall asleep, keep my eyes open, concentrate on the little crack between the curtains, the one allowing a narrow sliver of light to penetrate into the room, and I wait, but my eyes shut every so often and I doze off. Once in a while I pick up my watch which is on the bedside table, check the time and put it back in place.

  I’m waiting for her, trying to figure out what it is she’s doing and where she could be at such a late hour, maybe she actually decided to go somewhere else? But I’m mainly waiting to apologize to her, waiting to tell her I’m sorry.

  I can hear the key card sliding in and the door opening and I know I should turn around and speak to her, I’ve got sentences and questions ready to go, but I stay lying down motionless, staring at the crack of light from the street and doing nothing, I have no courage now, I’m scared.

  What can I even tell her? I don’t want to fight with her, I just want to know that she’s alright after everything that happened between us. “Do you really think she’s alright after what you did to her this morning?” I ask myself silently. At least she came back, she’s here. I want to tell her I was worried about her, but I’m scared that she won’t want to listen.

  I try to move a little bit, maybe she’ll start a conversation. But she’s not talking to me and I prefer to remain with my back to her and keep staring at the closed curtains, let her think I’m asleep. I hear her undressing. I like looking at her as she sits on her side of the bed with her back to me and undresses. Unhooks her bra and places it on the bedside table, peels off her underwear and lays it by her bra. I can imagine her doing that. The thought of her exposed back and her ass arouses me and I start feeling myself getting hard.

  Kate goes into the bathroom and doesn’t shut the door, she must think I’m asleep. Puts the toilet seat down and pees. She returns to the room without showering, lifts the blanket and gets into bed, doesn’t touch me. I’d like her to touch me, even just a little bit, lay her hand on my back, a light gesture of contact.

  She smells like cigarettes, do you think she smoked? I don’t think so, she quit ages ago. Maybe she went back to smoking out of spite. That doesn’t make sense, she was probably at some place where people smoked. I hate that smell, it took me ages to convince her to stop smoking. We almost broke up because of her smoking when we had just started going out, I don’t think she smoked tonight.

  Maybe I should turn around and tell her something? I can apologize now, I’m sure she’s waiting for that, I can pretend that I only just woke up and politely ask her where she was, and then I can say a few apologetic words, I’m sure she’d like that.

  “Are you sure she’d like that?” It doesn’t seem like she’s trying to caress you or hug you the way she did this morning, she’s not even touching you and it’s not like the bed here is that enormous. Isn’t this her way of hinting that you’ve been mean to her for a long while now? And what will I do if she refuses to forgive me? What will I do then? Take my things and leave?

  Let go of these thoughts, try to get some sleep.

  I can’t fall asleep, I’m lying in the darkness with my eyes wide open, trying to listen to The Little One, to the sound of her movements. I hear the blanket slightly moving and I hear her breaths. Is she awake or has she fallen asleep already? I’m trying to gather up the courage to tell her I’m sorry but I can’t manage to.

  I hear her getting up to shower, I hear her returning to bed smelling of soap, I hear her breaths, I think she’s touching herself and that turns me on, but I remain motionless this whole time, I don’t have the guts to talk to her, I’m scared of messing things up.

  “What now?” I think to myself. How long will you stay in bed like this, with your back turned to The Little One, full of thoughts and hard as a rock? I want her so badly right now, but I can’t make the first move.

  Tomorrow I’ll apologize, that’s the main thing, tomorrow morning everything will be alright.

  Day Three

  The Latin Quarter Streets

  Kate

  “I’m such an idiot, why didn’t I ask her for her phone number?”

  I don’t know when it was that I finally fell asleep, I’m not even entirely sure that I managed to sleep what with all the excitement and thoughts, but morning is here and the alarm goes off. I guess I did manage to sleep after all, at least a little bit.

  I quickly get up to turn the alarm off so that The Tall One doesn’t wake up and start asking me questions. I walk over to the bathroom, quietly shut the door behind me and start getting myself prettied up, on the way there I go over to my open suitcase and feel around in the dark for my set of black lace underwear and matching bra, a set I brought specifically for a special occasion with my Tall One.

  “He’s not going to shoot you anyway,” I tell my reflection in the mirror as I check that my breasts are nicely situated in my bra, and then turn to apply make up on my eyes and on a nasty pimple which grew overnight on the side of my chin. “You’re just going to watch from the side,” I tell myself firmly. Skirt or pants? Skirt, so you can easily change clothes if you want, and take a knitted top that you can easily remove too. Stockings? Should I pass on them or put them on? The lacey underwear will hardly be visible under them, but I’ll be cold without them, I should pass on them, it won’t be too bad if I get a little bit cold.

  An enveloping coat, comfortable shoes, find my key card in the darkness, grab my bag and quietly shut the door behind me, so that he doesn’t wake up.

  The sleepy hotel receptionist is standing behind the counter while the outside world is still dark, she gives me a secretive smile, as if I were a mistress rushing back home before dawn, or a local woman after a night spent in the arms of a gorgeous tourist.

  It’s still dark outside, dawn has yet to break, the street lamps are still lit and I rush towards the bridge, careful not to slip on the wet pavement stones.

  “Where is that bridge? I’m such an idiot, why didn’t I ask her for her phone number?” I’ve been wandering these little dark streets for an hour now, wrapped in my coat, searching for the bridge to no avail. Not on the streets to my right, not on the streets to my left, not straight ahead. I think I’m going around in circles.

  I must have taken a wrong turn in one of the alleyways, the first one or the second one or a different one, having overly relied on my memory which has in this case proved itself less than perfect, and I’ve been lost ever since. “The turn to the river is at the end of this street to the right,” I encourage myself and hasten my steps, but I get there and discover I was wrong again, all I see in front of me is yet another street with yet another set of street lamps.

  “Why didn’t I think about this? Why didn’t I ask the hotel receptionist? She would have shown me the way on the map,” I shout at myself with desperation and frustration after yet another street has led me nowhere. I look up and see the sky turning lighter and the night stepping aside to make room for daylight. “Do you think they’ll wait for you with the photoshoot?” I ask myself hopefully, but I know it’s only wishful thinking. There’s no way they’ll wait for me, I’ll probably remain
nothing but a story about the nice tourist who they had invited for a photoshoot but ended up getting cold feet. My feet really are cold right now, why didn’t I wear those stockings? All I can do now is continue to search for my way, and to look with frustration at the city cleaners washing the streets in preparation for a new morning.

  “Two streets on the left to the river,” a passer-by points me to the right direction as he rushes on his merry way. I think that’s the direction, at least he had the decency to stop and explain it to me with hand gestures included, didn’t just ignore me as if he couldn’t understand my question, the way a few street cleaners had done earlier when I asked for their help.

  The first rays of sunlight hit the marble tiles on the Pont Neuf Bridge, coloring them yellow. The curly bronze street lamps along its spine have long been turned off, and people are swiftly crossing it on their way to work. The traffic on the roads is intensifying too. I stand at the side of the bridge, surveying it and looking for the photographer and The Beauty, but I can’t spot them anywhere, for a moment I think I see them on the riverbank, but a closer look clarifies that it’s in fact a homeless person who has spent the night there. I wait around for a few moments longer, surveying the area with hopeful eyes, then I turn around and start making my way back.

  “No Beauty and no photographer and no photoshoot and no bridge, good morning, Cinderella,” I whisper to myself sullenly as I walk back towards the hotel. I slowly walk past the cafés which are starting to open, offering a quick coffee and fresh pastries to their regular customers, the ones who stop there on their way to work. I walk and stop, making my way slowly, not in a rush to return to the hotel, gloomily pressing my nose against the front windows of cafés, staring jealously at the people drinking a quick coffee by the counters.

  Another café window and another glance and another opportunity for my nose to press against the glass and another look inside a café and there they are, The Beauty and the photographer.