A Second Chance in Paris

by Ziv Amit

  The Latin Quarter, Café, Afternoon

  Kate

  “Are you waiting for someone?”

  “No, I’m alone.”

  I sit at a café, choosing a corner table by the window, already feeling a little bit more like I belong. Two chairs facing each other, other tables scattered around, large windows looking out to the hectic street, a light afternoon breeze enters the café.

  I hang my bag on the back of the chair and place the smartphone on the table, facing me, I sit back and stare at it.

  Black-and-white checkered floor tiles leading to the outdoors’ noise of the street, a few youngsters sitting at the tables outside the café. They’re arguing loudly and their voices penetrate the café but I can’t understand what the argument’s about, a young couple sitting close to me, busy with themselves. I feel like nothing’s changed here, the same youngsters who never run out of things to say, the same loved-up couple staring at each other, the same waiter with the same manners.

  I look at my blood-red nails. I imbed them into my palm until it turns red, I press them in harder and stronger, momentarily enjoying the sensation of the pain, and I let go. I’ll go back to my hotel room soon and redo my nail polish.

  “What would the lady like to order?”

  “Coffee, espresso please.”

  The smartphone is black and silent, I lift it up, play with it, turn it and place it back on the table, lift it up again and place it down again.

  I feel good relaxing in front of the wide open windows that show the street, looking at the passers-by as they rush, trying to invent life stories for them, at least for the ones who hang back for long enough so that I can catch a proper glance at them.

  “There you go,” the waiter carefully places the coffee down.

  “Thank you,” I look at the waiter and then return my gaze to the passers-by outside, letting the silent hustle-bustle calm me down. I’ll go back to the hotel to get ready soon, I’ll fill myself up with thoughts and adrenaline, but right now I don’t want to think about anything. I want to be an anonymous woman, sitting alone at a little café drinking an espresso. Drinking and smiling to herself for the woman that she is.

  My silent black smartphone suddenly pings.

  “Surprise, The Tall One came back,” I smile to myself and to the shift manager who passes by my table and smiles back at me.

  “I forgot to give you our address and the entrance code to the building, kisses.” It’s not him after all, he must be busy with other things.

  The Latin Quarter, Another Café, Afternoon

  Adam

  I think the only reason they haven’t thrown me out of this café yet is because I’m a tourist, considering all the paper clippings and the mess I’ve made around me. That and the fact that I ordered a cup of coffee and the cheesecake that I like makes them feel too uncomfortable to show me out the door.

  I place the poetry book in front of me on the table and begin working.

  “Red rose petals.” I’m scattering them between the pages for you, because I love you and because I want to give you a present, a poetry book. The petals are our exclusive thing. I found the roses on the bridge, I’ll tell you all about it one day.

  “A purple pencil drawing of a huge suitcase on one of the pages, carried by a man I couldn’t quite manage to sketch properly.” Because you like to bring a lot of clothes with you and I love the fact that you want to surprise yourself as well as me each and every morning. I’m sorry I didn’t help you with your suitcase.

  Thank goodness I found an arts and crafts shop at the end of the street.

  “A piece of white ribbon glued over a poem, I found it wrapped around the marble rail on the bridge.” Because I know how excited you get about brides in white dresses and because you need to know that I’m moved by our marriage, it’s the best thing in my life.

  How do you explain to a salesman at an arts and crafts shop that you need glue and scissors if he doesn’t understand a word of English? I’ll write a play about that one day.

  “Your lips, the way they look when I summon them in my mind’s eye, I cut them out of a magazine that I bought on the street and glued them on a page.” I searched for them through dozens of magazines until I found the right ones, the newspaper vendor was starting to get upset with me.

  “A sketch of the bridge drawn over the words of one of the poems, the best bridge I could draw, I’m giving you flowers and you’re smiling, though your smile didn’t come out that clear.” It didn’t happen on this vacation, but it’s what I would have wanted to happen to us.

  “The label of a sexy outfit I purchased for you at a sex shop, to replace the one you wore when I insulted you. Something private just for the two of us which I find amazing, and I’m sorry about having insulted you.” Do you know how many sex shops there are on that street?

  “A painting I saw at a museum and cut out of an art book, two men sitting with one woman, I allowed myself to erase one of the men with a marker pen, it seemed more appropriate that way, one man and one woman, just like us.” I bought the book at a photography and art bookshop that I came across, one day we’ll go there together and look through all the photos and paintings.

  “A bag of brown sugar that I stole from this café and glued onto a page, in honor of all the cafés that we didn’t sit at together during this vacation.” We’ll have to come back here again and make amends.

  “An Eiffel Tower keychain that I bought for one Euro at a shop in the Latin Quarter.” An entire Paris vacation without climbing up the Eiffel Tower and without kissing you, I miss you so much.

  I close my book-present, now I just need to let the glue dry for a little while, collect all the paper clippings scattered around me, and finish my coffee and cheesecake.

  And find The Little One.

  Hotel, Room 314, Early Evening

  Kate

  I’ve got that feeling at the bottom of my stomach again, but this time it’s from excitement. I’ve put the back of the toilet seat down and I have my foot placed on top of it, my hand slides over my leg with the razor, first downwards with the direction of the hair and then back up. The bathroom is steamy from the shower I just had and I feel pleasantly warm. The sensation of the razor sliding over the hair conditioner I had put on my leg makes me feel sexy. I usually tend to use Adam’s shaving foam, if he were to ever find out about that he’d freak out, but he’s not here anyways, and his toiletries have vanished along with him, so I make do with hair conditioner.

  I use my fingers to stretch my stomach up, the same stomach with which I have a complex relationship, and which today I’m willing to make peace with for the sake of the approaching evening. I make sure to stretch the skin properly and I pass the razor over the little corners which I usually leave to grow wild, being extra careful not to cut myself.

  A last rinse of the hair conditioner from my legs, I slide my hand across and examine my smooth skin, I wipe the steam off the mirror, I’m wrapped in a towel and ready for my makeup.

  Delicate makeup on my face and eyes, I want to look my best.

  Careful with the eyeliner over my lashes, I don’t usually color them this way, but today I want to feel fierce.

  Dark eyeshadow, I think it’ll suit the black dress.

  I finish applying the eyeliner and look at my eyes with satisfaction. I place my hand in front of my face, leaving a little gap between the fingers through which I can see myself in the mirror. I see The Beauty’s name written on my fingers and I see my eyes peering through them, I like what I see.

  I toss the towel aside and stand naked in front of the mirror, checking myself out. Despite the shower, I can still see the bra strap marks on my shoulders from today’s walk. I think they might spoil the photoshoot, maybe I should go there without a bra on? I’ll leave it here. What about underwear? Will they leave a mark on my hips? Should I go commando? Isn’t t
hat a little bit over the top? I don’t know what to decide.

  I carefully apply the lipstick, I want to stay within the lines, I hate messing it up and then having to fix it.

  I wander around the room in the nude for a few minutes, I want to let the lipstick dry before I get dressed. I get a little bit cold and I wrap myself in the towel again, walk over to the window and stare down at the street. I search for interesting people to look at, but the street is nearly empty, everyone’s rushing to their homes at this time of the day, no one’s taking their time to wait for anyone. Even if some stranger were to look up, all he’d see would be a regular woman wrapped in a white towel, looking out of a hotel window, that’s not really something to write home about.

  The dress and the corset are laid out on the bed, I still can’t decide which one to wear and which one to take in a bag with me.

  “Who volunteers to go first?” I ask them, but they exercise their right to remain silent. Eventually I go for the dress, despite how short and revealing it is, it still seems like the more decent of the two, at least for the beginning, and also that way I can get The Beauty to help me with lacing the corset later on.

  My breasts almost pop out of the dress and I fix them back in. “Behave yourselves,” I tell them off affectionately, “no red nipples today.”

  I put a long knitted dress on top, so that I don’t attract too much attention on the street, and also so that I don’t get too cold. The shiny dress’s fabric is tight against my skin and the knitted dress is sliding over it.

  Put my red suede boots on, push the lipstick into one of them.

  I transfer the contents of my bag into a smaller black bag which I had brought for nights out, I find a box of condoms and a box of Band-Aids, some with gel and a few with Donald Duck.

  A shopping bag containing the corset, and inside it another bag containing the shiny black high heels.

  Bag, silent smartphone, key card, coat, seven steps to the door.

  Two deep breaths as my hand grabs the door handle. “I can change my mind at any time,” I repeat to myself.

  I’m ready.

  And still no sign of Adam. It’s time to go.

  Hotel, Hallway Leading to Room 134, Early Evening

  Adam

  I come out of the elevator, I’m full of excitement, I walk through the short hallway towards the room. My hand is wrapped around the book, holding it tightly, as though I’m scared it’ll drop and disappear forever.

  The door to our room opens and I freeze with anticipation, I see The Little one coming out. To begin with she doesn’t notice me, her eyes are turned towards the door as she shuts it. Then she turns around and sees me, and she freezes too.

  All the beautiful words and sentences I had prepared in my mind have now vanished and I stand there silent for a moment, looking at her, smiling awkwardly. Say something already.

  She’s also standing and smiling embarrassedly, as if waiting for me to say something. She waits for a second and then starts walking towards me. For a moment I think that maybe she wants to come and hug me, but the direction of her steps clarifies that she wants to pass me by. She really isn’t interested in me anymore.

  I make room for her to walk past me in the narrow hallway and I touch her hand as she passes. “Little One, I’m sorry, I need to talk to you,” I manage to squeeze out the best possible sentence I can think up.

  “Tomorrow, we’ll talk tomorrow,” she quickly answers me, continuing down the hallway to the elevator, leaving me standing and watching her back as she gets further away. She pauses by the elevator for a moment and then chooses to take the spiral staircase, disappearing from my sight. She probably didn’t want the awkwardness of waiting for the elevator in the hallway while I stared at her or tried to talk to her.

  All that’s left of The Little One in the hallway is the scent of her perfume and the image of her lips in my mind’s eye, colored with shiny red lipstick and saying “tomorrow.”

  Hotel, Hallway Leading to the Elevator, Early Evening

  Kate

  Why did I tell him “tomorrow”? Maybe I should have stopped and listened to him for a few minutes? Listen to him now? After three days of him sending me away, not bothering to look for me, not bothering to apologize or show any interest in how I’m feeling? Now? Let him wait till tomorrow.

  He took me by surprise, for a moment there I didn’t know what to do, why did he surprise me like that? This isn’t a good time for that, now when I’m dressed like this and already on my way. He probably came over to take his suitcase and tell me he’s leaving, why do I need to think about that right now? I don’t want to think about it.

  Did he notice the dress I’m wearing underneath? That’s not possible, it isn’t visible. And the boots? Can’t tell, he definitely noticed the lipstick though, he always notices when I have bold lipstick on. Why should he care about what I’m wearing if he only came over so he could take his suitcase and leave? And what’s in the bag he was holding? Did he go shopping? Do you think he knows where you’re going? What is he, a magician? It’s not like it’s written all over my forehead. It is, however, written all over my fingers, did he notice my fingers?

  I walk down the street towards the metro station, unable to stop and turn back, his words continuing to echo in my head, “I’m sorry”, and his image in the hallway with a book in his left hand remaining in my mind’s eye.

  Hotel, Room 314, Early Evening

  Adam

  It’s taking me time to get into the room, I feel like I’m in slow-motion, as if two people exist within me, one is active and one is thinking about The Little One walking away from me down the hallway. I shut the door in slow-motion, place the book on the bed in slow-motion, walk over to the closet in slow-motion, open the closet doors in slow-motion, see that the dress and corset are gone in slow-motion, sit on the bed in slow-motion.

  My thoughts have dissipated, my heart is beating slowly, I don’t know whether it matters anymore if I continue to sit here, or run after her, or get up and leave, does any of it really matter? Can I even change anything at all?

  “Do something,” I tell myself out loud, “anything, just do something.”

  “Start with washing your face, one step at a time.”

  I walk over to the bathroom, wash my face with cold water and massage it strongly with my fingers, keeping my eyes shut. I grab a towel and notice The Little One’s bra and underwear rolled up and tossed on the side by the sink, as though they were merely a worthless lump of fabric.

  “Look yourself in the eyes,” I command, examining the red-eyed man who is staring back at me through the dripping mirror.

  “Now go find her.” It doesn’t really matter anymore, and it’s hopeless. But you’re not giving up, not now.

  I slowly turn the lights off in the room, go out to the hallway, and shut the door behind me.

  The Bridge, Early Evening

  Adam

  “Stop, Little One,” I shout to her, accelerating my pace from walking to running. In the distance, on the bridge, I see The Little One leaning on the rail, a black silhouette in front of the street lamps. She doesn’t look at me and I don’t bother figuring out if she’d heard me and ignored me or if she hadn’t heard me at all, I’m running, I want to catch up with her, put an end to this evening.

  I touch her shoulder breathlessly and she turns around to look at me and I freeze.

  It isn’t The Little One, it’s another woman, surprised by me, her eyes are red from having cried. She’s looking at me with a worried and scared look. She’s looking around to see if there are any other people nearby, in case she’ll need to shout for help.

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell her once I get my breath back, hoping she understands me, “I made a mistake, I thought you were someone else, I’m so sorry,” I apologize repeatedly, red with embarrassment.

  She stands there looking
at me, allowing a tiny smile through her tears, tightening her jacket around her body, and I stand in front of her, searching for further ways of apologizing. Now I can tell she doesn’t look anything like The Little One. She’s pretty, but not as pretty as my Little One. Her height is different and her lips are different and her smile is different and she actually smells like cigarettes and even the little movement she makes to wipe away her tears is different.

  “It’s alright,” she answers me, “I was also mistaken up until now,” and she grabs the suitcase next to her, backs up from the rail and walks away slowly along the bridge.

  I give her a final apology, say goodbye and continue running along the path of the street lamps, thinking to myself that this woman deserved a hug, but someone else’s hug.

  The streets are filled with people, but not with my woman, I’m running around and looking every which way, searching for her through the crowd that passes me.

  “The main thing is that you do something,” I repeat to myself over and over again. I can go back to the hotel, or continue wandering the streets, or walk down to the metro, it doesn’t really matter, either way I don’t stand a chance in hell, but I want to feel like I did something, like I tried as much as I could, like I refused to give up on us, even if that means I have to keep searching for her all night long.

  I’ll start with the metro.

  Metro

  Kate

  “What did he want to say to me? Isn’t it a little too late for words? And what was that book he was holding?” The metro is less crowded now and I’m standing in the center of the carriage holding on tight in order not to fall, peering ahead as the train bends through the black tunnel. I have a few moments of silence and thoughts. “What did he want to talk to me about?” I discuss with myself, now doesn’t seem like the right time for this sort of discussion, but my thoughts aren’t exactly asking for my permission, they’re just allowing themselves in.