A Friend in Paris

by Jennie Goutet

  “I don’t,” Victor admitted. April’s difficulty stirred some feeling in him, something like anger over injustice that he usually found easy enough to dismiss. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he rubbed the bristle on his chin and finally settled for, “Like I said, I’m here for you if you need it.”

  “Thank you, Victor.” She offered him a smile that made his heart beat a little faster, but he talked himself down from imagining a second date. Not this one. I will befriend this little Bohemian, but nothing more.

  When they had ordered two cafés, Victor said, “I didn’t really have anything to ask you about art. It was just an excuse to get you away from Lucas. But…are you painting anything new?”

  April smiled at the waiter as he put an espresso in front of each of them, and she opened her little square of chocolate before answering. “Our art teacher announced this morning that a maître of the most important art school in Paris is hosting a gallery with some colleagues of his, and they’ve invited our class to submit our best work. The theme is ‘Paris.’”

  “Is it l’École des Beaux-Arts?”

  When she nodded, Victor’s lips crept upward. “My grandfather went there for architecture. He told me about some of the pranks the students have pulled—they’re known for that. Once, during the Second World War, the director of the school was forced to give a tour to the Nazis. Everyone knew about the visit, and when the director brought the Nazis to the nude painting class, he walked in and saw that the model was fully clothed.” Victor paused for effect, then added, “And the students were all naked.”

  April couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh my. You wouldn’t think it with such a prestigious school. Did they get in trouble?”

  He shook his head. “The director just shut the door quickly and took his guests to the next classroom. You should submit that painting you were working on the last time I saw you.”

  “My teacher said the same thing. But she encouraged me to work on a new one and decide which of the two is better. So I need to come up with a new place to paint.”

  “Huh.” Victor toyed with the handle of his cup. “I’ll see if I can think of something. I know the city pretty well.” It would be good for him to be doing something other than working anyway. It was not often he set his mind to searching out a place in Paris just because it was pretty. It could be an interesting challenge, and fun. “How long are you here for?” he asked.

  “Just through August.” April picked up the tiny espresso cup and took a sip. “After that, I plan to spend six months in China studying art—maybe Shanghai, although I’m not sure. And then I want to go to India, and South America, and…I’m not sure where else. I want to study art in all these places.”

  Victor’s mouth dropped. “That’s ambitious.” When he didn’t say anything more, she smiled and gave a shrug. The truth was, he felt a little jealous of her freedom. Or maybe he was jealous of her courage. Who did that?

  After a silence, April asked, “What do you do? You mentioned you work from home.”

  “I’m in mergers and acquisitions,” he said. “I invest, and I acquire businesses. If the one I purchase is not doing well, I put new management in place to turn the business around. Then I sell it at a profit.”

  “How many businesses have you bought and turned around?” she asked.

  “Oh, maybe twenty? I’ve only been doing it for six years, and I’m learning from my father.”

  “It sounds interesting. What type of businesses?”

  “It varies,” Victor said. “Small stores, consulting firms, payroll companies. Each one is different.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “I like the money,” Victor said with a laugh.

  April shook her head. “It’s not enough, though, is it? Or—it must get old just doing something for a love of money. There has to be a love of the process, right? For instance, with painting, I can’t just want to have a beautiful painting as an end result. I need to love the process of producing what I see in front of me, and the inspiration to paint a greater significance into it. Like the hope represented by the girl in my painting. Or, at least, that’s what I hope is coming through.”

  He gave a weak laugh. Hope was exactly what came through. “Not everyone can find such satisfaction in their jobs. Investment is not like painting.”

  “I’m not sure I agree.” April seemed to remember her coffee and took a sip. “If you’re really good at something, you can love it, even if to someone else it seems like it doesn’t make a big difference in the scheme of things.”

  “Well,” he conceded. “I like doing one thing differently from my dad. He’s pretty ruthless and doesn’t take into account the feelings of the companies he buys out. I try to keep the owner in an advisory position if it’s something that’s important to him or her, with the understanding that the company has to continue to turn a profit.”

  “See? You do enjoy it. I was sure there was more there than simply making money, or you wouldn’t be doing it.”

  They had finished their coffees, and Victor debated whether he should prolong their time together or propose they go back. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea. Not that she seemed to be under any illusion that he was interested in her. Finally, he said, “I’ll get the check. Shall we head back?”

  “I can pay my share,” April said, reaching for her wallet.

  He stopped her with his hand on her arm. “No. I’m the one with all the money, remember?” He gave her what he hoped was a disarming smile. “It’s just a coffee.”

  As they were walking back, Victor raised his voice as the light changed and the traffic surged. “Where does your family live?” He almost missed her response.

  “I have none.”

  “Why? You’ve disowned them or something?” He drew his brows together. “Everyone has family.”

  “Not quite everyone,” April replied, a bit louder now. A motorcycle sped up as it swerved around the cars in the street. “My parents were both only children, and their parents are all dead, some before I was born, and one as late as when I was in my teens. My mom died when I was very young in a car accident, and my dad just died last year. So I really have no family.”

  He looked at her and was not surprised to see a sheen over her eyes. He had heard the slight tremble in her voice, though she was far from asking for sympathy.

  “I see.” He had no idea what else to say, so he was glad to reach their building.

  When they had gone through the wooden doors, they both looked around the courtyard, searching for Lucas, he assumed. The guy was nowhere in sight. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your room,” he said.

  At her door, April turned, the heavy key in her hand. “Thanks for the coffee, Victor.”

  He shrugged and pursed his lips. “It was a pleasure.”

  Her answering smile lit her eyes. “I’m happy to have a friend in Paris.”

  The comment pleased him. “Then let’s meet again for coffee next week,” he found himself saying, and it surprised him how much he meant the invitation. They would go out as friends.

  Chapter 5

  A week went by where April managed to live her life without bumping into Lucas even once. She began to feel more secure as she went to and from the building, but she no longer had her lunch in the courtyard. It was beginning to be warm enough that she could eat in the small park outside her school, though she was still searching for that perfect spot to paint. Perhaps Victor would come through and show her something a little out of the way.

  Ben appeared and took a seat next to her on the park bench. “Thought you might be here.”

  “You mean because I told you this is where I’ve been having my lunch lately?” April bumped his arm with her own. “Have you begun your Paris painting?”

  “I think I’ve found the spot. I’m going to paint the street artists next to the Georges Pompidou center. That should give me all the bold colors and unusual characters I need. We have enough paintings that show the historic statelines
s of this majestic city. It’s getting boring.”

  April’s mouth fell open. “Ben, how is it that your English is so good? No one talks like that.”

  “My family spent a few years in Hong Kong for my father’s work, but I think I would have spoken English fluently even without it. My parents made sure my sister and I were bilingual. Well—trilingual if you count the French, but I’m not as fluent in French.”

  “Better than me,” she said.

  April leaned back on the bench beside Ben, and they watched a man throw a stick for his dog, who caught it and returned it. Two high school boys played Frisbee, looking from time to time to see if the group of girls sitting on a blanket were watching them. They were, but discreetly, only risking glances when it seemed the boys were occupied. April sighed. Her own teenage years had not been all that carefree.

  “Have you thought more about your plans for China?” Ben asked when the silence stretched. He had been watching her, she noticed with a jump, and with an intensity that was new.

  “No. It’s enough for me that I plan to go. I don’t want to rush my time here thinking about my next move. I want to be fully present in each place I live, even if it’s just for a few short months.”

  “Don’t you feel a little…unrooted? You know, since you don’t have any home to go back to?”

  The reminder felt like a physical punch, and April fought the tears that sprang up instantly. Unable to answer right away, she stood, wordlessly crumpling her napkin into a ball and walking to the garbage can. She dropped it in and stayed there a minute, face averted, pretending to watch the man with his dog.

  When April returned to the bench, she pasted on a smile. “Why should I feel like that? My situation is not much different from other kids my age who are off having adventures without their parents nearby.” She opened her cloth bag and stuffed in the notebook she’d been carrying for her impromptu sketches.

  “It is different,” Ben insisted, in a way that seemed as if he were determined to pour salt on her wound. “They have the security blanket of family to go back to, and you don’t.” Why was he forcing her to face what was painful when it was nothing she could change?

  “Ben—” April stood again, now mad. She started walking, hoping he wouldn’t follow, but she had no such luck.

  “April, wait. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset. I just wanted to get you to think more about China. I can offer you a place to stay, so you won’t feel so homeless. That’s all.”

  April wiped the tears away from her face in an angry gesture. “Fine. You want to invite me over? That’s nice,” she said in a tight voice. “But stop making comments about my life. Let me live it the best I can with the situation I’ve been dealt. You’re not in a place to make any observations about how I should feel.”

  “Okay,” he said. He put his arm around her. “Let me walk you home.”

  It was all she could do not to push him away. Instead she smiled and took a step aside. It wasn’t like she had a zillion friends in Paris. “That’s nice of you, but I had plans to go exploring the city to try to find my new spot to paint. That’s something I need to do on my own.”

  “All right, fine. No hard feelings?” Ben was looking at her in concern.

  “No hard feelings.” This time she softened toward him. It wasn’t his fault she was so prickly. But as she hoisted her bag on her shoulders and walked away, she couldn’t help the tears that leaked down her cheeks. And she couldn’t help the fact that it was quite some time before she was able to view the future stretching before her in any but the bleakest of terms.

  Victor entered his apartment with a spring in his step. He had decided to go knock on April’s door and see if she wanted to have another coffee together. Hadn’t they said they would meet more often? It was nice to have a friend. That’s what she had called him, and it wasn’t something he was used to. There were not many people he’d stayed in touch with from school, and most of the girls he met tended to regard him with a predatory look. April seemed to study him, rather, her blue eyes shining with irony and laughter. It had been a week, and the more time went by, the more determined he was to meet her again.

  His keys went on the antique console under a gilded mirror, making a soft clink when they hit the marble. Everything in the apartment had its place, and Victor liked it that way. His study was the only room in the apartment that was the least bit modern. He had chosen a plain white desk, and furniture with red and black accents. He didn’t care that he set the modern paintings in between wall panels that were decorated with nineteenth-century molding. He had respected the requirements for decorating a traditional Parisian apartment in every room, but the office was his.

  As he crossed the living room, his phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, then froze. Margaux. It took a few seconds to steady his beating heart, and then, before he could lose his nerve, he cleared his throat and answered.

  “Allô?”

  “Victor, is that you? You sound different. It’s Margaux.”

  He swallowed before answering. His throat was so dry, just from hearing her voice after a year, he wasn’t sure any sound was going to come out. “Bonjour, Margaux. Yes, this is still my number. What a surprise to hear from you.” His voice cracked a little, and he hoped she hadn’t heard it.

  “Yes, well. I’ve been away. You knew that, right? I went to Monaco.”

  “You told me before you left, but I didn’t think you’d be gone so long.” Victor tried to keep the peevishness from his tone but wasn’t sure how successful he was. “You just broke it off and left, and I haven’t had a single word from you other than a postcard with no return address. You didn’t even return my calls.”

  “I just…” There was silence on the line. “I just needed a clean break. I was feeling pressure from my parents. They liked you, you know.”

  They had. It’d been the one thing that gave Victor confidence their relationship was going to work. Her parents accepted him, even if they were so formal as to be stiff. They liked his work ethic, and the money he brought in, of course. They even approved of his decorating taste, something which made him feel proud. While they didn’t seem overly impressed with his father, they hadn’t held that against Victor. Surely with all that going for him, Margaux wouldn’t just dump him. But she had in the end.

  “Why are you calling me now after all this time?” The question begged to be asked even if he was afraid it would turn her away.

  “I need to see you.”

  Victor heard the urgency in her voice, and his heart leapt. She missed him. That was it. She missed him, or she wouldn’t be calling him after a year. Maybe they could work things out after all. “Okay. When?”

  Victor sat on the steps of the Grande Arche de La Défense. Not too far up since she’d specified the base of the steps, but far enough that he could see her coming. He rubbed his face and exhaled. She was late again. People scurried across the esplanade, but no familiar face stood out of the crowd, except for…the woman looked like Margaux if it weren’t for the baby carriage she was pushing.

  Bile rose in Victor’s throat as he stood, and he felt his fingers go numb. He took a couple steps down, then there was no mistaking her. She waved at him as he approached, a tentative smile on her face.

  Wordlessly, they stood in front of each other before she offered her cheek for him to kiss, a movement that brought them close, their cheeks warm as they each grazed the other. Shock kept him nearly speechless, but he turned to look inside the carriage at the sleeping infant. “Yours?” he asked.

  Margaux nodded.

  “Who’s the dad?” he asked her.

  She looked at him for a minute, then took the handles of the stroller and said, “Come. Let’s walk down the esplanade. It’s nice today.” Without waiting for him, Margaux turned and headed toward the fountain in the middle, and after a second’s hesitation, Victor followed.

  “Why’d you get back in touch, Margaux? What do you want from me?” The pain V
ictor had felt over their breakup rushed over him, and it was just as intense as if it were yesterday. He could hear the pain in his own voice when he asked, “You’re with someone else, is that it?”

  Margaux stopped and turned to him. Her sleek brown hair was pulled back in her usual style, and she wore the gold pendant earrings he’d given her for her birthday. Victor couldn’t help but admire the beauty that came from her simplicity. A white crisp collar turned out over a navy blue sweater. A beige trench coat that fell to below her knees, revealing her jeans and brown moccasins. She always managed to look perfect.

  “The baby is yours,” she said.

  He had been staring at her, soaking in the sight of her, though it would cost him when he had to rip her out of his heart for the second time… “Wait. What?” He couldn’t have heard her correctly.

  Victor looked at the baby again, this time searching for proof. Searching for something that would show he carried the same genes as this newborn. Could it be the nose? Or the shape of the face? But no. It just looked like a baby.

  Margaux was still looking at him, and he could only ask, stupidly, “Is it a boy or a girl?”

  She laughed. “It’s a boy, Victor. His name is Matthias.”

  The blood rushed to his head, and he began to heave. “Victor, are you okay?”

  Stumbling over to the modern statue in the center of the esplanade, Victor tried to hide behind it as he threw up everything he had eaten that day. It was not private enough. Businessmen and women, and more than a few tourists, gave him strange looks as they passed by, many turning away in disgust. He stood upright, shaking. I have to get a bottle of water or something, he thought. He looked at Margaux, and it wasn’t a nightmare. There she was still. There the stroller was. Still.

  He returned to her side. “How many months is he?”

  “A mint?” she offered, and he took it. “Matthias is three months. So you see, I went to Monaco pregnant, but not knowing it. I can’t explain why I didn’t come back, but I…couldn’t.”