One Week in Paris

by Roya Carmen

I want to tell him to stop, but my body says, Go, go, go… and fuck me, right here.

  “God, you’re wet,” he whispers. “I also fantasized about sucking on your sweet pussy down there, amongst the skulls.”

  A smile traces my lips. “You’re twisted, Oscar.”

  He teases me, plays with the edges of my moist panties. “You like it.” God, he’s turning me on so much. I really wish we were in our bed. When he sneaks his hand inside my panties, I almost lose it. I want him to take me right there. He slides a finger over my clit briefly, teasing, and it dances around my sweet spot, torturing me. He shoots me a wicked smile.

  Yes, my boy loves to play.

  “You-you’re, b-ad,” I whisper, my words broken.

  “And you love it.”

  I close my eyes. “I want you inside,” I say, my voice pleading.

  “You want my finger or my cock, baby?”

  Oh my…

  We hear a sudden laugh and distant chatter. There are people walking up the hill. They can’t see us yet, but as soon as they trek up the hill, around the curve, they’ll run smack into us. Oscar pulls away, and I press down my skirt, making sure I look presentable.

  About four seconds later, two couples walk past us, completely oblivious. They offer us friendly smiles, and we reciprocate. They’re speaking French, but I don’t quite understand what they’re saying. Oscar and I stand still for a beat, waiting for them to walk further away. He seems as flustered as I am.

  “You’re pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

  He grins. “Yeah, and I still have a very impressive hard-on. We need to get home, like yesterday.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, we do.”

  After the longest hour of my life, my feet are sore, and my sex is on fire. Seriously, it is. Like that song from Kings of Leon.

  Oscar closes the front door behind us. Corrie is reading on the sofa in the living room. I’m just about to go say hi when Oscar grabs me by the waist. “Sorry, Corrie. We’ve got important plans in the bedroom.”

  Corrie and I both laugh. Subtle? Not so much. That’s Oscar for you.

  I’m about to peel off my jacket when he slams the bedroom door behind us and throws me on the bed. He lowers his body onto mine. I can feel his huge erection on my thigh, and I get aroused at the thought of him inside me.

  “Today was amazing,” he says softly. “But this… this right here, is the best part.”

  I smile and slide my hand under his sweater. “I concur, Mr. Cohen.”

  He’s not in a hurry tonight, which surprises me because he has a throbbing hard-on. We kiss leisurely, softly, taking every ounce of each other in. I dig my greedy hands in his thick hair, rub my swollen lips against his rough beard, and revel in his scent; sweet and spicy, just like him.

  He slides a slow hand under my turtleneck and I marvel at how this never gets old, even after all these years. I want this to last all night. I know it’s already getting late, and we need to get up early tomorrow to travel back home. I wish time could stand still.

  We undress each other slowly, between soft stolen kisses. This isn’t like us at all. Usually, we’re fast and furious. Something is different tonight.

  We burrow under the crisp cool sheets, the both of us completely naked. We’re separated for only a moment, but the absence of his skin on mine hurts. When we find each other again, I never want to let him go. I’m in love. Hard, real, cruel love. This isn’t just a crush anymore. This isn’t just about sex anymore. And that scares the hell out of me.

  Tears well under my closed lids. Why can’t it be like it’s always been? Why did I have to fall in love? As soon as I love, I get hurt.

  I get lost in his kiss. His large hands explore and dance over my body. I pull my mouth reluctantly from his. “Promise me you’ll never hurt me.”

  His dark gaze is lost in mine. “I promise. I could never hurt you, Kayla. If I ever did, I would suffer more than you.”

  And with those beautiful words, he slowly sinks into me.

  I startle awake, and it hits me. Almost as if I’ve been dreaming about it. I’ve thought of a way to apologize to my mom. In a way that might just pull at her heartstrings.

  But first, I need to get up. I check the clock on my bedside table. It’s five o’clock in the morning. It’s still dark out. This is perfect — plenty of time to pack up all our stuff, have breakfast, swing by the gift shop down the street, and head to the airport.

  Corrie and Oscar are still sleeping, to my dismay.

  “C’mon. Up, you guys. We need to get packing.” I feel like a nagging mom, but someone’s got to be in charge around here. Corrie’s room is a complete utter disaster; shoes, items of clothing, and candy wrappers litter the floor. You’d swear she was a teenager if you didn’t know any better.

  Oscar is still half-sleeping, and also has a morning stiffy — I swear, the man is insatiable. But no time for shenanigans this morning unfortunately. “Get up,” I yell at him. He scowls and throws his pillow at my head. Whatever happened to I could never hurt you, Kayla?

  We’re busy packing, and I also need to find something to wrap mom’s gift in. I pace around the apartment, thinking. Then it hits me. I run over to Corrie’s room. She’s packing up her clothing and shoes. As expected, she hasn’t cleaned up the candy wrappers. I bend down and gather them.

  She turns to me, and cocks a brow. “Sorry, I was just about to get to those.”

  “No worries. I’m going to use them for something.” I run out of her room, excited. I remember seeing some sticky tape in one of the drawers in the kitchen.

  I quickly put on my jacket, step into my boots, and head outside. I swing by the gift shop down the street, and waste no time in picking up the beautiful gift I had my eye on.

  When I get home, I tear open the wrappers and stick them on the box, one at a time. The process is tedious and I wish my hands could move faster. When I’m finally done, I peruse my work. It looks pretty cool — colorful French packaging makes for an oddly whimsical present. Now, I just need a bow. Luckily, I have a ribbon or two in my travel jewelry bag. I like to wear them in my hair sometimes to pretty up my ponytails.

  Finally…

  We’re ready to go. The taxi is late, and our driver is moody, which is actually not surprising. A lot of the cab drivers in this city seem cranky. I suppose it’s not fun driving tourists around in busy city traffic all day.

  Miraculously, we get to Charles de Gaulle with plenty of time for check-in and security. I feel mildly nauseated — it’s travel nerves mixed with sorrow. I don’t want to leave this beautiful, amazing city. I want to get lost in it forever… just me and Oscar, and Paris.

  I’m nervous at the thought of seeing Mom again. We’re all booked on the same flight back. I know I’ll see her in the boarding lounge. I suppose Matt and Mark will be there too. This is going to be one awkward boarding.

  I’ve made sure to keep the gift box in my carry-on. It’s fragile, and even if I weren’t planning on giving it to her, I wouldn’t dream of putting it in my suitcase. I’ve seen how those luggage guys handle those suitcases. I watched a luggage handler once through an airplane window — the flight was running late. He threw those suitcases like he hated them with a passion, like they’d killed his puppy when he was young, like they screwed his wife. So much anger.

  I raise my eyes to check the flights on the electronic board, and I spot her in the distance. She jerks her gaze away, and looks back down at her magazine. I wonder if she’s reading Redbook. Or possibly Good Housekeeping.

  There’s an empty seat next to her, begging me to sit on it. My heart is pounding. I don’t want her to reject me again, but it’s now or never.

  I fling my bag over my shoulder, and pad slowly over. She pretends not to see me. I take a seat next to her quietly. She doesn’t look up from her magazine, pretends I’m a stranger. She’s probably not even reading it. It appears to be an article about money, judging from the picture and dollar sign art.

  Fine.
I’ve kind of made my own bed. I deserve it.

  “Mark and Matt haven’t made it yet,” I say, an attempt at making conversation. This is so painfully awkward. “If they’re not here soon, they’ll miss the flight.”

  “They’ve changed their flights,” she deadpans, still staring down at the pages of her magazine.

  “Oh, wow. Thank God,” I blurt, a little too loudly. Heads turn around us.

  A smile escapes her lips. She tries to rein it in, but I catch it. There’s hope after all.

  “I was dreading having to face them,” I confess.

  “Me too,” she says.

  She speaks. She’s still not looking at me, but I’ll take it.

  “Listen, Mom. I know saying sorry again is useless. You know I’m sorry. I’ve said it about a hundred times. I just want you to know that I did what I did for your own good. I was looking out for you. You looked out for me so often when I was younger. Now it’s my turn to return the favor. And I know how pigheaded you are. You would have refused to believe me. You had to see it with your own eyes.”

  An elderly lady is sitting across from us, and when I catch her listening, she jerks her gaze away. She’s probably wondering what I’m talking about. I really couldn’t care less if she’s listening.

  “I miss you so much,” I go on. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  She finally gazes up at me. “I miss you too.”

  Well, there’s that. I’m getting there. Slowly, but surely. I reach down into my bag and pull out the colorful gift.

  Her eyes widen at the sight of it, and when I hand it to her, she smiles. “It’s for you.”

  “Oh, why…” She seems completely surprised, but pleasantly so. “Why did you get me a gift?”

  “It was just something I saw in a gift store and it made me think of you.”

  She pulls the ribbon, and tears at the candy wrappers. “I love the wrapping. How original.”

  She’s smiling as she pulls at the tape on the box with all her might. The old lady across from us is still staring, eager to see. Finally, Mom gets at the bubble wrap.

  “Careful,” I warn her. “It’s fragile.”

  She’s cautious as she undresses the porcelain figure from its protective wrap. She smiles and her eyes well up as she discovers the beautiful carousel horse. She studies it carefully; the pretty pastel colors; teal and pink, the brass pole at its center, and the carved mahogany base. She turns it upside down and winds it. She flips it back and we both watch it twirl slowly, move up and down leisurely. We listen to the pretty melody it plays, both mesmerized. The little old lady is too — she wears the sweetest smile, despite the missing teeth.

  “Do you remember?” I ask.

  She’s crying now, big juicy tears. “Of course, I remember. How could I forget? I still have them all, you know.”

  “Really? I was wondering if you kept them.”

  I’m sobbing too now. Even the little old lady is weeping a little. It’s one big cry-fest.

  “How lovely,” the lady says, her voice surprisingly high-pitched. “What I wouldn’t give to have my daughter with me again. Lost her five years ago. Breast cancer.”

  If we weren’t crying already, we’d lose it right there. “I-I’m so sorry to hear that,” I offer. I wipe a tear with the sleeve of my sweater. “I’m sure she’s waiting up there for you.” I can’t believe I’ve just said that — so trite. But there it is, out there.

  Fortunately, she smiles and seems comforted by my words. “She certainly is,” she says. “I just know it.”

  Mom leans over and gives me the tightest, longest hug she’s ever given me. “I’m not angry anymore, Kayla. I love you too much.”

  “I love you too, Mom. So much.”

  She finally pulls from me. “And thank you for this. I’ll keep it on my bedroom dresser, and treasure it forever.”

  I smile, feeling so happy. A huge weight has just floated away, releasing me of anxiety and sorrow.

  I can breathe again.

  Part III

  40

  VERMONT IS NOT SUPER INVITING as it welcomes us back. It’s cold and rainy, and I wish I were back in France. But back to real life, it is. For all of us. Oscar is back at the coffee shop, and I’m back at the spa.

  Thankfully, my favorite client, Danielle, has booked my first spot today. I can’t wait to hear about the latest drama in her life, and tell her all about my trip to Paris.

  She’s stretched out on the massage table, her hair up in a bun, eagerly awaiting my touch. “So how was your trip to Paris?” she asks. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”

  I smile. We usually chat about her and her sister, but this time, I actually have something interesting to add. “It was eventful, that’s for sure.”

  “Do tell.”

  I start with her back, spreading my hands across her shoulder blades. “Well, as you know, my mom was about to marry that creep—”

  “Did she?” she asks, curious.

  “Oh, no. His son, Matt, didn’t approve of the marriage either and he arranged for one of his trampy friends to seduce his dad. Get this… this woman gets off on sleeping with married men and ruining their lives.”

  “No way,” Danielle blurts. “She sounds even worse than my sister.”

  “Oh, she is. Apparently her husband cheated on her, and when she was a kid, her dad’s mistress ruined her family. And now she seeks revenge on all philandering husbands. She’s really messed up.”

  “Holy hell.”

  I move down to her lower back, her favorite part. I know to linger there for longer than I typically do. “Anyway, she seduced him all right, at the rehearsal dinner. We caught them in the bedroom… she was giving him a blow job.”

  “No fucking way!”

  “Yep, way. My mother was standing right beside me and saw it all.”

  “Oh crap.”

  “The thing is…” I add as I trace large circles on her back. “I was in on the whole thing, and when my mother found out, she was livid.”

  “I bet.”

  “Well, I expected it. But thankfully, we kissed and made up. She knows that I was just looking out for her, making sure she didn’t make the biggest mistake of her life.”

  “You’re a good daughter,” she tells me. “What else did you do in Paris?”

  “Oh, a bunch of stuff… dinner at the Eiffel tower, flea market, boat ride on the Seine, and the book store, of course.”

  “Sounds like you were busy.”

  “We also went to Montmartre, and caught a show at the Moulin Rouge.”

  “Ooooooh,” she coos. “Kinky.”

  I laugh. “It was,” I tell her, suddenly brought back to that steamy night in the alley.

  “So you and Oscar get it on a lot in the city of love?”

  I smile. “Oh yeah…”

  She moans softly as I rub her back, and we fall into silence for a minute, but I can’t help it… I want to tell her all about my amazing night with Oscar.

  “Oscar took me to the most amazing place. It was a surprise he’d planned for over a month.”

  “Where did he take you?”

  “The museum of carnival arts. Such a cool place, hidden in the 12th arrondissement. I don’t think too many people are familiar with it. It’s a museum of antique fairground paraphernalia, old carousels and tons of vintage stuff… puppets, games, statues.”

  “Wow, knowing how you love all that vintage stuff, you must have loved it.”

  “I did. Oscar knew that I would.”

  “He’s such a sweetie, that Oscar. What are you waiting for to claim that prize?”

  I laugh. “Well, he is a prize all right.” I think about the ring he bought for me and how I turned it down. I know I broke his heart.

  “Actually… Oscar bought me a ring,” I confess. “It was beautiful… it was so me.”

  She props herself up on her elbows and turns to me. “No way! What happened?”

  “I said no.”

>   “What?!” she blurts out, wide-eyed.

  “I don’t want to risk ruining our friendship,” I try to explain. “What we have right now is so good, just the way it is.”

  “But don’t you want more? Don’t you want to be committed? Don’t you want little Kaylas and little Oscars running around? I’m telling you, it’s the best thing you’ll ever do.”

  A loud sigh escapes me. “That’s what I keep hearing…”

  She turns back to the table and lies down again. I resume the massage. “I’m just too messed up for a serious relationship,” I try to explain.

  “Well, the messed up ones are the ones who need stable relationships the most, Kayla.”

  Her words render me speechless, and I mull them over. Maybe Danielle is on to something.

  “No, you can’t tag along, Mom,” I tell her. “I really don’t want to be like, ‘Hey girls, I’ve brought my mommy along.’”

  “But your friends sound so fun,” Mom says as she sips her chamomile tea. “I really like Corrie.”

  “You know how you have your own things. Your bridge club and your art class? How would you feel if I crashed them?”

  She ponders this for a second. “Ok, I get it. We need our space.”

  I smile. “You know I love you to death, Mom. But yes, we do.”

  “So tell me about you and Oscar,” she ventures. “Anything new there?”

  I know what she’s fishing for. She loves Oscar, and she hopes we’ll get married tomorrow and pop out a few grand babies. “Same old, Mom. Just as it was.”

  She shakes her head. “I just don’t understand this friends-with-benefits arrangement you two have. Don’t you want him all to yourself? Don’t you worry about his other girlfriends?”

  I laugh. “He doesn’t have other girlfriends.”

  “He doesn’t?” she says, confused. “Do you have another boyfriend?”

  I shake my head and stare down at my chai tea. “Nope.”

  “So you two are essentially like a regular couple?”

  “Well…” Well, wait. The woman makes an excellent point. I smile at the thought.

  “Enough about me,” I say. “What about you and Antoine?” I ask in a teasing sing-song voice.