Paris Short Story

St. Germain

	When he woke up, the first thing he did was stumble into the bathroom. Splashing water onto his face, he wiped it off with his hands, spat once in the sink, and walked into the kitchen without looking at himself in the mirror. He searched the cupboards for food, but they were empty, and he ended up taking a carton of eggs and a bottle of white wine from the refrigerator and setting them on the counter. As the stove heated, he went back into the apartment’s parlor and opened the drapes on the large windows, letting in sunlight and the sounds of the busy Paris streets below. He inspected a record player on a table by the bookcase. There was only one record in sight, already on the platter, an Edith Piaf album. He started it, and listened to the first bars of Ne me Quitte Pas before he went back to the kitchen.
The first drink of wine made him feel better, and washed away the dry, rancid taste in his mouth, or at least masked it. He took another smaller sip and started frying the eggs, and tried to remember the events of last night after he left the symposium at the university. He recalled presenting his portion of the lecture, in English of course, and then leaving for the night with other students that he had both arrived with and met while here in France. They had gone to the same bars and nightclubs they had for the past few days, which had made him anxious in a vague sort of way, which for him meant that he was rude and arrogant last night, although given the circumstances he probably would have acted that way no matter where they had gone. He turned off the stove and ate the eggs out of the pan, without bothering to find a plate.
He wasn’t surprised when there was a knock on the door a few minutes later, and he put the bottle of wine back in the fridge before he answered it. When he opened the door she walked past him without saying a word, tossed her expensive chesterfield onto the sofa and spun around to face him. She hesitated for just a moment before she spoke, and it was this that irritated him most, because out of all the self-conscious things she did he knew it was those fleeting, dramatic little pauses that she was most likely to get away with to people who did not know her well.
“This music? Really?”
“You know it’s not mine.”
“Still, I swear sometimes it’s like you invite melodrama.”
“What do you want, Claire?”
“How are you liking Paris? You know, I’m surprised Thomas’ family is still letting you use their apartment, after what I heard happened between you two last summer.”
“I don’t think they really know about all that. Besides, I don’t know what you heard, but it was probably an exaggeration. We had a falling out, sure, but we’re alright now. In any case his family still likes me enough, and if they know what happened they must not care.”
“Always landing on your feet, eh?”
	He didn’t respond to this, but instead went back into the kitchen to get a glass of water, and to give himself a moment to think. She didn’t follow him in there, and he knew that she didn’t even shift her weight, but just pivoted her head silently, and he could feel her eyes focus on his back as a stood over the sink.
	“I didn’t know you be here.”
	“You’re still a bad liar. You knew I was still with the exchange program, Alice told me she talked about you and I with you just before you left. “
	“We did, but I didn’t know you’d be here, near the university.”
	“Well, all the colleges intermingle here, it’s not like it is the U.S. You should know that by now.”
	“Well I would have said hello, but I couldn’t get your attention.”
	“You snubbed me. You snubbed me just like I snubbed you last time in California. You had your paltry fucking revenge, and I hope it was worth it.”
	He closed his eyes and breathed heavily, feeling his blood beginning to rise. She knew how to get under his skin, and even though he was aware of all her tricks by now he was still powerless to stop it.
	“So aren’t we going to talk?” She asked, reverting back to her more casual tone, but the bite of her previous words still hung in the air.
	“I’m here for the conference, not for you. This isn’t like California and it’s not like Stanford.”
	“I know that, I know its different. I know I’m different. You don’t know this but I’ve been going through a lot of changes lately. I’ve been growing up, maturing. Back then, it was mostly my family’s fault, the way they were treating me I felt like I didn’t have a choice. I felt trapped.”
	He thought about going to get the wine from the kitchen and taking a large gulp, right in front of her, not because he particularly wanted it but because he knew it would offend her and she might leave. But deep down, he knew he didn’t want her to leave. He didn’t want her to leave until he’d pushed things just as far as they would go, like he always did.
	“So what now?”
	“Are you seeing anyone?”
	“I’m still seeing Reanne. If you talked to Alice recently you know that. Why do you ask?”
	“I was just curious. I was curious to see how people make relationships work in your position. And I didn’t want to cross any lines.”
	At this last part he felt himself soften, just a little. She had never been that honest with him before.
	“You were never concerned with crossing lines like that in the past.”
	“I told you, I’ve been going through a lot of changes.”
	“I’m still the same.”
	“I see that. I know that, and I wanted to let you know I missed you. I’ve missed you something fierce.”
	“So what.”
	“So my semester ends soon. I’ll be back in Stanford after that. It would be nice to see you there.”
	Before she spoke she made one of her pauses, and he felt the good will he had built towards her in the preceding moments flicker like a candle flame. When she took a small, non-commital step towards him, it vanished altogether. He turned his back to her so she wouldn’t seem him grimace, and he went to flip over the Edith Piaf record, which had run out and stopped playing some time ago.
	“Do you know what an opportunist is?” he asked her without turning around.
	“Yes, I think I do.”
	“It’s a big city word for someone who takes advantage of what’s in front of them.”
	“Isn’t that what we all do?”
	“It’s not a good thing. It means you don’t make up your mind on what you want, you don’t make things happen or make things work. You just use up what’s available.”
	“Is that what you think I’m doing? With you? You think I’m here in Paris to use you?”
	“I think you’re putting on the same song and dance you have for the past four years. I think you’re playing a game and I don’t want to be any part of it.”
	“If I wanted you, I’d-“
	“You’re the one who came to me first thing in the morning-”
	“It’s 3 p.m.”
	“-and besides, aren’t I more than a little young for you?”
	This froze her. When he saw her face flash red at the mention of her affairs, he knew she wasn’t acting, and he felt a cruel glee that he’d struck a nerve.
	“I told you, I was going through a difficult time. I’m different now.”
	“Sure, and it was your family’s fault, wasn’t it. They made you sleep with half the faculty at the university. Pushed you into their arms, practically.”
	“You don’t have a right, not one right-“
	“Like hell I don’t. I was more involved with you then than anyone else.”
	He walked into the kitchen, and before he did he turned up the record player to stiffle any response she might have. Piaf’s mezzo-soprano voice boomed off the walls of the small apartment. This time, she followed him, and when he fetched the wine from the fridge and turned around she was inches away from him.
	“That’s right, you drink your problems away, just like always.”
	“Why don’t you get out of here.”
	“I’ll leave when I’m damn good and ready. I don’t want you, and I never did. You were always jealous of me, I could tell. It drove you crazy and it still does. Why don’t you just admit it?”
	Without blinking or taking his eyes away from hers, he brought the bottle to his lips and began to drink. She snatched it away from him, spilling wine down his chin and onto the floor. His hand lit out and struck her on the cheek, hard. The crack of his palm on her face echoed in the kitchen, much louder than the music still playing from the other room. In her eyes he saw no hurt, no fear or surprise, only a cold hatred that seemed more familiar to him than anything else about her. She hurled the bottle at him. It struck him in the forearm and bounced onto the floor, where it didn’t break but instead rolled across the hex tiles and gushed wine across the floor. She turned and rushed out of kitchen, grabbed her coat from the sofa without slowing down, and stormed out of the apartment without closing the door.

***
	It was two years before he found himself in Paris again. It had been months since he had been on good terms with the people whose apartment he borrowed last time, so this visit he allowed the university to put him up in a hotel. As he settled in for the night with the bottle of schnapps he had picked up earlier, he read the letter that he had received the day before he’d gotten on the plane to come speak at the conference. He had read it before, but wanted to read again, in Paris, and this time it seemed more real.
	 Matt,
	I’m sorry you couldn’t make it to the wedding this past May, but as I understand you were very busy with your research. It would have been great to have had you there, Alice and Thomas and the rest all send their regards. I’m enclosing some photographs from the honeymoon in Japan. It was absolutely incredible, we spend three days in Tokyo, two in Hakone-Machi, and then two more in Kyoto before our return. Hakone-Machi, especially, I think you would have loved. It is a beautiful mountainside resort that reminded me of the place you and I stayed at that one winter in Utah. The room even had an indoor garden and a traditional Japanese spa. We visited several Shinto temples, and while Jacob was in his meetings in Kyoto I spent a great deal of time reading Shinto texts and conversing with the priests. I have pursued it back here in the U.S., but the resources are scarce; there are few temples even on the West Coast. Still, I feel like with my exploring these eastern religions, I have begun an awakening in myself. I feel a clarity unlike I have ever experienced. The Japanese believe in the kannagara, a path towards an ancient, natural way of life, and a way to connect with the spirits of days long past. I’ve been studying the kannagara and the spirits, and have learned much about myself and also about you.
  I know things have always been different between us, but I wanted to tell you that no matter what, I don’t want to stop knowing you. The news of my engagement must have come as quite a shock to you, and I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did. I’m sure you understand why things happened so quickly. Jacob is a good man, and a good husband, but he doesn’t understand me the way you do. I feel like there is something still between us, and I want to see you again. Our time before has been marked by turmoil, but since discovering the kannagara I have battled the negative spirits in me that made me act the way I did. I’m sure that you have grown as well, and if we saw each other again things would be different.
A mutual friend of ours mentioned that you will be in Paris soon. I think you should let me know where you are staying. If I don’t hear back from you soon, I have friends in the university who can find out for me. I can tell Jacob I’m visiting an old classmate in Montemarte and can be there by the beginning of December. Do please let me know, I really think this would be good for the both of us.

Forever,
Claire