corner. I counted the steps as I descended—sixty-eight. I tapped each mailbox on its glass window, smiled at every person I passed on my walk to the Metro station through the wet, good-smelling spring air.
Everything is beautiful in Paris, when you’re a young woman in lust.
Tuesday
The Third Visit
I arrived at Didier’s flat late, having gone home to change after a long workday. It was blustery out and I’d stupidly gone with a skirt, one I had to fist at my side to keep from flashing the whole of the Latin Quarter. My bobby pins lost the war with the gusting wind.
Yet when Didier answered my knock, my lateness and wild hair seemed not to register. His smile was like a door shut on a gale, calm dropping down around me, warm and easy.
“Good evening, Caroly. Come in.” He took my purse and a paper shopping bag I’d brought and set them on a table by the door.
“Evening. How was your day?”
He shrugged as he led me into the living room. “I did not wake until nearly two, so I could not tell you yet. Ask me again at the end of our date. I’m sure I will say it was just lovely.”
“I, um, brought you something.”
He turned. “Did you? What is it?”
I went to my bags and came back with the gift, swaddled in striped tissue. I handed it to Didier and watched him unwrap it, praying he couldn’t tell how much of my heart was folded inside that gauzy paper, how long I’d stood obsessing in the antique shop, debating whether or not to buy this for him. He set the tissue aside and to my great relief, his face lit up.
“A clock.” He turned the brass box around in his hands, twisted its winder and opened its glass front. “This is fantastic, thank you.” He smiled right at me, a new smile I’d never seen from him before. No mystery now, only delight. My heart felt hot and swollen.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
“I do.” He pressed it to his ear.
“It doesn’t work.”
His smile deepened. “Even better. I’m sure I’ll spend many hours with my silly monocle and my tweezers, dissecting this.”
I watched him examining it for a few moments longer, overwhelmed by how potent my pleasure was. The thought that he’d busy himself with the gift in my absence, perhaps even associate me with whatever fascination it brought him… It felt better than any physical touch, any carnal indulgence.
He set the clock on top of his cabinet and fussed with the angle. “Wonderful.”
I was inclined to agree. “I wanted to buy you a fish, but I know you said that might depress you.”
He returned to me, taking my elbows in his hands. “You’re very kind.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead, dissolving all my bones.
“Well, you’re very welcome.”
“You’ve spoiled me, and now I hope you will let me spoil you.”
“I suspect I will.” I suspected, too, that tonight was the night. The new knowledge that I wasn’t a natural-born cocksucker only stung the tiniest bit, and I was ready to jump back into my education, head-first.
Er, make that sex-first. Head some other night, perhaps.
“Are you hungry?”
I nodded. “Are you cooking?” I held my breath, waiting for a no—for an invitation to go downstairs, to grab dinner at a restaurant and be seen with Didier by the world.
“I am.”
A mental sigh. Not that being catered to by this fine man was anything to feel disappointed about. Plus knowing my luck, Ania or Paulette would walk by the restaurant window and spot us, and my reign as the demure, gossip-proof member of my small social circle would come to a dramatic close.
Didier made us a delicious meal and shared with me an extraordinary bottle of…cabernet? I can never tell. Some kind of hard-to-pronounce dry red. We spoke about my workday and a new exhibit that was opening next week at the museum, and when the conversation lagged in its comfortable way, my mind wandered.
Didier was wearing a thermal-type knit top with a generous neck, not quite a scoop; a look
Everything is beautiful in Paris, when you’re a young woman in lust.
Tuesday
The Third Visit
I arrived at Didier’s flat late, having gone home to change after a long workday. It was blustery out and I’d stupidly gone with a skirt, one I had to fist at my side to keep from flashing the whole of the Latin Quarter. My bobby pins lost the war with the gusting wind.
Yet when Didier answered my knock, my lateness and wild hair seemed not to register. His smile was like a door shut on a gale, calm dropping down around me, warm and easy.
“Good evening, Caroly. Come in.” He took my purse and a paper shopping bag I’d brought and set them on a table by the door.
“Evening. How was your day?”
He shrugged as he led me into the living room. “I did not wake until nearly two, so I could not tell you yet. Ask me again at the end of our date. I’m sure I will say it was just lovely.”
“I, um, brought you something.”
He turned. “Did you? What is it?”
I went to my bags and came back with the gift, swaddled in striped tissue. I handed it to Didier and watched him unwrap it, praying he couldn’t tell how much of my heart was folded inside that gauzy paper, how long I’d stood obsessing in the antique shop, debating whether or not to buy this for him. He set the tissue aside and to my great relief, his face lit up.
“A clock.” He turned the brass box around in his hands, twisted its winder and opened its glass front. “This is fantastic, thank you.” He smiled right at me, a new smile I’d never seen from him before. No mystery now, only delight. My heart felt hot and swollen.
“You’re welcome. I’m glad you like it.”
“I do.” He pressed it to his ear.
“It doesn’t work.”
His smile deepened. “Even better. I’m sure I’ll spend many hours with my silly monocle and my tweezers, dissecting this.”
I watched him examining it for a few moments longer, overwhelmed by how potent my pleasure was. The thought that he’d busy himself with the gift in my absence, perhaps even associate me with whatever fascination it brought him… It felt better than any physical touch, any carnal indulgence.
He set the clock on top of his cabinet and fussed with the angle. “Wonderful.”
I was inclined to agree. “I wanted to buy you a fish, but I know you said that might depress you.”
He returned to me, taking my elbows in his hands. “You’re very kind.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead, dissolving all my bones.
“Well, you’re very welcome.”
“You’ve spoiled me, and now I hope you will let me spoil you.”
“I suspect I will.” I suspected, too, that tonight was the night. The new knowledge that I wasn’t a natural-born cocksucker only stung the tiniest bit, and I was ready to jump back into my education, head-first.
Er, make that sex-first. Head some other night, perhaps.
“Are you hungry?”
I nodded. “Are you cooking?” I held my breath, waiting for a no—for an invitation to go downstairs, to grab dinner at a restaurant and be seen with Didier by the world.
“I am.”
A mental sigh. Not that being catered to by this fine man was anything to feel disappointed about. Plus knowing my luck, Ania or Paulette would walk by the restaurant window and spot us, and my reign as the demure, gossip-proof member of my small social circle would come to a dramatic close.
Didier made us a delicious meal and shared with me an extraordinary bottle of…cabernet? I can never tell. Some kind of hard-to-pronounce dry red. We spoke about my workday and a new exhibit that was opening next week at the museum, and when the conversation lagged in its comfortable way, my mind wandered.
Didier was wearing a thermal-type knit top with a generous neck, not quite a scoop; a look
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