We Will Always Have Paris

Chapter Thirty

As the days went on the space in the Parisian apartment shrank. Gerald and I were always in each other's way and were constantly arguing with each other. Not that Gerald really noticed the change in our relationship, he was always on the phone with someone or absorbed in writing new music; a task I dared not interrupt. That was when he was most likely to snap at me and say something rude and unnecessary. It got so bad that I eventually started leaving for work before the sun rose, and not coming home until long after the sun set behind the skyline.

I would take my journals with me and camp out in a park or by the Seine for as long at the light would let me, and I would write, write, write until my hand cramped and I had to go home. I would sneak in to my apartment and fix a late dinner, usually without Gerald even noticing.

I left my room early as usual and hung out on the steps of my apartment, visualizing the French countryside and, as always, writing.

"What are you doing out so early?" a voice startled me. I glanced up in surprise to see Manon's cheerful face.

"Writing." I mumbled

She laughed loudly, billowy green pants blowing in the early breeze, "You'll get arthritis before you're 30!" she cried, "Come along Marilyn, you can write while you get paid. Think of it! One day I'll be able to say that the famous author Marilyn deBoncoeur wrote in my bookstore." she crinkled her nose at me and I gave her a weak smile.

Knowingly, Manon glanced up at my window. "Is your mood because of that boy?"

"Oui." I said with a sigh

"Ah." and thankfully that was that.

We worked through the day, quietly shelving books and selling popular French novels. We took a break for lunch and I ventured back to my apartment to make a sandwich. The sky was gloomy and threatened to rain at any moment. Once home I slipped into the kitchen to find Gerald already there, half a sandwich in his hand and another sandwich being made.

"Hey! Er, well, bonjour."

"Bonjour." I said carefully

"I made you a sandwich." he held out the one he'd making towards me awkwardly.

"Thank you." I took it apprehensively. "What is the occasion?"

He coughed nervously, "Well, I've been an ass to you."

"You've noticed?"

He shot me a sharp look, "Yes I've noticed. And I'm sorry. Its not your fault I'm upset, I wanted to be here with you and Paris has been a great inspiration. I'll sing the songs to you soon. I just need time to get used to the change and the tabloids aren't helping anything."

"I've read them." I told him

"Yeah well its a lot of pressure now. I have to prove myself again."

"Don't most foreign artists make a bigger splash in America? Technically you are foreign now."

He grinned down at me and kissed me thoroughly, "You're right Frenchie!" he kissed me again, "I'm sorry I waited so long to open up to you about this. You always know what to say."

"Ne pas la plupart des auteurs?" I grumbled against him, but he did not hear me. I went back to work feeling happier than I had for a while. Things weren't totally fixed but they were looking like they would be soon. I paused outside the door to the shop and glanced towards the sky, a single raindrop hit just below my eye like a tear. I didn't brush it away, I just let it rest there and felt it fall like a teardrop.

Suddenly my phone chimed a call. I pulled it out and stared at the caller ID, it was Michael.

"Salut?"

"Marilyn?" his voice was jumbled and shaky

"Yes, its me. Is everything alright?"

"No. Yes. I'm not sure." he sighed, "I had a terrible dream. It was so real...I just had to make sure you were okay."

"Yes, I'm fine Michael. Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah, it was the strangest thing. You were in an alley with some guy and he was following you and you didn't know...then he attacked you and--" He broke off with a catch in his voice, then continued, "then he raped you. Brutally. And left you in the streets to die."

A cold wind cut through my jacket as the rain fell harder. It had to be Alain in the streets with me, nobody else gave me shivers like that.

"Marilyn? Is everything alright?"

I shook myself, "Yes I'm fine. Are you though? That is a terrible dream to have."

"I'll be alright." the lack of conviction in his voice worried me more. "I'll see you for spring break right? I mean I've already got tickets."

The smile that warmed my lips felt adulterous, "Of course you'll see me! I l--I miss you Michael."

"I miss you Marilyn. See you soon." then he hung up and I stood in the rain wondering what had possessed me to almost say "I love you" to Michael.

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At home that night Gerald had made this wonderful asparagus lemon chicken thing, and had set the table with flowers and lace doilies for our plates. He toasted me with his wine glass.

"To shaping up."

"To absent friends." I murmured in response, glancing into my glass thinking of Emilie and the others that I missed. In a perfect world we'd all be in Paris together, and we'd all be happy. But the world is not perfect.

After supper Gerald and I climbed into bed together and he curled around me. The wine had made him bolder, I could feel his erection through the sheets. Finally, I yielded to him. Our bodies melted together and when I came it was gentle, soothing, needed. Gerald cried out against me and fell on top of me. We snuggled together afterwards and it wasn't long before he was asleep. My thoughts turned to Michael...