The Beginning

Ch. 48 - The view

With a lurch, the lift takes off at a diagonal. The hum of conversation slowly rises, though not quite to its previous level. He lays his hands on her hips and pulls her back into his chest. Suddenly, the glass elevator is flooded with light as the iron beams and thick, steel ropes give way to the last of the afternoon sun pouring in through the lattice of the tower. Most of the tourists have cameras in their hands, now, but the flashes are aimed out at the Paris sky instead of at them. She closes her eyes and leans her head back against his shoulder, relieved to feel like no one is watching.

The people on the concrete below the tower grow smaller and smaller until they're nothing but dots of color. They rise above the arches and past the familiar, yellow-framed glass doors of the first floor. The rhythmic clang of the machinery lulls her into a state of relaxation. As they continue the climb, she can see fields of green laid out in front of her as far as the eyes can see. The high tones of children grow more animated, describing the view to whomever was near in their various mother tongues.

Sandra presses a hand against her breastbone, and he can feel her sharp intake of breath.

He lays a soft touch of his lips against the top of her head, falling into her euphoria as though it is his own.

They arrive at the second floor with a screeching halt, the car shuddering as it reaches for stability. On the other side of the lift, a group with relaxed postures and cameras hanging from their necks wait, ready to descend after completing their own tour. The sun is at eye level here, blinding reflection blasting through the glass.

"Mesdames, messieurs, we have arrived to the second floor. Those who have tickets to the summit can change elevators here to continue on to the top. All others are free to disembark when the doors have opened and explore the tower here. Please be aware of the others around you as you step forward. Merci beaucoup and enjoy your visit."

When the doors finally open, excited tourists race to exit, pushing past others waiting to board. Like a bag of marbles split open, warm bodies spread apart in every direction: some to the various souvenir shops, some to the telescopes perched along the perimeter, some to move on to the line for the elevator all the way to the top. The open-air breeze is sharper at this height, a surprise to any who've never experienced it before.

They walk around slowly, the tower swaying subtly beneath their feet. Wind turns their ears red and the back of their throats feel a bit swollen.

Swiveling her views as they wander, she sees all the major sights of Paris in the distance: the Louvre, Grand Palais, the Seine, Notre Dame. She could almost reach out and touch the puffs of cottony clouds filling the sky.

After a few more groups pour out of the elevator, he reaches for her hand again, sending an electric shock up her arm.

"I don't mean to rush you, but, there's something I really want you to see," he murmurs, loud enough for only her to hear.

With a gentle tug, he leads her to a sign with a red circle and a white, horizontal stripe on it. Next to the sign stands a man in a thick, black tuxedo with a thin, brown mustache, his neatly manicured fingers clasped together in front of him. Keanu extends his hand in greeting and the man responds with warmth.

"Bonsoir, Monsieur Reeves. Comment allez-vous?"

She looks to Keanu, trying to make sense of the strange man's words.

"Ça va très bien, merci, monsieur," he looks back at Sandra, eyes sparkling, then returns to the maître d'. "Uh, comment vous appelez-vous?"

"Tomás, monsieur."

"Enchanté, Tomás."

"Enchanté! Et vous, mademoiselle? Comment-allez vous ce soir?"

Keanu interrupts him. "Excusez-moi, Tomás, mais elle ne comprend pas. En anglais, s'il vous plaît."