Paris Adieu #featured #Wattys2017

Chapter 15 - La Décision

"So Pierre, what kind of woman do you date?" I asked, rather audaciously, a few days later, as we strolled out of Père Lachaise cemetery. We were planning to continue on to a nearby park that we hadn't visited before, the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont. Pierre had told me it featured Paris's highest elevation point, with a waterfall cascading from a man-made cliff that offered spectacular views of the city.

His smile was rueful, a tiny bit sad.

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I want to know, that's all," I reasoned playfully, like an eight-year old having a talk with her big brother. It was delightful to spend time with him. We had no agenda. He was just visiting, and I was just waiting for Arnaud to return, so I could either have it out with him about the je t'adore track or suggest he take the fast track out of my life. It felt good to be beyond reach of Pierre – safe, protected and unafraid to say anything that might come into my head.

"Bah, what is it you want to know exactly?" His eyes twinkled as he looked at me. They were a prosaic shade of medium brown, unspectacular but warm.

"Well, have you been married?" With Pierre I was my curious, inquisitive, nosy New York self. I had nothing to lose, unlike with Arnaud, to whom I constantly tried to think of clever things to say in order to keep up with him.

Pierre shook his head.

"No. Never."

"Well, why not?" I prodded mischievously.

"Sorry, Ava. If I'd known you were going to ask, I could have gotten married just so I'd have a story to tell you."

"That's okay. Tell me your non-marriage story." As we exited the gates of the cemetery, it struck me that walking there with Pierre made me feel completely different from being there with Arnaud. I wasn't terrified of losing Pierre. I felt comfortable in his presence without the constant excitement coupled with anxiety I felt when I was with Arnaud. Spending time with Pierre was exciting too, but in a less flashy sort of way. Sort of like being in a Vermeer painting as opposed to a Toulouse-Lautrec one.

"Umm, well I've had a few girlfriends here and there," he replied hesitantly.

"And who was the most important one?"

How long would it take him to answer? If it was fast, he'd indeed had a serious relationship. If he took time to think about it, maybe not.

"Ehh – crétin – comment vas-tu? Hey – stupid – how are you?" a voice sang out. We looked around to see a figure waving assuredly at us from across the street. Arnaud.

In the strangest sort of way, I felt as if I'd been caught in the act. But what act? Arnaud had sent Pierre my way in his absence. Pierre had been a perfect gentleman, whose company I'd enjoyed. My heart sank at the thought our time together was about to end.

Arnaud crossed the boulevard, his cocky, confident stride announcing to all he was in full command. The show he put on was for everyone – not just me. I was a show person, too, a performer, but inside, I'd become more interested in developing the private, songwriting side of myself.

"Eh, salut, fils de pute. Hello, you son of a whore," Arnaud greeted Pierre, wrestling him into a giant bear hug. His casual, comfortable tone confirmed they were old friends.

Then he turned to me. Against his deep, golden tan, the blue-green of his eyes was even more vivid than usual. I thought of ice as I looked into them. He propelled me into his arms and against his chest. Petulantly, my muscles clenched, resistant to his embrace. He'd shown up at just the wrong moment – just when Pierre had been about to tell me something significant about himself.