Right outside my window, on the plane that would take me to Paris, rain poured down in sheets. The runway was so flooded that the little cars carrying luggage were too small to operate. Had a person been standing outside in this torrential downpour, they would have water up to their ankles.
However, we were stuck.
The storm had been a real surprise, as when we had been entering the plane, the skies were a glassy blue, and the sun had been just rising over the tree-clad horizon. Then, like someone had flipped a switch in the heavens, the rain had begun.
But it was too late, as we had already left the loading dock. We were trapped in a plane in the middle of a storm. But could it be classified as a storm? There was no lightening. As far as I could tell there was no wind.
People around me were doing their own things, some talking animatedly on sleek black cell phones, informing bosses and loved ones that the plane was stuck. Others were soothing children who had begun to panic. And I was just glaring out the window, waiting for a reply to the angry text I had sent to my mother about a half an hour ago.
When your family has an intervention for you, it's embarrassing enough. But it's even worse when it's about work.
I'm not an alcoholic, nor do I use drugs. Nope, my fabulous family was worried about the number of hours I worked. It wasn't even that bad. Maybe I stayed late 9/10 times I was given the opportunity, and maybe I used my spare time to ensure that everything would go well at work the next day, but that was just me.
Being a lawyer was difficult, and required time and energy that few people had the patience to give.
But I could give that patience. I could be like a nurturing mother to my job, making sure that there were no bumps along the way. I had worked hard enough to solidify my job at one of the most prestigious law firms in New York.
And then, one fateful night about two weeks ago, my family all piled into my luxury apartment (uninvited, might I add), and told me that I needed a break.That at the age of twenty four, I shouldn't have been wasting my youth on work.
So we made a deal.
I would leave America and have the vacation of a lifetime for a whole month, and then they would leave me alone. They would stop pestering me about how many hours a day I worked.
It had been a rough day, and my inner-retard had decided to come out and do the bargaining for me.
I fell asleep knowing that the next day I would have to call me boss, requesting a whole god damned month of leave. His reaction was what had shocked me the most.
You see, when I had woken up the next morning, I had pretty pissed with myself for not putting up a bigger fight. But then I had reasoned, and figured that there was no way in hell that my boss would allow such a thing. He was like my last line of defense, my only hope and all that jazz.
Imagine my surprise when he had laughed over the phone and told me that it was about time.
About time for what?!
So in the end, I had been forced on vacation.
And someone up there was punishing me for even attempting to step foot out of my cosy office. It was pouring, and my brain was taking the delay as a sort of last-minute excuse to leap off the plane like it was on fire and run back to the office.
An hour and a half later, the rain turned into a light drizzle. Almost as if the staff of JFK international airport had installed a huge drain on the runway, the water started to disappear. And I was left miserable.
We took off then, all the people around me letting out breaths of relief when we were safely suspended in the clouds, surrounded by grey clouds and humid air.
My jaw was locked, leading to a painful ache in my throat, but why would I care? It was vacation, and I had a whole freaking month to recover from any damage I would probably cause myself in an attempt to take my mind off the amount of time I would be gone. How would anything get done? Would Carlson remember to make the brochure copies? My shaking hand leapt to my phone, before I realized a dilemma. Mom had confiscated my work phone. Damn.
The flight was long, and nothing I brought held my interest, despite the fact that I had purposely packed about a thousand things to entertain myself with.
I couldn't help the nervous tapping in my foot, or the nervous glances out the window. I couldn't see anything outside, mostly because the closer we got to Europe, the darker the sky became. And not because it was nighttime, but rather because the weather had gotten worse.
Landing was easier than I thought it was going to be, what with the rain and all. Everyone around me rose from their seats and began unloading, pulling small children by the hand into the isle, and grabbing suitcases and carryon bags. I had a small backpack with me, so I slung it over my shoulder and inched my way into line.
People were too tired to glare, and that was fine by me. Once I managed to get into the airport, I smiled. The air, though filled with hundreds of different sounds and smells, was fresh, and not nearly as stale as it was on the plane.
Baggage claim was a nightmare, and I could hardly breath the air I had been so happy to have before with all the people around me. And worse still, they all seemed to be large men. Of course I could spot a few women weaving between them, but I was short enough that I hardly knew if I was even going the right way.
It was like being in a huge city, when all you wanted to do was get to the country. I felt trapped, and confused at the snippets of conversation in French that I heard swirling around me. Every couple seconds I could pick up a couple lines in another language, but hardly anyone was speaking good old English.
" Shit" I cursed under my breath, frowning slightly at the people jostling me this way and that. I was Nicole Bennette, damn it, and I would not be pushed around!
At that thought I stood up straighter and squared my shoulders, searching the ceiling for any sign indicating the place I would go to get my suitcase. There were so many different ones, all primarily in French, with different translations beneath it.
As far as I could tell though, there were more people here than normal. I supposed the stormy weather had forced certain flights to be delayed, but multiple planes had arrived at the same time, causing confusion and crowding. I found a small stand with pamphlets and maps, and grabbed a couple. Being the person that I am, I had planned everything about this trip before actually boarding the plane, so I knew exactly where I needed to go. Like most airports, I spotted a food court to my right, and made a mad dash for the nearest one. I ended up in a small cafe, filled with people and children. At incredible speeds I ordered a large cup of coffee and sat down at a small table near a window. The window, instead of giving me a nice view of the outside, allowed me to watch the people in the airport.
From my seat there, I was able to see everything that was going on. A large crowd was centered around baggage claim, and I realized with a jolt that I had been stuck right in the middle of it. Actually, I had kind of wedged myself in there on purpose, hadn't I? With calm fingers I pulled out my phone, tapping the smooth screen until I managed to bring up the number of the hotel I had booked for the month.
" Hello, is this Jays Paris?" I asked hopefully, knowing fully well that I had the number right, and that all of the contacts in my phone that I had planned for this trip were 100% correct.
"Oui, how may I help you?" the man on the other end replied with a heavy French accent, sounding slightly surprised that I wasn't speaking French.
"I just wanted to make sure that my room was ready? My name is Nicole Bennette." I waited patiently as he typed my name into the computer, hearing the sounds of the keyboard and of people talking in the lobby.
" Ah, oui, your room is ready, Miss Bennette."
" Thank you" I replied sweetly, hanging up the phone and ticking that off the list I had in my head.
I made one other call to a taxi service, listening to the woman as she assured me there would be a car waiting at the airport in forty five minutes.
I had cursed under my breath, thinking about what I could do during that time to entertain myself. The coffee was very good, as it should have been for the outrageous price, and I was appreciating the blend of cinnamon in the brew when someone cleared their throat above me.
A man stood there, looking at me with interest as he spoke a line in fluent French.
"Puis-je m'asseoir ici?" his deep voice was very attractive, as was the rest of his face. He had strong facial features, with full lips and blue eyes. Dark hair fell down into his eyes slightly, and a scar ran down the side of his left cheek, looking exactly like a dimple.
" I'm sorry, but I don't speak French." I said, hoping he would understand, and that I wouldn't offend him.
He seemed to laugh to himself, before looking me directly in the eyes.
" Would you mind if I sit? There are no other tables left." he said, and I had a feeling that he had known I didn't speak French before he even came over. I eyed the steaming cup of coffee in his hands, then glanced around the rest of the cafe. There were no other tables open, just like he had said, so I nodded at him and motioned for him to sit.
He did, and I looked back out of the glass again, hoping that the baggage claim would be a little bit less crowded. It wasn't.
"So if you don't speak French, what are you doing in Paris?" he asked after a moment of silence, and I looked up at him in surprise. Usually in situations like this, the two people wouldn't talk. He was simply there for a place to sit, and I was there for the same reason.
"I'm on vacation." I replied, taking another sip of my coffee for something to do.
"Well I'm sorry you have to see it when it's not sunny. It's usually quite beautiful." when he spoke in English he was much more quiet than he was when he spoke in French. At certain times he seemed to pause, as if searching for the right word. He could speak my language well enough, but it was clear that he had grown up in a French home speaking the native tongue.
"Im sure I'll see it at one point during the month." I assured him, finally turning so that I could look at him while we spoke, instead of glaring out the window.
To his credit, he looked appropriately surprised.
"A whole month in Paris? You are lucky. Most spend about a week before either returning home or boarding a flight to take them to another place in Europe." he explained, and I smiled at the way he spoke. It was entertaining, funny even, although I suppose it's impressive enough that he managed to learn a second language.
" I'm very lucky," I agreed " but not really."
I mumbled the last part, as it was more for my sake than for his. He didn't need to know that I really had no desire to stay in the place he grew up in. I wasn't quite sure if he would feel insulted or not, but from what I could tell he was relatively easygoing.
" Why not?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow, and I felt the warm blush fill me cheeks. He wasn't supposed to hear that, and judging by his smirk, he knew he wasn't.
" Because although Paris is wonderful, I need to be at home, doing work." I replied, wondering idly why I was spilling my guts to a random stranger.
" Why would you want to do work when you cold be spending your time elsewhere?" he asked, and I smiled. What a question! So many people had asked me that before, and I had given them the same answer I was prepared to give him.
" Honest work gives honest pay, and honest pay makes for a good life."
" How poetic. But what's the good in having money when you're old if you don't have the energy to enjoy it?" I watched his scar as he talked, entranced by the way it disappeared on certain words and reappeared on others.
"As a young and energetic person, I don't need as much money to enjoy myself as I would as an older, more needy adult." I pointed out, thinking about my great aunt Judy, who needed multiple breathing machines to go out, and how much money the equipment had cost. Not to mention the expensive medication she was on.
" Very true" he conceded, and I saw a flicker of a smile grace his features.
We sat in silence for a while longer, watching the people outside mill about, large suitcases in tow.
"So do I get to know your name, mystery American girl with the coffee?" he asked suddenly, and I saw a hint of nervousness in his blue eyes.
"Nicole. Nicole Bennette." I reached across the table to shake his hand, an old habit from the meetings at the firm. His hand was warm and calloused, and as he shook my hand I watched his eyes.
"It's very nice to meet you, Miss Bennette, my name is Gaspard Ulliel. Welcome to Paris."
I smiled in return, and after glancing at the now less-crowded baggage claim, I stood up and smiled at him again.
" I'm afraid it's time for me to go, but it was very nice meeting you, Gaspard. I'm glad you were the first person I met in France." with a final smile, I picked up my stuff and left, throwing out the empty coffee cup in the trash and walking out of the store, restraining myself from glancing back at the window to see if he was watching me as I left.
I found my suitcase quickly, looking rather lonely on the moving belts, and pulled it outside. With a glance at my phone I realized that I had been talking to Gaspard longer than I had thought, and it was nearly time for the cab to pick me up. I increased my pace to assure that I would be punctual, dodging the people who were standing around waiting for lord knows what to happen. When I finally found the cab, I smiled graciously at the driver who stowed my bag in the trunk and hopped into the back. I told him the name of my hotel before sitting back and watching Paris fly by outside the window.
**************
It was sometime later that I found myself sitting in the hotel, thinking about what I could possibly do at that point. It was a wonderful place, and I had chosen to stay at a five star hotel, so the possibilities were practically endless. Especially because my occupation paid so well, resulting in a large sum of cash just waiting to be used. I wouldn't go crazy and buy everything, but I was a little more than just comfortable for a girl my age.
I ended up turning the television on, flipping it to the channel that helped people learn small French terms. I dozed in and out of consciousness on the plush couch, thinking about Gaspard Ulliel and all the things that had happened since my family hosted the intervention. I had half a mind to go back to the airport and just purchase another ticket home. I mean, who would know? But I knew that my family and friends would call eventually, and they wanted pictures.
In a millisecond I was up off the couch, murmuring dangerously to myself. What was wrong with me? Why the hell couldn't I just suck it up and enjoy myself in freaking Paris?
With an angry scowl on my face I paced around the room, glancing every once in a while out the window to see if the weather was clear. The weather! That would be my excuse for doing nothing on the first day! So I returned to my dozing, listening to the sounds of Paris through the open French doors. The room was pretty incredible with its high ceilings, modern furniture and my own balcony.
And that was the end of day one in Paris, France.