Beau
A Woman of Paris
1923, France
The movie theater was a small one screen establishment. The outside was not with much flash. The ticket lady told me the afternoon showing had already started, but I bought a ticket anyway.
Inside, I found the tiny red seated box movie theater to be empty but for one other, so I decided to play a game. I sat right next to her.
"Fancy seeing you here. Do you like Charlie Chaplin?" I asked loudly.
She turned her red head to me in surprise and her sweet blue-grey eyes widened.
"What- What are you doing here?!" she whispered too loudly in surprise.
"I could say the same," I said in a hush, putting my finger over my mouth to indicate a change in quieter tone.
"You scared me, your hair is short," she whispered, quieter now.
"Why is that scary? Its fashionable," I pouted, trying to be charmingly cute.
"You...looked like Cheol," she admitted slowly.
My heart flared a little in anger involuntarily at this, but I could never be mad at her. Cheol. The very name. "Oh, I'm sorry, all Asians look alike," I said perhaps a bit woundedly, but I did not mean for it to come out that way.
"I'm sorry, that's not what I meant," she apologized sincerely, perhaps regretting herself how she had brought up the name.
"Why are you here, anyway?" I asked, changing the subject. But I already knew, unfortunately.
"I'm...actually here with someone," she admitted slowly again.
My inside sighed hopelessly. So I had been correct. "Oh, I see, you've traded the opera for movies," I sighed.
"That's a cheap shot...and yes," she whispered even quieter. Ashamed of herself, probably, to be caught again.
"Then you know why I'm here," I said, looking at her now, and taking her by the forearm.
The next thing we knew, we were in the sunlight together. She came along with me, half being pulled along and half following by herself. She knew exactly why I was here, so she followed along without protest. It had happened too many times. She had been prostituting herself again, and I would never accept this. It was maddening.
Before I could stop myself, it came out. By now, we were on a small bridge, but still very much in the middle of town. I could not help myself, though I would have preferred it come out in a much more secluded spot, for her sake more than mine.
"Why are you selling yourself again?" I asked in a hushed tone, pulling her arm so she'd go around to my front. She followed in the motion I made, and landed in front of me, bumping the rail a bit with her rib painfully which perfectly showed my meaning of the gesture. Deep down, I think I wanted to hurt her for what she was doing. But I could not bring myself to. Her blue-grey eyes were staring at me in hurt anyway.
"That is not for you to know," she said as quietly as she had in the movie theater, indicating shame.
"Your shameful voice betrays you," I informed her, following her in her hushed tone for her sake.
She was silent for a moment, but then said perhaps a bit defiantly, "old habits die hard."
Something deep inside me, a part so exasperated by her that it was no longer in love, wanted to shake her and hard. How dare she, it wanted to say. But another part, a part deeply and hopelessly in love forever, wanted to say, How dare you sell your beautiful self. How dare you, I love you, you don't need to sell yourself. Is my love not enough?
The love side won.
"Is it money? Do you need money?" I asked quickly. This part of me was so desperate, I had already reached into my coat for my wallet.
Just at that moment, the deep Autumn air whipped up and with the sound of leaves behind us, her breathtaking darkly orange hair flew up with the sudden breeze and my heart shrank two sizes in fear of the beauty it was being presented without warning.
Momentarily stunned, I could only listen to her.
"No, its not money," she said, quicker now, her growing shame apparent.
I just stared at her, like a child. Her cheeks were going pink now, the chilly Fall air getting to her pale and delicate skin, or perhaps it was her embarrassment. Whatever the case, the pink caused her water colored eyes to appear all the more blue and lovely, and the blue offset her orange hair even more. The cornflower blue sky behind her framed the lovely picture in finality, showcasing the impossibility of her beauty in full.
It all made me want to kiss her again, but how violently inappropriate.
"I know you're upset at me," she was saying, "...I'm upset at myself, but what am I supposed to do?"
I leaned on the rail, my gaze never leaving her. She wasn't looking at me, though. Now she was looking at the floor of the bridge, her droplet blue eyes downcast in her deep shame. How I wanted to take that chin with my fingertips and bring her face upwards, never to be downcast again.
I sighed now, and she still didn't look at me. To be honest, I feared she would cry. I spoke more to distract her from this than anything else. How my heart would break if one single tear were to come up from those eyes.
"I'm not upset at you," I said honestly. "Just worried. You don't need to do this. You deserve so much better. You deserve-"
But unexpectedly, she spoke again, interrupting me, but I can't say I didn't half expect it at least, for what I had just said.
"No, I won't go with you," she said in almost a whisper, with some vestige of pride. Exactly what I wanted to see, her being strong with herself. Maybe this deep down pride would be the key to get her to do with herself something better than what caused her shame.
"I wasn't going to say 'go with me'," I explained, with a tiny smile, for I could not help but have this reaction at her tiny pride. But something further unexpected happened.
"Oh," she replied even more quiet. "Then...what do you think I deserve? What would I deserve?"
I was taken aback by this, more by tone than the actual words. They sounded so down, so very in a despair. So her heartache was this. I never knew.
To this, I had to take her wrist, and I was not entirely surprised when she did not resist.
"So you won't go with me, but you don't think you deserve better than this," I said slowly, weighing the words in my mouth as if they were too foreign to make sense of. But at the same time, it all rushingly made sense.
This woman standing in front of me on the bridge was too prideful to be taken care of by a lover, but was not prideful enough to not rely on lovers. It was a maddening prospect, confusing, yet so incredibly clear. It was as incredibly clear as the crisp Autumn air going into our lungs.
But before I could even think more, the worst thing happened. The thing I had been dreading.
Suddenly her doe blue eyes filled with the dreaded tears and before I could move to stop it, they began rolling down her doll-like cheeks and onto the bridge below us. And my heart caught in my chest and I could do nothing.
So as automobiles slowly drove past, she cried silently, whether from pride or lack of pride or both.
Then with great patience shown on my part, she shoved me hard. Then she shoved me again. And I let her. Again and again, her delicate hands shoved me in her pain. And when I could not take anymore of her pain, I grabbed her so suddenly her breath caught in her throat, and I hugged her and hugged her.
My nose filled with her lilac smell, for her highly firey red curls were pressed against it. The creamy smell exuded from her skin filled my head with ecstasy as well.
She did not hug me, and I did not expect her to. She went sort of limp, and I held her closely to prevent her from falling in more ways than one.
Very quietly, I asked her a simple question, said into her hair in a slight muffle.
"Tell me why you are selling yourself?"
But this was just met with her turning her head from side to side gently, as her silent weeps wet the collar of my coat.
But I was ready for this. I did not expect an answer just as I never expected an answer to this question, not really. My heart knew I never really expected an answer, because why else would I keep arriving to her and trying to help her get out of the situations her sad heart put her in over and over again?
"Let me take you somewhere to eat at least. You deserve that, surely," I tried to say sweetly to her.
At this, she broke the embrace without any bad feeling it seemed. She stared at me, her eyes searching my face. My body went all over stiff at her sudden gaze.
"I...will buy you cake," I offered nervously.
She did not pick up on my nervousness. Instead, she just nodded slowly, the last of the tears falling down her cheeks in tiny red streams. To this I could not resist, and quick as I could, I kissed one of the streams. The blood tear was warm, like a warm red falling star on my lips.
She sniffled, and I reached into my coat and gave her my handkerchief. It was a brilliant scarlet, and this offset the light red tears on her face as if lovingly. She tried to wipe them off, but her cheeks were stained with the red, so I took my handkerchief back and wet it with my mouth and attempted to wipe the tears away that way. She allowed me to do this without resisting, an incredible admission, and one which warmed and relieved my loving heart.
We walked hand in hand back into town, and as we passed the movie theater she spoke again. This time, it was something which rose my heart up and made it smile in hope.
"You are wearing red. You planned this!" she exclaimed, but in a bravely joking manner.
I just smiled, for indeed I was wearing a dark red coat, and indeed the tears which I had predicted did not show on its collar for the red blood color matched the red blood color of the fabric.
I just smiled and this turned into my loud giggle as she hit me again. But I did not mind the hits, for this time it showed she was feeling a little bit better. And this little bit made my heart rise with joy into the bright blue Autumn sky.