[harry’s pov]
“It’s something that comes with the job. You know that,” I watched as she narrowed her dead attractive eyes at me and took another sip of her glass. She was so flawless, that it tickled in my fingertips to take up my camera and get those extra up close shots. Not for any magazine; though they would probably be worth a lot, no but simply because she was one of the most beautiful creatures I had ever seen. In her dark dress against that fair smooth skin, the line of her red lipstick which was impossibly perfect still. The way her green eyes were a darker shade from the disgust towards me; but there was something else still.
That intention, which had made her wave at me to come in, was there too. Some fucked up and unexplainable glint of a mix between lust and utter disgust. It fascinated her to talk with me. I could see it and God how I wanted to capture it forever in a photo. But reaching out for my camera, which was still placed on the surface of the bar desk would mean my certain death.
“Oh so then you’re just a fucking prick on a daily basis? Or is that required of the job too?” Her cheeks were beautifully flushed from the struggle of not simply slapping me really hard right now, most likely. God she was bewitching. Had a smart mouth too and not to forget how disgustingly rich she was too.
For a second I imagined a parallel universe, where I hadn’t been a pap - and she would still have waved me over. Though with a more easy and playful smile suiting her lips so stunningly.
“We all do what we have to in order to survive, I guess,” I shrugged and in the following silence the bartender came to place my drink. I gave him a polite nod, while letting a hand through my still slightly wet hair from the drizzle outside.
As she didn’t answer I looked over at her again; her eyes were still resting on me, but the loathing had taken off a little. Just as I had imagined spilling the truth would work perfectly with this one.
“I’m saving up - for my own studio. Hell, I wouldn’t fucking do this for the rest of my life, I just need the easy money to get started,” it felt … weirdly nice to get that said out loud. Even though it was ironically to the motive of most of my paying shots; Naomi.
Liam would laugh his ass off if he knew I was sitting here telling Naomi Fay about my ‘future plans’ of photographing professionally. But he wasn’t here to laugh or joke or convince me to join him for another headless and intoxicating night in the city.
“And it’s impossible for you to get any other job?” Her words were rushed. She was running out of arguments.
“Why should I? The pay is a lot higher since I have practice with photographing - and besides that I work with something I love to do. You know I don’t only take shots of celebs; I think I’ve gotten more shots from just sitting and waiting than from the moments where the shots can pay off my bills. And it’s an acknowledged... practice. It would be stupid of me to do anything else than this,” I spoke with a slow confident voice, which usually won the discussions for me. Occasionally I tried with some trying smiles to ease off the tense atmosphere between us. Meanwhile she listened closely to my every word, with her eyes settled on the glass of her drink following the sight of her fingertip tracing lazy circles on the edge of the glass.
“And whether you like it or not; paps and stars live in symbiosis; you get the free press coverage and we can pay our bills. It might be rough and brutal, but the truth can’t be ignored,” I couldn’t take my eyes off her. As the soft jazz music shifted into something more French, Naomi’s eyes flew over the room as in recognition, as a smile spread across her lips to my surprise. It was an easy going and baffled grin, which reminded me of last summer, where she was taking a walk in Central Park and I had gotten some great shots of that very same grin.
“It’s La Vie en Rose by Édith Piaf. My mum used to play that tune every Sunday morning when I had to wake up and - “ her smile quickly fainted and she stopped herself in the middle of her telling almost shocked over having just started talking to me about that. She seemed a little baffled as she looked at her glass, picked it up, and emptied it before my eyes.
I took a drink of mine too - Gin and Tonic. Even though her story had lasted for the shortest of a moment, her words had been so filled with passion and edged with that lurking French accent, that I had already been enchanted. For a moment her thoughts had been more fascinating to me than the way that dress fell over her shape. I had forgotten about the eyeliner which made her eyes look sensual and sparkling.
“Nevermind,” she mumbled and looked at the empty glass resting in the grab of her delicate fingertips.
I suddenly felt an overwhelming feeling of desperation; as if I had gotten a sneak peek of something true and the door had been smashed closed in my face all the same. But I couldn’t forget what I had seen; a little blonde girl with a wide beam running through a small Parisian apartment to throw herself around her mother’s leg, while the tune of the melody playing right now would bind itself to that moment and to being one of her happy ones.
I could feel my heartbeat quicken, “it’s okay.”
She looked at me with questioning eyes and I realized her gaze was softer now than before the telling of her childhood memory, “I mean…” What the fuck did I mean? What the hell was I babbling about?
“You know eh it’s a beautiful tune I guess,” what the fuck was I actually saying right now. I would never willingly listen to this kind of music. The idea of Liam actually dying from laughter over my pathetic words was too loud - but right now I couldn’t stop loving the melody that was so French it should be some fucking title melody of Paris. The way her smokey voice crackled in the speakers from the old recording.
“It’s very … French,” I could just go and fucking shoot myself already before Naomi Fay herself had me shot in the open streets of Paris. Pathetic.
“Yeah it is,” an actual chuckle escaped her full lips and her tone was lighter, “you know she’s actually regarded as the national Diva of France. So I guess French would describe it pretty accurately.”
I couldn’t stop the deep chuckles escaping my lips, “I can just imagine.”
The soft grin didn’t leave my lips as she nodded, making her hair fall out of place slowly while the beam was still wide, “yeah and she was actually discovered when performing at this place in Pigalle in Paris. You know where Divan du Monde et .. ehm I mean and,” I couldn’t stop smiling at how her excitement had made her switch to French, “and Moulin Rouge are located. I bet you would know of that area, am I right?”
Oh. Pigalle was known for being a more ... erotic kind of area in Paris. Of course I knew about it. If either reading about it somewhere in the newspaper one early morning ...or it being Liam with his extreme knowledge on that topic, who had told me? He had been to Paris sometimes for work - when I came to think about it, I was pretty sure it was him having told me actually.
“Yeah, yeah I have. Sure,” she nodded with a ‘'called that one’ kind of expression on her beautiful face, which was so much more heavenly when she smiled.
“Of course you do - anyway Édith Piaf was discovered by this club owner, Leplée, only at the age of 20. What enchanted the club owner about her was her nervousness and the fact that she was absolutely tiny - only 142 centimeters, what would that be in America ehm - 4 ft 8 in?” She looked at me questioningly as I listened with surprise, “Très petit! So yeah I think that’s right - anyway he called her La Môme Piaf, which means ehm -” she looked around the place as in the hope that a direct translation would show itself in the air.
Her French accent was so evident when she talked like this; excited, uncontrolled, impassioned. Occasionally a French word would slip in too, but that didn’t make her less charming - on the other hand actually.
“Like it’s slang for sparrow, The Little Sparrow it would probably be - anyway Leplée you know the one discovering her - was killed the year after by some in her social circle or something. So of course she was suspected. Ehm but she then later changed her stage-name to Édith Piaf. So like her real name is Édith Lamboukas,” Noami’s French was one hell of a combination with her sultry voice.
“So La Môme Piaf,” I tried saying it the exact same way as she had - but failed terribly. She tried keeping the chuckles in but without success as she stated the name again with the perfect pronouncement.
“La Môme Piaf,” I repeated looking at her lips meanwhile.
“Yeah much much better,” the breathtaking contradiction between her blood red lips and beautifully white teeth in that beam was almost too much for me. I took another needed slurk of the Gin and Tonic with the easy smile carved into perfect place.
I rolled my eyes playfully at her, “yeah, yeah excuse my French. But okay so then her new stage-name then means Édith Sparrow?”
Naomi nodded impressed with that grin, which didn’t seem to want to leave her awfully kissable lips again.
Just as I had expected this would be so fucking easy it was almost a joke - it was almost sad that beautiful girls like Naomi were so easily deluded with a few honest thoughts said out loud and a try to repeat a French word correctly. Way too fucking easy.
please vote & comment
a/n: yay hope you enjoyed this ^^ I wanted to put the song in the sidebar but wattpad wouldn't let me buuh :(