Page 88 of All That We Are Together
“I’ll bet Little Red Riding Hood asked the Big Bad Wolf that same question,” he replied, so I tightened the knot more, until he said, “Jesus, babe,” and stuck a finger in his collar to loosen it.
I was aroused, but I was still struggling to get over what he’d said to me on the plane, still dealing with how hard it was seeing him at all hours of the day, and still trying to remember all the reasons why I couldn’t let my guard down.
“Here you are,” Hans said. “I wanted to introduce you to one of our partners at the gallery, William Parks. This dazzling lady is his wife, Scarlett.”
I greeted them both. They had noticeable English accents and a distinguished air it was hard not to be impressed by. They were enchanting, the kind of people who command attention in any room they enter. Everything about them spoke of elegance, luxury, and sophistication.
Axel took the wheel in the conversation, and Scarlett grabbed me by the arm, saying we were going to step away for a drink. I couldn’t say no. I crossed the room with her and felt uncomfortable as she stopped me in front of a huge picture of geometric shapes, broken lines, and cool colors.
“What do you think of this?” she asked.
“It’s interesting.” I didn’t add that, to my mind, there was something missing from it. It was hard to explain. It needed soul, feeling, purpose.
“The artist’s name is Didier Baudin, and a little less than a year ago, he was only showing his work at fairs and a few restaurants that agreed to lend him a hand. My husband and I saw he had talent, a future. Believe me, we’ve been doing this for years, we know how to pick out a diamond from the dull stones around it, and the catalog Hans showed us with your work in it was…refreshing. I think that’s the word. Something unexpected in the midst of monotony. Trust me when I tell you that, if we work together, we can achieve great things.”
She winked and I thanked her quietly, unsure how to respond, unsure even if her interest was flattering or discomfiting.
When the opening was over and we were leaving, it was eleven at night, and the streets of Paris were almost empty. It was cold, but over my dress, I had on the coat I’d bought the week before. And, unfortunately, my only pair of heels, which I’d worn out of the store.
“They’re killing me,” I said.
“Take them off, then.”
“We’re not in Byron Bay,” I reminded him.
“Who cares? Come on, I’ll help you.”
I laughed and shook my head, amused at how little Axel let the environment influence him. I grabbed the hand he held out and let him support part of my weight until we made it to the apartment. As soon as we opened the front door, I took off my shoes.
“Do we have to go to more parties like that?”
“I’m afraid so. You feel like a nightcap?”
I shook my head while he served himself two fingers’ worth of amber liquor. He took a long sip as he sat beside me on the sofa.I was anxious as I watched his eyes descend my neck and come to rest in my cleavage where my black dress ended.
I trembled, and I hated the desire I felt.
The longing. The memories.
I got up and told him good night, barely even looking at him. Closing the door to my room, I took off my dress, put on pajamas, and walked to the window to look out at the lights of the city and the sky, almost bare of stars, so different from the sky at home…and at the chimneys and rooftops of Paris…
77
Axel
I tried to give her space for the following days. She wasn’t too happy with her work, no matter how many hours she spent shut up in her studio, a prisoner to her own chaos. When she ate one of her lollipops, it wasn’t slowly, distractedly, as usual. Instead, she’d immediately bite it into little pieces. She’d thrown out three half-finished canvases, and I agreed, in a sense, because I knew she could do much better, and plus, I wanted her to be satisfied with her results. She obviously felt pressure to show Hans something next week, but I didn’t think too much of it. We were there for a grant; I wanted her to take it easy and enjoy the city and the experience. I told myself that every time I saw the closed door to the studio and felt the hours that stretched out silently.
I developed my own routine pretty quickly: climbing Montmartre at dawn.
Since I couldn’t wear myself out among the waves, I followed the steep stairways and hills leading to that artsy neighborhood. Every morning, while Leah was still asleep, I’d cross the square with the painters in it and head right toward Sacré-Coeur. Then I’dretrace my steps, and before returning to the apartment, I’d have a leisurely breakfast on our corner, thinking about her, about how to knock down the locked doors that separated us, the ones built of all the things we still hadn’t said.
78
Leah
It took days for me to create something I was satisfied with, even if it wasn’t close to the best thing I’d done.But it’ll do, I thought as I took one last look at the canvas on the easel before cleaning my brushes and putting in order the disaster area around me. I went downstairs and took a shower. Only then, while I dried my hair with a towel after putting on comfy clothes, did I realize I hadn’t seen or heard from Axel in hours. Normally he was always nearby, looking at my work or proposing a million plans that I rejected out of fear of getting too close and burning myself.
When I passed by his room, I saw the door was cracked and the lights were off. I wasn’t sure, but I opened it anyway, trying not to make noise. He was lying in bed with the curtains drawn to keep out the afternoon sun. He sat up when he realized I was there.
