I bite my lip before pulling up his name.
Me:Everything okay?
Before I press send, my phone buzzes in my hand and I answer before really reading the name.
“Hi,” I say with relief.
“Hi Anya, you guys get back okay last night?” Devon’s cheerful voice echoes through the phone.
“Oh uhm, yeah. I got back to my apartment and Danny’s at his hotel room now.” There, that’s definitely not a lie.
Devon chuckles. “Great, listen I’ve booked your train home for tomorrow lunchtime. I’ve sent you the details.” My stomach clenches. That’s it, twenty four hours left in Paris. I hear a door close on the other side of the phone and footsteps on a metal staircase. “Listen, keep this between us but I’m jumping on prep for a new film back in London. It’s not confirmed and probably won’t start for at least a few months, but I would want you to come with me as my production assistant.”
Confusion almost knocks me over. “Me?” I ask numbly.
“Yes, I think you got a pretty short stick on this one, what with ferrying Covington around. You did an amazing job though, he’s definitely been a lot easier to handle than imagined from this end. But I want to see what you can do in production. What do you say?”
My mind spins. Honestly, I woke up this morning thinking my career was over, that I was going to go public with Danny and steer clear of the industry for fears of nepotism allegations smearing my name. But now I’ve got a job offer that’s nothing to do with him, that’s purely because of the connections I’ve made myself.
“I’d love to,” I say breathlessly.
“Lovely, well as I say it’s not had the green light yet, so nothing might come from it, but I wanted to let you know I’m thinking about you. Travel safe tomorrow and enjoy some time at home. I’ll email you in a few weeks with the details.”
I hang up, mind reeling. A few months ago I was ready to give up this industry entirely, but now it looks like I have a chance to keep going. To figure out what’s next. I always thought I’d end up the next Gwendoline Marcs, but being the next Devon might not be so bad either.
My phone still shows the unsent text to Danny. I want to tell him. I want him to be happy for me, to say I deserved it. I delete my message and start again.
Me:When can I see you later? Got my train tickets for tomorrow.
No text bubble appears so I angrily shove my phone in my pocket.
I’m not moping around waiting for a man to message me. I have a new job lined up and it’s my last day in Paris. I’m going out.
I swing my bag over my shoulder and take the stairs two at a time, emerging onto the street a few seconds later.
I’ve been in the city for nearly two months, and almost all of that time has been spent wrapped up with Danny inside these four walls. I need to explore.
I hop on the metro and emerge on the Right Bank. First stop is Musée D Orsay. I wait in a too-long line and emerge into the main hall, large vaulted ceilings allowing light to shower over the delicate sculptures. It’s easy to see how the building was once a train station, the large clock face at the back of the hall looming over the tourists meandering below.
I take my time wandering in and out of every room, my shoes clipping against the hollow floor. I take photos of the famous artwork lining the walls but their beauty seems dull today. I take loops around the museum in a daze and by the time I emerge back onto the street it’s past lunchtime. I check my phone. No word.
I ring my mother as I walk along the river.
“Cabbage,” she greets me, finally tugging a smile to my lips.
“Coucoumama.”
“C’estunevraitparisienne.”
I laugh. “Not for much longer. I have my return ticket for tomorrow.”
“I’m so excited to see you,” my mother says.
I look out on the glistening Seine, the water churning past the banks where people sit with their feet dangling towards the water, sharing a bottle of wine.
“Me too.”
“I’m sorry Cabbage, I have to go, my next class is starting.”
