Paris – three good words

Snow is falling while Madeleine walks down a cobble-stoned street. Strangers pass her by, rushing home. Madeleine takes her time. She has a hat on, newly bought. She really likes it. It fits her coat, red with black buttons, covering her warmly from her neck to her knees. Her boots are dusted with powdery white, the snow is cascading down past the windows and walls, filling the curb, the sills, the street. tour eiffel Madeleine catches a glimpse of herself in a shop window. The red of her coat is shockingly bright, like Red Riding Hood walking through the forest. All she needs is a basket with pastries, but her grandmére lives in Lyon.

Sophie likes to look out of windows when it snows, just like now, her chin in her hand, and a book lying open next to her. She’s waiting for the water to boil for a cup of tea. The snow is falling gently from a heavy sky, dark and filled with winter storms. Down below a young woman walks by in a bright red coat. Sophie wonders where she got it from. The kettle clicks, the water’s done. Sophie moves away from the window, happy that winter has finally come.

Luc is tall and dark, with a lightning smile. He likes wearing dark sweaters over light shirts. He has to bend down to open doors, his legs are long like a runner’s. Madeleine likes to throw herself into his arms. He chuckles then. They meet at a café they both like, Madeleine orders a citrón, Luc a coffee. He asks her how her day was, she smiles and asks if he likes her hat. Luc always thought women were crazy about shoes, but Madeleine is always buying hats. He asks again, ‘How was your day?’ and Madeleine sighs without answering. Luc frowns, ‘That bad?’ Madeleine shrugs and looks out the window, the snow is falling thickly now, covering cars and lamps. Luc reaches out and holds Madeleine’s hand, she turns and tries to smile. He can see the frustration in her eyes that she won’t allow to spread. He wishes he could do something, help somehow, but Madeleine insists on finishing the internship.

paris winter 4 She will not be cowed. So he says, ‘It’s just three more weeks.’ Madeleine nods, sadly. Luc can see she is trying not to cry.

‘Madeleine, you really don’t have to do this. There are other places -‘
‘No. I won’t let them win. And Margarite told me twice I do my job well.’
‘And you do do it well.’
‘Yes. I know. I know I get things done. They know that and can’t stand it -‘

Madeleine takes a deep breath and exhales. The waiter comes with the citrón and the coffee. They drink in silence, Luc watching Madeleine. He would like to tell her about his promotion, the confirmation came in today. He would like to tell her about the holiday they could take next year. He would like to say something to make her smile again, but Madeleine is watching the snow again and looks at peace. Luc doesn’t want to disturb that just yet.

It’s past seven, dark as night, and Sophie is waiting. Waiting for Etienne, Etienne who is about to come in a taxi, all wrapped in a coat. He already sent her text, the flight was ok, de Gaulle was hell, he couldn’t wait to see her again. Sophie spent the last hour making dinner. The table is set, the candals lit, the wine decanted, the good one from the Périgord. It’s still snowing outside, so Sophie fought with the wood in the fireplace until it accepted the fire. Finally, the taxi arrives, stopping busily in the street. Sophie rushes to the window and sees Etienne step out. The driver pops the boot, and Etienne takes out a suitcase and his shoulder bag heavy with his notebook and papers. He taps the roof of the cab twice, nods to the driver and the cab is gone. Sophie watches Etienne walk towards the house, patting down his front. She knows he’s searching for his keys. She leans closer to the window, and waves. Etienne looks up, startled. Sophie smiles and waves again. Etienne smiles back, relieved. He’s been gone for two weeks.

Luc wraps an arm around Madeleine’s shoulders when they leave the house. He has a long coat on and looks like the businessman he is, but Madeleine likes to think of him as a poet. When he’s in the shower, he likes to sing in a low baritone, songs she usually only hears on the radio. When they cross streets, Luc stretches out a hand as if he’s about to lose Madeleine in a crowd. Madeleine is scared of cars. She was hit by one once when she was a child, three weeks with deep bruises. Luckily no more. She sometimes hears the screeching tires. She always hesitates at the curb. Luc then steps out into the street, turns around and stretches out a hand. paris winter 5 Madeleine only runs to him because she is afraid he will stand too long and be hit, drivers are crazy in this city. She would rather be hit with him than be left in this cold world, alone.

Sophie closes her eyes when Etienne kisses her hello. They’re standing in the narrow hallway, Etienne still in his snow-covered coat, suitcase and shoulder bag on the floor. Sophie doesn’t feel the chill from the open door. She feels warm, so warm, winter could be a myth told by someone unknown. They part, Etienne closes the door, smells the air and smiles, ‘Is that your gratin?’ Sophie nods, yes, she thought he might want something warm. She still has to make the medallions. Etienne kisses her again and says he’ll take a shower first. While he’s in the bathroom, Sophie puts the pan on the stove, happy to hear the shower run. Her heart glows at the memory of Etienne’s relief to be home. It makes her smile, their love is yet so young. She wishes to keep it this young, innocent in its joy, just happy to be. She wishes it would not grow to an obstinate little thing, a disillusioned adult after years as a pouty teen. She does not want their love to grow old. She wants it to stay like this, to always know the simple joy of being together again after being separated for so many days, they became weeks.

Luc is watching Madeleine drink tea. She doesn’t like coffee. She doesn’t like colourless nails either. They always have to be painted. Maybe it has to do with her work, she always wakes up an hour early and prepares herself meticulously before she leaves. He doesn’t like the transformation. The Madeleine who leaves the house in the morning is not the Madeleine he knows. The one in the morning is curt and concentrated, saying little to nothing at all. The Madeleine he knows laughs a lot. She doesn’t mind being a little disorganised and she takes her time. Morning Madeleine has everything planned out, and leaves the house at seven thirty sharp. Sometimes Luc tries to slow her down with breakfast, tea, brioche, an omelette, but Morning Madeleine has no time for that and rushes out at 7:30, terrified she might be a nanosecond late. Luc can’t wait until she’s finished with that internship. Then he’ll take her somewhere nice, like Florence. They’ve never been to Florence. He already booked the tickets and a nice hotel. paris winter 7 He wants them to have the perfect weekend, far away from everything, especially the snow. Luc knows winter is inevitable in this city, but he could really live without the cold.

Sophie turns on her front and looks out the window. Etienne is quiet next to her, pleasantly tired. His hand on her back is warm, and she enjoys how he strokes her skin. After a while he asks what’s wrong and Sophie shakes her head smiling,

‘Nothing.’
‘What are you looking at?’
‘The snow.’

He glances over his shoulder and sighs,

‘It’s still hasn’t stopped?’
‘Why would you want it to stop?’
‘It clogged up all the runways. We couldn’t land for half an hour.’

Sophie looks at the snowflakes trickling down from the sky. They look so harmless, tiny puffs of white. Tiny ballerinas running to the stage, gathering on the sill. She sees a cool blue light bloom next to her and turns. Etienne is scrolling through something on his phone.

‘Your boss?’
‘No. It won’t stop till Tuesday.’
‘What won’t stop?’
‘The snow. The streets are going to be a mess.’
‘You checked?’

‘Yeah,’ Etienne says as if that was perfectly normal, now, in this moment, with the tiny ballerinas fluttering to their stage, both of them lying next to each other under the sheets after such a wonderful time naked together. Sometimes Etienne is far too pragmatic for Sophie’s taste. But then he puts away his phone, turns to her, kisses her shoulder and says,

‘You’ll have to tell me what you want for Christmas.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want to make a mess of it again,’ and Sophie can’t help it, she laughs a little.

It was this silly game of theirs, of who could give the other the more ingenious present, Christmas, birthdays, even Easter. It didn’t have to be expensive, just something that was truly theirs, and for that Sophie was simply grateful.

It’s Saturday evening and Luc and Madeleine are invited at friends for dinner. They take their time to prepare themselves, talking about the friends they are going to meet, Sophie and Etienne, and everyone else who are part of their circle. It will be a long evening, but that is good. Sophie, who trained to be a chef before managing that excellent little brasserie, Sophie will have made something wonderful, and Etienne will have many stories to tell again. The company he works for sends him everywhere to inspect the respective teams, and something strange always happens once he’s there. paris winter 11 Madeleine often wonders how it is to work with people who know they have to make you like them. She often wishes Etienne would come and inspect everyone at her internship, but this is not the time to think of that. They’re dressed and ready to go, and walk down the stairs. Outside, Luc opens his umbrella, it is large enough for two. Snow falls on the black, a soft susurrus filling the dark street. Madeleine smiles when she sees the snow, joins Luc under the umbrella. They talk quietly to each other, anticipating a pleasant evening as they walk quickly through the snow, holding hands happily in the cold.

They talk about these things. They talk about ‘love on first sight’. Fireworks, violins in the sky, the whole nine yards. They write about it, sing songs about it, stage plays, make movies, but they never say it as it is. They never say it’s sitting in a diner, reading Yeats because you’ve got an exam coming, sitting in a diner drinking a milkshake because you like it, thank you very much, they don’t say you’re sitting in a diner reading Yeats, drinking vanilla and then the door opens and she walks in. They never say it as it is.

Bennie was in a good mood. No ‘good’ was not the right word. To explain Bennie’s mood, you had to explain Bennie, and explaining Bennie started with explaining her name. Bennie was in fact Albany, Albany Lord. Albany Lord, Albany from Albus, latin, white. It was ironic because Bennie was all but white. She was… now how do you call it. Nutwood. Praliné, but the caramel ones. She was dark on the white scale, but a smooth, even, ‘yummy’ colour as her Maman said, on every other. People asked if she was from the Caribbean, others talked to her in Portuguese expecting she was from Brazil. People expected a lot of things.

So here’s Albany, alba, white, and here’s Bennie Lord, black, noire, and whatever other words are out there to make Bennie cringe and blush. Yes, she can blush, thanks for asking, you just don’t see it a mile off like you do with Christine, but Christine could walk into a Poe and be Madeline, though that was a bit unfair. Bennie didn’t want Christine dead under a pile of rubble. Bennie liked Christine, because Christine understood Bennie in a curiously diachronic way. There, she finally used that word, yay!

So yeah, there was that. And there was Paris. There was always Paris. There was always that little lilt in Bennie’s English that yelled Vive la France! to the rest of Les Etats Unis. Bennie grew up in the Rue St. Béatrice, not far from the Patisserie Hermasse and the Boulangerie Martel. Madame Hermasse and Monsieur Martel were once married. The vows were said, wedding bells rang, the young couple moved in. Twenty years later, Madame Martel moved out and opened her own shop, selling simple homemade cakes and pastries, with her husband’s blessing of ‘You’ll never make it’. It was equal to the dépêche the Kaiser sent to Franz Joseph down south. Trenches were dug up soon after, and an endless war began. And above these post-marital hostilities, the Lords lived like rich refugees in Switzerland, watching the mayhem below. For ten years, those after the three in Munich and before the six in London, Rue St. Béatrice was Bennie’s home, world, universe. In Paris the Lords were Les Americains. In London, suddenly, they were ‘that French family in Nr. 20’.

So there was that. And then, for some reason, Bennie decided she would like to see what was on the other side of the Atlantic, if it really was the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. She signed up and was accepted and crossed the ocean. She landed on the soil so many other foreign feet had trod, landed in a jet plane and took up house on campus, and encountered her roommate Stacey. Stacey, or Stace’ first question was ‘Where are you from?’ and since it had become so common, her accent still slipped into alluring Gallic lisps and e’s, Bennie answered ‘Paris’ without thinking. ‘Texas?’ Stace answered and at first Bennie didn’t understand. Then she smiled and realized why her mother had – bitingly – said ‘Have fun explaining everything.’

‘No, the real Paris,’ Bennie explained.
‘With the tower?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Cool! So why’re you here?’
‘Pardon?’

And it was the French pardon, with the nasal aloofness of unexpected surprise.

‘I mean, come on, what did you leave France for?’
‘I’ve been in London these past years.’
‘So why not stay in London?’

How explain to this blue-eyed babe that she wanted to see what was beyond the horizon?

‘I’m on an exchange programme.’
‘Oh, ok. Cool. I’d like to do an exchange some day, y’know, maybe tour Europe, see the Oktober –thing, you know, just hang out. Were you there?’
‘Where?’
‘The Oktoberfest.’
‘A few years ago. We were visiting a friend.’
‘Really? Sweet! How was it?’

Loud, drunk, cheeky Italians everywhere. Traditional food in the house that was famous, cafés lining up streets like some corner in Paris, kissing Sebastian in that bar and smiling when he said he could show her the city the next day. The ancient churches, that castle that had something to do with nymphs and that restaurant with the perfect linguine. Sebastian’s flat near the river, the wide bed, the soft pillows, the coffee in the morning. Flying home with the others teasing her to the bone, knowing she had his number, certain she’d never call.

‘Nice,’ Bennie said.
‘I really want to go one day. I say, are you going to that writing thing later on? They say it’s a requisite.’

And that was the beginning of her life with Stace. Stace was sweet, Stace was fun, Stace sometimes said incredible things. Bennie liked Stace. She tried not to laugh at her in her head. Stace was adorable. Stace was Stace. And so there was that as well.

So, when Bennie walked into Louis’ diner that evening, dressed in a red-and-white outfit, fifties’ style, she was in a good mood. It was a mood that had everything in it, Albany, Paris and Stace, and yes, J.J. who kissed her lips before he opened the door, J.J. in a 50s football outfit, jacket, jeans and all, J.J. who held her hand, J.J. tall, dark and handsome, J.J. the other’s called Zen, J.J…. there was a lot to J.J. Bennie couldn’t explain. But there was J.J. that evening and Stace and the others, and they all walked into the diner together in their fifties’ outfit because Colwell’s party was always a theme party and this time it was the Fifties and they were all in petticoats and high collars, bobbie-socks and pig-tails. So they walked into Louis’ and Bennie was in a good mood, a calm mood, a mood that had everything in it, she walked in and scanned the tables and saw him and thought, ‘He’d fit right in’. She saw him and felt, he was the kind of picture you wanted to have on your screen, so when your computer fell asleep you could look and look and look again, enjoying the scenery. She saw him and thought and felt and looked back at J.J. and the others and wondered that she’d never seen him before, but you never knew with these things.

quote 1

She was with a whole crowd, all of them cool and laid back, all of them fit to slip into a music video and fill out the screen. They never explained how they did it, how they kept it, how they made it, how they simply stayed cool, no matter what they did. They laughed and smiled and teased, and some of them were as pale as milk. They were part of it, but still, without the core, dark and glistening, the pale flesh surrounding them would be nothing. They never explained how it was done, it just happened right in front of you and you couldn’t get up to join because that would be stupid and you’d never fit in. So you just sat and watched and saw that smile, you sat and watched and waited for her to look your way, but she never did, she was all eyes for that hunk at her side. You waited and watched, inconspicuously – now was that i-c-o or i-c-u? – you waited and watched, but nothing happened, she just kept that perfect smile and you lost all the taste for your milkshake, you wished for whisky instead, bourbon and big game hats, something that could let you lean against an oak-wood counter and look like another breed of cool. You thought of the Club back home and any thought of wood panelled smoking rooms was destroyed by the golf buggy hopping down the hills. No, you could never join them, you could never do it, you were the species of the perpetually drab and un-cool.