Free Fall in Stilettos

by Catherine Louise

  ‘Shit. There he is. Fuck, I think he’s seen us,’ I said.

  ‘Well; good. My God; is that him? He’s totally not your type. I’m surprised you went for him. Not sure about the shorts look either,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t, it was the other way around,’ I said.

  ‘Not anymore or you wouldn’t be here,’ she giggled.

  ‘Shit. He’s coming over,’ I said to Emma. ‘Shit, shit, shit,’ I whispered to myself under my breath. Marc raced towards me.

  It was the first time I’d witnessed him doing anything at speed, other than flying a plane. He was wearing long, baggy beach style shorts. As he got closer, his eyes were bulging wide. Emma stood behind me.

  ‘What are you doing ’ere?’ he blurted out, glaring at me.

  I detected the panic in his voice. He wasn’t smiling. Facing me, he waited for a response.

  ‘We’ve come to your party,’ I shrugged French style, and suddenly feeling completely sober.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you were coming,’ he said. His wide-eyed expression suggested he was still either concerned or suspicious, I couldn’t decide.

  ‘Yes, I did. I sent you an email,’ I said.

  ‘You did? Well, I didn’t get it,’ he replied.

  ‘Oh, well,’ I said, shrugging again, having adopted his French mannerism with maximum effect. ‘We’re here. Are you pleased to see me?’ My own words surprised me. He looked directly into my eyes.

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  I looked down, away from his gaze.

  ‘Here,’ I said, thrusting the box of whisky into his hands, ‘I got you this.’

  He opened the box and looked inside, despite the prominent label.

  ‘It’s my favourite,’ he said, as he lifted the neck of the bottle and looked up. ‘Thank you,’ he said with a smile.

  Emma emerged forward with the carrier bag of beer and an overenthusiastic wave.

  ‘Hello, I’m Emma,’ she announced.

  ‘Sorry. This is my friend Emma. Emma, meet Marc,’ I said.

  Marc offered her a handshake, which she only just managed whilst struggling with the awkwardness of holding the bag.

  ‘’Ere, let me ’elp you with that,’ said Marc, relieving Emma of the bag.

  ‘We got you some beer too,’ I added. He parted the handles and peered inside at the contents.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said with a frown. Then he stared at me blankly. ‘Sorry, I just hadn’t expected…’ he began, then broke off. ‘It’s really good to see you.’ He smiled again and leaned towards me, kissing my cheeks. ‘Come on. You’d better come join the party.’

  We followed him down to his courtyard. Then he dashed inside, carrying the stuff we’d offloaded. Aware of being watched by onlookers, a sea of mainly unfamiliar faces caught my eyes as I looked around. I recognised a couple of French colleagues from a distance, but I didn’t know them.

  Marc reappeared with two glasses.

  ‘ ’Elp yourselves to more drinks inside,’ he said, as he handed us each a flute.

  ‘ ’Ow are things?’ he asked, looking me up and down.

  ‘Fine, thanks.’ I shrugged, feeling awkward at not really knowing what to say, but conscious of his eyes wandering over my dress.

  ‘I’m sorry, I was a little surprised at seeing you. I ’adn’t expected…’ his voice trailed off. ‘But you look,’ he paused again as he studied my figure, ‘you look amazin’, Avril,’ he smiled. Then Marc’s name was called from across the other side by a guy stood amongst a male group. ‘Excuse me a moment. You know a few people from the airline. I leave you two to… ’ave a chat,’ he said, turning to me and pausing for a moment, without saying a word.

  His big familiar lips parted as he smiled again. His lingering look sent a nervous thrill through my body. As he gently brushed past, I caught the smell of his familiar musky scent. I inhaled the air.

  ‘That went well,’ Emma said. ‘Come on, let’s down this and get another. Think you need it.’

  ‘You reckon? At first, I thought he didn’t want us here,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah. It was tense, probably wondering what the hell you were doing. But once he got over the shock, he chilled out fast,’ she sniggered.

  We knocked back the fizz then headed inside via the kitchen door where it was noticeably cooler. No one else was there. Everyone else was outside in the heat of the evening sun.

  ‘Oh, look,’ said Emma, pointing at a heap of baguettes stacked up in one corner of the room. ‘We’re all right if we get hungry.’

  Delighted with her find, she lifted a couple, taking one in each hand, and started to juggle.

  ‘Put them back, you idiot,’ I said.

  ‘Why? It’s completely mental. What’s he gonna do with all these baguettes?’ She laughed. ‘I’ve never seen so many baguettes in one place, apart from a bakery.’

  She was right; it was all wine and dry baguettes. Surveying the room, there was no other food on offer.

  ‘Do you think he just ran out of time and thought sod it, they can all have free-flowing booze, so he just shoved all the baguettes to one side?’ she asked. ‘Or maybe he plans to hand them out like kids’ party bags – here you go, shove that up your jumper.’ She spun around and pulled up her dress to demo before getting conveniently distracted. ‘Champagne!’ Emma spied the open bottle on the kitchen worktop surface. I hurriedly topped up her glass with a foam of bubbles. ‘I’m LOVING this party,’ she mouthed dramatically.

  ‘Come on, let’s go back outside,’ I said, after taking a sip.

  ‘No way. I want to have a look around now. Anyway, you don’t know anyone so what’s the rush to get back outside?’

  ‘And what is it you want to look at exactly?’ I asked.

  ‘Let’s go and have a nosey round upstairs. Come on,’ she said.

  Without hesitation, Emma had already headed through the kitchen to the foot of the stairs. As she made her way up, I tagged on behind. There was no stopping her once curiosity took hold, and she needed close supervision.

  ‘So, this is the toilette,’ she said, flinging open the door to the bathroom. Pretending to use the bidet, she let out a gasp. ‘Bloody hell. Look at all that champagne,’ she squealed, as she rested her glass on the bath and clapped her hands. The bath was loaded with bottles of champagne on ice. ‘Close the door. You can leave me here, I’m sorted,’ she said, whilst pretending to climb in. ‘Oh my God. Look, it’s our beer,’ she pointed. ‘Shit. Next to the loo.’

  ‘Still in the carrier bag,’ I added.

  ‘Well, I bloody hope he’s not planning to piss it away down there. I’ll take it home with me if so.’

  ‘No, you bloody won’t!’ I told her. ‘Anyway, why’d you want the cheap stuff when you’ve got all this champagne?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t like waste – not when it’s booze. You made me go half way across Paris in the scorching heat to get it. But okay, I’ll behave myself, but only ’cos you want me to act posh and sophisticated,’ she said.

  ‘Keep trying,’ I teased.

  ‘Slag. Bitch. Tart,’ she retorted.

  ‘Shhh, no one knows that,’ I replied, laughing with a two-finger gesture.

  Noticing a glass bottle of aftershave on the small shelf below the mirror, I picked it up. Holding it in my hand, first studying the silver label, then shaking the liquid and watching it settle through the dark glass, I removed the shiny gold top. Leaning over it, I delved in, taking a sniff of his aftershave like a line of cocaine. I breathed in his scent. The one he always wore. Earlier, I’d recognised it immediately when he’d stood close and then our bodies had touched. It was a good fix. I exhaled. Emma watched.

  ‘We really need to get you some more champagne, don’t we? Pity there’s no bottle opener in here,’ Emma said. ‘But first, where’s the bedroom?’

 
Obediently, without thought, I automatically pointed. She walked over and went straight in. Instantly, I regretted it.

  ‘You can’t just do that,’ I said.

  ‘Do what? I’m having a look at his shag pad,’ she replied over her shoulder to me. ‘The dirty den of demon deeds. I bet zis iz where all zee action takes place,’ she said, in a lousy pretend accent.

  ‘Weirdo. Why’d you need to look at his bedroom anyway?’

  ‘’Coz then I can picture all the dirty details you’ve told me,’ she replied, with a filthy exaggerated laugh.

  ‘You’re such a crazy bitch,’ I sighed.

  Standing at the door, I peered inside. It was just an ordinary bedroom now, not a place of nervous anticipation like it had been, at first. On closer inspection, there were stacked-up boxes on one side. So he is actually going, I whispered to myself. Not that it was unexpected.

  ‘Shit. Someone’s coming,’ I said to Emma. She smirked, then instantly covered her mouth, pretending to be serious. Footsteps on the stairs grew louder. ‘Quickly,’ I said, and rushed over to grab Emma’s hand and yanked her onto the bed. We both listened to the sounds. The bathroom door slammed closed. ‘Phew.’

  ‘What were you planning to do with me on the bed?’ Emma smiled.

  ‘If anyone comes in, we just say you’re feeling ill and so came to have a lie-down,’ I said. Then I tiptoed over to the bedroom door and pushed it ajar, and my ear to the door. ‘Shhh,’ I said to Emma, signalling for her to lie back down.

  As the toilet flushed, Emma obeyed, leaning back. The bathroom door lock opened. The footsteps disappeared back downstairs.

  ‘No handwashing. That’s got to be a man,’ Emma said.

  ‘Come on, let’s go,’ I said.

  The potential embarrassment at being caught snooping in Marc’s room was enough to feel total relief when we made it back downstairs.

  ‘We’ve got to find me a Frenchman to snog,’ Emma said, as I refilled a couple more glasses in the kitchen, having left the empties in the upstairs bathroom.

  ‘So long as you don’t make us look like a couple of cheap English tarts,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t be so boring. Anyway, promise I won’t do anything you’ve not done,’ she laughed.

  ‘Very funny.’

  We went back outside amidst the groups of French chatter. It was preferable to be gawped at, rather than caught out like some obsessive stalker. Looking around, I spotted a young tanned man with a shaved head, sitting by himself.

  ‘He’s an outcast like us,’ I said to Emma, as she followed my gaze.

  ‘Excellent. Snog potential. Let’s go make friends,’ she said, and headed off in his direction. I let her go alone. Watching Marc, he was still with the same group of guys from earlier. I couldn’t stop myself staring. But on hearing Emma’s voice, I turned away.

  ‘Avril, come and meet Pedro,’ she repeated. ‘He’s Spanish.’ The novelty of calling me Avril was a source of amusement.

  ‘Hello,’ I said to Pedro, holding out my hand politely, which he shook.

  He managed to say hello back. Then after a few general, getting-to-know-you type questions that didn’t warrant much of an exchange between us, we soon discovered that his English was up to the same standard as our French, which was almost non-existent. But it didn’t deter Emma from trying. The combination of fizz, relaxed music, overly slow exaggerated-mouthed-talking and a bit of pointy method, as Emma called it, and we found ourselves positioned on Pedro’s knee, one leg each. Not that I cared or had any interest, unlike Emma. I was preoccupied, stealing glances at Marc. I wasn’t entirely sure how the progression from a hello to a knee sit had occurred, or how Emma’s hands had become busy, buffing up Pedro’s bald-looking head like petting an expectant puppy. She kept mentioning how she couldn’t work out who it was that he knew at the party. I couldn’t care less. No one except Emma was paying him any attention, until I joined in for entertainment. As I knocked back Marc’s champagne, the alcohol fuzzed my brain. Every now and then, I’d burst into a bizarre fit of giggles. The absurdity of rubbing the Spanish man’s shaven head was both distracting and weirdly comforting.

  ‘He keeps looking at you, you know,’ Emma spouted.

  ‘He’s not coming over,’ I said.

  ‘You’re in the lap of another guy… could be sort of awkward,’ she said.

  ‘No. He doesn’t want me.’

  ‘You don’t know that. Here, hold this, I’m taking Pedro for a dance,’ she said, whilst giving me her glass after climbing off his knee. Then she grabbed Pedro by the hands, pulling him to his feet.

  I downed the champagne. Then I consoled myself further by starting on the remains of hers, before walking over to the stone wall to rest the empties. There’d been little more than stilted conversation and a few glances. But what did I expect? I asked myself.

  ‘There you are,’ Marc said, from over my shoulder. I almost froze. ‘You did send me an email. I got it.’

  ‘Oh good. So, it’s all okay then?’ I asked. The words came tripping out of my mouth before I could stop myself unintentionally seeking his permission and sounding very uncool.

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch, but we spoke about…’

  I replied, almost apologetically for him.

  ‘It’s okay. I understand. I hoped you wouldn’t mind me coming; it was a last-minute thing…’

  My mouth was incapable of speaking the truth. Who makes a last-minute decision to attend a party in another country? The close proximity of him made it barely possible to look him in the eyes.

  ‘’Ere,’ he said, ‘let me fill it for you.’

  He stood so close. The air was filled with his scent, enveloping me. I could feel his breath on my face, sending a tingle of nerves through me as he spoke. Haphazardly, I reached for my glass. His arm outstretched, he brushed my hand with his. As a quiver of shockwaves passed through me, I relinquished my grasp. Fleetingly, our eyes met. Then he stood back. I forced myself to resist an urge. Taking a breath, the moment passed.

  He re-emerged with more champagne. ‘You know, I’ll be leaving in a couple of weeks. I’m packing right now.’

  ‘Yes, I saw…’ I stopped myself. He mustn’t find out I’d been snooping around his bedroom. ‘Things look different and you said you’d be going,’ I replied, trying to act blasé.

  ‘Yes. I am. I’m only sorry that…’ he said.

  He turned to face me, grabbed my hand and pulled me inside the porch. Bewildered by his actions, the touch of his hand, so familiar yet unexpected, I stood back. He placed his arm around my waist and pulled me towards him. His body on mine. Then he released his grip as quickly as he’d drawn me near. Someone was coming down the stairs.

  ‘Marc.’ A voice interrupted. ‘You didn’t tell me that April was coming.’

  It was Pierre from the airline. He greeted Marc with a friendly slap on the back and a grin in my direction. We’d worked together a few times. He was cabin crew too but much older. The grey flecks of hair around his temples suggested he was in his forties. He leaned in to me, still grinning. The fumigating booze on his breath was pungent; I averted my head to avoid the stench.

  ‘Who’z your friend?’ he enquired. His eyes flashed with interest.

  I looked at Marc. One of us had to get rid of Pierre. Politely, I took Pierre by the arm as we went outside to meet Emma. She could handle both him and Pedro, just for a bit. Then I dashed back inside, almost breaking into a run were it not for the heels. Stepping into the porch and expecting to find Marc, he’d gone. My shoulders slumped with disappointment. ‘Damn, why couldn’t he have just waited?’ I said out loud. Was he intentionally tormenting me? I looked around for him inside, but his disappearance convinced me that he wasn’t bothered.

  In the courtyard, Emma was locked in a snog with Pierre. I shouldn’t have left her alone. It was a reco
rd time even for her. Having known him less than five minutes, it wasn’t a joke. She’d wanted to kiss a Frenchman. Any Frenchman, it seemed. Even one that reeked, although she probably did too. And what did it matter? And who cared what anyone thought? We didn’t know them, any of them… much. The alcohol had numbed any irritation of cringeworthy behaviour. I threw back my head and laughed.

  A while later, post-lip lock, Pierre was busy trying to get Emma’s number, handing her a pen and paper, which she kept drawing smiley faces on. He was out of luck. Pierre was just a lip-dance at a Parisian party. I knew that. Emma didn’t want a romance, just a frog to snog. I almost felt sorry for him.

  ‘Avril. Can we talk?’ Marc had taken hold of my hand, before I registered his voice. I nodded in surprise to see him standing in front of me again. I assumed he must have witnessed the whole scene with both of our mates, resulting in his swift attention. He led me back to the porch. Only this time he closed the door.

  ‘Sorry about Emma,’ I began.

  ‘Sorry it’s taken me so long to be able to talk to you. And then what ’appened earlier. This may be unfair to say it, but I’ve not stopped thinking about you. I really wanted to see you,’ he said.

  I pulled his face to mine without hesitation and snogged him greedily. The feel of his big soft lips reminded me how I’d missed him. How I wanted him. Forcefully, as I pressed up against him, he lifted me to him. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around him. The smell of him, the touch of his skin and the feel of his hair as my fingers grasped him were all so familiar. Starving for him, my hand reached down for the hard bulge in his trousers. Then withdrawing his lips and pulling away, he let out a sigh and put me down.

  ‘We can’t,’ he said, closing his eyes momentarily and rubbing his face with his hands.

  ‘But…’ I began.

  ‘Of course, I want you. More than that even. Look at me, the state I’m in.’ He gaped down at his trousers to where my hand had rested moments earlier. ‘But it would make things worse. Nothing ’as changed, Avril. I’m still leaving.’ He shrugged.