That Spring in Paris

by Ciji Ware

  “Well, remember... Avery and Jean-Pierre were having dinner at Le Petit Cambodge together last Friday,” Finn noted over his shoulder as he squatted next to the heater. “Maybe she mostly ate out, although I thought art students lived in a garret because they were penniless and cooked la soupe on one tiny burner.”

  Juliet pointed to a half-empty bottle of red wine on the windowsill next to the heating unit. Finn picked it up and gave it a shake.

  “Mostly frozen,” he announced.

  Juliet was puzzled. “As of a year ago, Avery has a private income. It’s not huge, but she didn’t have to live like this.”

  “Decent apartments are hard to come by in Paris,” Finn explained. “This is in a great neighborhood, close to L’École, and there’s a great restaurant, La Calèche, just opposite. Down the block is Le Bistro de Paris, which is very belle epoch and looks as if it might have been around when your great-great grandmother lived here.” He gazed at Juliet with a thoughtful expression. “Maybe Avery doesn’t stock any provisions because she has a boyfriend she stays with... but it’s probably not Jean-Pierre. He’s gay and lives with his parents.”

  “She told me today that he was just a pal she’d gotten to know in portrait class.”

  Finn rose to his feet and inadvertently grazed his head on the ceiling. “Oww!” Rubbing his forehead, he moved to the center of the vaulted chamber where his six-foot frame had some breathing room. “I can tinker with my MG’s engine, but I’ll be damned if I can figure out how this French heating system works.”

  “See, I knew landing in Paris wouldn’t be so easy,” Juliet grumbled.

  “Do you know any hotels or B and Bs near the hospital?’ he asked.

  Tired and discouraged, Juliet retorted more sharply than she intended. “No, do you?”

  Finn settled his hands on his hips and appeared to be turning something over in his mind.

  “I noted one or two hotels on Rue de Lille... but I expect they cost a bomb. I-I guess you could always sleep on my couch for a couple of days. At least until we can figure out this heating system.”

  Juliet’s gaze narrowed. From his stance and the tentative tone of his invitation, he didn’t seem at all convinced it would be a good idea to make such an offer.

  “Thank you,” she said, tight-lipped, “but I don’t think so.”

  She could sense that her jetlag had risen to a serious level and she was unreasonably put out with Avery for living in such a disgusting hovel.

  The wine is frozen? Give me a break, Avery!

  Then she was overcome with guilt. The woman had been recovering from gunshot wounds in the hospital for four days! So what if her apartment was a mess?

  Finn titled his head.

  “So what do you want to do?”

  His abrupt question and Avery’s unfit living conditions made Juliet ready to hit someone on the head with the wine bottle.

  “I’ll just sleep in my clothes and coat tonight and find someplace else to stay in the morning,” she replied more crossly than she intended.

  “That’s ridiculous!” Finn exclaimed, not bothering to hide his own exasperation. He was exhausted too, she guessed, from being up all night with the Grenelles and from all the stress of the previous few days.

  “I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

  “You won’t be fine,” he countered. “You’ll end up with pneumonia in a hospital bed next to Avery’s.”

  “I’ll be fine!” she repeated. “You’re perfectly free to go.”

  “That’s not the point,” he shot back. “Why won’t you be sensible and sleep on my couch?”

  “Because I can tell you really don’t want someone to sleep on your couch! Or you don’t want me to.”

  A long silenced stretched between them. They hardly knew one another, and here they were, having their first fight.

  Finn appeared taken aback by her direct answer, which they both knew rang true. He inhaled deeply once again, turned to one side and stared up at the low-slung ceiling.

  “It’s nothing to do with you at all, but you’re right,” he admitted to the sloping roof. “I didn’t. Think it was such a good idea for you to stay at my place, I mean.” He shifted his gaze, addressing her. “But I do, now.” He took a step forward. “Truly. I’m sorry for extending such a half-ass invitation. You must be beat. It’s just that no one has ever stayed at my place since... since I’ve been in Paris.”

  “Well, far be it for me to ruin your record.”

  A good-looking guy like him has been celibate as a monk? What gives with this ex-airman? she fumed silently.

  “You obviously can’t stay here,” he insisted, “and honestly, I’d enjoy your company.”

  “Why the sudden change of heart?” she challenged him.

  The sound of an approaching helicopter rent the air once more and flashing lights from its fuselage winked as it passed above the gable. Finn’s eyes darted toward the window in the roof where the drone of the helicopter grew louder, his expression grim.

  “Why the change?” he repeated. “Because I agree with my aunt. You shouldn’t stay here alone at a time like this.”

  She glanced at Avery’s iron bedstead. Its thin, rumpled quilt looked as if it wouldn't even keep a polar bear warm. Then she pointed to the helicopter making another pass by the window before it disappeared from their view. “You’re taking pity on me in an emergency, are you?”

  Finn cocked his head and stood rigidly at attention, as if poised to duck and cover. “Yes,” he said between clenched teeth. “It’s not very safe until the cops find the other terrorists, and who knows when that will be?” Juliet gave a nod, her own, intense fight-or-flight response now matching his. “And, besides,” he added, appearing to relax slightly as the loud sounds of the rotors began to fade, “I’m also taking pity on myself. My French is so bad, I could never hash out the heating issue with Avery’s landlord or the building’s concierge. I’ll ask Aunt Claudine to help us tomorrow.”

  “Who said you were expected to sort out Avery’s heating?”

  “Nobody. But I feel I ought to. Helping out a fellow American in a time of war, and all that.”

  She could tell he was trying to make light of their former, mutual testiness toward each other.

  “And also,” he added, a faint smile tracing his lips, “I live right across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower. It would be nice to have someone to wait with until the lights on it come back on—as long as you won’t post anything on Facebook while you’re here,” he finished, his tone now dead serious.

  “Nothing on Facebook? How weird is that? But I hate it!”

  “Not posting stuff on Facebook?”

  “No, I hate Facebook. But, tell me... are you in hiding or something?”

  Finn ignored her comment. “The lights across the water have been off since Friday. That’s what’s so weird.”

  She nodded at him soberly. “San Francisco City Hall’s been lit up in blue, white and red in sympathy with France since last Friday.”

  “Really? That’s nice. I haven’t seen the news at all.”

  “Don’t watch it. It’s horrible.”

  “Why don’t you stay at my place at least as long as Avery is in the hospital?” he proposed, and Juliet felt that this time, his offer was genuine. “And another thing,” he continued. “As it happens, I know the Grenelles well, because I live next door to Madam Grenelle, J-P’s grandmother, on a barge moored on the Right Bank of the Seine.”

  “You’re kidding! You live on the same boat as Madame Grenelle?’”

  “I’m not kidding, and you’ll be pleased to note it’s moored permanently to the dock, has heat, and hasn’t gone anywhere in twenty years. Besides, it will take a village to comfort that family, along with your friend Avery, if Jean-Pierre...” He allowed his sentence to dangle in the frosty air.

  After a long moment Juliet murmured, “Okay.” And immediately she was filled with sheer relief that she didn’t have to stay alone atop a frozen attic in a c
ity where security helicopters were on constant patrol. She realized how scared she was in a place with aircraft buzzing the roof every five minutes. It was terrifying to be where she knew no one other than the man standing two feet from her, along with a friend who’d been shot by terrorists—some who had yet to be hunted down.

  “‘Okay’ means you’ll stay on the barge?” he confirmed.

  “Yes. And thank you. As you say, I should be sensible.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Really?” she asked, arching a skeptical eyebrow.

  “Really.”

  “So... ?” she said on a long breath that spun mist in Finn’s direction.

  “So,” he echoed with a brusqueness Juliet imagined he’d employed as an officer in the U.S. Air Force, “let’s roll. And just pray that I can get the MG to start again in this disgusting weather.”

  * * *

  Mercifully, the little sports car started up with reasonable ease. Finn soon crossed the river once more and parked the vehicle half on the sidewalk near the quay that paralleled the Seine’s Right Bank where several canal boats were moored end-to-end.

  “You live tied up to a dock next to ‘New York Avenue?’” Juliet exclaimed when she caught sight of a nearby blue and white enameled street sign.

  “Technically, where I’ve just parked is a spur road, Georges Pompidou. To be exact, I live in the Sixteenth Arrondissement on the River Seine adjacent to Avenue New York and across from the Eiffel Tower. Conveniently hard-to-find, yet in plain sight.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Still no lights on the tower tonight.”

  Juliet could only nod as once again, Finn took charge of her suitcase, commanding her, “C’mon. Let’s get you on the boat and warmed up, and then I’ll make us something to eat.”

  Finn led the way down a cobbled ramp toward a black-hulled barge whose square upper section, the pilothouse, he explained, consisted of a series of large, plate glass windows framed in amber-colored wood and topped with a roof painted white. A large black cat sat on deck, meowing loudly as they approached the gangway in the shadows of early evening.

  “Meet Mademoiselle Truffles,” Finn declared.

  Once they’d mounted the metal ramp and stepped on deck, he stopped to give the feline a scratch behind her ear. The cat immediately rubbed against Finn’s pants leg, begging for another caress.

  “You named her after the chocolates—or the smelly mushrooms that fancy chefs grate on scrambled eggs?”

  “The smelly stuff. She’s a barge cat and supposedly belongs to Madame, but she hangs out wherever the spirit moves her along this stretch of the Seine. Don’t be startled when she pops into the pilothouse from time to time through a window cracked for air.”

  Walking along the narrow deck, Juliet noted the boat had been christened L’Étoile de Paris in gold leaf letters.

  “Star of Paris,” she noted aloud. “Is she? A star, I mean—as in comfortable?”

  Finn feigned insult. “If you’re inquiring whether she has the necessary amenities like a kitchen and a toilet, you’ll be happy to hear the answer is a resounding ‘yes.’”

  Juliet halted her progress toward the pilothouse and stared in awe at the murky outlines of the Eiffel Tower jutting above them across the water, not two hundred yards away.

  “So close,” she breathed, her eyes scanning its height. “It’s amazing, even without lights.”

  She turned and allowed her gaze to follow the Seine along another line of barges stretching in the distance toward a bridge on her left. Looking to her right, the water flowed to another bridge that she’d noted on Google maps had the odd name of Bir Hakeim. She turned toward Finn in an effort to reassure him that the beauty of the scene didn’t mean she assumed she could become a permanent guest.

  “You’ll probably be happy to learn that my imposing on your hospitality shouldn’t be for too long. Even if Avery isn’t released from the hospital very soon, I’ll have to get back to San Francisco in a week.”

  Finn turned around with a look of surprise.

  “I thought you said you worked in your family’s company. Why the pressure on you to get back right away? Isn’t this what most people would call an emergency?”

  “Did I not mention that I work directly for my big brother?” she replied with a short laugh. “He said if I don’t get back on the double, I’ll lose my job.”

  “Even given what’s going on with your friend Avery? Why would he do that?”

  Juliet hesitated, and then gave an answer in as neutral a tone as she could muster. “It’s a public company, now. He’s a hard-ass and worried about meeting Wall Street’s expectations for this quarter—and the expectations are unreasonably high.”

  Finn pulled out a key from his jacket pocket. He slid it into the lock of a door that was richly paneled wood on the bottom and, on its top section, boasted a square glass window protected by a rattan shade on the inside. Over his shoulder he said, “Sounds like a guy with all heart.”

  “Bradshaw Thayer the Fourth’s heart?” Juliet said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s not been confirmed he actually possesses that organ, but I’m hoping he does have one, somewhere.”

  Finn merely raised an eyebrow as he pushed open the door. Over his shoulder, Juliet caught a glimpse of a large room, flanked by big windows on the waterside as well as the side that faced the street. In the center, open space was a large wooden wheel that obviously once must have steered the barge. In a corner stood a small, iron fireplace with a stovepipe punched through the roof.

  “And, what is it you do for your brother’s company that requires your presence so keenly,” Finn asked, “despite Europe having just experienced something approaching America’s 9/11?”

  He deposited Juliet’s suitcase beside the arm of a three-cushioned couch covered in white sailcloth and littered with a few, comfortable-looking back pillows.

  “Brad’s the CEO of this family enterprise of ours. And what do I do, exactly?” she repeated, wondering how best to answer a former Air Force pilot who’d been shot down in combat. “Well, I... uh... I’m the graphics design director. I create packaging and branding for the games the company produces. We have a new one about to launch, which is the reason my big brother wants me home as soon as possible.”

  “What kind of games,” he asked. “Board games? For kids?”

  “Uh... no. Electronic.”

  “You mean like electronic solitaire or... like video games?”

  “Video,” she said shortly, glancing out the window at the shadowy Eiffel Tower.

  She shifted her focus to what she assumed was called the main cabin and made a show of admiring the sapphire blue and garnet Persian carpet that covered two-thirds of the teak flooring beneath their feet. “Very nice digs, by the way,” she said, giving the room the once-over.

  Opposite the sofa were two Marie Antoinette-looking armchairs covered in deep red velvet. A brass-studded wooden chest served as a coffee table and, to the right of this grouping, a comfortable leather chair the color of cognac took up the rest of the corner on the side of the barge that faced the land. At the far end of the room was a built-in desk incorporating two burners and a sink—an area that Juliet concluded doubled as a kitchen.

  “I have Aunt Claudine to thank for this place,” Finn acknowledged, with a sweep of his hand. “She persuaded Madame Grenelle, who lives on the other end of this bucket, to allow a burnt-out drone pilot to crash here until he figures out the rest of his life.”

  Juliet stared at her host, stunned by this announcement offered so casually.

  “After you stopped flying real aircraft, you operated unmanned drones?”

  “Yep... although what we were doing was ‘real’ enough, in that we shot Hellfire missiles from those fixed-wing planes at live, human targets in Iraq and Afghanistan—-all from the comfort of our leather-lined cockpits in a trailer on Creech Air Force Base outside Las Vegas.”

  His tone had dropped several notches and was filled with self-loathing.
>
  “You flew drones... remotely... from Nevada... that were based in the Middle East,” she said, unable to keep the shock out of her voice, “... aimed at targets over there?”

  Finn’s mouth had assumed a straight line and his eyes were shuttered, though he met her glance. “That information is no longer classified. Just look on the Internet.”

  “Goodness,” was all she could manage to reply.

  “So, since you seem to be familiar with drone warfare, I’m curious,” he said with a steady glance. “What kind of video games do you design packaging for?”

  Juliet crossed to the sofa and sank down on its sturdy cushions. She wondered where she’d ultimately lay her head this night after she answered his question.

  “How’s this for irony?” she said, staring up at her host. “The company my family owns is called GatherGames. These days, we produce war games. Our latest little offering is Sky Slaughter... Death by Drones.”

  Not surprisingly, she figured, a long silence blossomed between them.

  Finally, Finn said softly, “Holy hell. You and your friend Avery were in the video war games business and worked for the company that produced Sky Slaughter? Really? The new guys in our unit were training on that when I left, for God’s sake!”

  Naturally Finn might be familiar with the games, she thought, as a feeling she identified as shame filled her chest. Flying real drones had been his business until very recently. However, his response seemed to reveal his astonishment that she’d been involved in such an enterprise—or was it disgust, she wondered? She wouldn’t blame him. Finn spun around and walked to the far end of the main cabin. He announced without preamble, “I’ll scramble us some eggs. I don’t know about you, but I’m bushed.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, recognizing Finn’s deliberate and abrupt change of topic. Meanwhile, she began to wonder how either of them was still standing upright after the last few days of high stress. “Let’s eat and go to sleep.”

  Finn shot her an odd look but merely nodded. Within minutes he handed her a plate with buttered toast and surprisingly tasty eggs sprinkled with fresh thyme. He pointed to a small table for two under the pilothouse window and they sat down. Juliet sensed they both were basically giving out a dial tone. She made no attempts at chitchat, and neither did Finn. When they had finished, he gathered both plates in his hands.