That Night In Paris

by Sandy Barker

  “Hey,” she held her hands up. “I’m on your side. I was stranded too, you know.”

  “Sorry.”

  “So, how about this? Instead of grinding your teeth over Georgina—seriously, you need to stop that—” I hadn’t realised I was and stopped. “Think about Jean-Luc. T-minus thirty minutes.” She waggled her eyebrows and me and I quickly forgot all about Georg-bloody-ina, my stomach playing host to a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

  While Tom drove the coach through peak-hour traffic, I pulled out a lipstick and a mirror from Jae’s silver handbag and slicked Mango Madness across my lips. As I rubbed them together, Jae told me I looked great. “Thanks.” I took a deep breath and had to stop myself from biting my lip and ruining the lipstick.

  I watched the streets of Rome out the window, suddenly remembering that Mum still hadn’t sent the letter. I pulled out my phone and checked my email. Nothing. That’s a long round of golf, Mum.

  Tom stopped the coach next to the Tiber across from Castel Sant’Angelo. “Okay, everyone,” said Georgina. “You’ve got free time to explore, and we’re meeting for dinner at seven-thirty at Ristoranti Prati. If you don’t have the address yet, see me before you head off. And if you’re not coming to the group dinner, then this is the pick-up point for 10:00pm.” I dropped a pin on my Google map. “That’s ten sharp. We don’t want a repeat of last night.”

  Jae and I turned to each other and locked eyes. “Oh, she’s a …” Jae shook her head, leaving the thought unfinished. My mind filled in the end of it with “total cow”.

  “Told you,” I replied smugly. Jaelee replied with an actual growl.

  I stood and smoothed Jae’s dress down my thighs and draped my jacket over my arm, then slung the handbag strap over my shoulder. Jaelee joined me in the aisle, shuffling along behind me, and when we got off the coach, Dani and Lou were waiting for us.

  Lou wrapped me up in a big hug. “Have a great time!”

  “I will.”

  Dani gave me a much less effusive back-patting hug. “Say hi from us.” Uh, sure, Dani. Jae hugged me next, which surprised me a little. She wasn’t usually the huggy-kissy type.

  “Just remember, no expectations,” she whispered.

  “Right.” I stood back and looked at my three friends, noting the pride on their faces. It was like they were seeing me off to the prom or something. “See you all later!” I said cheerily.

  Then I turned and walked away—in completely the wrong direction.

  Chapter 10

  I had a destination and Google Maps. How on earth had I managed to get lost?

  I was supposed to meet Jean-Luc at the bar at 5pm, and I thought I was following Google’s very specific instructions to arrive at the address exactly on time, ignoring that her British accent was murdering the Italian street names.

  Except it wasn’t a bar. It was a trattoria, and it was completely devoid of Jean-Lucs.

  At 5:08pm I texted him.

  So sorry. I’m lost! I thought I had the right place, but you’re not here.

  Standing underneath the trattoria’s awning, I chewed my lip while I waited for a response. The signora behind the counter eyed me suspiciously, and I moved away from the entrance as my phone beeped.

  Pas de problème chérie. Meet me at Piazza Navona near the fountain of the four rivers. I will see you soon. J-L x

  Now I needed to find Piazza Navona. What if it was on the other side of the city, or it was enormous and I couldn’t find the fountain with four rivers? I was whipping myself into quite a tizzy, but I hated being late and I hated being lost in a city I didn’t know. Traveller, traveller, traveller.

  I pulled up the map on my phone again and tapped out “Piazza Navona”. Phew. I was practically on top of it, about a three-minute walk away. I oriented myself and headed off, my phone leading the way. Her English instructions were far too loud and raised a few eyebrows as people passed, but I didn’t care. I needed to get to that damned fountain—pronto!

  I emerged into the piazza to discover two things: it was bloody huge—bollocks—and there were only three fountains—thank God.

  I scanned the people around each fountain, and my breath caught as I saw him leaning against the giant fountain in the middle of the piazza—I didn’t notice, or care, if it had four rivers.

  He was wearing dark-wash jeans and a green button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I just knew that green would match his eyes perfectly. I took a moment to marvel at how beautiful he was, then skipped off towards him. It was not the most elegant way to approach a man I fancied, but I was so happy to see him, the giddy schoolgirl in me took over.

  “Hi,” I said, arriving a little breathless. I grinned up at him and he grinned down at me. Then, as though we’d done it a hundred times before, he swept me up in a hug, his arms around my waist and my feet leaving the ground for a second. I held him close, my arms around his neck, as nostalgia and lust mingled and washed over me.

  God, he smelled good—like cotton sheets dried in the sunshine amongst citrus blossoms.

  “Bonjour, chérie. Welcome to Roma. You look wonderful,” he said, putting me down and sweeping his eyes over me. They crinkled at the corners and he bit his bottom lip through a smile. When it emerged from between his teeth, I wanted to lick it badly.

  Momentarily struck dumb by his handsomeness, I eventually replied, “So do you.” And he did. As I’d guessed, the green of his shirt did incredible things to his eyes, and up close his forearms were tanned and muscular.

  I suddenly remembered my manners. “I’m so sorry I got lost and you had to wait. I hate being late. It’s so rude.”

  “Ne t’inquiète pas, it’s no problem. I’m just glad you are here.” As much as I would have been perfectly happy to stand there and smile at him until it was time to say goodbye, it was hardly an action-packed itinerary. And it definitely didn’t factor in my plans for that bottom lip.

  “So, what have you seen so far? Do you want to explore, get a drink?”

  “Well, yes to both. I’ve just come from a tour and we saw the Colosseum—wow—and the Roman Forum—also wow. But that’s about it, really. I mean we have tomorrow to explore on our own, but if you know of some places I should see … you’ve been here before, right?”

  “Yes, many times.” It didn’t come out as arrogant, just matter of fact, but I still felt idiotic for asking.

  I replied with an insipid, “Oh, right.”

  “Which means I do have some favourite places to show you,” he responded enthusiastically.

  “I’d love that.”

  “Well, this, right here, is one of them.” He took my hand in his and for a gesture so chaste, it pushed lust to the forefront of my competing emotions. I forced myself to concentrate as he led me around the fountain, explaining it to me.

  “This was designed by Bernini. You might know some of his works.” I did not. “He was a sculptor mostly, and these figures represent the four great rivers of the world—each from a different continent. You see here, the Ganges from Asia, the Danube—Europe, of course—the Rio de la Plata from the Americas, and the Nile from Africa—his face is covered, you see? It is because when this was sculpted in the 1600s, the source of the Nile had not been discovered yet.”

  I peered at the details of the sculptures as we circumnavigated the fountain. Again, it was awe-inspiring that a human could start with a block of marble and work inwards to that. “It’s incredible,” I said, almost to myself.

  Piazza Navona

  “Oh, I do want to see the Trevi Fountain, if that’s all right?

  “But, of course. It is magnificent.”

  “It’s a little touristy, though, isn’t it?”

  He laughed. “I think when we get there, you will see it is very touristy, but it is a must, I think, especially your first time in Rome.”

  “And I’ve got some coins.”

  “Ah, yes, for the three wishes, non?”

  “Oui.”

  He gestured towards one
of the roads leading off the piazza and we walked side by side.

  “And what will you wish for, Catherine?”

  “Hah! I’m not telling you my wishes. They won’t come true.”

  He shot me an amused smile. “I think if you tell me before you make them, they will come true.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  “Oui. I believe so.” When I looked up at him, I was met with an amused smile. Was he fishing? Was he supposing my wishes would be about him?

  “I think I’ll play it safe.” I honestly had no idea what I’d wish for. And, of course, it didn’t really matter. It was a silly thing, like rubbing the brass warthog’s nose. But as we walked, I realised I did have a wish in mind and it had to do with Jean-Luc’s very kissable lips.

  Our first stop after leaving Piazza Navona was not the Trevi Fountain, but it did leave an indelible mark on me. The Pantheon.

  After spending much of the afternoon exploring ruins, it was incredible to see a structure that ancient—built around two millennia ago—and that intact. From the sentries of wide pillars which guarded the entrance to the elaborate designs of the porticos and walls, from the geometric marble floor to the vast dome with its oculus, an eye open to the elements, I couldn’t stop gawking. My jaw started to ache with all the open-mouthed wonder.

  “Spectacular, non?” said Jean-Luc leaning over my shoulder.

  “Yes, just spectacular. It seems even bigger inside than it does from the outside. It makes me feel … so small.”

  “Perhaps this was the intention of the Romans, to make people feel insignificant when they came to honour the gods.”

  “If that’s the case, it’s effective.” I took another long look at the blue sky visible through the top of the dome before wandering back towards the door.

  Pantheon

  We stepped into sunshine and I marvelled at how, all around us, Romans were going about their day ignoring this impressive structure right in their midst. They bustled by, dressed impeccably, as though they were collectively late for something important—most likely to meet someone for coffee or an after-work vino. If they weren’t on the move, they were sitting around tiny tables drinking from tiny coffee cups.

  And I had scrubbed up well that day, but the Roman women were next level. For one thing, through some sort of break with the laws of physics, they were able to traverse a city where cobblestones reigned supreme while wearing stilettos. Most women were either pencil slim or curvy in all the right ways, and most had long hair, even the middle-aged and older women.

  Like Gabriella, they wore full faces of makeup despite the warmth of the weather, and I ended up with a roving girl crush as it transferred from woman to woman on our journey across town. I wished I could pull off a perfect red lip, especially at the end of a workday. I usually chewed off my muted beige lipstick by recess, and I never bothered to reapply it.

  I was giving myself whiplash admiring the Roman women, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted a familiar face. I stopped short and stared as I realised that Isabella Rossellini was crossing the street towards us. Her signature gamine haircut framed one of the most beautiful faces the world has ever seen—that I’ve ever seen—and she wore black capri pants and a high-neck short-sleeved black top. Dani would rock that look, I thought.

  “What is it, Catherine?” He must have followed my line of vision, which was a good thing, because I’d lost the ability to speak. “That’s Isabella Rossellini,” he whispered and I nodded mechanically.

  She breezed past us with a brisk gait and I involuntarily smiled at her. She flashed a smile back and when I looked at Jean-Luc, we had the same round mouths and wide eyes. I burst out laughing and a beat later, so did he.

  “Oh, my God! I can’t believe I saw her—that we saw her—and she smiled at me. She did, right? I wasn’t imagining that?”

  “No, she definitely did.” He blinked his eyes a couple of times and shook his head. “She is beautiful, don’t you think?’

  “Uh, hello! Yes! She’s like, Isabella Frigging Rossellini. I can only hope I look half that good in my sixties.”

  “Oh, I am sure you will, chérie.” I suddenly knew what my second wish would be.

  As we got closer to the Trevi Fountain, the crowd of tourists thickened, until we were in the midst of a human stew, shoulder to shoulder with hundreds of people shouting, “Take the photo!”

  It was awful—and amazing.

  The fountain itself was magnificent. Sure, I’d seen it in films, but there was little that could prepare me for the grand scale of it. It was enormous and ornate and impressive and just beautiful.

  With my hand in his, Jean-Luc pulled me towards the centre of the fountain, into the fray, with a series of “Scusi”s. Men deferred to him, probably because of his height, and women gawked at him—his gorgeousness undeniable. Both worked to our advantage and when we got to the centre, he stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders and positioned me so I could see the whole fountain.

  He leant down and spoke into my ear. “What do you think?”

  “It’s magnificent,” I said over the crowd. I knew we wouldn’t want to stay there long, so my eyes hungrily roamed over the details of the statues, especially Neptune and those incredible horses.

  “You will make your wishes?” I was so taken aback by the grandeur, I’d forgotten. I fished in my handbag for my purse and pulled out three brass-coloured coins. No use in spending more than I needed to. Eighty cents would do.

  I turned my back on the fountain and under Jean-Luc’s amused gaze, tossed the coins one at a time into the fountain.

  I wish to kiss Jean-Luc—maybe more, but kissing is the bare minimum. That one was quite specific. I wish to be a beautiful sixty-something someday, like Isabella Rossellini. I paused for a moment before I tossed the third coin, because I really didn’t know what else to wish for, and “world peace” seemed a bit twee. Then it came to me. I wish to make it up to Jean-Luc for being such a terrible friend all those years ago.

  I took a deep breath and exhaled, then turned back around to take a final look at the fountain. “You made good wishes?” I heard from behind me.

  I faced him, smiling. “I think so, yes.”

  “Well, then I hope they come true.” He tipped his head and kissed my forehead again.

  I should have wished I was four inches taller so he would have made it all the way down to my lips. And what was with all this forehead kissing? The first time back in Paris had been sweet, somewhat melancholic, perhaps—even intimate. But standing next to the world’s most famous fountain, I wondered if he saw me as an old childhood friend and nothing more. Unfortunately, I was not fluent in forehead kissing. I knew my way around all sorts of other kissing, but not that one.

  “Everything is all right? You are frowning.” No, Jean-Luc. Everything is not all right. You are super hot and super confusing.

  “Of course,” I replied, my English manners speaking for me.

  “I think it is time for a drink, yes?” He’d read my mind, even before I’d formed the thought.

  “Oui. Lead on, McDuff.” Confusion flickered across his face before it settled into a smile. Maybe he wasn’t au fait with his bastardised Shakespearean expressions.

  Trevi Fountain

  I felt myself relax as we extricated ourselves from the masses of fountain-goers and stepped into a quiet side street. The late sun no longer visible, we walked along in shadows and I shivered, then slipped my jacket on.

  “You are cold. It’s not much further. Then we can warm up with some wine.” He was so attentive, so acutely aware of me and how I was feeling. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had made me feel like that—that I mattered.

  As we walked, I sifted through memories of me and Scott together. Once in a while, he’d make me a cup of tea without me asking him to, but he didn’t really notice when I was cold or needed something. Instead, I’d make a show of it, then he would say something unhelpful like, “You should’ve brought a cardy
.”

  And I wasn’t sure how I felt about being with someone so nice, especially as I was particularly keen to shag him senseless. Reminisce and shag—that’s it. Old friends and (hopefully) lovers. Nothing in between. I was glad our destination wasn’t much further. I was having quite the chat with myself and it was just making me more confused.

  ***

  “This place has almost any wine you can think of.” We had arrived at a wine bar called Cavour 313. Its narrow entrance was recessed into a giant stone wall and I would have missed it if he hadn’t led me straight to it. Inside, it was busy. A casually dressed man held court from behind the bar and when he saw us, he pointed to two free barstools. Jean-Luc signalled that we wanted to sit in the back and he nodded at us.

  I followed Jean-Luc into another room where it was obvious that someone had a love of dark red wood. Wood panelling up the walls, wooden booths with wooden tables and seats, and a grid of wooden beams above for wine storage. It was like being inside a giant wine barrel—maybe that was what they were going for.

  There was an empty booth for two against the wall and Jean-Luc slid in on the far side. I sat opposite him and we smiled at each other. I wondered if, like me, he was still trying to marry this new person with the one he knew twenty years ago.

  “Oh, I have something to show you,” I said, remembering the photo Mum had emailed. I pulled my phone out and scrolled to the photo, then handed him the phone.

  He had a slight frown of concentration as he peered at the photo, then he smiled, shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. I should have given up one wish to do that. It looked so soft and shiny, perfect for running your fingers through.

  “Oh, yes. I remember this. I am such … a boy.” He scrutinised the photo again and his bottom lip disappeared between his teeth.

  “Well, yes, and I’m such a girl. It was a long time ago.”

  “You look the same, I think. Obviously, a woman, but still you. Me? So different. I am …” He seemed at a loss for words and my mind filled in the blank with a number of options—gorgeous, super-hot, a manly-man, ridiculously handsome.