London Calling

by Victoria Villeneuve

  And he smelled fantastic too.

  “Holy shit…” she breathed, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. Colour rushed to her cheeks, and her rescuer cocked his head to the side, frowning.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I… Uhm, I’m…” Natalie stammered through her words, crawling up the wall and clinging to it for support. Oh, her head was spinning, “I’m okay.”

  “Are you sure?” His eyes searched her face before wandering up to her head. “Did he hit you?”

  “No, no,” she insisted, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Just… pushed me a little. I’m okay.”

  Her brush with danger and the cool summer night air paired well with the British supermodel in front of her, and as she took a few more deep breaths, her drunkenness started to ebb. It was replaced by an almost painful sobriety, one that gave her an instant headache, and she rubbed her temples in an effort to fight it off.

  “I thought something didn’t look right with you two,” her rescuer admitted, stepping back and sliding his hands into his pockets—she resisted the urge to glance down at them. “Figured I’d… see if I was right.”

  Still a little wobbly in her heels, Natalie opted to stay pressed to the wall. When she leaned down to get her purse, her head both ached and spun, but she tried to play it down. “Thank you so much… Mos’ people wouldn’t have stopped.”

  Ouch. Still a little slurry with those words. She cleared her throat and tried a smile, but she just couldn’t make it convincing.

  “Should we call the police?” His arm extended to her when she hesitantly eased off the wall, taking more than enough care not to faceplant in her heels.

  “Maybe tomorrow,” she replied, hoping he couldn’t feel her sweaty palms through his sleeve as she leaned on him. “I jus’ want to go back to my… my…”

  “Hotel?”

  The word was on the tip of her tongue, and she struggled with it for a few steps before it finally slipped out. “Hostel.”

  “Okay, okay…” They paused on the sidewalk, and Natalie flinched when a woman shrieked with laughter across the street. “Why don’t I help you get home?”

  She let go of him, retreating at the idea of him doing her another huge favour. Didn’t he have a life to live? If anything, Natalie was wasting his time, and she figured he’d be itching to get his night started. It had to be well after midnight by now. “Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.”

  “No, I insist. I’m not going to let you wander off on your own.” His fingers wrapped around her wrist gently, and when their eyes met, it was almost as though he were asking her permission to continue. Natalie swallowed thickly, then nodded, and she watched as he tucked her hand under and around his arm. It felt both intimate and uncomfortable, though he gave no outward indication of the latter. “Now, tell me where your hostel is?”

  Her building was easy to picture—Natalie could see every detail through the haze in her brain, every colourfully painted brick and every crack in the staircase by the front entrance. Unfortunately, the signage hanging over the door was obscured, and this time, no word sprang to mind after a moment or so of musing.

  “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

  It was easy to feel like a drunk idiot as he stared at her. He must have thought she was some stupid American college girl who was plastered in Paris without a brain in her head.

  “Okay…”

  “I’ll just find it o-on my own,” she blurted, pulling her hand away and wrapping her arms around herself. “Thank you—”

  “Don’t be silly.” His hands went back to his pockets, though he held out the crook of his elbow to her. “I know a little bit about the city… Tell me some landmarks and we’ll go from there.”

  “You don’t have to…” She hiccupped, cursing each and every shot she took as her cheeks prickled with colour. “You don’t have to do this. I’m sure I could find a cab.”

  And pay a ridiculous fee to find the hostel, surely. He shook his head.

  “Look, I feel like it’s my responsibility to get you home.”

  “You don’t owe me a-anything,” she argued. Another cool breeze swept through the narrow streets, and she slid her arm around his bent elbow—he radiated warmth and comfort and security. “I owe you if anything.”

  “Then as a personal favour to me,” he chuckled, “you can let me walk you back to your hostel. No funny business, no detours in dark alleys… Just let me see you back to where you’re staying.”

  If she really thought about it, her rescuer had done everything her attacker had done. He had appeared out of nowhere, helped steady her in her drunken state, and tried to take her somewhere. However, her body didn’t shy away from her rescuer’s touch—it seemed perfectly content to wrap around him despite not knowing him. He gave her peace of mind in the dimly lit street, surrounded by strangers and little cars and bicycles locked to lampposts. So, she gave in.

  After listing a few of the cafes and shops around her hostel, he nodded, a small smile on his lips.

  “I think I know the place.”

  “Really?”

  “I do a lot of work in Paris, actually,” he told her as they started to walk. “I eat at that bakery across the street from the Martell Hostel sometimes.”

  Her voice was quite small when she spoke again. “It smells heavenly in the mornings.”

  “You should try it sometime. Not too expensive either.”

  He stopped them at a street vendor selling hotdogs, and they walked away with a bottle of water for her. Each sip seemed to bring more sober clarity, and she stuffed it into her purse after finishing half of it.

  “I’m Natalie, by the by,” she told him. She cringed at her word choice. Their conversation had focused around the little bakery for too long, and she thought this would be a nice change of pace.

  “Andy.”

  Ugh. Was Andy a name that always made her knees weak? Maybe it was just the way he said it, his accent rolling over each syllable. Her stomach knotted when she glanced up at him again, but this time it wasn’t the nausea that did it. The farther they wandered from narrow side streets, the more light there was to see him with, and by god he got sexier with each passing minute. Was it possible to have such defined cheekbones without photoshop?

  Was this guy even real?

  “So, Natalie…” Did he just purr her name? More heat rose to her cheeks, and she was thankful that, despite the lighting getting better, it was still dark enough to hide her blushes. “What brings you to Paris… besides the muggers?”

  “They were the main reason I came,” she mused, her giggle sounding weary in her ears. “Obviously.”

  “Obviously.” Andy grinned down at her, though a brief flash of concern that crossed over his features. “They’re the main reason I keep coming back.”

  Their chuckles died down quickly, and she wondered if they both thought it was too soon for jokes.

  “Actually, Paris is my first stop on my… well, my Euro Trip.”

  “Oh, please don’t call it that.”

  “What?”

  “Euro Trip—”

  “Why not?!” They were laughing again, and they rounded a corner onto a busy street. Natalie moved closer to him to avoid the people stumbling out of a club from the staircase that led under a building—was it last call already? She quickly retrieved her water and took another sip.

  “It’s just… It sounds so... nineties college-y… dirty… You know?”

  “Okay, okay, my European tour,” she clarified, rolling her eyes at him. Oh, but she couldn’t look at him for long. No, his amused face was even better looking than his concerned face, and she had only just felt her blushing start to fade.

  “Have you just arrived then?”

  “A few days ago, yup.” He retracted his arm from hers as they paused at a set of lights, only to place it on her lower back to steady her as they darted across. Once they were safely back on the sidewalk, he offered his elbow again.

  “And? Are you
liking it? Aside from the… well, you know.”

  “Haven’t seen much,” she told him. “I mean, I did Versailles yesterday, and then went to a spa with some Australians today.”

  “And where are those Australians now?”

  She shrugged. “Dunno.”

  “Hmm.”

  It felt wrong to badmouth Mick and Samantha—even indirectly. “I’m not their responsibility either. We’re just staying at the same hostel.”

  “I wouldn’t have let you out of my sight if it were me.”

  Damn it. Just when her blushes disappeared, he went and said something like that. Natalie almost wanted to pinch him to make sure he was a real person. Maybe she ought to pinch herself, and she’d wake up in that alley with a concussion and a missing wallet.

  “I bet I just wandered away from them,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “I mean… I don’t really remember how I got outside, so I guess that’s something.”

  “The water doing you some good?”

  “A little.” At least her words were coherent now. Besides getting a chance to cop a feel of Andy’s muscular bicep, leaning on him was most definitely needed for the sake of stability. However, she could feel two mammoth blisters starting to form on the backs of her heels, and after crossing another street, she broke away and teetered toward a small bench, plopping down and requesting a couple of minutes to soothe her throbbing feet. Andy obliged, and when he sat next to her, she caught a whiff of his cologne again. Yum.

  “So you’re from America?”

  “Oh, yeah, yes… Little Midwestern town called Cooliage.” Blinking quickly, she hoped he hadn’t noticed her staring. “Nothing too exciting.”

  “Small towns are plenty exciting,” he remarked, hands on his knees as he watched the slow nighttime traffic rumble by. “I grew up in a place called Sheffeldshire. Lots of cows and green spaces and all the shops closed at four on weekends.”

  “Sounds extra exciting,” Natalie teased. She almost poked her tongue out at him, but he was just too attractive to be juvenile around. He shrugged, a soft smile on his lips.

  “I loved it, actually.” They both turned at the hooting and hollering of what appeared to be a bachelorette party exciting a bar at the end of the lane. “I was sent to boarding school in Scotland for most of the year, and there was nothing better than coming home to the English countryside.”

  “Scottish countryside too… Scottish for you?” Oh, Natalie, swing and a miss. He chuckled, but she assumed it was a pity laugh.

  “I suppose you could say that.”

  He helped her to her feet when she admitted to feeling better, but she found walking infinitely worse the more sober she got. It was easier to feel every wobble and each blister as the fresh night air cleared out her system.

  Suddenly, the streets looked familiar again, and she realized they had just turned onto the avenue that her hostel was on. Had he known they were this close? He could have told her to push on a little further, that they were almost there. The butterflies in her stomach did cartwheels at the idea that he may have purposefully kept her out longer, but she ensnared each one in a small net: no more men. Mark was a heartless jerk. Her dad was a heartless cheater. The guy outside the bar was just heartless. Andy might have seemed like the perfect specimen, but there was no telling what was below the surface—or what would show itself in the daylight.

  Besides, to him she was probably just some sad drunk girl on the street who didn’t know how to handle herself in a new city. Like he would want to have anything to do with her either.

  Still, she couldn’t keep herself from dragging the conversation on, not wanting it to end. “And what do you do now? Paris seems a long way from… Sheff… Sheffle…”

  “Sheffeldshire,” he said with a laugh, “but valiant effort, love.”

  They stopped at the cracked concrete stairwell of her hostel, and Andy nodded at the sign, eyebrows up. “So, did I find the right one?”

  “Yes,” she said begrudgingly. A small part of her wanted to lie, to tell him that this was completely wrong and they ought to search on until sunrise. They could watch the day creep through the beautiful blue sky, maybe try the bakery across the street. She glanced at it quickly, studying the dark windows and the bolted door.

  “Glad we made it.” Something in his tone hinted at the opposite.

  “Look, I don’t… I don’t know how to thank you for this,” she rambled, taking a step up and playing with her nails. Unable to meet his eye, she licked her lips and inhaled sharply when he took a step toward her. “You… I’ve never met someone so unselfish before. It’s… It’s refreshing.”

  He took her face by his fingertips, scrutinizing her. “Are you still sloshed?”

  “Am I what?”

  “Drunk.”

  “Maybe a little.” Her whisper drifted away on the breeze.

  “Well, it was a real pleasure to meet you,” he murmured, fingers drifting down to her jawline. “You’re my favourite Parisian memory so far.”

  Their noses nudged when he leaned in. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He nodded twice, then tilted his head up, kissing her tenderly. They lingered there, eyes closed. When he stepped away, she felt his breath dance along her skin, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling. “Goodbye, Natalie from Cooliage.”

  “Goodbye, Andy from…” When she opened her eyes, he was gone. The rue had a few people scattered here and there, most walking hurriedly and alone, but none of them were Andy. Lips tingling, she wandered inside, and when she was finally out of her tight jeans and into pajamas, she pinched herself—hard—to make sure none of it had been a dream.

  *

  “Fuck…”

  Natalie had never had a hangover like this before. The next morning came and went, and she spent a few hours wrapped around her pillow as she tried to keep the world from spinning. Now that she was finally up, she was able to get a good look at herself in daylight, and she wasn’t looking great. Small red scratches marked up her face from the night before, two across her forehead and one on her cheek that she couldn’t just brush off.

  As she dragged clothes out of her suitcase, tossing them into a heap on the floor when she decided against wearing them, she knew the right thing to do would be to eat. She had talked about that cute bakery across the street with Andy, and bread would do a good job at settling her angry stomach. However, the thought of food made her want to vomit, and after chugging the remainder of her water from the bottle in her purse, she settled on a trip to the pharmacy before food—at least if she puked, she’d have the good stuff to settle her stomach and banish her splitting headache.

  She caught sight of her black heels just as she left her small rented room, and they were a stark reminder of everything that had happened last night. Trudging through the noisy halls of the hostel, a hand on her head, her eyes watered at the thought of the mugger again. She could feel his cigarette-scented breath on her neck, and she touched the spot on her hip where he prodded her with the plastic knife—she could still feel that too.

  But what she could feel more, more than the shame of being dragged into an alley, more than the headache and the queasiness from the alcohol (never again), was the warmth of Andy’s arm beneath her hand. It was there as she strolled through the too-bright street, surrounded by people speaking way too loud and car tires screeching on damp pavement. The air was thick, as if it had just rained (or it was just about to), making her head feel heavier, but her hand was warm, her lips tingled.

  Andy from…

  She paused, literally stopping dead in her tracks, and tried to remember where her handsome British rescuer was from. He remembered where she was from. “Natalie from Cooliage…” The way his voice curled around the words made her stomach clench with excitement, the massive smile on her face forming on its own accord.

  Andy from… from… Something-shire.

  “Damn it,” she muttered, ruffling her hair as she started off down the street again. The phar
macy was two blocks over, and Natalie mumbled her way through an uncomfortable transaction with one of the employees to get what she needed. Having forgotten her translation book at the hostel, the interaction was stilted and awkward, and involved Natalie making a lot of terrible gestures to indicate what was wrong with her.

  However, she managed to walk away with some antibiotic creams for her cuts, a box of bandages, and some pain relief pills for everything else. Back at the hostel, she was torn between bed and food, and lingered in the front hall for a few minutes, mind working sluggishly through the pros and cons of each option.

  The decision was made, however, when she heard her name screeched from the general direction of the cafeteria, and she braced herself as Samantha flew down the hall and engulfed her in a spine-crushing hug.

  “Oh, Natalie!” Air continued to press out of her lungs, and she patted the clearly not hungover Australian on the back gingerly. “What happened to you last night?”

  The woman pulled back and placed a hand on each of her shoulders, and then gasped.

  She winced. “It’s… It’s not that bad—”

  “I’m so sorry we left you,” she gushed, dragging Natalie toward the sitting area and forcing her down onto a couch. “Mick had to throw up, and when we got back from the toilet, you were gone!”

  “I… I went looking for you, actually.” She set her bag of pharmacy supplies on her lap and leaned back, head throbbing. “Then I was outside, and some guy… tried to… uhm…”

  “What?!” Several heads turned in their direction at the panic in Samantha’s tone. “Tell me everything now!”

  It actually felt sort of nice to have someone’s whole attention focused on her. Whenever she had a problem back home, she found most of her friends gave her half of their attention, and once they had given on or two sympathetic words, they changed the subject. Samantha, on the other hand, let her tell the whole story, starting from the point that Natalie realized she was alone—yet surrounded by strangers—at Tulle, all the way down to Andy dropping her off at the steps and leaving her with a kiss.