Romeo, Juliet & Jim

by Larry Schwarz

  “Yeah, if you care about dance clubs more than actual snow,” Romeo said.

  “Okay, maybe I’ll give you that,” Jim said.

  The guys cracked second beers. Juliet was still nursing her first. Romeo didn’t even think of how much time had passed until he glanced up and saw how low the sun had sunk in the sky. The horizon beyond the cemetery was heavy with plump orange clouds. Alarm chilled his veins.

  He pulled out his cell phone again, and this time noticed a trail of unanswered calls and messages from his parents and Benoit that he must have overlooked in the excitement.

  “Merde,” he said.

  “What?” Juliet asked, placing her beer bottle in the grass.

  “Palais Galliera,” he said.

  Juliet gasped, then scrambled for her own phone, which she’d never turned back on after shutting it off to avoid Gabrielle’s tracking.

  Pallais Galliera was Paris’s fashion museum, and tonight was the night of an inaugural costume ball, sponsored by Maintenant, one of the top fashion magazines in Europe. Representives of both the House of Montague and the House of Capulet were expected to attend, and by this time in the evening, Romeo and Juliet would normally be at home, getting prepared.

  Romeo read the text from Benny: Dude, better have a detailed story and a new matchbook for me. Totally saved your ass telling your parents you were getting some last-minute alterations on a new tux.

  Thank God. He had a little time. “Things okay?”

  “Messages from Maman and Lu Hai,” Juliet said. “And a million from Gabrielle.”

  He wished Juliet would lose Gabrielle as a friend. He didn’t have to know her in person to know that Gabrielle’s thoughts revolved around how to create drama. All you had to do was glance at the tabloids and their stories about the many broken hearts Gabrielle left in her wake, even if Juliet claimed that the other broken hearts were just her friend’s efforts to hide the fact that Gabrielle’s own heart belonged to Juliet’s brother, Henri. Whatever the truth, with suspicions in her mind, Gabrielle would be all over Juliet, pumping her for details about today.

  “It’ll be fine,” Juliet assured him. “I’ll make something up. I really don’t think she saw us.”

  Romeo nodded, still doubtful, but confident that Juliet’s mental prowess exceeded Gabrielle’s. He turned to Jim. “We need to go,” he said. “Can you give us a ride?”

  “Sure,” Jim said, rising and dusting off the sleeves of his jacket. “Where you headed?”

  “Will you take me to the Metro at Tolbiac, not far from where we met? And Ju—Beatrix—to Avenue Montaigne.”

  Juliet laughed out loud. “Oh, yes, have the mysterious American drop me off at my door. No, you take me to Monceau Metro station, please. You know where it is?”

  Jim nodded with a grin. Romeo felt a frisson of envy at the way Juliet called him “the mysterious American,” but reassured himself that it was nothing.

  “So,” Jim said, “are we going to hang out again, or was this a one-day stand?”

  The question was directed more to Romeo than to Juliet. Romeo smiled. Jim knew not to mess with his girl.

  “Give us your number,” Romeo said. “We’ll call you.”

  CHAPTER 5

  JULIET

  “UM, WHEN ARE you going to tell me what you were doing in Petite Asie?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Juliet said into her phone, putting as much puzzlement in her voice as she could. The Metro was loud around her and she hoped the background noise would help disguise the tremor she knew came into her voice when she lied.

  “Oh, really?” Gabrielle said. “So why did you pop up on my phone? ‘Juliet nearby!’ It doesn’t say that if you’re not nearby. And why would I almost swear on my gorgeous but cruel mother’s grave that I saw that enviable hair of yours disappearing out the back door of a sleazy bar?”

  “Maybe you needed to eat something,” Juliet teased. “You know how light-headed you get when you’re fasting.”

  “Fasting my ass,” Gabrielle said. “I know you were there.”

  “Yes, I was hanging out in Petite Asie, just drinking during the day and befriending backpackers. That doesn’t sound like anything I’d ever do.”

  “And that is exactly why it’s so delicious. So, who was he?”

  Juliet’s heart caught. Had Gabrielle seen her with Romeo? Or even with Jim? All Gabrielle needed was a morsel to cling to and she’d never let go. Not always in the airheaded way Romeo imagined, either. Gabrielle had spent one day with Henri several years ago and still wasn’t over him, even though she pretended otherwise.

  “Now you’ve got me in Petite Asie with a man. Gabrielle, what would I be doing there with a … ‘he’?” Juliet tried to sound as dumb to the ways of the world as she could, even as her mind replayed parts of her joyous encounter with Romeo.

  “You know exactly what you’d be doing! The thing we’ve all done. Except you. Until now.” Gabrielle laughed wickedly into the receiver. “Just tell me who the lucky recipient of your pristine flower was. You know you want to give me details.”

  “I don’t want to, because there are no details. You act as though phones can’t have glitches.”

  Gabrielle sighed. “Juliet, I know I saw that hair.… Those argan-oiled curls kind of stick out when everyone else is an unshowered backpacker.”

  “Fine. I was there by myself.”

  “You had a secret rendezvous with yourself? Oh, Juliet, you could do that in the comfort of your own bathtub. With the argan oil and everything.”

  Juliet laughed out loud, and felt relief. She could tell Gabrielle was starting to believe she hadn’t been with anyone. “Shut up! I was at a movie.”

  “A regular movie?” Gabrielle asked. “By yourself?”

  “Yes, why not?” Juliet said.

  “For starters, your home theater is better than any screen in Paris.”

  “I know,” Juliet said. “I just wanted to see something with a big crowd. Like normal people.” At the mention of normal people, a few Metro riders flicked their eyes over her, as if wondering why she wasn’t normal. Juliet quickly tried to remember the names of movies that were playing, but Gabrielle didn’t ask.

  “Ugh, you and your mad love of the proletariat,” Gabrielle clucked instead. “Can’t you at least pretend you were having a wild, passionate affair? You’re so beautiful. You should be the subject of much better gossip.”

  Oh, I am, Juliet thought, turning her back on two twenty-something women who were glancing down at a fashion magazine and then looking at her like they knew her. “I’m sorry to have let you down again,” Juliet said. “But I’ve got to go. If I don’t let Maman know I’m on the Metro heading home, she’ll send out hunting dogs.”

  “The Metro?” Gabrielle wailed. “You didn’t even call a car?”

  Juliet smiled to herself. The threat of Gabrielle gossiping would be avoided now. Gabrielle lacked the imagination to believe Juliet would return from a tryst on the train. In the model’s world, such encounters required cars and drivers afterward. “See you at the Palais Galliera ball?”

  “I’ll be dangling on the arm of today’s photographer. It was the only way I could console him after delaying the shoot. Apparently, chasing after you cost him the five minutes of light that best accentuated my left breast.”

  “As an official representative of the House of Capulet, it’s my professional opinion that your left breast looks lovely in any light.”

  “And this is why I love you, even if you are so well behaved it’s sickening.”

  “Your right breast, however…”

  “À bientôt, Juliet!”

  Gabrielle clicked off and Juliet quickly dialed her mother, reinforcing the story that she had been at the movies alone and assuring Hélène she’d be home in mere moments.

  “The movies? In a seat where millions have sat before you? You could have lice! Or worse…” The unspoken “worse” was a concoction of her mother’s most haunting
demons, all the things she’d pulled herself away from and covered beneath a veneer of wealth and breeding.

  Juliet often, if not forgave her mother’s snobbery, at least allowed for it because Hélène didn’t actually enjoy it. Juliet wasn’t sure her mother allowed herself to really enjoy anything, because she was so focused on the constant maintenance of outward perfection. It ended up that even when annoyed or angry at her mother, Juliet’s overwhelming emotion toward her was pity. How awful it had to be to constantly worry you were being judged, and to constantly be judging yourself. It didn’t make connecting with Hélène easy. Her mother wouldn’t even tell stories from when she was Juliet’s age. Her mother’s own family had been well-off, but troubled (lots of addictive personalities, it seemed, and Hélène’s father had died with a number of gambling debts that Maurice had paid off), and she no longer had contact with them—or anyone from her past, for that matter.

  “I don’t have lice, Maman,” Juliet said as the man standing next to her inched a few steps away. “Next stop is me. I’ll be home in a minute.”

  She clicked off just as Hélène screamed to Lu Hai to prepare a bath, extra hot. Juliet had been taking showers for years, as Lu Hai knew, but Hélène liked to think of her as a little girl who still had her hair washed with pitchers of warm water poured over her head. As the train rattled on, Juliet let her thoughts veer back to the afternoon with Romeo … and Jim. It was so odd to think he’d made her blush and shiver when they’d first met—silly even, given how they felt like old friends by the day’s end.

  Maybe not silly. Jim had smoldering eyes, and he looked at you like he could see right into your mind and unlock your secrets. So intense, but funny, too. And reckless. She’d never let on to Romeo, but she could still feel the pressure of being huddled behind Jim on the bike, her body flush against the ripped muscles of his back. His helmet had been damp with his sweat, and the dense scent of him—smoky and salty—still clung to her. She had to admit, she’d wondered what it would be like to be with him. Would his kisses be gentle or fierce? What would the contours of his chest feel like beneath her palms … or her lips?

  Juliet laughed out loud, prompting more looks from her fellow passengers. That kind of wondering was harmless fantasy, like daydreaming about a movie star. Jim could run up to her right now, completely naked (which would probably confirm Juliet’s mother’s suspicions about the behavior of Metro riders), and offer himself to her, no strings attached, but Juliet would feel nothing but embarrassed for him. She’d found the man of her dreams in Romeo. A smile played on her lips as she remembered the feel of his body casually but protectively surrounding hers as they chatted with Jim. Even when they weren’t physically together, she felt him there the same way.

  She indulged in romantic reveries the entire way to her home. True, the giant columned, balconied, and filigreed facade looked more like a section of the Louvre than a private residence, but Juliet had never lived anyplace else. She trotted up the steps to the massive front door, pausing to pat one of the two stone lions that bared their teeth on either side. The one on the right was hers. The one on the left was Henri’s.

  She wished things were as simple for the two of them now as they had been when they were children. Here they were, Juliet hiding a love affair—even from Henri, her most trusted confidant. Meanwhile, her older brother had to always put on the show of being the perfect heir to the company. (That he’d almost lost the reins for his treachery was not yet public knowledge as Juliet’s father worked his machinations to determine if her brother could still be the next heir to the company.) At this point, Henri was just doing his best not to be entirely excommunicated. Juliet was the only one who knew about the demons Henri was still fighting to control, just to keep the peace.

  “Juliet!” Hélène’s voice rang out within seconds of Juliet setting foot in the freshly polished marble foyer. Stepping into the velvety sumptuousness of the Capulet home was like camping out in a jewelry box. And while plenty of people could only dream of it, to Juliet it sometimes felt like a satin prison. “In the parlor!”

  The parlor was her mother’s room, layered in shades of pink and splattered with lace. Juliet found Hélène on one of the pink chintz sofas. An outsider would probably believe Hélène was already dressed for the evening’s party, but Juliet knew the black cocktail dress, diamond necklace, and flawless makeup were just Hélène’s daytime look.

  Her mother’s personal cook, Carina, a young but plump and tired-looking woman (all her mother’s help shared a similar aura of fatigue), set a small pot of tea next to Hélène and instantly brought Juliet a glass of Vichy water. She smiled at Juliet and Juliet gave her a smile of her own, but didn’t feel honest doing so. Something about returning from the afternoon’s adventures made her feel even more cloistered by the constant attention than usual.

  Juliet was about to sit in one of the mauve Louis XIV chairs when her mother raised a hand to stop her. “Don’t sit, you haven’t bathed yet.” She held her nose to emphasize her disgust.

  Juliet refrained from rolling her eyes. Like Hélène could smell anything. The room was so heavily fragranced by the cloyingly rose-scented candles Hélène favored that just walking in was like being suffocated by a funeral bouquet.

  Hélène looked Juliet over from head to toe, and Juliet involuntarily crossed her arms over her chest as if to protect her secrets.

  But her mother was all business. “You’ll be meeting a date tonight,” Hélène said, waggling a cautionary finger when Juliet was about to speak. “No refusals this time. You’ve been dateless at the last four events. A beautiful sixteen-year-old girl with no one on her arm. It’s a tragedy.”

  “Oh, yes, it’s clear I will die alone, a waste of your superior genes,” Juliet said, annoyed. She caught her mother’s wince on the word genes, but she wasn’t sorry for saying it. The effect of Hélène being so tightly wound meant that Juliet couldn’t even have a real conversation with her, and she sometimes acted like Juliet just existed as a pretty belonging she could control. Yes, Juliet loved Romeo, but she resented the notion that without a boyfriend she was somehow wasting herself. For all the things she couldn’t stand about her father, at least he put some stock in her intellect. “So, who will it be?” she asked.

  Carina edged past her, kneeling to pour Hélène’s tea—facelift tea. French women were known to age gracefully without panicking to find new methods to stall the process. Though she’d not gone the surgical route, Hélène still subscribed to every myth and theory about other ways and means to keep herself from getting wrinkles. It was a safe addiction.

  As Carina left, Serge and Patric entered and began styling and coiffing Hélène for the evening. Serge opened a large makeup kit while Patric began running his fingers through Hélène’s tastefully blond tresses. Juliet tried not to groan as her mother leaned her head back and sighed with pleasure.

  “Who is my date?” Juliet asked again.

  Hélène smiled, more to herself than to Juliet. “Pierre.”

  Juliet caught Serge and Patric exchanging a knowing grin. The truth was, her mother loved Pierre because he—like her facelift tea—was a balm against aging. He was an utter suck-up who flattered Hélène at every opportunity. Pierre loved to talk about how Juliet and her mother could be sisters, and fawned over Hélène’s beauty. She ate it up. Juliet had been set up with him several times, for casual dates, and she went obligingly. He was nice enough, and liked her. But tonight, to go with him to a party where Romeo would be, and where she’d be longing for her boyfriend, not Pierre, not ever Pierre—she just didn’t want to go at all.

  She grimaced. “Is he my date or yours?”

  “For you, of course. Don’t be silly,” Hélène said. “And for whatever reason, he jumped at the chance. So go clean up, I know where you’ve been.”

  It took Juliet thirty panicked, startled seconds too long to realize Hélène was talking about the movies and the Metro, not Petite Asie or the cemetery.

  “Lu
Hai!” Hélène called. “Please come disinfect this child!”

  “It’s fine, Lu Hai! I’m on my way!” Juliet hollered back, eager to leave her mother’s quarters.

  “Make sure you wear your perfume,” Hélène called as Juliet reached the door. “Pierre loves it.” For anyone else, this would just mean whatever department store perfume they had on their dresser. For Juliet, it actually meant her perfume, Juliet by Capulet, a clean, sparkling fragrance developed expressly to “evoke her unique spirit.” Juliet didn’t know if she’d take it that far, but they had done a good job.

  Agitated by the swift gear change from a Romeo date and wanton thoughts about the American to a dreaded appointment with Pierre, Juliet ran up the spiral staircase to her bedroom suite. She could already hear the water running in the shower and knew Lu Hai had it blasting at the pressure (intense) and the temperature (blazing) that Juliet liked best. The massive bathroom retreat was also outfitted with Juliet’s favorite bath gels, shampoos, and conditioners, none of which smelled anything like Hélène’s rose-aroma nightmare.

  Lu Hai had no qualms about taking the blouse right off Juliet’s back and swatting her affectionately on the bottom as Juliet shimmied out of her jeans and into the shower. If Lu Hai had her way, she’d still be in there with Juliet, dressed in a poncho and shower cap, standing just outside the water spray and washing down the little girl she’d nannied since Juliet’s birth. Thankfully, when Juliet had put her foot down around her eleventh birthday, Lu Hai hadn’t made a fuss, though she did still stay in the room while Juliet showered. Juliet didn’t mind. The bathroom was large enough that Lu Hai could tidy up while chatting with Juliet through the steam. It was nice, too, to have Lu Hai’s help wrapping a thick heated Frette towel around her when she was done washing up.