One Step Ahead

by J. J. Kapka

  “It would be hard. This is a place which has regional specialties you probably have not seen before. If you don’t mind, I think perhaps a plate of choucroute is just what you need to fill you up. It has different sausages, ham, sauerkraut, and potatoes. It really is good, trust me. Does that sound okay?”

  “Sounds perfect,” Maddie agreed.

  Not surprisingly, it was. Thierry had ordered the choucroute for himself as well, and had also gotten them beers from Alsace, the region in which this restaurant specialized.

  Maddie was so famished and the food so good that she barely looked up until she was two-thirds through her meal. Nature decided to embarrass her a second time that day. Before she even knew it was coming, the combination of her fast eating on an empty stomach and her quick downing of several gulps of beer conspired to elicit a very loud belch. Blushing madly, she quickly covered her face with her hands and peeked out to see Thierry’s reaction.

  He was nearly doubled over with laughter, and it was a good minute before he could stop and comment. “I trust you like the food?”

  “Oh, you!” Maddie said, throwing her napkin at him.

  He deftly caught it and stood up to fold it back into her lap. Bending over her head, he ever so lightly brushed his lips to her hair. As he stood up again, he grazed his hand along her arm and briefly squeezed her shoulder before he stepped backward to return to his chair.

  Luckily, Maddie couldn’t get any redder than she already was, and fortunately Thierry couldn’t see the flip-flop that he’d just occasioned in her stomach as she frantically fought to compose herself. Fussing with the napkin and again picking up her silverware, she decided that a bit of distraction was called for at this awkward moment. “What have you got in store for us the rest of the day?” she inquired.

  “Ah, the rest of the day, yes,” Thierry began distractedly. Maddie could almost sense that he, too, was composing himself, having perhaps also allowed his mind to venture beyond the meal at hand. “Well, I thought we might go to the other side of the river to Les Invalides, Napoleon’s final resting place.”

  “Napoleon? Really?” Maddie said. “I thought he’d died on Elba.” She gratefully latched onto something more mundane than their body chemistry.

  “Yes, he died on Elba, but his body was brought back and entombed in Paris. It’s a beautiful area, quite grand, which of course, given the emperor’s history, is not surprising.”

  In truth, it did turn out to be grand. After sharing a couple of fortifying espressos, the two of them again traversed the city via the Métro and emerged at Les Invalides station to find themselves in an area laid out with immense proportions, each perspective an eyeful. After paying their entry into the museum itself, they wandered into a gallery looking down at Napoleon’s sarcophagus in the middle of a domed area that was an elegant mixture of stone and marble. Everyone seemed to feel compelled to talk in hushed voices, as though the emperor himself were still keeping court and might at any moment demand their removal if they raised their voices.

  “It’s amazing. I can almost feel his presence,” Maddie whispered in awe, leaning on tiptoe in order to speak into Thierry’s ear. “It’s as though this place is in another time.”

  “I know what you mean,” Thierry rejoined. “I think that’s exactly the effect the artisans were striving for. It’s such a contrast to the hustle and bustle of the commercial world not far from here. This is why I like to come here whenever I am in Paris.”

  They spent another hour in the military museum and adjacent church, followed a walk around the grounds. While taking in the inspiring architecture, Thierry informed her of the history of the buildings, which were once used as a hospital for soldiers—hence the name.

  Maddie couldn’t get over her good fortune in stumbling onto this tour guide and tonic, rolled into one. For his part, Thierry was apparently quite enjoying the opportunity to show off his city’s many highlights, since she was such a rapt student to all of the rich background he provided. Enjoying his role, he suggested they continue their explorations at the Rodin sculpture garden, which was on the same side of the river. Maddie eagerly agreed, not wanting her time with Thierry to end.

  Rather than take the Métro, since the day was picture-perfect, they decided they still had enough energy to walk there along the Left Bank. The road alongside them was full of cars headed home from work, with the consequent noise of horns and brakes as the drivers jockeyed for position. Yet, they enjoyed the cacophony as they sauntered along, relishing all the varied sights and sounds along the way. They saw the shop fronts closing up, and laughing children playing on the sidewalks before being called in to dinner.

  Incredibly, however, the noise of the city and the sense of people in a hurry again receded when they turned in from the riverbank and walked a few short blocks before entering the serene confines of the garden itself. Rodin’s masterly works enthralled Madison, and without even thinking, the two made a beeline for a bench in a quiet corner so as to better take in not only the sculptures, but the beautifully manicured setting.

  Maddie sat there with Thierry in contented silence, both resting their bodies after their long explorations of the day. Feasting her mind on the riches the garden offered, Maddie sighed in contentment.

  Thierry bent his face down to hers and inquired, “Have you enjoyed the day?”

  “Every minute of it,” she answered without hesitation. “It’s been…just…well, so wonderful. You’ve been so amazing. You know so much about this city, and I was just thinking how lucky I am.” She gazed directly into those melting brown eyes. Afraid to trust her full voice, as she’d suddenly welled up with emotion, she mouthed the words, “Thank you.”

  This time, Thierry seemed to sense it was all right to keep holding her gaze. He reached forward and laid his two strong, tanned hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. As he bent his face even closer to her own, he whispered back, “Now?”

  Maddie, with her heart thumping wildly, nodded slightly before she herself crossed the remaining distance separating their lips, making contact so softly it, too, was almost a whisper.

  Whether it was the solitude afforded them by the walled-off garden, or the fact that this was, after all, Paris, the tentative kiss gradually but inexorably increased in passion, till the two of them were so swept up in each other that it took them nearly falling backward off of the bench to bring them back to their surroundings. It was almost like breaking a magnetic force when they pulled themselves apart to stand and move toward the exit, all the while holding each other’s hand so hard it almost hurt. Maddie sensed that, like herself, Thierry didn’t want to break the mood with idle talk. She followed his unspoken lead as he guided them toward the Métro, getting on the line that headed toward Maddie’s hotel.

  ~~~

  July 3

  From the deep recesses of her groggy sleep, Maddie heard a clink and a rustle. As she slowly became aware of where she was, her heart shot full of adrenalin at the thought that someone was in her hotel room. She sat bolt upright with eyes wide open and was greeted by the sight of Thierry entering the room with a tray in his hands. He grinned when he saw her initial fright, followed in quick succession by confusion, relief, and then unconcealed warmth.

  “I thought it might be nicer to have breakfast in bed this morning, instead of surrounded by strangers,” he said, while depositing the heavily laden tray on the desk. He’d obviously spent some time handpicking items from the breakfast buffet to join a steaming pot of coffee, which he commenced pouring. That done, he put a few of each delectable item onto two plates and brought them over to the bed, laying one on Maddie’s bedside table and taking the other over to his side. He then returned and did the same with the cups of coffee, after first asking Maddie whether she’d like hot milk and sugar in hers. Maddie arranged her pillows to allow her to sit up. Leaning back, she watched as Thierry adroitly stripped down to his skivvies and climbed comfortably under the covers.

  She couldn’t help bu
t feel a delicious thrill run through her as she thought back on all that had happened last evening after they’d left the Rodin garden, full of desire and anticipation. To say the experience had been magical, a word she’d never thought was one she’d use in these circumstances, was an understatement. As wonderful as Thierry had treated her up until last night, it had been no preparation for what was to come. Now she knew why the French have a reputation as lovers, she mused. To think: if Becker hadn’t dumped her, she never would have learned…so many things. Just thinking back to some of them suffused her face in scarlet, and she nearly dribbled coffee down her chest as she lost herself to her reminiscences.

  The coffee brought her back to the present, and she turned her body toward Thierry. Watching him eagerly eat a croissant suddenly reminded her they’d had no dinner.

  Glancing expectantly over at her, his eyes met hers.

  As his sensuous lips curled up in a mischievous grin, she couldn’t help but smile.

  “You are happy?” Thierry asked.

  “Yes,” Maddie replied. “I can’t believe it, but I am. Wildly so. To think, the turns my life has taken in just one week. I would never have thought anything like this was in store for me after what happened in London.” Pausing thoughtfully, she then added, “Thierry, you’re just…amazing, in so many ways. Truly.” She felt at a loss for words to convey her feelings.

  “Ah no, please, you will give me a big head,” Thierry said sincerely. “You are the special one. That husband of yours was foolish to let you go, but I hope you don’t mind it if I say I’m glad he did, or I would not have had such wonderful experiences, all of them, with you.” Eyes still riveted on hers, he pushed his plate onto the bedside table, reached over to take her plate out of her hands, too, and then…

  ~~~

  The Becker Chronicles—Paris

  What could he have been thinking when he decided to take the ferry across the English Channel instead of flying? At the back of his mind, he supposed he’d thought he’d avoid any chance of encountering Madison on a flight, thinking that perhaps she would stick to their original schedule and leave London after the number of days they’d allotted to see the city. He certainly didn’t fancy the thought of Maddie dumping a tray of airline food on his head. He was still dealing with the lingering scent of the greasy bangers on his scalp, try as he might to scrub it out.

  So he’d taken the ferry, and all had gone well enough until an unexpected squall had sprung up out of the blue and forced them to return to Dover. Since he’d caught the last ferry of the night, he was forced to overnight in the town and try the crossing again the next morning. Although the ferries were running again by then, the waters were still sufficiently choppy to force a goodly proportion of the passengers, Becker included, to the toilets to relieve their seasickness over stainless-steel toilet bowls.

  Stumbling down the gangway after they docked in Calais, Becker felt his head pounding with pressure and his stomach still amazingly nauseated even though he was quite sure there was nothing at all left inside it. That made the train journey to Paris more difficult than it should have been, as the rhythmic swaying of the cars only perpetuated his feeling of nausea rather than having their more characteristic lulling effect.

  By the time he reached the Gare du Nord in Paris, all he wanted was a place to lay his head for as long as it took to recover his stomach. He set off for a small hotel on the Boulevard Saint-Michel, which a friend in New York had recommended to him. But it was not to be. No sooner did he gratefully enter the lobby, than he was turned around by the desk clerk, who had just booked the last available room.

  Not wanting to go far, Becker set about wandering the environs, looking for the first available room. On the eighth try, he finally succeeded, most likely because the somewhat seedy interior of the lobby had turned off other prospective customers. By this time, Becker was so tired and weary, he couldn’t care less. He collected his key and took the creaky elevator up to his third-floor room, which faced out onto a small street. Even though it was only 5:00 p.m., he decided to forego dinner, take a shower, and turn in for the night to try to regain some semblance of normalcy by the morning.

  That plan was relatively short-lived. Some two hours later, he awoke out of a sound sleep as the quiet side street suddenly came to life. Stumbling to his window and looking down into the street, he saw throngs of students and backpackers engaged in the serious pursuit of Parisian nightlife, assisted by bars and clubs whose doors had been inconspicuously shuttered only hours before. Pounding music, combined with the shouts and singing of the raucous crowd, put an end to any thoughts of drifting peacefully off to sleep again.

  Throwing in the towel, Becker decided he might as well go out and find some dinner, since at least the two decent hours of sleep had somewhat restored his equilibrium and appetite. With his head still pounding, he resolved to avoid the immediate vicinity of the hotel. Consulting his pocket map, he decided to go in the direction of the river, which was not so far away.

  The farther he got from the noise, the better he felt. Upon reaching the street bordering the Seine, he looked across and saw Notre Dame, resplendent on her island in all her glory. Thinking to kill two birds with one stone, he decided to try to find a meal on the Isle de Cité and then see if he could tour the church afterward, if it were open in the evening.

  Walking across the bridge, he noticed a movement to his left and looked down to see one of the tourist boats that plied the waters. Leaning on the railing to watch its progression as it approached the bridge, he mused about the possibility of finding its origin so he could perhaps take a sightseeing ride later on. Just as he was about to turn to continue walking, he couldn’t believe his eyes.

  There on the boat was Madison. Yes, it definitely was her. He could see her face clearly in the lights from the bridge. Rather than looking at the church, however, she was deep in conversation with a man beside her, their heads close together. It almost looked like they were a couple, so comfortable did they look with each other, but no, it couldn’t be…He couldn’t quite believe what his eyes were telling him.

  As the boat slipped under the bridge, he dodged into the traffic, eliciting several angry honks of car horns, to cross to the other side and verify what he thought he’d seen. Sure enough, the man was leaning confidently toward Maddie, pointing out something in the direction of Notre Dame.

  She wouldn’t think of finding someone so fast, Becker thought bitterly. This isn’t about other people. It’s about things not being right with us. Following on the heels of that admitted rationalization, his next thought was the realization that his mourning period was self-imposed: Maddie hadn’t thought anything was “wrong” with them before he’d brought it up in London. Yet, he wondered with chagrin, am I that easy to get over?

  No sooner had he faced that prospect than his next thought was, Turnabout is fair play. He resolved to not waste any more time before thrusting himself back into circulation, not with all of these European women at his feet, no doubt just aching for an experience with an American man. He immediately changed his previous plan, turned on his heel, and set off in the direction from which he’d come. He looked back over his shoulder at Notre Dame and resolved to return to see it another time. Tonight, he decided, he would try his luck as a newly single man, or at least newly separated, and what better place to start than in one of those very same clubs he’d just fled.

  By midnight, he’d come to the conclusion that he’d selected the wrong area. Dizzy from too many drinks and still no food, he’d tried some of his rusty pick-up techniques on some dozen women in four different bars, to no avail. The denizens of this area were a bit on the young side, and he just didn’t have a feel for the best way of breaking the barrier with them. Different cultures, different tastes—the spread was too big. He needed to hone his skills and be more selective in the type and age of women he approached. Yes, that will do it. He resolved to follow through. Before the week is out, I’ll show Maddie there’s more to Par
is than a chaste boat ride with a handsome stranger.

  Despite those good intentions, he had no luck. After countless brush-offs from the women with whom he tried to strike up conversations in cafés and parks, he decided it had nothing to do with him, except for the fact that he was American. The French were notoriously unfriendly to American tourists. By the end of the week, he decided that perhaps Paris was really to blame. He couldn’t change that, so why fight an uphill battle? Better to concentrate on what he’d wanted to do initially, which was to get in some solid sightseeing, and try to get his mojo back in a different, more hospitable country. Yes, that’s the way to go.

  Chapter 4

  Amsterdam

  Pannekoeken—a Pancake that Can Be Either Sweet or Savory,

  Characterized by the Variety of Its Possible Fillings

  July 6

  Amsterdam’s Schiphol Airport had been a breeze compared to Charles de Gaulle, only this time Maddie had desperately needed an annoying distraction to take her mind off Thierry. It had taken every bit of her strength of will this morning to leave her hotel room, with all its warm and tender memories garnered over the past three days. Thierry had reluctantly kissed her goodbye before she left for the airport, as he, too, had to head back to Nantes and his job, but not before giving her his phone number and emphatically telling her to call if she needed help, anywhere, anytime. How typically Thierry, Maddie thought with a sigh.

  With a guilty pang, she realized for the first time that she’d thought of nothing but Thierry and the glories of Paris for the past few days. Becker had been only a vague shadow in the background. How effective Thierry had been in getting her over the pain of rejection. Aside from all of his other laudable qualities, he had helped immensely in boosting her self-confidence at a time when it had been dragging along on the pavement and couldn’t have gotten any lower. Now, here she was in Amsterdam, feeling conflicted: lonely without Thierry’s company, yet uplifted at her future prospects after having been bolstered by Thierry’s attentions.