by Jen Carter
“Well, what’s done is done, and I’m here now.” Lizzie sat in the empty chair and turned to her sister. “So, you didn’t have any problems finding him?”
Eva shook her head. “Your description was perfect.” She turned to Billy. “The second I saw you, I knew. Rhett Butler, just like Lizzie said.”
“I beg your pardon, but I don’t believe I look anything like Clark Gable.”
“I didn’t say Clark Gable,” Lizzie answered. “I said Rhett Butler.”
“Tremendous difference,” Eva added.
Billy sat back in his chair and gazed at the sisters. “And my twin Scarlet O’Haras, do you describe everyone in terms of characters in books?”
“Only when it fits,” Lizzie said.
Billy smiled at the sisters. “Quite a duo you two must be. You, young American beauties, frolicking about Paris, boasting your education with the rest of the American-in-Paris snobs.”
“My now, American-in-Paris snobs?” Lizzie said. “I never thought of us quite like that. Did you, Eva?" Lizzie turned to her sister.
“Of course I have, Liz. Why else would I choose a school in France? So that I can frolic with my sister every summer like an educated American-in-Paris snob.”
Lizzie sighed, gazing across the bar. “Well, yes. I suppose it’s the only rightful way to waste the family’s money. And I suppose we are American-in-Paris snobs—is that the right term, Billy? That must be why I go to Montmartre and beg artists to draw portraits of me.”
“No, no dear,” Eva said. “You demand them to draw portraits of you. Ask Billy. He’ll tell you.”
“That’s true,” Billy said, lighting a new cigarette. “Demanding is your way.”
Lizzie smiled. “Yes. I’ve probably been going about it in a rather round-about manner then. If it’s my way, maybe I should just forget the act and go around telling everyone, ‘I demand you to do this for me,’ and ‘I demand you to do that for me.’ I hate wasting time, you know. What do you think, Billy?”
He pulled the cigarette away from his lips. “I don’t think anything.”
“All the better.” Lizzie leaned forward and stared into Billy’s eyes. “I demand that you get me a drink, Rhett Butler.”
“I’d prefer not. But if you’ll excuse me,” he said, slowly rising and nodding at them.
“Oh fine, go, if you must,” Lizzie said, waving him on.
He walked away from the girls. They watched him go.
“How strange,” Eva said when he was out of earshot.
“I know,” Lizzie said, looking after him. “Strange, but so much fun. Where do you suppose he’s going?”
“Bathroom?” Eva said. “Don’t wonder too much about it. He’ll be back.”
“Maybe.” After a few moments, she leaned toward her sister. “How long are you staying, Eva?”
“Tonight? Not long. I’m supposed to meet Jack for dinner.”
“Oh. I wish that you’d stay longer.”
“Jack calls.”
Lizzie looked back to the crowd. “And no one calls quite the way Jack does.”
“Really?” A male voice wafted toward them from behind.
The two girls slowly turned toward the voice. Lizzie sighed, looking at Billy. “That’s right. No one calls quite like Jack. So you’re back. I didn’t think you’d be back.”
“What, and deny myself the privilege of spending an evening with two Scarlet O’Haras? I’d never dream of it.”
“One Scarlet O’Hara.” Eva rose. “I’m going to meet the call of Jack, which we just established was quite like no other. It was very nice meeting you, Billy.” Eva extended her hand.
“Likewise.” He kissed her knuckles and bowed.
“My, Rhett, I didn’t expect you to be such a gentleman.” Eva smiled and batted her eyelashes.
“Oh, just go, Eva,” Lizzie said. “He already thinks too highly of himself.”
Eva smiled at her sister. “Goodbye, dear.” She kissed Lizzie on the cheek.
“You have fun tonight,” Lizzie said.
“You too. Goodbye, Billy.”
“Goodbye.”
Eva turned to leave, but neither Billy nor Lizzie watched her go.
“Are you just going to stand there?” Lizzie asked after staring at him for a moment.
Billy’s eyebrows rose. “Shall we dance?”
Lizzie glanced toward the band, noticing that they had switched to a lively composition. “I imagine we shall.” She took his extended hand and rose from her seat. “I hope that you don’t dance like an American. I hate the way American boys dance. It is as though they don’t hear the music.”
“Do you hear the music?”
“The good music, yes.”
“You’re missing out on all the bad music then. A loss you don’t even realize.”
“I’m serious about you dancing like an American,” she said turning to him upon reaching the dance floor. “If you dance that way, we will have to stop.”
“Fair enough,” he said, sweeping her into a turn before she expected.
Lizzie felt her feet respond to his strong lead and a laugh rising to her throat. Music permeated her skin and rushed through her veins. As she looked at Billy once their rhythm was established, she felt like she was flying.
***
Amy’s cell phone rang. She jumped, startled.
“Miles?” Will asked as she grabbed it from the table.
Amy nodded, answering the call. “Hey Miles,” she said. “Yeah, I’m home now. It’s been a long day. I’m pretty tired. How are you doing?”
Will watched her lean back on the couch and close her eyes. She rested her elbow on the couch’s arm and propped up her head with her hand. Prior to telling Miles that she was tired, she hadn’t looked it. Now she did. Will wondered if he just hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, that sounds great. But you must be tired too. Yeah? I’m going to call it a night soon myself. Okay, well, sweet dreams. See you tomorrow. Me too.”
She put her phone on the table and looked at Will. She let out a deep breath. “I didn’t know what to say.”
“That’s okay. It’s just weird that you have to hide this from your boyfriend. It seems like he should be the one sitting here with you reading this stuff. Not me.”
Amy tilted her head to one side and thought for a moment. “He’s not that kind of boyfriend. He’s wonderful and supportive in his own way, but he’s not that kind of boyfriend.”
“Well, that’s fine with me. Because if he were, I couldn’t be here right now. And that dinner was far better than anything my mom could have cooked.” Will lifted the final pages, feeling their weight. “We only have a little left. Ready to keep going?”
Amy nodded, looking at the pages hesitantly. “The story couldn’t be wrapped up in those final pages, could it? I feel like we’re still only at the beginning.”
SEVENTEEN
“H
ow long are you going to be here?” he asked, his eyes darting back and forth between his canvas and the woman sitting next to his easel.
“Another two weeks.” Lizzie glanced toward the easel, continuing to tap her toes the way she had for the past thirty minutes.
“And then back to the States?” His eyebrows furrowed toward the canvas and then relaxed as they moved toward her again.
“Yes.”
“And then back to school.”
She did not answer right away. “I might not go back to school this year.”
“Hmm? And how are you going to manage that?”
“I haven’t thought about it fully yet, but I know there is a way.”
“Defy the parents? Betray their love and support?”
“They offer us neither love nor support. Just money. Why do you think Eva is in France for school? You’re right about us being rich, educated, American-in-Paris snobs. But it is not by choice so much as it is by a need to run away.”
“So is that what you are going to do next year? Run away? Instead of going back to s
chool?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Billy glanced at her tapping toes. “Are you bored sitting here?” he asked.
Lizzie held her feet still.
“I suggest,” Billy continued, “not going back to school. You could make money as a street performer.” He looked over at her again, and a smirk formed on his face.
Lizzie fought to hide a scowl. Her toe began tapping again. “I know that you only say that to demean me. You don’t think that I could live without the luxuries my parents provide for me, and you think that I see myself as above street performers.”
“I do. You’re right. It’s sweet of you to come to Montmartre with your coffee to talk to artists, but you, working as an artist? Lowering yourself to the line of poverty, where the books you read are not a status symbol but just books? Where no one is impressed with literary allusions, and you only make them because you enjoy doing so? You, working as an artist? You wouldn’t wear shoes, and not because you did not want to, but because you wouldn’t have any. You would be cold in the mornings, and you would not be able to afford coffee to warm you. And you would have to listen to people’s complaints and insults, finding compliments buried deep beneath American snobbery. You, as an artist? Maybe in the States, but certainly not here.”
Lizzie kept her face still. “And so why would you suggest such a course of action if you don’t think I could follow it?”
“It is still a possibility. A possibility that you could choose—with a couple of modifications.”
“But why would you suggest such a possibility when you don’t think I could follow it unless modifications were made?”
“I think you should go back to the States and—”
“Why?”
“Get a job there as—”
“Why?”
“Waitress and try to—”
“Why? Why would you make a suggestion like that? I’m not going to sit here and let you go out of your way to insult me. I’m fond neither of unnecessary unkindness nor of points driven into the ground. Do you wish for me to leave now?”
Billy nodded, his eyes cast low for a moment. “I apologize for the insult. You are right. It was unnecessary and unkind.”
“If you find faults in my character, we can address them as adults, directly.”
He nodded. “Again, my deepest apologies.”
“As a matter of fact,” Lizzie began, twirling her hair around a finger, “I don’t think that I will go back to school next year. I rarely speak to my parents while I’m away, and I’ll just continue calling them once a month when I need more money. I’ll take the money that they send me and move to Los Angeles. I’ll find a place where I can settle down, and then I’ll work on getting myself involved in the business.”
“Ah, I see. Exploit the parents. It is another option.”
“They have exploited me and Eva all our lives. We were puppets to them from the time we could talk. I would not feel bad in the least if I did this.”
Billy continued to paint, his head tilting slightly to the right. “I’m sorry to hear that. How much longer do you have in school?”
“Two years.”
“And the money runs out after that? Provided your parents do not find out about this plan of yours?”
“I suppose.” She shrugged. “It should be enough.”
“What will Eva say?”
“She won’t say anything.”
“Despite your relationship with her? She won’t worry?”
“Because of my relationship with her, she won’t worry.”
“Fair enough.”
“In fact, it’s time for me to tell her about this plan so she can start the process of not worrying about me.” She slid of her stool. “Goodbye.”
Billy did not respond, nor did Lizzie expect him to.
She spent the entire walk home formulating her plan. By the time she arrived at Eva’s flat, her excitement had risen, and she had made up her mind about the following school year.
“I’m not going back to school, Eva,” Lizzie said as she opened the door to the apartment and spotted her sister lying on the couch, reading a book.
Eva closed the book and laid it on her stomach. “No?”
“No.” Lizzie skipped into the room and sat on the coffee table in front of her sister.
“What are you going to do then? What are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”
“I’m not going to tell them anything. They don’t need to know. I’ll leave as I always do for school, but instead of actually going to school, I’ll go to Los Angeles instead.”
Eva smiled. She studied her sister, noticing a lightness in the lines of her face. “And, since you’re going to pretend that you’re back at school, you’ll have the money they send you for tuition and living expenses to finance the move to L.A.”
Lizzie nodded. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.”
“And then when it takes an additional year of school to make up the one you missed, you’ll tell them that you decided to change your major?”
“I don’t plan on ever going back. I don’t think it will take me that long to get started in Los Angeles. A year, maybe. If it takes longer, then it takes longer. I have two more years of tuition money from them to spend.”
“Can I visit you in L.A.?”
“Of course. You should come out and live with me after you graduate this year.”
“That would be something.”
“It would be wonderful. You and I could—”
“Did Billy put this idea into your head? This whole moving to Los Angeles bit?”
“I don’t know,” Lizzie said softly, looking at the clock behind the couch. “Maybe. It’s hard to tell who says what in our conversations now. It’s all a blur. He talks and then I talk back. I talk, then he talks back.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
Lizzie looked at her sister and smiled. “Who knows?” She leaned her elbows on her knee and rocked forward on them. “Let’s do something today, Eva. Let’s go somewhere. Now.”
“Where do you want to go?” Eva craned her neck to see the clock behind her. “What time is it?”
“It doesn’t matter. Let’s just go. Anywhere.”
***
Amy leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling.
“What’s wrong?” Will asked.
Amy handed him a piece of paper. “Lizzie’s kinda…wild, isn’t she?” she asked.
“She’s completely wild. She’s awesome.”
Amy pushed a curl behind her ear. “She wanted to steal from her parents so she could move to Los Angeles.”
“A bit scandalous, yes, but it sure makes for a great story.”
EIGHTEEN
“W
hy are you here?” They walked through the Latin Quarter slowly, paying little attention to the sun setting behind them.
“Why am I here?” he repeated. “Are you asking how I came to be an artist in Paris?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” he began, squinting at the sun. “I was born in America. Florida, to be more precise. My parents owned a pharmacy. When I was fourteen, they died in an automobile accident. I lived with my grandfather for about two months. He despised me, and I despised him. So I left.”
Silence lapsed between them.
“And does that bring us up to the present day?” Lizzie asked.
“Pretty much. I left at fourteen and have been wandering ever since.”
“You make it sound so simple. Surely it was harder than that. You must have an education.”
He shrugged. “Not like yours. I didn’t have money when I left my grandfather’s home. But when I left, there was room in my knapsack for four books. So I stole four books from my grandfather’s library. And that was the beginning of my education.”
“What books were they?”
He watched his feet as they continued their walk. “Huck Finn, The Odyssey, Canterbury Tales, and The Inferno. It wasn’t much, but my gran
dfather did not display many of his books. I took what I could get, and they meant everything to me.” Billy sighed. “So, that’s what I did. I wandered across America for a while, offering my services as a handyman and as a street artist. And, when I met nice people, I traded books with them. I’ve had a constant flow of literature in my life because I always had something to trade. Over the years, I read many books that were old college texts. They were marked up with comments in the margins and underlining. Those were my favorites. They taught me how to read. They taught me what to focus on and what to look for.” He paused. “That was one side of my education. The other side was what I learned on the road. Out in the open.”
“How did you get to Paris?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you like it here?”
“I have liked it, yes. But I won’t be here forever. It’s important never to overstay one’s welcome.”
“How do you know when you’ve stayed too long?”
They walked in silence for a moment. “The restlessness comes.”
Lizzie looked at him and nodded. “Have you ever been to jail?”
He smiled at her. “Ah, the stereotypes. No, I’ve never been in jail. Not all wanderers are beggars who must steal to survive.”
“Then how did you make it?”
Billy grinned at the setting sun. “You must stop believing everything you read. Naïveté is only so attractive.”
“If I’ve insulted you, forgive me.”
Billy didn’t acknowledge her apology. “Some people can master the art of wandering. They rely on their skills, and they love the freedom of the open land enough to wander honestly their whole lives. I didn’t mind the weight of four books in my knapsack. I was not afraid of a little weight on my back or in my mind. That’s how I did it. How I’m doing it.” He shrugged. “And, people love mystery in art. So, I add a little of that in my work, which is how I’ve become marginally successful.”
“Beg your pardon?"