by Harper Bliss
“She is.” Claire nodded.
“Anyone for happy hour drinks?” Steph asked, glancing at Juliette.
“I wish I could, but I really don’t have time.” Was Juliette the only one working overtime? Again?
“If you say so.” Steph planted both her palms on Juliette’s desk. “But don’t forget, you, too, have a lovely woman waiting for you. Don’t keep her waiting too long.” When Steph said it like that, as though Juliette really needed to be told, it made her blood boil.
“Just bugger off already.” Juliette made a dismissive gesture with her hand.
After they’d both left her office, Juliette assessed the number of e-mails that had come in during the meeting. Doable for a late Friday afternoon. And she’d rather stay in the office than go home to Nadia and tackle the long list of things they had to thoroughly discuss, like their wedding, her father, and the arrival of that neurosurgeon.
She glanced at her phone, which contained two more messages from her brother, both of them urging her to go see her father. Juliette refocused her attention on her computer screen, ignoring the ball of anxiety sitting in the pit of her stomach. If she immersed herself in work deeply enough, it wouldn’t disappear, but at least she wouldn’t feel its presence for a while.
CLAIRE
“Steph sends her apologies,” Claire said as she watched Margot swallow an oyster. Apparently, Margot’s idea of dressing up was wearing a faded grey blazer on top of her jeans, instead of that eternal leather jacket. It wasn’t that she didn’t look scrumptious in it, but more that their surroundings didn’t agree with it. Claire’d had to call in a massive favour to get them this table at Le Grand Tour, which was—as she had been told in a rather rude tone—always booked at least two weeks in advance, but she’d made it work, both for the romance that came with eating inside the Eiffel Tower, and the significance of the spot for them as a couple.
Margot chuckled. “That’s really not necessary.”
“What happened?” Claire had trouble hiding her annoyance, and then there was that other thought sneaking up on her from the recesses of her brain: she was sure Doctor Dievart would scrub up nicely. That she would fit right in if asked to dress up—and asking wouldn’t even be necessary.
“I ran into her at Barbier & Cyr after I visited you the other day.” Margot casually eyed another oyster. Instant guilt brewed in Claire’s gut. “We haven’t really talked a lot since then.” Steph had told Claire about her encounter with Margot in the hallways of their office, and had teased Claire about the conversation she’d had with Margot, not divulging any of the details. Admittedly, circumstances being what they were, the fact had slipped Claire’s mind.
“Steph said you gave her advice?” Claire was just curious, and didn’t pay much attention to the glorious platter of seafood standing in between them.
“I really think it would be better to drop the subject.” Margot deposited an oyster on her plate, getting ready to squirt some lemon juice into its shell.
“Why?”
“Trust me. Let’s drop it.” The oyster was back in Margot’s hand. The atmosphere on this date couldn’t be further removed from the casual, easy-romantic, promising one of their first rendezvous.
“Trust you?” Claire was adamant to not lose decorum in this posh restaurant. “Just tell me already. I have no clue what you’re referring to.”
With slow, agonising movements, Margot let the oyster slip into her mouth and deposited its empty shell on the provided plate. “This was not a topic I wanted to address tonight, but if you insist.” Margot wiped her mouth discreetly. At least she did that right, Claire thought, chastising herself for letting her level of irritation get so high. “Steph told me about her plan to sleep with Sybille for information.” Margot shook her head, an incredulous look on her face. “And that you agreed to that ludicrous idea.”
“I wouldn’t say I agreed.” Claire felt her cheeks burn bright red. “And I hoped it would never have to come to that.”
“Are you serious?” Margot appeared to not care for decorum as much. Her pitch rose dangerously high. “You hoped?”
“It was her idea. I know Steph. When she gets an idea like that in her head, you can’t reason with her.”
“It didn’t occur to you that it might have been a cry for help? That she wanted you to firmly say no?”
“Steph is her own person. She doesn’t need my or Juliette’s permission to do anything.”
“She was hurting, Claire. Did you not see?” The indignation in Margot’s voice was almost too much to take. On top of everything else, Claire now had accusations coming her way.
“I did. But Steph is a grown woman who makes her own decisions.” Claire drank from the hundred euro bottle of wine she had ordered. “And it didn’t even happen. It’s off the table. The problem solved itself.”
“But that’s not the point.” Margot was like a pit bull about this.
“Perhaps the point should be that this is none of your business.”
“This is exactly why I said we shouldn’t talk about this, but you had—”
“I had to trust you. Right.” That was as good a conversation stopper as Claire had ever come up with.
Opposite her, Margot inhaled deeply. She came across as not only looking, but also desperately feeling out of place, as though she’d rather be anywhere else—least of all looking into Claire’s eyes.
“You’re on edge, babe,” Claire tried, because she felt she had to.
“Maybe because I would expect you to know that I don’t care for restaurants like this. If you knew how many meals I had to sit through in places like this when I was a child, constantly being shushed, you would have thought twice. But you don’t know, because, when push comes to shove, you really don’t know that much about me.”
“Rectifying that was the whole point of this date.” Claire drummed her fingertips onto the tabletop.
“Okay. Time-out.” Margot’s features softened. “We’re here now and I fully realise you probably had to move heaven and earth to get us in here on such short notice. Let’s make the most of it.”
Claire scanned the restaurant. They’d scored a table by the window and the view of Paris outside was stunning, a million lights glittering in the dark October sky. The view alone should have been enough to make her feel… more than she was feeling now, when actually sitting across from the woman she loved.
“Okay,” she acquiesced, or at least tried to, turning her face back to Margot. “We keep having these false starts, for some reason.” For some reason? The reason started dawning on Claire more clearly with every minute that passed. “I hear you have an admirer at work?” It was more than just a change of subject. She wanted to hear more about Marie Dievart.
“Who? Dievart?” Margot reached for an extra large langoustine and started dismantling it with surgical precision. “She can admire me all she wants.”
“I met her. The other day when I had lunch with Nadia.”
“You did?” This tidbit of information didn’t really seem to bother Margot. “Did she come on to you?” She smiled before chewing the seafood.
“We only met briefly.” Claire felt a blush creep up her neck again. “It made Nadia very uncomfortable.”
“Understandable, I guess.” Margot cleaned her fingers in the finger bowl. Claire realised she’d barely touched the food. She’d polished off half of the wine though, a waiter refilling her glass after every few sips.
“Will you be working closely with her?” Maybe Claire should be directing these questions at Nadia, but she was on a collision course. An uneasiness was resting under her skin, and she couldn’t just sit here and pretend everything was peachy, least of all to herself.
“Sometimes. Yes.”
“So you’ll have to find a way to get along.” Claire finally reached for a shrimp.
“I don’t have a problem with that.” Margot pinned her eyes on Claire. It made Claire feel caught out. She tried to nod thoughtfully and refocus he
r attention on Margot.
“Laroche is going to come out.” Another change of subject was required. “At least, that’s the plan.”
Margot arched up her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Is that so surprising?” Claire couldn’t shake the impression that she was on a bad first date, instead of sitting across from the woman she’d fallen so head over heels in love with. Maybe that was why it was called head over heels.
“After all the trouble you went through to cover up her affair, it rather is. Yes.” Margot showed no more interest in the food. Perhaps she was feeling it too. Perhaps she had been right when she’d said to Claire that it shouldn’t be this hard.
A waiter passed by to refill their glasses again. They’d polished off that bottle quite quickly. “Would you like to order another, mes dames?” he asked.
Claire exchanged a quick glance with Margot and it was as though, in that instant, because of the trivial, meaningless question the waiter had asked them—a question that had nothing to do with their lives—she knew. Because for Claire, he might as well have asked: are you sure you still want this?
“No,” she said.
The waiter sauntered off discreetly. Claire put her fork next to her plate and asked, ”Tell me honestly. Do you want to get out of here?”
Margot sat in stunned silence for a moment. “Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
“If you’re sure.” Claire witnessed how Margot’s glance changed, how the dark of her eyes transformed into something else. She probably thought Claire wanted to be taken home. To be spanked by her again. While that had been a very exciting experience, breaking their exhausting pattern of failure in the bedroom—perhaps because it had taken place in Claire’s office—it hadn’t changed anything. It had just been dress-up. Another desperate attempt to salvage something that couldn’t be saved, because it wasn’t there in the first place. Sexual compatibility isn’t everything, Claire thought, as she asked for the check.
Whether it was a fault in her character that she could never see Margot again the way she did before Inez, or it was all down to the fatal decision Margot had made, didn’t matter anymore. It was a mix of everything. A deadly cocktail of desire, betrayal and heart-break. And it was over.
MARGOT
Relief washed over Margot as Claire paid the bill. This dinner had been a disaster from the start. If Claire believed they would just go back to her place and tie each other up, she was in for a surprise. Margot had rarely experienced less desire to chain someone to her bed. All this evening—their supposed romantic, re-acquaintance date—had done was proven that she’d been right in following her instinct. Too much had been broken between them. They’d tried—oh, they had. But it wasn’t working anymore. Whereas only a few weeks earlier what they had between them was still considered something that had to be saved, repaired, fixed at all costs—because how could they not? A love like that? Earth-shattering sex like that? But now, it all appeared too flimsy. Margot wasn’t even sure she and Claire would make for suitable friends.
And there they stood, under the lit-up, blinking Eiffel Tower, feeling as unromantic as at a beloved’s wake. The wind blew harshly on Margot’s face, almost drawing tears from her eyes, but she faced it anyway. If only so Claire could face away from it and have it crash into her backside, which was at least protected by a heavy overcoat.
“Are we done?” Margot asked, as a wave of iciness blasted through her flesh.
“It’s just… too…” Claire paused.
“Unpleasant?”
Claire nodded. “I’m sorry. I never wanted for things to end like this.”
“You don’t feel it anymore.” Margot managed to keep her tone level, while inside, she was going to pieces. Because, despite having had a gut feeling about it all along, having to actually go through it still hurt, still made her feel like the world’s worst participant in all things love. This was on her alone. Love had not won.
“I want to, but…” A noisy gang of elderly women walked past. They made Margot think of her mother. She’d never even gotten the chance to introduce Claire. That Sunday she was supposed to take Claire to her parents’ home, she’d been too hungover to even think about it, after which Claire had so gently made love to her, and Margot had been thinking about Inez throughout.
“You don’t have to explain.” A sudden urge to hug Claire, to hold her close one more time, overtook her. Margot reached for Claire’s hands, curled her fingers around hers.
“Fuck, this is so sad.” The cold had turned Claire’s nose pink.
“I know.” Claire’s fingers were chilly against hers. “But it’s better this way,” Margot said.
“I did… do love you.” The first tear rained down Claire’s face. She couldn’t brush it away because Margot was holding her hands.
“I know that too.” Margot pulled her close. “I’m sorry for fucking up.”
They stood in their embrace for long, freezing, devastating minutes, neither one of them wanting to let go.
“We should probably not see each other for a while. Try to stay out of each other’s way,” Claire’s voice croaked in her ears.
“Whatever you want.” Margot had trouble removing her arms from around Claire’s waist. Trouble breaking free from that scent she would never have waft into her nostrils again. When at last, their bodies separated, Claire’s face was wet with tears. Instinctively, Margot reached for a handkerchief in her pocket.
“I’ve got my own,” Claire said, making Margot feel completely obsolete.
“Come on, I’ll put you in a taxi.”
Claire shook her head. “I think I’ll walk home. It’s not that far.”
“Okay.” Margot wondered what she would do. She had the weekend off. Two days of absolute nothingness looming, not a minute of them filled. Perhaps she should check in at Saint-Vincent, see if she could be of use.
“Bye Doctor de Hay,” Claire said, leaning in for a kiss, aiming at Margot’s cheek.
After the kiss—cold and quick—Margot watched Claire totter off in the direction of Trocadéro. This is it then, she thought. And deep inside, in that place that had no room for lies or deluding oneself, she had known from the start. Some mistakes cannot be undone.
Margot wanted desperately to call Nadia, but she didn’t want to disturb her on a Friday evening after nine. Nadia had her own issues to deal with. Perhaps she should call Steph, make that awkward conversation right. But she was probably back with the politician now, and Margot didn’t even have her number.
So, there she stood, underneath the bloody Eiffel Tower, in the treacherously frosty winds of October, with no one to hold and nowhere to go. She started walking towards the Quai Branly, hoping for a taxi. On a lovely summer night, her flat could be borderline walking distance, but not tonight.
Then her phone rang. She wasn’t on call so it was unlikely that it would be the hospital. It was Nadia. Of course.
“Hey,” Nadia said. “I just heard.” Margot pictured Claire walking the streets of Paris, her phone glued to her ear, telling her best friend that it had finally happened. After weeks of dilly-dallying, they’d broken up for real. Juliette then mouthing the news to Nadia, who immediately reached for her phone. It was a touching, comforting thought to have.
“That was fast.” It wasn’t a joke, just an acknowledgement of the fact.
“Would you like me to come over?” Nadia’s voice sounded tender, concerned.
Margot pondered this for an instant.
“Screw it,” Nadia said, not waiting for a reply. “Claire will be here soon. They’ll get drunk. Our weekend plans will all have to be changed again. Not that there was a whole lot of private time planned anyway. I’m coming over. Where are you?”
“How about we go to Les Pêches?” Margot asked. Silence on the other end of the line.
“You got it,” Nadia said with determination. “I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”
* * *
“Fancy meeting y
ou here,” Nadia said as she bumped her hip into Margot’s.
Margot had found a taxi easily and had been parked on a bar stool at Les Pêches for the better part of half an hour. She was on her second beer. “Thanks for coming.”
“Any excuse to drag my old bones to this place.” Nadia regarded her with focus. “Do you need a hug?”
“Beer will do,” Margot said, wondering if she had ever before in her life spoken those words.
Nadia installed herself on a stool next to her and asked the bartender for a beer as well. “Jesus,” she said. ‘“It’s bloody loud in here. What’s with kids’ hearing these days?”
They burst out laughing. Apart from that one time with the entire gang, after she’d just met Claire, Margot had only set foot in this club once before.
“Medically, it’s not very responsible,” Margot continued their pointless conversation, because she didn’t really know what else to say.
“Claire arrived just as I was leaving. She looked pretty cut up about it.” Nadia swivelled her body so she could take in Margot’s face. “Was it your decision?”
Margot shrugged. “I guess it was mutual.”
“I guess it’s not always a fairy tale then,” Nadia said, before tipping her head back to drink, exposing her neck. From the other side of the bar, a pair of youngsters eyed them. Margot ignored them.
“Not for me, anyway.” Margot turned her back to the youngsters. “Did you hear about Dominique Laroche? Claire just told me she wants to come out.”
“It’s all I hear about. Juliette’s obsessed with the whole idea. She believes that if a high-profile, good-looking politician comes out, at least fifty percent of our fellow compatriots with homophobic tendencies will change their mind.”
“You disagree?” Margot was keen to explore the subject, to talk about anything that kept her mind off the long, empty night ahead. And off that moment when she would wake up in the morning, most likely with a pounding head, and realise all over again that she had failed. She was hoping a sense of relief—after all the hurtful words that had been exchanged, and the opportunities they’d failed to grab—would sneak in at some point, but perhaps it was too early for that. Margot was no stranger to the whole heartbreak routine. She knew the drill. Knew it would have to crush her for a while before things could get better.