“That felt great,” she says. “You ought to try it.”
“Think I will,” Andrew says. He removes his shirt, tosses it on the back of the chair and grabs the other robe.
As he disappears into the bathroom, Max looks at his back. He is slightly tanned and well muscled. Not quite as tall as Julien but almost as well built. It’s something she hadn’t noticed until now. She also hadn’t noticed the way the back of his hair curls at his neck. Nice, she thinks.
When Andrew returns he also is wrapped in a robe.
“You’re right,” he says. “This shower is great.”
Max is sitting in one of the beds. “The only problem with the shower is that now I’m not the least bit sleepy.”
Andrew plops down on the other bed. “Neither am I.”
Within a span of minutes they are once again involved in a conversation. It seems somehow odd that people who four months earlier barely spoke to one another now have so much to say. The conversation moves easily from one topic to the next. Andrew talks about his years of law school, and she tells how she came to be an architect.
“It started when I was nine,” she says. “On my way to school I used to pass by an old house that was boarded up and left to rot. You could tell that in its day the house had been beautiful, and I couldn’t help but wonder why the owner didn’t fix it up. Then one morning I passed by and saw a crew of workmen. I was so happy. I thought for sure the owner was finally going to fix up that lovely house, but, no, they were there to take it down.” Max shakes her head and gives a saddened sigh. “When they ripped the porch loose from that house, I actually heard it scream.”
“I can believe that,” Andrew says.
“I’m glad you can, because my daddy didn’t. That night I told him how I’d heard the house scream, and he said such talk was pure nonsense.”
Andrew frowns. “Not very sensitive, was he?”
“Not at all. But he made me realize there are a lot of people just like him. They think a building is nothing but a pile of wood and bricks. That’s because they don’t take the time to stop and listen for what the building has to say. Buildings actually have a soul the same as people.”
The small bachelor’s chest between the two beds has a lamp with a flared shade atop it. To look Andrew in the eye Max has to lean forward and peer around the lamp. After a short while, she says, “I’m getting a kink in my neck; you mind if I move over there beside you?”
He grins and says, “It would be my pleasure.”
She moves over, sits beside him and leans her head on his shoulder. “Ah, much better,” she murmurs.
“Yeah.” He slides his arm around her shoulder and repeats, “Much better.”
They talk until the wee hours of the morning, and when they finally fall asleep she is still in his arms.
It is almost eight o’clock when a ray of sunlight shines through the leaded glass window and wakes Max. The moment she stirs, Andrew wakes.
She looks up at him and smiles. “I guess I fell asleep in your bed.”
“It would appear so,” he says with a smile.
Max
Waking up next to Andrew was a strange experience, to say the least. I don’t know if I’m relieved that nothing happened or I’m wishing it had. I liked the feel of his arms around me. He’s gentle and sweet, plus he’s really handsome. I didn’t notice it at first, but the more time I spend with him the more obvious it becomes.
The thing is I really like Andrew. A lot. It would be very easy to let myself fall in love with him, but I hold back because he deserves something better. He deserves a woman who will give him her whole heart. A woman who can love him as much as he should be loved. Right now I can’t do that. A part of me still belongs to Julien.
I know how foolish such a feeling is and I’ve tried to force myself to let it go, but it’s impossible. I remember how it was with us and I keep asking myself, what went wrong? Did I do something? Say something? What? I just can’t understand how he could be so in love with me and then just walk away with not a word of explanation.
I hate him for doing that. Truly hate him. I’d like to think that if he showed up on my doorstep begging me to take him back I’d be strong enough to slam the door in his face. The truth is I don’t know what I’d do.
Julien has a way about him that draws you in. You know how dangerous he is, and yet you let yourself believe he is sincere. You believe it, because it’s what you want to believe. A man like Julien takes everything and gives you nothing. A man like Andrew takes nothing and gives you everything; that’s why I could never do anything to hurt him.
Perhaps once I get home and am away from all the things that remind me of Julien, I’ll be able to forget him. I pray that in time his face will become a grainy picture too blurry to see and his words will no longer echo in my ear.
When that happens I don’t doubt I can fall in love with Andrew—if he hasn’t given up on me by then.
Nothing in this life is guaranteed. Nothing. The things you love are like the puffs of a dandelion weed; they grow wild and happen as they will. You pluck a dandelion puff from the ground and hold on to it thinking you own it, but when the wind blows it’s gone and all you can do is stand there looking at the emptiness of your hand.
A Life of Lies
Julien is unable to forget Max. Her face is there whenever he closes his eyes. He hears her speak his name and reach out with a look that is astonished and yet loving. He remembers how it used to be and senses that she also remembers. The proof of it was in her eyes. In the way his name rolled off her tongue.
He wonders how he could have been so foolish as to say only I’m sorry. A pitiful offering that told nothing of his feelings. He should have spoken the truth: that he’d thought of her a thousand times, perhaps ten thousand times, that no woman has ever really replaced her.
When he pictures Max sitting in the café waiting for him to come, the bitter taste of bile rises into his throat and regret pulses through his body. He could have been more clever and found an excuse for slipping away. He should have met her at the café regardless of the cost.
This thought picks at Julien. It is there day and night. He is torn between what he wants and what he needs. Brigitte, with her quick hands and eagerness to please, is his bread and butter. With her he has no worries. There is no need to venture out in the rain and cold to sell sketches. There is no expectation of greatness. True, she has a temper that flares like dry timber and is quick to see through deception, but in time she will let down her guard and it will be as it always is. They will make love, he will whisper the words she wants to hear and she will believe them. She believes because it is what she wants to believe.
For four days Julien says nothing more about Max’s phone. Twice he takes Brigitte to the café for dinner, and three times they make love. On Thursday morning he hears her stirring but feigns sleep. He is hoping she will do as she often does: pull on a pair of jeans and trot to the boulangerie for fresh croissants.
She sits up, stretches, then swings her feet to the floor and stands. He knows these sounds, so he waits. He has been patient for four days; he can continue to be patient a bit longer.
The splash of water comes from the bathroom; she is rinsing her face and brushing her teeth. She pads softly back to the bedroom, pulls her jeans from the back of the chair and slides into them. Circling the bed, she peers down at Julien. He seems to be sleeping, so she tiptoes from the room and closes the door behind her.
He remains still and listens. Even after he hears the click of the apartment door closing, he waits. She is tricky, and it is not beyond her to slip back into the room to check on him. He ticks off the seconds until a full two minutes have passed, then climbs from the bed and checks the street below. She is halfway down Rue du Garrett and headed for the boulangerie. He glances over at the clock: 9:40AM. He has five, maybe ten minutes.
Dragging the suitcase from beneath the bed, Julien begins his search. Several of the phones have already g
one dead; those he sets aside. He is powering on the fourth phone when he hears a faint beep-beep signaling a text message. It is a muffled sound, close by but not from the phones in the suitcase. He yanks the nightstand drawer open and rummages through Brigitte’s collection of lacy panties and brassieres. Nothing.
The beep-beep sounds a second time. It is closer than before. Julien slides his arm between the mattress and box spring and searches. He feels the vibration before his fingers touch the phone.
She knew I would search, he thinks as he pulls the phone from its hiding place. When he spies the pink case, he is certain this is the phone he has been looking for. He pushes the button and the screen lights. A message indicates there is only two percent battery remaining. He slides his finger across the unlock bar and a number keyboard appears on the screen. Max has the phone locked. A password code is needed to unlock it.
Damn, he grumbles.
He tries to remember her birthday. September…September 16th. He enters 0916.
“Incorrect password,” the screen flashes.
Perhaps it was the eighteenth. He enters 0918. Again he gets “Incorrect password.”
The apartment door clicks open, so he slams the suitcase shut and shoves it back under the bed. He grabs his jeans from the floor, stuffs the phone into the pocket then drops them back into the same spot.
When Brigitte opens the door, he is sitting on the side of the bed. He gives a lazy smile then stretches his arms and yawns.
“Where were you?” he asks.
“At the boulangerie,” she says. “I bought fresh croissants for breakfast.” She crosses the room, wraps her arms around his neck and lowers her face to his.
“Did you miss me?” she teases.
“Of course,” he answers.
She covers his mouth with hers in a soft kiss. “Come, let’s have breakfast. We can plan what to do today.”
Julien smiles then playfully smacks her on the behind. “Go make coffee. I’ll be there in a few moments.”
He tries to pretend everything is as it always is, but unfortunately it is not. Now that he has Max’s phone, she is again at the forefront of his mind.
As Julien pulls on his jeans, he considers what needs to be done. First he must recharge the phone; then, given time, he will be able to figure out the password. It is four digits. A date or perhaps part of a telephone number or a building address.
Brigitte has a charging cord in the kitchen drawer. When she turns her back he will grab it and disappear into the bathroom. With the door closed he will have privacy and time to experiment with the code.
By the time Julien comes into the kitchen, Brigitte has poured the coffee and set the basket of croissants on the table.
“Butter or jam?” she asks.
“Um, butter,” he says absently. “My stomach is feeling a bit off.”
“Poor baby.” She puts her hand to his forehead. “You don’t seem to have a fever.”
“It’s just an upset stomach,” he replies. Although it is hard to hold back the joy of finding the phone, he forces a pained expression.
“Maybe a pleasant afternoon by the Seine—”
Julien shakes his head and pulls his face into a frown. “I think not; but don’t let me spoil your afternoon. You go. Perhaps if I stay here and rest I’ll feel better by evening.”
She gives a lighthearted laugh. “I have no desire to go without you. I’ll stay and keep you company.”
“No, really. You’ll only make me feel bad if—”
She leans across the table and touches her finger to his lips. “Not another word. My mind is made up.” She stands then leans down and covers his mouth with hers.
For nearly three hours Julien lies on the bed. He is restless and itchy to move but cannot. Brigitte is beside him, her leg atop his and her shoulder pressed against his arm. She haphazardly flips through the pages of a magazine, not reading, just glancing at a page or two then moving on.
Halfway through she stops and squeals, “Ooh, look at this!” She holds the page open for him to see.
It is a red dress worn by a model skinnier than Brigitte.
“Wouldn’t I love to have this…” she says, sighing.
Julien eyes the page. “On you this dress would look better than on the model.”
She turns to him, her eyes sparkling with the delight of his words. “Do you honestly think so?”
“Yes.” He nods. “If we had a bit more money in the box, I would say go right now and buy that dress.”
“At one-hundred and fifty euros?” She laughs. “You are much too generous.” She leans over and traces her tongue along the edge of his ear. “It was only a thought. I don’t really need such a fancy dress.”
“Yes, you do. I want you to have it.”
“But the money—”
“We have a suitcase filled with telephones; that is money enough. This afternoon you can take them to the buyer and collect what we are owed.”
She looks at him wide-eyed. “Alone? You want me to go alone to the buyer?”
“Why not?” he says casually, making it sound as if it were not a matter of concern. “I trust you.”
“But I’ve never—”
“The buyer knows you. He’s seen you with me often enough.”
“I’m not so sure…”
“Go,” he says laughingly. “I will sleep for a while, and when you get back we will celebrate with dinner at the café.”
“And tomorrow I can buy the dress?”
He nods. “Yes, tomorrow you can buy the dress.”
As soon as Brigitte is out of the apartment, Julien plugs in the charger cord and begins to try different passcodes. The apartment he and Max shared was in building number 4, so he tries 4444. Incorrect password. He is certain Max’s birthday is in September so he tries every date. Still incorrect password. He even tries his own birthday, but still no luck. When he hears Brigitte’s key in the lock, he powers off the phone and slides it back into his pocket.
Now that she is no longer watching him, he will be freer to come and go. It is too late to go back to the buyer today, but tomorrow afternoon he will go. At four o’clock when the buyer arrives at the spot, Julien will be there waiting. The buyer has ways of unlocking a phone.
Brigitte comes into the bedroom wearing a smile. She waves a fistful of bills in the air.
“Three hundred and forty euros,” she says happily. She goes to the closet, pushes the box of books to the side, pries up the loose floorboard and removes the metal box where the money is kept.
She adds her bills to the stack then counts them. “One thousand four hundred and ninety.”
“That should keep us for a while.” Julien gives a nod toward the stack of bills. “Take out one hundred and fifty euros to buy the dress and give me one hundred for my pocket.”
Brigitte does as she is told, then lowers the box back into its hiding place, presses the floorboard down and slides the carton of books back into place.
Julien
Brigitte has been watching me every minute of every day. She knows me too well. She expected me to search the suitcase for the phone, which is why she wouldn’t let me out of her sight. Now things have changed. She is thinking only of the dress and does not realize I have found her hiding place.
Twice I’ve taken the phone into the bathroom hoping I might try a few more codes, but she sits only a few steps away. Even though she is naïve and easily fooled she would quickly enough recognize the sound of a cell phone, so I dared not turn it on. Knowing Brigitte as I do, I assure you a locked door would not stop her from entering.
Now that she has given up watching me, it will be much easier to slip away. I will say wait until afternoon to shop for the dress, and while she is out I will pay a visit to the buyer. He will have no trouble unlocking Max’s phone.
I don’t know what I expect to find, but still I have to look.
Since last Sunday I have been unable to stop thinking about Max. Looking back on our year togeth
er, I remember that it was a very good time in my life.
Max has a different way of looking at things. Times when we couldn’t even afford a bottle of cheap wine, she’d laugh and claim it was only temporary. “Be patient,” she’d say. “One day you’ll be a rich and famous artist with paintings hanging in the d’Orsay.” The funny thing is that sometimes I’d actually believe it.
On the last day when I watched her walk away at the airport I knew I’d never again see her, and it was okay. I told myself it’s better this way. In a month or so we’ll forget each other and move on to living the lives we’re supposed to live. Max’s was far different than mine. She had expectations I could never live up to. Back then I was absolutely certain of all this, but on Sunday when I looked into her face I began to wonder if I hadn’t made a terrible mistake.
Brigitte and Max are as different as night and day. Brigitte has no expectations. She knows the worst of me and loves me despite it. The truth is we are better suited for one another. Her soul is almost a mirror image of my own. Neither of us expects much out of life. We take what we can and be content with it.
Perhaps I should leave things as they are, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I keep wondering if maybe, just maybe, I could be the man Max believes I am.
Meeting the Buyer
On Friday morning when Brigitte wakes she is already aglow.
“Today I go to buy the red dress,” she reminds Julien. “Will you come with me?”
He gives a labored sigh. “I think not. Such shops bore me. Better you go alone; then you can take time to search through the dresses. Perhaps you will find one you prefer over the red one.”
Brigitte laughs. “Never. That dress was made for me; you said so yourself.”
What the Heart Remembers Page 15