Being lonely was one thing, but experiencing the fulfilment of solitude had a positive effect. Before then he’d relied on family and friends to prop him up when he was down. With no one around to depend on, he’d had to learn to deal with his emotions by himself for the first time in his life. He’d been shutting out new possibilities for so long, and all his thoughts had been directed to Julia. His mind obsessed over the past, and since he couldn’t go back there, he suffered for it.
A week after the theft, a new credit card arrived, along with new security details for Dave’s web banking. He held the plastic card in his hand like it was a fascinating artifact. Amazing how much we rely on this thing, he thought. The French police had been sympathetic to his plight and had done a thorough investigation. Dave’s apartment-complex superintendent had identified Vincant and the Jazz Inn former barman in police mug shots. An arrest warrant had been issued for them, even though they were nowhere to be found. The fact that Vincant had a prior record of fraud helped. Gerard Pompei and Pompei Gerard were aliases he’d used before.
At Dave’s insistence, the French police had taken blood samples to test for drugs. Apart from Viagra, they had found a substance that induced a trance-like state. This illegal drug was known to be used for interrogation, a ‘truth serum’, they called it. It induced the victim to answer any question asked and left them at the mercy of their assailants. During Dave’s semi-comatose state, Vincant and his friends had convinced him to divulge his banking information. A laptop was most likely used to transfer the money, and it confirmed Dave’s theory about the laptop in Vincant’s car. Anastasia was well known to the police also. She’d operated in the same manner with older gentlemen.
When the police report was faxed to Dave’s bank and his credit-card travel insurance approved his claim and covered his losses. He had to pay a $500 penalty charge, but he could live with that and felt extremely lucky. He could have ended up dead in a gutter. Restored to his previous financial state, he was now free to leave. But was he ready to leave? He was in two minds now. He’d made no conversation with anyone for weeks, and his only contact was with the building superintendent—the now-standard greetings of bonjour, comment-allez vous and au revoir.
On the other hand, long-distance conversations with Amy had become the norm. Every second day without fail, either he would call her or she would call him. Their banter wasn’t filled with any profound exchange of information. It had simply become a habit—the need for contact with someone familiar. The need to know that he existed and that someone knew it. She’d become the parole officer he reported to on a regular basis. Amy would tell him all about her day at work and how close she was to her dream of buying a house while he’d listen and nod. Funnily enough, she’d never talk about her boyfriend.
Dave’s circumstances had now changed, and the longing to leave wasn’t as strong as it was after he was robbed. At times, he would read Julia’s letter and a moment later find himself packing. With his passport and credit card in hand, he was ready to purchase an online ticket at the hostel Internet café. Then, he’d find himself pressing the cancel button and going back home, wondering when he would get the chance to be in Paris again.
He knew a decision would have to be made one way or another. Leaving for another destination would bring him to a similar circumstance of uncertainty. Taking it as it came and being open-minded was his motto for the trip, and he was still doing that by staying. So why not stay? Erin was unfinished business, and he couldn’t leave yet, not without seeing it through. She was there somewhere, and he felt it. His jogging route now extended throughout the Latin Quarter and St Germain, in hope of getting a glimpse of that elusive creature. He was David Attenborough, in search of a rare species of animal in the urban jungle of Paris, ready to capture a glimpse of her.
His interest in tourist attractions had waned, but he’d managed a couple of trips. One had been to Pigalle, the Parisian red-light district. He’d found the Moulin Rouge happily drawing an immense amount of commercial tourism, alongside the sex tourism of nearby establishments. Close by was the magnificent Sacré Coeur, an impressive cathedral with a breathtaking view. But the bristling two-bit buskers, hordes of dodgy hustlers and scammers he had to wade through were off-putting. He’d given the art galleries a miss after his experience at the Louvre.
What had really fascinated Dave was La Défence. This suburb, on the fringes of historical Paris, was a purpose-built major business district. Modern high-rises and office buildings had a free reign. Walking down its streets reminded him of Melbourne’s business district. He had no idea such structures existed in this part of Europe, judging by what he’d already seen. He marvelled at how well planned it was. Mostly accessible to pedestrians, a new spirit of Paris was conjured while the old one remained preserved in the distance beyond. The old city was still in the running for a spot in the modern world; progress and experimentation with high-tech architecture continued, without the grotesque intrusions of eyesores that other world cities experienced.
To some degree, Dave found himself integrating in the local lifestyle. This became evident to him when he’d given directions to lost tourists on a number of occasions, in French and sometimes to the French. In the afternoons, he would go to the enchanting Restaurant de la Mosquée behind Jardin des Plantes in the open courtyard. The interior walls of this, part restaurant and part mosque, were covered with middle-eastern paintings, elaborate murals and mosaics. Deep, rich colours created a relaxing atmosphere for weary visitors. Locals were engrossed in conversation over nargile pipes, and the air was filled with the scent of apples and grapes. Dave watched them with curiosity. He was particularly fond of the couscous and hot mint tea on a cold day; it warmed his insides in the chilled evenings.
Back at the apartment, he’d been thinking of what else he would do, or should do while he was there. He’d got himself quite a routine. It suddenly dawned on him—routine. It was happening again, here in the city of light. But being detached from the world he knew and transitioning into a solitary outpost of his own making was like being stranded on an island. The temporary peace he’d found carried a sweet and monotonous simplicity that surely could not last. He would surely soon find himself anxiously dangling on a fine line of uncertainty again. A storm would either come on its own or he would bring it on himself.
One night after a big run, he walked to the kitchen in his apartment and eyed the last bottle of wine. It had been a while since he’d had a drink. The next choice was natural and obvious; he opened the bottle and poured a glass of the mind-numbing fluid he’d grown accustomed to. It tasted terrible. He’d become enough of a local to know that being given such wine in this country amounted to an insult. The cold liquid whirled in his mouth and found its way down his throat with a tingling sensation that caused an immediate warming effect on his body. An acidic feeling lingered in his stomach and he shrugged, washing it down with another glass.
He thought about Riza, picturing her on his bed that night in Hong Kong, when he’d been kissing her neck gently. His vivid imagination went rampant. A feeling of want stirred in him—an urge that had not been satisfied in so long that it had become dormant. Besides Anastasia, Dave hadn’t slept with a woman for a long time, and he didn’t want to draw memories from his time with Julia—it would bring him to tears. The craving grew into a need and he had to have it—the bubble was about to burst.
A primordial need insisted he go out and get it. His restlessness grew by the minute as he dwelled on it. The second glass of wine turned into a third, and his movements become less focussed. He dressed quickly, with confidence and determination. A fresh shirt, clean jeans, money in his pocket and brand-new shoes he’d hardly worn were his weapon. Tonight, he was on the hunt.
Chapter 23
It was a Saturday night, and on rue Mouffetard a mostly younger crowd was packing the bars and pubs. Dave entered the first venue he came across, Universe Bar, where French alternative music blared. The place was tiny and lively
. Drinks were cheap, and he figured that it was a university hangout because of the casual dress code and happy-hour signs. He felt eyes all over him as he was scanned and instantly dismissed. It suddenly occurred to him with an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach that he was too old for the place.
Dave felt self-conscious and out of place. Hanging out alone here was uncomfortable, unlike the excitement he’d experienced in Hong Kong. He couldn’t make eye contact with anyone, even though he knew that all he needed was one person he could spark up a conversation with. People were clustered in their own groups and couldn’t care less about a tourist that stood out. He finished off his drink and left in search of a place more appropriate for him. Up and down the street he went, through a few more places, but they all looked the same. Happy-hour drinks and uni discount signs hung all over the place. The aimless wandering he was doing was beginning to make him feel like he was in Hong Kong again. The night was looking less promising than he’d been hoping for. Finally, he found a more upmarket venue playing dance tunes. It was called The Dancing Frog.
He sat at the bar and struck up a conversation with the barman, kicking it off with basic greetings.
‘Bonsoir. Comment ça va?’ He asked the man how he was, hoping he didn’t screw it up.
‘Ça va bien, monsieur, et toi?’ the man replied, asking likewise.
‘Ça va.’
‘Super.’
‘Je m’appelle Dave. Je suis australien.’ Dave introduced himself. He was thrilled. Normally by this point in the conversation, the person would have already switched to English, sensing Dave’s lack of skill in French.
‘Oh là là, très loin!’ the barman said. Dave gave him a dismayed look of confusion; his French had hit a roadblock. ‘You come from very far away,’ continued the barman, switching to English.
His effort at speaking French was apparently appreciated by the barman. He was given much attention from there on. The barman was a confident chap about five years younger than Dave, and he bragged that he was the best Mojito mixer in all of Paris.
Dave ordered a Mojito, and indeed it was one of the best he’d had, albeit his first one. He was given a little trivia too, telling him how it was a traditional Cuban highball, whatever that meant.
The barman was busy and had to attend to customers, leaving Dave free to scan the club while tapping his feet to the beat of the music and trying to look cool. When a girl entered and searched for somewhere to sit, he immediately made room at the bar, gesturing to the seat beside him. Nothing to lose, he said to himself. With an alcohol-induced confidence, he went for the kill.
‘Hi. You’ll love the drinks here,’ he said, smiling enthusiastically. She looked at him with a confused expression and said something in French. Please speak English, he prayed to himself and repeated his line. Luckily for him, she did speak English—she just hadn’t heard him the first time on account of the loud music.
‘Oh, okay. I will try.’ She smiled and leaned against the bar, waiting to be served. Her long hair, Mediterranean complexion and oval face reminded Dave vaguely of Sophia Loren. She was wearing black jeans and a conservative top. Suddenly his mind went blank. Here was his chance, but he couldn’t find the right words. One part of him said that she was probably waiting for someone else and that he should play it safe and avoid rejection. Another part urged, ‘Make a move now, you chicken shit, or you’ll regret it later.’
‘Try the Mojito. My shout,’ he finally said.
‘That’s okay. I will pay for it.’ She politely shot down his attempt.
The barman was observing Dave’s embarrassing rejection and intervened. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he urged with a smile, ‘let the gentleman buy you a drink.’
‘That’s okay. No need.’ The girl turned him down politely and picked up the drink menu. The barman placed his hands on the bar and leaned over to her, speaking in French. The girl blushed at whatever he’d said and nodded.
‘Two Mojitos coming up, compliments of the gentleman,’ he winked at Dave and began mixing the drinks.
‘My name is Maria,’ she said, extending a hand.
‘Mine’s Dave. Nice to meet you,’ she replied. He was stunned. What the hell did he say to her? he wondered.
‘You are from very far away?’ she asked.
‘Yes, a very long distance. Do you live in Paris?’ Dave inquired.
‘I am staying here with my aunt and uncle. I’m from Portugal.’
‘Portugal? Do you have Nando’s in Portugal?’ He flinched the moment the words were out of his mouth. What an idiot, he thought. Have I destroyed that many brain cells?
‘Nando’s? What is this?’ Maria looked at him inquisitively.
‘Er, it’s a fast-food restaurant chain, very popular in Australia.’
‘No, I have never heard of it.’ She took her time with her words. ‘Sorry. My English is bad, but I like to practise.’
‘You’re doing well. You can practise on me as much as you want.’ He gave her a cheeky look that seemed lost in translation.
When the barman handed them the drinks, they raised their glasses and clinked them. Dave liked Maria. He found her cute when she was trying hard to pronounce words correctly.
‘I don’t normally drink alcohol,’ she said.
‘This is not strong. Do you like it?’
‘It’s very nice, yes.’
More people poured into the now-cramped space around the bar, and they kept getting jostled.
‘Would you like to go for a walk? I mean, check out another place?’ Dave asked, trying his luck but not wanting to push it.
‘Yes, I like to,’ she answered with a smile.
He looked straight into her large black eyes. Maria wasn’t a stunning girl, but she had a sweet prettiness about her. Her cheeks were round and her olive skin perfectly smooth. Her blouse hid well-rounded breasts that made his heart pump faster every time he stole a glimpse. The couple finished their drinks and prepared to leave.
Dave called the barman to say goodbye and to satisfy his curiosity. ‘What did you say to her?’ he asked.
‘I told her you are a famous movie celebrity from Australia who is doing research for a new movie here in Paris, but you don’t want to tell anyone and would deny it if she asked.’ He winked and Dave laughed.
‘Thanks, mate,’ he said, shaking the barman’s hand.
‘My pleasure and good luck,’ the man gave him the thumbs up.
They walked outside and Dave nearly tripped on the stairs, making a fool of himself in their first moments alone together. That must be a record, he thought to himself. To his relief, she giggled and caringly helped him stay upright. That’s when Dave got to check her out properly. Her behind was large, huge in fact, but he didn’t mind. She was cute, friendly, and it wasn’t as if he had a list of girls to call on. He’d embrace the moment and just go with it, without inhibitions. He’d leave Julia behind and do his best.
They entered one of the uni bars where the drinks were cheap and cheesy music pandered to the ears of baby-fat patrons.
‘How about another cocktail?’ Dave asked.
‘I really shouldn’t,’ Maria replied demurely. Her cheeks had already turned rosy from the Mojito.
‘You really should. I can’t drink alone,’ Dave protested in jest.
She hesitated and then decided. ‘All right, I make exception for tonight.’
‘Great!’ He called the waitress over, who brought complimentary peanuts with her and placed the bowl on their table. He picked up the drink menu and ordered the first alcoholic cocktail he saw. ‘Can we have banana splits, please?’
‘Sure, two banana splits.’ The pretty waitress acknowledged and bounced away.
‘So,’ Dave asked Maria, ‘what are you doing in Paris?’
‘I am here learning French, and I also do babysitting jobs,’ she replied shyly.
‘Where is your boyfriend?’ Dave prodded with cheek. She shied away again. He found her increasingly sweet.
‘I don�
�t have one.’
‘Really? A cute thing like you?’
‘I used to, but I broke up with him.’
‘Why? Didn’t you like him?’
‘He was very nice at the start, but then he changed.’
‘What happened?’ Dave kept prodding unashamedly.
‘He was a very jealous guy. He never let me go out by myself, only with his sister or mother. He wanted me to just stay home to look after his mother. I couldn’t even work.’
‘That’s not a healthy relationship. What was wrong with him?’
‘Well, he was religious. But he was very religious, you understand?’
‘You mean, like a fundamentalist?’
‘A fundamentalist?’
‘Yes, someone who is very strict about his faith. Maybe he talks about God all the time.’
‘Oh, yes, and want me to cover up.’ Maria was struggling for the right word, gesturing to her face.
‘Cover up your body’
‘Yes, when I went out in public.’
‘Was he upset when you broke up with him?’
‘No. He was not happy, but he was not for me. He thinks women are easy and corrupt. He was crazy.’
Dave dug his hands into the bowl of peanuts and crunched away. His confidence was at a high, and he felt just right. Their drinks were brought over to their table with fizzing sparklers inside, like a kid’s birthday cake. It brought attention to their table and people looked in their direction, but Dave didn’t feel self-conscious. They let the sparklers burn out, did a cheers and each took a sip.
‘And you?’
‘Me?
‘What do you do? In Australia?’
‘I don’t do anything at the moment.’
‘You are an actor, no?’ It was her turn to probe. Dave laughed and dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand.
‘No, I’m not an actor.’
‘It’s okay. I know already.’
‘No, really I’m not.’ Dave noticed people looking at them from the adjoining table. The three girls and their two male companions had been eavesdropping on the conversation. One leaned over to Maria and whispered something. Maria nodded and the girl gave him a smile. ‘Is everything all right?’ Dave asked.
CHASING LIFE Page 19