Not in Time

by Shawna Seed

  They met in the lobby 45 minutes later. Genevieve’s shower had given her a renewed burst of energy. She was downstairs ahead of Julien.

  He smiled as he cleared the last step. The edges of his hair were wet – he’d showered too, and shaved. “Feeling better? Ready to go?”

  “It really is true,” Genevieve said as they walked outside. “The light in Paris is different from the light anywhere else.”

  “Just wait until you see it at night. You’re going to love it.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  It was sunny and unseasonably warm, and Julien decreed they would walk rather than take the Metro.

  “My goal is to keep you moving,” he said. “I’m afraid if we lose momentum, you’ll collapse.”

  Walking was fine with Genevieve, who was terrified of the Metro. She hadn’t confessed that to Julien, worried it would make her seem like an unsophisticated hick.

  He steered her left outside the hotel. “The woman at the desk said there’s a good cafe around the corner.”

  “Was she recommending it for lunch or suggesting you meet her for a drink later? I thought her eyelashes might fall right off, the way she was batting them,” Genevieve said.

  “We can walk the other direction and go someplace touristy.” Julien halted in the middle of the sidewalk, but his expression was playful.

  Genevieve resumed walking, and when Julien didn’t budge, she grabbed his elbow and dragged him along. “I’m sure the cafe recommended by your new best friend is excellent.”

  When they got there, Genevieve froze in the doorway, suddenly daunted by the unfamiliarity of it all.

  To her relief, Julien took charge. Soon they were settled at a table and had ordered, the waiter hardly grimacing at all at her French.

  “This is all the way I’d imagined it would be, only better,” Genevieve said, taking in the dark wood bar and tile floor, the street scene outside. “I can’t quite believe I’m here. I hope I won’t embarrass you by gawking at everything.”

  “Gawk away,” Julien said with an expansive wave of his arm. “It’s fun to be here with someone who thinks it’s new and exciting. Although I can’t believe an art history major never made it to Paris. Didn’t they have study abroad at your school?”

  “They did,” Genevieve said. “I signed up to do a six-week summer course in Europe. My dad and I worked out a deal to split the cost, and I got a second part-time job.”

  “What happened?”

  “Right before the deadline to send the money, the woman my dad was dating pulled me aside and asked was I sure I wanted to go, because she was worried I’d get to France and be miserable and it would be a waste of money. She said my dad couldn’t really afford it but didn’t want to say no. Then she said – I’ll always remember this – ‘You shouldn’t expect people to spoil you just because of your mother.’ ”

  Julien frowned. “Please don’t tell me you let her talk you out of it.”

  “I let the deadline pass and then told my dad I decided I didn’t want to go.”

  “What happened to the girlfriend?”

  “Oh, that’s the worst part,” Genevieve said. “She and my dad broke up because she wanted him to take her to Hawaii for her 40th birthday, and he wouldn’t do it.”

  Genevieve couldn’t believe she’d volunteered that story. She’d never told her father why she’d backed out.

  Julien had already finished his lunch and ordered coffee. “The opportunity never came around again?”

  “If I go on vacation, it’s generally with D. She likes resorts and drinks with umbrellas in them,” Genevieve said. “Why is it you’ve never seen the building where your family lived even though you’ve been to Paris?”

  Julien took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair.

  “The first time I came to Paris, I was 14 and not happy to be on vacation with my mother. That was the summer I was very diligently trying to win over Rachel... What was Rachel’s last name?” He stopped, ran his hand through his hair.

  “Well, anyway. I wanted to be back in LA chasing Rachel, not trudging through the Louvre. I was pretty sullen company. Mom saved the old neighborhood for the end of the trip.

  “There was a family from Minnesota at our hotel with a son and a daughter about my age, and I’d been hanging around with them – the girl was very cute. They were doing the day trip to Versailles, and I persuaded Mom that I really wanted to go. She surprised me by saying OK. So she went to see the old neighborhood alone, and I kissed the girl from Minnesota in the gardens at Versailles.”

  “Forgetting all about Rachel in LA?”

  Julien caught the waiter’s eye and asked for the check. “Well, I remembered her when I got home.”

  “But you’ve been to Paris since then, haven’t you?”

  The bill arrived, and Genevieve dug in her bag for her credit card. Julien waved her off. “Get the next one,” he said.

  “I came with Erica, but she was miserable, so we cut Paris short and took the train to Normandy. I thought she might like it better.”

  “Miserable in Paris?”

  “Too many museums, too much sitting around, too hard to get in a good run.”

  Julien picked up his coat and held Genevieve’s out to her. “Ready?”

  Julien didn’t consult a map, just set off walking, and soon they were in the heart of the 8th arrondissement.

  A series of turns took them away from the busier roads, and then they were in a quieter area lined with four-story buildings that housed cafes and boutiques at the street level.

  “Number 28,” Julien said, pointing to a storefront across from them. In the window, a bright scarf adorned an otherwise naked mannequin, a minimalist and effective display.

  Julien waited for a car to pass, then started across the street.

  “We’re going in?” Genevieve scurried to catch up.

  A bell dinged as they pushed through the door, and the woman behind the counter looked up.

  She appeared to be in her 40s, her dark hair caught in a very chic ponytail, a dramatic streak of gray radiating from one temple. An eggplant-colored shawl was tossed casually over her shoulder, and she wore lipstick in a matching shade.

  “Bonjour,” Julien called to her, giving her his best smile.

  The woman came out from behind the counter, and Genevieve wandered off to browse while Julien worked his magic.

  Genevieve had promised D a souvenir. She tilted her head, did the Euro-to-dollars calculation on some earrings and backed away.

  She drifted back to look at scarves as Julien and the woman chatted. She heard him introduce himself and saw him pull a sheaf of papers from his jacket. He was probably showing the woman that his mother had been born at the address.

  The scarves, she quickly discovered, were no closer to her price range than the earrings. The patterns were beautiful, though. She took the corner of one between her fingers and closed her eyes at the luxurious sensation of the silk.

  “Not really your colors.”

  She opened her eyes. Julien was at her elbow, grinning. She let the scarf drop. He was right – the pinks and oranges were wrong for her.

  “Feel it,” she said. “It’s amazing.”

  “I’m sure it is,” Julien said. “But I have something even more amazing.”

  He dangled a key in front of her. “Want to see Théodore Lazare’s studio?”

  “What did you do?” she whispered, leaning past him to look at the clerk, who was busy with a laptop at the counter.

  “They use it for storage.”

  Genevieve looked again at the clerk. “She just handed you the key?”

  He waved to the clerk as they left the boutique and turned the corner into a tiny courtyard Genevieve had missed when they came up the street.

  Julien fitted the key into the lock of a heavy wooden door at the back of the courtyard, gave it a shove and shooed Genevieve ahead of him. She climbed a narrow flight of stairs, made a left, climbed more and came to a
landing.

  “That’s the apartment where my mother lived,” Julien said. “Madame LeGrand – the woman in the store – said the couple who lives here now is on vacation.”

  “You two got very chummy,” Genevieve said.

  Julien poked her in the back. “Keep climbing. Three more flights.”

  The stairs narrowed after the first landing, and Julien had to duck at each subsequent turning. Genevieve was warm and a little out of breath when they came to the last door.

  Julien reached around her to unlock it, and Genevieve was conscious of his arm against hers and his breath on her hair as he struggled with the lock. Finally it gave, and he pushed the door open.

  Genevieve stepped into the small space, and Julien ducked through the low doorway right behind her.

  “Oh wow,” Julien said.

  The room, like the storefront below, was narrow and deep. But high windows on three sides flooded it with bright, warm light that accentuated every nick and scuff on the bare wood floors. It was empty except for a half-dozen boxes pushed against one wall.

  Genevieve hastily unbuttoned her coat and shrugged it off, warm from the climb but also feeling vaguely uncomfortable.

  She knew this room.

  Keeping her back to Julien, she walked to one of the windows and looked out at the blue sky and Paris rooftops. She closed her eyes.

  Bright light flooding in. Scuffed wood floors.

  Yes, she knew this room.

  Julien peered over her shoulder. “OK view,” he said, turning away from the window. “But this room. This light. Wow.”

  Genevieve, her eyes closed, leaned her head against the window and took deep, even breaths, trying to slow her heartbeat.

  “This is unbelievably cool,” Julien said. He strode around the room, oblivious to Genevieve’s discomfort. “My great-whatever uncle worked here. Probably sketched Study for Tristan and Iseult right here. Painted here. And OK, he wasn’t one of the greatest of his century, but still. It happened here.”

  He took off his coat and tossed it onto the pile of boxes against the wall.

  “I’m going to move in. What do you think?”

  Julien touched her elbow. Genevieve steeled herself and turned around.

  “Desk right here,” he said. “Bed over there. That’s it. What else do you need in life, really?”

  Genevieve tossed her coat onto the boxes with his. “Sounds like you’re set, then. Madame LeGrand downstairs will be so pleased to have you as a neighbor.”

  Julien laughed. “I can’t believe they haven’t figured out how to turn this into an apartment. Isn’t this an amazing space? I don’t want to sound all California, going on about energy, but this place has something. Don’t you feel it?”

  “Yes,” Genevieve said. “I definitely feel it.”

  After Julien returned the key, they did some upscale window-shopping and strolled back toward their hotel.

  Genevieve’s lack of sleep was catching up with her, and even Julien didn’t seem so energetic now that the light was fading.

  “We should grab dinner, even though no French person would eat at this scandalously early hour,” he said.

  They ducked into a cafe Julien remembered from his last trip, and Genevieve practically sleepwalked her way through a dinner of roast chicken and, at Julien’s insistence, two glasses of white wine.

  Then they walked out into the Paris night. Genevieve gasped.

  “It’s so beautiful!”

  “I told you that it was even better at night,” Julien said. “If you want, we could walk up the Seine a little.”

  Genevieve nodded eagerly.

  Sightseeing boats moved slowly down the river, their reflections rippling in the water. “I’m going to spend this whole trip being amazed every five minutes,” she said.

  Just then, a gust of wind whipped around them. “It’s beautiful, but I’m freezing.” Julien pointed toward a red M sign. “Let’s take the Metro back.”

  Genevieve balked. “I’m not that cold.”

  “Well, I am that cold,” Julien said. “And suddenly pretty tired myself.”

  “Can’t we just walk?” she wheedled. “It will wear me out and help me sleep.”

  “You seem barely upright as it is. Your eyes were closing while we were waiting for the check,” Julien said. “Do you really want to walk 20 more minutes in the cold?”

  Genevieve stared at her feet. “I’m sort of terrified of the Metro.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “I don’t even know,” Genevieve said. “Because I don’t know what you’re supposed to do? Worried I’ll get lost? I can’t even explain.”

  Julien took her arm. “Well, we’re not walking everywhere, and we’re not taking cabs. I promise you, it’s not that bad.”

  He propelled her to the Metro station and down the stairs. Once inside, he showed her how to buy a ticket and board.

  “Was that so bad?” he asked as they settled into their seats.

  The train lurched forward, and Genevieve grabbed the edge of the seat. Her heart began to pound. The rattle of the machinery seemed deafening. She closed her eyes as the car picked up speed.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the car began to slow. She opened her eyes and started to stand, but Julien put his hand on her arm. “We’re the next stop.”

  She lowered herself toward the seat with a sigh.

  “You really are scared, aren’t you? I thought you were exaggerating.” He patted her arm. “Two more stops and we’re done.”

  Once she was back at the hotel, Genevieve thought about sending D an update. But she couldn’t face the idea of going to the lobby to use the wifi. Instead, she yawned her way through brushing her teeth and slept her first night in Paris with the bedside lamp still on.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Genevieve was awake and in the breakfast room by 8. Julien was already there, talking on his cell phone.

  Genevieve looked at her watch and tried to do the math. Wasn’t it the middle of the night in LA?

  “Oh, good,” he said into the phone as Genevieve approached. There was something in his voice that Genevieve couldn’t quite figure out. Then it dawned on her. He was talking to a woman.

  “Well, that’s great.” Another pause. “Yeah, me too. OK. Bye now.”

  Julien didn’t seem bothered that she’d overheard his call, cheerfully asking her how she’d slept and telling her about his morning run along the Seine.

  Genevieve had brought her laptop down and was surprised to find a response from the grad school classmate she’d emailed to ask about academics with expertise in the French Romantics.

  Her classmate recommended that Genevieve get in touch with a Dr. Suzanne Marchand in Paris and had attached a copy of the woman’s latest paper. She’d also copied the professor on the email. Dr. Marchand had replied and listed when she was available.

  Genevieve double-checked the calendar – the professor was free that morning.

  “There’s a professor here one of my grad school classmates thinks could help us. Today at 10:45 is the only time she has free,” Genevieve said to Julien.

  Julien checked his watch. “Didn’t you tell me we have to fill out a bunch of forms at the archives and put in requests before we can see anything? Why don’t we do that and then go see this woman?”

  “I wonder if it’s too late to make an appointment? I guess I’ll email her.”

  “Your aversion to calling people is silly,” Julien said. “Give me the phone number.”

  Genevieve gave him the number and went to the front desk to print Dr. Marchand’s article. She hated to go into a meeting without doing background reading.

  Then it was back to the breakfast room to finish her coffee and croissant before they headed off to the Metro.

  Their ride was longer than the one the previous night and required a change of lines. Genevieve clung to the seat as they lurched from stop to stop.

  “Maybe you should bring the novel that kept y
ou up half the night on the plane,” Julien said.

  Genevieve shook her head. “I can read on planes, but I think this would be like trying to read in a car. It would give me a headache. Talk to me. Distract me.”

  Julien thought a moment. “OK. Tell me something about you I don’t already know. Something you’re really good at. Off the top of your head. Quick.”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Oh, c’mon. If I said ‘tell me something you’re really bad at,’ you could have told me ten things like that,” Julien said, snapping his fingers.

  “That’s true,” Genevieve said. “So I’m good at being self-deprecating. Now tell me something you’re bad at.”

  “Ha. OK, I’m going to let you get away with that, because it’s funny. I can’t bake decent bread. I like to improvise, and baking is more like chemistry. Your turn. Tell me something else about you I don’t know. Build from what I told you. Quick.”

  “Um... chemistry. I enrolled in a chemistry class in college that was way over my head,” Genevieve said. “I had to drop it, and the prof was really mean. Your turn.”

  “OK. Science classes... Hmmm. Should I tell you that I slept with my biology TA?”

  Genevieve, thrown off stride, gaped at him. “Did it help your grade?”

  Julien laughed and shook his head. “No.”

  “Did you think it was going to?”

  “Nah, I just thought Sheila was cool,” he said. “Ready? This is where we change lines.”

  While Julien waded through paperwork at the National Archives, Genevieve settled into a chair to see what she could glean from Dr. Marchand’s article. It was in French, and as a result, it took a bit for her to get the gist of it. When she did, she realized that her grad school classmate hadn’t really done her a favor.

  “Ready to go?” Julien came hustling toward her, shrugging into his coat. “If we walk fast, we should be in time to see the professor.”

  Genevieve hung her head, embarrassed. “I should have known better than to ask this classmate for help – she never did like me. I just got done reading Dr. Marchand’s article. Her area of expertise is re-evaluating 19th century courtesans in feminist terms.”