by Julie Adams
I wake up early as I usually do. Sunlight dimly filtering through the curtains. Lily is beside me, one arm stretched beneath her pillow the other resting on her chest, her legs take up her side and part of mine. I don’t mind, not even the slight stubble that’s grown overnight. It’s nice waking up beside her.
When she’s sleeping I can look at the scar more closely without the fear of making her feel insecure. It’s quite faded, it runs from her jaw to her neck, three sharp lines. It could be from anything, an animal, a bad fall. But I know in my gut that it’s from another person. I lightly run my fingers over them, promising myself to never let anyone hurt her like this again. Knowing that someday I’m going to have to tell her the truth about the night we met. I pray that she believes me.
With a few swipes on my phone, I order breakfast and lay back next to her. I’ve never slept like this next to any other woman. Don’t get me wrong, women have spent the night with me and shared a hotel bed or their own with me, but it was purely because it was more convenient to stay the night or let them stay instead of forcing them to leave. There was never any cuddling, I never got a good deep sleep with them. I was never comfortable with them. With Lily it’s all different, I’m more relaxed than I’ve ever been, even before my life turned upside down.
My phone vibrates alerting me that my delivery is here.
I pull on a shirt figuring my pajamas are suitable enough to take a bag and give a tip.
Peeking through the peephole I see it's the guy who usually delivers my food. “Early delivery,” he says in French. Most of my orders are for dinner.
“Worked up an appetite last night,” I say and hand him money. He grins like he’s won the lottery.
I always tip well.
“Ah, Paree.” He grins and hands me my bag and drinks.
“Oui,”
He says goodbye with a knowing twinkle in his eye and I close the door. Taking the hot bag and coffee into the bedroom.
Lily’s still sleeping when I settle beside her and take her hand. “Wake up, mon chéri,” She only snuggles deeper into the bed. I’m afraid that in her sheer determination to sleep that some mystical portal is going to appear and swallow her up. “I’ve got food and coffee,” I whisper seductively near her ear.
She grins wide, her eyes still closed. Then she stretches like a cat and looks at me. And food be damned I want to take her again. Not that I think I stand a chance when she’s eyeing the paper bag like it’s some muscled superhero standing stark naked in front of her.
“What did you get?” She asks reaching for the bag.
“Chocolate croissants and cafe au lait.”
“Mmm,” She says opening the bag, a billow of steam pours fragrantly out. “I’m ravenous.”
I smile. No one says things like that but someone who writes or reads often.
She takes a bite out of the flaky, buttery crust then through the melted gooeyness of chocolate. She closes her eyes and breathes heavily. “Heaven,” She whispers.
I chuckle and hand her the coffee. I love watching her eat, there’s something so satisfying about a woman who enjoys good food, not just a taste but the whole experience. When you know they’re not worried about calories or diets. When Lily eats it’s purely about pleasure.
She laughs at herself hiding her mouth behind her hand. “I’m sorry, the food here is just so good. If I keep going like this I’ll not only fit my old clothes again, I’ll burst right out of them.” She continues laughing. And I don’t think she realizes she’s referenced her past.
“What happened?” I ask taking a sip of my coffee, trying to be casual.
She stops laughing and looks at me, uncomfortable. “I lost a lot of weight from stress. A lot happened about a year before I came to France.” She shrugs playing with the lid on her cup, so focused on it that I know it's all she’s willing to say.
“I’m sorry,” I want her to know I understand, that I’ll go at her pace in everything even when I want to know all about her and it’s incredibly frustrating.
She takes my hand. “Don’t apologize,”
“I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable…”
“You’re not. I’ve just talked about it so much, over and over that I want to move on.” She takes a drink, and I can tell she’s thinking about something. “But I can’t move on with you if you don’t know some of it. I will tell you, and soon. But not today, Nathan. Today let us just be two people in love in Paris and without pasts.” She says it with such a needful, wistful look that I can’t tell her no.
“Two lovers in Paris without pasts.” I repeat sitting my coffee aside and taking hers before I pull her into me and back beneath the covers to eat our food.
Nineteen
Lily
Holding on tight and letting go, like winter gives in to the blossoms of spring, I’m both melting and opening for you...
I close my notebook quickly. Nathan’s come into the bedroom fresh from his shower and has caught me writing.
“Is that the infamous poetry journal?” He asks eyeing the cheesy pink cover with Eiffel Tower. I bought it in the airport on a whim, it’s cute and I love Hello Kitty but writing poetry in it makes me feel like I’m in freshman year of high school. It’s a tiny bit embarrassing.
“Mon chéri, you’re blushing.” He says sitting beside me on the bed in nothing but his towel. “Can I see what you’ve written?”
“This is a relationship built on bartering,” I cross my arms and look down my nose at him. “What will you give me?”
“I gave you two of them before my shower,” He grins like the devil himself.
“I don’t exchange goods for sex, that would make me a different kind of devious woman.”
“Fine, I offer you more coffee and more of me.” He grins and I sigh.
“You overestimate my attraction to you,” I laugh because he’s undoing his towel as we speak and I swear he’s got the most perfect penis, long, thick, and constantly ready and able to satisfy. Unfortunately, I don’t have time for another tete a tete and he knows it.
“One poem! Just one, of my choosing for a coffee. A big one.”
He pulls me around the waist back onto the bed with him. “I got a big one for you.”
“How do you function in day to day life?” I playfully shake my head and flip through my notebook.
“Easy, I keep you out of sight. But you’re never out of mind, and I’ve entertained some fantasies, but I can somewhat focus enough to do my job, but I need you as soon as I’m out of there.”
“Mhmm,” I make an unbelieving face and find the poem I’m looking for.
I hand him the book and watch him read it. He smiles, then chuckles.
“Is the Eiffel Tower an allegory for penis?” He asks.
I laugh and nod. “I wanted to write but only that was coming to mind, so I set out to write the most ridiculous poem I could.” Now I kind of want to show him a serious one, one I actually put thought and effort into so he knows they aren’t all this bad.
He makes a face. “Bless the man with a penis like the Eiffel Tower.”
“I think we both know who I’m writing about,”
“It better be me, chérie, or I might be very jealous.”
“Oh?”
“Mmm,” he rumbles low in his chest. “I can’t stand the thought of you being with anyone else, even though I know you have a past. I want you to be only mine from here on out.” There's something about this kind of possessiveness I like. Not crazy jealous but the kind that makes you feel good without having to worry.
“Are we making it exclusive?” I ask wanting it all on the table. “Just you and me, nobody else?”
“It’s only been you and me since that day we had breakfast above the cafe.”
I blink, shocked. Surely it wasn’t for lack of opportunity, the man is gorgeous and successful and in an industry teeming with people trying to get ahead. I have to ask him one more thing before I let myself
fall for him completely. “Is there anyone I need to worry about, someone you haven’t completely cut ties with? Or worse a wife?” It sounds silly but it happens.
He’s already shaking his head. “No, no wife, never anything even close to one. I’ve never had any kind of real relationship, Lily. I’ve fooled around, but nothing like this.” He waves a hand between us. “I’ve never been in love. Until you.”
I grin. “It’s kind of daunting being the first woman you’ve ever loved, the first you’ve ever really dated,” it’s daunting but also so damn thrilling. He waited to fall in love for me. That’ll put a woman’s ego on high for a lifetime.
“And tell me, how am I doing?” He says it lightly but I can tell by the look in his eye he really wants to know.
I dramatically tap my chin as if I’m thinking. “Well… wonderful dinners and breakfasts, gifts, and saying and doing all the right things, lots of sex, good looking... I guess as we Americans say, you’re the cream of the crop. Even Beth thinks you’re pretty remarkable.”
Now it’s his turn to be surprised. “Oh?” He asks, following me with his eyes as I pull on my shoes.
“She’s dubbed me Cinderella, which I guess makes you Prince Charming.”
He’s smiling like the cat who ate the canary now, utterly pleased with himself. “I’m okay with being Prince Charming, as long as I get to be wicked with you.”
“See what I mean? You’re always saying the right thing.” I tease pulling on my coat and giving Frankie a little scratch beneath his nonexistent chin. “Now I have to get going, I need to shower and change before work.” Leaning down I peck him on the lips. Pulling away fractionally before he’s pulling me in and kissing me with the finesse that reminds me why it’s called French kissing.
“Next time bring-” He stops and his eyes twinkle mischievously. He quickly says “Never mind. There’s a car waiting downstairs for you.”
“I can walk, I want to get coffee.” I protest. “You have to stop spending money on me.”
“I can’t think of a better thing to spend my money on. Now, I’ve already summoned the car, help me stimulate the French economy by taking it home.”
I roll my eyes. He's got me there, I can’t have someone take a ding to their livelihood for my pride. “Fine, but no more. I need to walk, it’s the only way I can fathom the French stay skinny with this food.”
He only shrugs and drops the towel pawing through his dresser for briefs, showing off his perfect ass. Men shouldn't get to have asses like that, it's distracting. I have to tear my eyes away. He’s purposely doing this and I’m not going to cave.
I’m at the door when he stops me. “Oh, and Lily... I love you.”
It still takes me by surprise and I stammer for a second. My heart galloping in my chest. “I love you, too.” I'm still nervous to say it. Three little words that hold so much weight. But the smile on his face makes it all worth it.
This exchange makes me positively giddy. That butterflies in your stomach, my face hurts from smiling, and my heart is beating funny, kind of giddy. I probably look crazy as I walk through his apartment building.
Hanging up my pride for the car was a good choice, it’s sprinkling rain and cold. Plus the ride gives me a chance to check my email for potential artists for the theater.
Word is somewhat circulating and I’ve gotten a few demos. The only catch is.... they aren’t good. None of the bands I’ve contacted have gotten back to me. I think it has something to do with the venue not being completed yet and the fact that it’s not owned or backed by a big corporation. And the amount we can pay isn’t enough to get a headlining group. We would okay with a local band with a good size fan base. Then it would all fall like dominoes, that show would create buzz and generate income and help us book other bands.
Brent's really counting on me. Beth has a few connections she said she’ll tap into if needed, but the artists she has in mind doesn’t fit Brent’s picture for the venue. But if push comes to shove it’s there. A very flimsy security net that no one wants to use.
The car pulls up and I tip the driver. I drag myself up the steps wishing like hell there was an elevator. Next time I wear fuck-me shoes, I’m packing flats.
Brent and Beth are standing in the kitchen. Brent eating a bowl of cereal and Beth perched on the counter with her tea. They both stop mid-conversation and stare at me. Beth smiles wickedly and Brent shakes his head.
“Never thought I’d have to do the walk of shame at my age.” I groan.
“Who’s shaming you?” Beth asks. “I’m mentally applauding you.” She does a little twirl gesture with her hand.
“I’m not shaming,” Brent says around a mouthful of marshmallow cereal. “There’s nothing to shame you for, you’ve just been lost for the last twelve hours.” I raise a brow at him. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. My innocent sister would never spend the night with The Playboy of Paris.”
He’s joking but I stop short. “The what?” I ask.
“It’s a stupid headline, Lily,” Beth replies, smacking brent on the shoulder.
“It’s catchy, but stupid.” Brent says. I can tell he feels bad about his slip.
I take a deep breath and shrug. “He’s got a past and he’s been honest about it,” I’m working through this out loud.
“That’s good, Lily. Anyone can change when the right person comes along,” Brent says. God, it hurts when he does this, but it’s also sweet when he tries to be like Dad. We both lost him but for some reason he feels he has to protect me now. Not some reason, I know the reason. I had been incredibly vulnerable and frail for a while, mentally and eventually physically. But I’m moving past it.
“Yeah, look at you, you’re almost a real boy,” I say and he laughs, the awkwardness fading from the three of us.
I’m glad, it’s hard when people treat you like glass. I’ve been shattered before and somehow I’ve picked up the pieces and created another whole thing. Different than before but the remnants making something that resembles the person I was before. And if I had to, I could do it again. That thought gives me strength. Something about realizing you’ll always survive does that to you.
A shower, clean clothes, and a cup of Beth’s famous espresso later, I’m ready to tackle the day.
When we walk into the theater I’m once again amazed at how far it’s come. The carpet has been pulled up to reveal the beautiful original hardwood floors, glazed and refinished now. The gaudy wallpaper is gone and the walls have been painted deep shades of blue, red, and black, in mixtures of mattes and glosses. The chandeliers have been dusted and repaired and twinkle when turned on, looking very much like diamonds.
And the stage, my god, the stage is spectacular. Framed by a carved scene depicting Demeter and Persephone. The stage floor has been recovered to accommodate modern bands, the lighting high tech and brilliant.
We’re still working on the rest of the venue, leveling out the stadium seating to accommodate a standing crowd. Redoing the balconies with newly upholstered opera seats for the VIP’s. And of course, redoing the offices and dressing rooms. They’ll be done relatively quickly, they don’t need the drama the rest of the theater does.
The only quiet place in the theater seems to be the swan dressing room. It’s where I’m hiding out listening to some demos. The room feels oddly empty these days, no spirits of a ballet primadonna or the opera ghost lingering about. Then again maybe my imagination is more preoccupied now than it had been.
A social media alert pops up. A new friend request. This is my private page, nothing but a photo of a generic rose as my profile picture, I'm using an alias only those closest to me know. I don't even post. It's how I see what my Mom's up to, and keep up with pop culture and whatever is buzzing on the internet that day.
Mostly I get pictures of half-naked men celebrating whatever holiday is closest courtesy of Beth and her perverted mind.
This request is from Blue Holiday Inc.
>
I accept and see that the first status update is a picture of a band in the studio. I enlarge the pic, it’s Siren’s Song.
I read the caption: our newest family members working on their EP. Big thanks to Grand Stage's booking director.
Holy shit, they've tagged us. Grand Stage is officially the theater’s name. I'm grinning ear to ear. It's got over five thousand hearts.
I flip open the iPad and open our page, we’ve doubled our followers and tripled our hearts.
Okay, Okay, I take a deep breath. I need to respond, acknowledge some kind of link between us and Nathan’s label. Besides myself that is. Congrats to Siren’s Song on joining Blue Holiday Inc. we’re looking forward to the new music.
I thought Nathan’s label was a small indie label, but with this following it looks like it’s closer to one of the big labels.
I scroll through the feed and see what has maybe led to their following, photos of big name bands in their studios. Fans love the behind the scenes glimpses the page is offering. There’s even a snippet of a new Shadows of Sins song posted by the frontman himself according to the caption.
I glance at our messages on our page. Our inbox is overwhelmingly full. I read some of the subject lines,
Haunted?
Check out our band.
Murder?
Upload more pics.
Band lineup.
Here’s our demo.
My eyes are drying out just looking at them. I’m gonna need some help.
I make my way around the stage and can hear two of the crew talking to Brent. “I don’t know how it happened, maybe an animal? But they were moved. They had fallen over like someone trying to get away in a hurry.” The man says in beautifully accented English.
My skin prickles and I shudder as a chill goes right through me.
“What are you talking about?” I ask clutching my tablet to my chest.
“Nothing, an animal got in and knocked some stuff over,” Brent shakes his head and throws his hands up in defeat. “Maybe this place is haunted.”
One of the men laugh, but the other, he goes pale as a ghost.