Someday in Paris

by Olivia Lara

  He didn’t know why he couldn’t be happier. His life wasn’t bad. He was doing well in school, he loved JJ and spending time with him, he lived in a beautiful house in the middle of Paris, and now he had Nicole; he wasn’t even alone anymore. But, still, the sadness came. And the questions. The doubts. Was he doing what he was supposed to be doing? What was missing from his life? It was like a permanent void, a longing for something he couldn’t define.

  One evening, in late December, when he came back from the Louvre, still sad and convinced nothing could make him feel better, Nicole took him in her arms. And he felt less lonely. When she kissed him and told him she loved him, he said it back. His mind told him it was right. It was a thing that made sense. Their relationship made sense. She was there; she cared for him. And he did care about her immensely. She had always been his ‘person’.

  DOMINIQUE

  19 JANUARY 1961

  PARIS

  Constance was waiting for Dominique at the airport. She looked much older than her age, had lost a lot of weight and her once beautiful, round face was dried out like a raisin. She kept her hair in a braid down her back, tied with a black bow, and she wore a simple, modest black dress with long sleeves, and a gray coat. At only thirty years old, Constance looked defeated.

  They exchanged brief pleasantries then headed to the metro that took them to Constance’s house. It was the only thing left to her by her husband that she couldn’t sell. Nobody wanted it. It was too run-down. The house was split into two separate, small apartments, on the second and third floor and on the ground floor there was a gloomy-looking coffee shop.

  That night, sitting in bed in the studio Constance put her in, Dominique couldn’t fall asleep. After tossing and turning for a few hours, she went downstairs to the coffee shop, where she had noticed some books on a shelf in the corner. Anything to occupy her mind. Sitting in the dark, looking out the window, Constance was so absorbed by her solitude she didn’t hear Dominique walk in.

  ‘Are you alright?’ asked Dominique softly.

  ‘You startled me! How long have you been standing there?’

  ‘Not long. You can’t sleep either?’

  Constance shook her head. ‘I haven’t been sleeping for over a year now, not since—’ and it sounded as if the thought alone was too painful for her.

  Dominique didn’t need explanations; she knew what her cousin felt. She’d felt it too, after her mother had died. She still felt it now, although not quite as often.

  ‘How did you find your room? Do you like it?’ asked Constance, absentmindedly.

  ‘Yes, it’s wonderful,’ said Dominique unenthusiastically. ‘What’s going on with this place? Is it closed?’

  She looked around. It seemed abandoned. Old, broken furniture, paint peeling off the walls, only a lightbulb near where the bar should’ve been, Dominique assumed.

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. It needs repairs and I don’t have the money for it. The banks are after me as it is. Oh, how I wish—’ she started but stopped, almost looking embarrassed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When we first got married, my husband and I talked about transforming this place and bringing it back to its old glory days. You know, back in the Forties, before the war, it was a wonderful place where people from all over the world gathered. They drank wine, ate the best Parisian food, listened to music, danced. It was my dream to make it happen again.’

  Her dream. Nobody could help Dominique make her dream happen, but she could help her cousin.

  ‘I’ll get a job. Two jobs. I don’t need much money. We’ll put everything aside for the café. And we can talk to the people at these banks. We can explain.’

  ‘Because bankers are so understanding? They don’t care. They need their money.’

  ‘Then we’ll work harder.’

  ‘Why would you do that? I thought you would be mad at me for not taking you to Paris when Zahara died.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault and it doesn’t matter anymore. I want to help. It would make me happy to know I did something good.’

  Constance had tears in her eyes.

  ‘Thank you. You don’t know how much this means to me.’

  *

  Before walking up the stairs, Constance stopped and turned to Dominique like she’d remembered something.

  ‘And maybe we can sell the house too,’ said Constance.

  ‘What house?’

  ‘The one in Colmar. The rent we charge is barely enough to cover the house expenses. It’s better if I just sell it. It’s just another money pit.’

  ‘No!’ said Dominique fiercely.

  That house was full of her happiest childhood memories – the home she’d shared with her mother. Dominique had always hoped one day she could go back. Maybe to visit. Maybe for good.

  ‘Please, don’t sell the house. I’ll get six jobs. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just please promise you won’t sell my home,’ she begged, a tear running down her cheek.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Constance. ‘I didn’t know it meant that much to you.’ She came over and gave Dominique a big hug. ‘I promise. We’ll find another way.’

  ALEXANDER

  20 JANUARY 1961

  COLMAR

  Alexander was getting ready to go to the Louvre, when he spotted a letter on the hallway table. It was addressed to Leon Price, at La Rolande, and forwarded to him by Mr Pillay, his former tutor and art teacher.

  Dear Mr Leon Price,

  It has come to our attention that one of the rare books in our collection, Monet’s Impressionism, was mistakenly assigned to the public space in December 1954, despite having an owner, and was delivered to us for display in the Unterlinden Museum’s library.

  Please accept our sincerest apologies for the inconvenience this might have caused you.

  The book is in our possession and we would gladly turn it over to you, if presented with acceptable proof of ownership. We apologize for not being able to mail the book but given the limited number of copies and its value, an in-person delivery is the only option we will entertain.

  Yours truly,

  Ivan Goldman

  Unterlinden Museum Curator

  He couldn’t believe it had been found. Not only that, but it was in Colmar, in their museum. Their museum. How wonderful that sounded. The more he thought about it, the more he realized a painful truth. Despite saying he had left Zara in his past, that he hadn’t thought about her, that the Colmar episode was just a memory for him, he had been lying to himself. Just the thought of something that had a connection to her made his heart beat like crazy. He wondered if maybe she had something to do with that sadness he couldn’t shake, no matter how much he smiled, how good a day was, or how well his relationship with Nicole went. But she couldn’t have anything to do with how he felt now, could she? Not after all those years. That was madness.

  Yet, mad as it was, he didn’t hesitate for a moment to plan his trip to Colmar for the next day and to talk to JJ about it.

  He knocked on his door, knowing he was always in his study in the evening.

  Alexander told JJ about the letter and the book. ‘I’m going to Colmar.’

  ‘Why do I have a feeling this is not just about the book?’

  Alexander looked down.

  ‘Maybe it’s not.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  ‘I don’t know, JJ. I wish I had an answer. I thought I was over it. Over her, but—’

  ‘Over her – you mean Zara.’

  Alexander nodded.

  JJ tried to say something, but Alexander didn’t give him a chance.

  ‘I know what you’re going to say. Please don’t. Just let me talk first,’ he said, all in one breath.

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘I’m still thinking about her six years later. Six years. Not a month. Not six months. Seven years, JJ. Nicole is amazing. She is smart and beautiful and I love her. But what I felt for Zara – what if I never feel like that again for anyone? I guess
I’m just looking for answers.’

  ‘Oh, Alexander,’ said JJ, smiling. ‘It’s normal for you to remember her now, because of the book and Colmar. What you and Zara had was lovely, but that’s the key here. It was. It passed. Nothing but a fleeting moment. Besides, I didn’t want to tell you then because you were infatuated with her, but the truth is you couldn’t have been in love with Zara. Not really. That’s not how love works. Love takes time and work. You talked to her once and exchanged a few letters. You didn’t even see her. It was no more than falling for a character in a book, and God knows, we’ve all done that at one point in our lives. Love needs to be palpable. You need to be able to explain what it is that makes you love someone. Just like you can explain to me why you love Nicole. That’s real.’

  ‘I’m not saying what Nicole and I have is not real. Of course it is. It’s just different.’

  JJ sighed. ‘Alexander, my boy, I’ll be honest with you. I never imagined we’d have this conversation now, after all these years. I was sure that story had ended. Forever.’

  ‘I thought so too,’ Alexander said.

  ‘Listen to me. I have more life experience than you do. It is rare that the first person we have feelings for is the one we end up with. Especially if these feelings seem more like an obsession. You need to let her go. Focus on the future.’

  ‘What if you’re wrong?’

  ‘What if I’m not and you’re throwing away your relationship with Nicole for nothing more than a fantasy? I love you and Nicole both, and you can’t ask me to sit around while you’re breaking my daughter’s heart. She has her flaws, God knows, but she doesn’t deserve this. I was so happy to see you and her together. She’s better because of you. She’s calmer, nicer even. She smiles more. She’s back in my life and I don’t want to lose her. I know this sounds selfish, but the two of you make a beautiful couple and I believe you’d have a great life together.’

  ‘I know all this,’ said Alexander. ‘I don’t want to throw away my relationship with Nicole. She means so much to me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. I’m not doing anything. I’m just going to Colmar to get my book back. That’s all.’

  JJ nodded, unconvinced.

  ‘Does she know?’

  ‘Not yet. But I will tell her.’

  ‘I normally wouldn’t encourage lying, but maybe in this case, you should keep it to yourself. Why put her through all that? If all you’re going to do is go there, get your book and come back, no harm done. If something else happens, she will know anyway. You will have to tell her. So, if you really feel you must do this, do it. I’ll just tell her I sent you somewhere to recover a painting. Go; get it out of your system. And maybe then you can put it behind you. For good, this time.’

  Alexander looked down and closed his eyes for a moment. ‘I’m sorry. I realize how all of this must sound to you. I wish it was different. Do you think I want to be this conflicted?’

  ‘Then why do this to yourself?’

  ‘It’s hard for me to explain. I’m having a hard time explaining it to myself. I know she’s part of my past. But she’s a part I can’t let go of. No matter how far away I am, how much time passes.’

  Alexander hugged his godfather and left.

  *

  The next morning, he went straight to the train station, got himself a ticket and by four in the afternoon he was in Colmar.

  Inexplicably, he was hopeful. But at the same time, he feared an end. The end.

  He went straight to the museum, where the curator was waiting for him.

  ‘How did the book end up at the Unterlinden?’ asked Alexander.

  ‘It was discovered by the conductor on 1 September 1954, when the train stopped in the Colmar Station and was taken to the Lost and Found office.’

  ‘I see,’ said Alexander. Incredible. Of all the places on that route, it had to stop there.

  ‘I assure you, everyone followed protocol,’ said the curator, sounding defensive. ‘The SNCF waited ninety days for the book to be claimed and only then did they contact us and ask if it was something we were interested in.’

  ‘No, no, I’m sure you did everything by the book,’ Alexander said, amused.

  ‘You see, we also took every means of precaution and perfectly preserved it,’ said the man, sounding almost proud, and showed Alexander the book. If by preserving, he meant covering it with plain yellow paper, then yes, he had done a marvelous job.

  ‘Everything is in order?’ the curator asked, watching Alexander as he inspected it.

  Alexander’s eyes stopped on the two sets of initials. L.P., then A.P.

  ‘Yes, everything is perfectly fine,’ he said.

  ‘Now, let’s go through the formalities, and the book will be back with you in no time.’

  He recovered Monet’s Impressionism, after a bit of an adventure because of his name change. But, luckily, he thought of bringing documents along and also offered JJ’s number for confirmation. In the end there was no need for the call because the curator accepted his proof of ownership. And now, the book was finally back with him.

  Straight from the museum, he went to Rue des Jardins. Finding himself in front of her house again, all the old feelings came rushing back as if they’d never left.

  He rubbed his hands together and ambled to the front gate.

  The house didn’t look abandoned, although the mailbox was full – a few days’ worth at least. But the lawn was cared for, there were flowers in the garden. He saw a curtain moving, and his heart started beating like crazy. Was it Zara? Had she come back?

  Alexander rang the doorbell until an old woman came down the steps.

  ‘I’m sorry to bother you, I’m looking for Zara.’

  ‘Who?’ asked the old woman, looking curiously at him.

  ‘Zara Ionesco.’

  ‘They all moved out, young man, years ago.’

  ‘And they never came back?’

  ‘Would you come back from Paris to live here?’

  ‘I would,’ he murmured to himself. ‘Do you by any chance know what happens to their mail?’

  The woman shrugged. ‘If it’s house related, I open it so I can pay the bills with the money we get from rent. The rest, I put in the study. Nobody seems to be using that room anyway. Too many old books, too much dust.’

  ‘I see. Could I come back later to leave something for her?’

  ‘I just told you—’ she started but Alexander didn’t let her finish.

  ‘I understand. I would still feel better if I left it with you. Maybe she will come back someday.’

  The woman shook her head sadly. ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘I’ll return shortly,’ said Alexander.

  He walked back to the museum and with a strange little smile on his face he sat on a bench in the yard, took out a pen, opened the book and started writing. He felt the inside of his coat pocket, got out a small notepad, and wrote some more. When he was done, he put the note inside the book and stayed there, looking at the museum. Somehow, someday…

  When he felt strong enough to say goodbye to their magical place, he went to a nearby store, bought a large envelope, put the book inside, sealed it and went back to Zara’s house.

  The old woman unwillingly took the package.

  Alexander had hoped there would be a chance, but deep down he’d known she wasn’t going to be in Colmar. If only one day she would come back, find his package and then she would know. She would understand. He’d always hated the thought that she left thinking he didn’t care about her. It broke his heart, when all he wanted was to see her, when all he felt was for her. If only she knew.

  DOMINIQUE

  20 JANUARY 1961

  PARIS

  The next morning, Dominique grabbed the paper, looking for jobs.

  She went to several interviews. Secretary, archiver, baker, seamstress, librarian.

  It was a long day, and as the sun set, she found herself walking towards the Louvre. Where she’d wanted to go all day long. The reason she�
��d come to Paris in the first place.

  Going from room to room, she finally found it. The dimly lit hallway, in the west corner of the museum. Three paintings on the walls. One of them, the willow Monet.

  In front of it, the bench from her dream.

  She was there, where he had been so many times. Her dreams told her. Dominique sat, where he sat, looking at the painting and waiting. An hour. Two. It was getting late.

  She got up to leave when she heard footsteps. Her heart pounded.

  Someone was coming her way.

  Dominique walked to the painting across from the Monet, pretending to look at it.

  The footsteps stopped. A man showed up in the archway and Dominique held her breath.

  A tall man with dark hair. Dark hair, like the boy in Newport. What a curious thought.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ he said in a gentle voice. ‘I didn’t know anyone else was in here.’

  ‘Hello,’ she answered, hearing her voice like it was someone else’s.

  She took a better look at him. He had something noble about his manners and way of speaking. And he was handsome. He was a bit older than her, olive-skinned with big, round, kind eyes. He wore thick-framed eyeglasses and an impeccable black suit that gave him a smart, chic look.

  Dominique blushed, realizing that she was studying him.

  ‘Are you alone? Waiting for someone?’

  She smiled. ‘I’m—’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.’

  ‘Don’t apologize,’ she said, looking into his eyes and hoping to see or feel the certainty. Was it him? Her mother said she would just know. But how could she be sure?