Someday in Paris

by Olivia Lara

  ‘I’m kind of tired,’ said Vincent, giving her a rather pointed look.

  Alexander said nothing.

  Dominique said nothing.

  ‘What’s wrong with you? You’re acting like old people. Let’s go. This party is so over.’

  Alexander looked at Dominique and smiled. A small, almost apologetic smile.

  Dinner or no dinner, it was already a disaster.

  And she could buy herself some time. With him.

  What a bad person she was. Thinking of him even then. Vincent was next to her and the only thing she was preoccupied with was how to squeeze in five more minutes with Alexander although he was clearly taken. They both were.

  ‘Let’s go,’ insisted Nicole. ‘I hope you boys didn’t drink so you can drive.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ mumbled Alexander. Vincent nodded.

  Alexander and Nicole went to Alexander’s car and Vincent and Dominique to Vincent’s.

  ‘We’ll see you there,’ said Nicole.

  ‘Is everything alright?’ asked Vincent on the way back to Paris.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Are you excited about dinner?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said absentmindedly.

  ‘Did you see that Siberian tiger on the side of the road?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Vincent stopped talking.

  A couple of seconds later, Dominique turned to him. ‘I’m sorry. You were saying?’

  ‘Are you sure you’re alright? You seem distracted.’

  ‘I’m just tired, I guess.’

  They got to Café de Flore before Alexander and Nicole.

  ‘Monsieur Saint Germain, what a pleasure. Let me take you to your table,’ said the hostess, walking up to Vincent.

  ‘You have a table here?’ asked Dominique.

  ‘I used to have dinner at this restaurant every week back when—’

  The maître d’ came to their table and bowed slightly before Vincent. ‘We’re honored to serve you tonight, Monsieur Saint Germain.’

  Vincent nodded absentmindedly. ‘Can you bring us a bottle of ’43 Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin?’

  ‘Right away, Monsieur Saint Germain.’

  Nicole and Alexander joined just as the waiter brought the bottle and the glasses.

  ‘Champagne, how nice of you,’ said Nicole, sounding painfully fake. ‘My favorite.’

  ‘What made you choose this place?’ asked Vincent, looking at Nicole.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s nice. I – I missed it.’

  Dominique wondered what was going on between them. Above all, though, what was she doing on that double date, sitting across from a man she couldn’t even look at without blushing?

  ‘Tell me, Vincent, how did you two meet?’ asked Nicole.

  Vincent stared at her, clenching his jaw.

  ‘We bumped into each other at the Louvre and we’ve been together ever since.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ said Nicole, showing her perfect white teeth.

  Barely above whisper level, Dominique asked, ‘What about you?’

  ‘Did you say something?’ asked Nicole.

  ‘I was asking how you and Alexander met.’

  ‘Us? Oh, that’s such a lovely story, isn’t it, love?’ she said and looked at Alexander. ‘We grew up together actually. We’re childhood sweethearts.’

  Alexander stared into space.

  Dominique noticed Vincent and Nicole were giving each other these occasionally aggressive, occasionally strange looks over the table.

  ‘What is it that you do exactly, Alexander?’ asked Vincent.

  ‘I am an art dealer for AngeD’Art.’

  ‘Don’t be modest, love. You are not just an art dealer,’ intervened Nicole. She looked at Vincent defiantly. ‘He’s one of the best art dealers in Europe.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not true, Nicole,’ said Alexander, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘So you’re like a sales agent for paintings?’ pushed Vincent.

  Alexander forced himself to smile. ‘In layman’s terms, yes.’

  ‘What about your restoration plans? Tell him about that,’ blurted out Dominique.

  Vincent and Nicole gave her deadly looks, but Alexander smiled at her, the kind of smile that made her feel she could do no wrong. Even if she had said something inappropriate, even if she’d put him on the spot, it was alright.

  ‘I am interested in art restoration as well and I’m seriously considering it as a career. There are so many valuable paintings just sitting around in museum basements, in someone’s attic or hanging in a hallway or kitchen next to the stove where they cook fried eggs. Most people don’t know they are destroying works of art. Almost always they don’t even understand their value. I could salvage them and have them restored. Even if I don’t end up selling them, they could be shown in museums for everyone to admire.’

  Vincent coughed suggestively. Dominique looked at him and he motioned her with his head as if to say, ‘This is too serious and boring for a dinner conversation.’ The truth was, for a minute there, she had forgotten he was even at the table. Or Nicole. It was just Alexander and her.

  ‘My mother has paintings all over the place. Gauguin, Modigliani, Klimt, Picasso. I distinctly remember some are dangerously close to the kitchen. Or was it the bathroom? I don’t know,’ said Vincent and laughed. ‘Alexander, you should stop by and take a look. Save them.’

  Dominique and Alexander looked at each other and completely ignored him.

  ‘Dominique,’ said Vincent louder.

  She turned to him like she’d been hit by lightning. ‘Sorry, did you say something?’

  The waiter interrupted. ‘Are you ready to order now?’

  Nicole answered first. ‘I’d like the coq au vin.’

  ‘Steak and frites for me,’ said Dominique.

  ‘Same for me,’ said Alexander as soon as she finished ordering.

  The waiter looked at him. ‘Coq au vin or steak, monsieur?’

  Alexander smiled wide. ‘Steak, please.’

  ‘Then I’ll have the coq au vin,’ said Vincent.

  The air was charged with tension and even the waiter felt it. Dominique saw it in his face.

  ALEXANDER

  9 DECEMBER 1963, 10 P.M.

  PARIS

  Dominique was every bit as fantastic as he thought she would be. He was so mesmerized by her and so fascinated by their conversation that he started thinking about ways to get Nicole and Vincent out of the picture, without being too obvious.

  He felt what he’d always dreamed he would feel. Those feelings and those tingling butterflies, that amazement when someone else was talking. The more time he spent with Dominique, the more he realized what he had been missing.

  The night was almost over but he didn’t want it to end. What if they never saw each other again? He couldn’t let that happen.

  When the dinner was over, they all walked outside. It smelled like… was it possible? Yes, it smelled like jasmine. ‘I’ll have to leave my car and send the driver to pick it up. We’ll get taxis,’ said Vincent.

  ‘I’ve had very little to drink,’ said Alexander. ‘I can drive.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. We’ll get a taxi,’ insisted Vincent.

  Ten minutes later, no luck.

  ‘You won’t find a taxi at this hour,’ said Alexander to Vincent. ‘I can take everyone home, no problem.’

  Vincent either didn’t realize what he’d agreed to, or he felt cornered into agreeing.

  ‘Who’s first?’ asked Alexander, trying to sound casual. He knew very well who was first.

  Vincent. He lived in Saint-Germain-des-Prés, the most expensive area in Paris. Of course. Next, JJ’s house where he and Nicole lived.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Nicole when he dropped her off.

  ‘I have to take Dominique home as well,’ he said.

  She was quiet for a moment. ‘Don’t stay long,’ she finally said and walked into the house.

  ‘
Where do you live, Dominique?’ Alexander asked when they were left alone in the car.

  ‘Rue Amélie, in the seventh, near Champ de Mars. But you shouldn’t go to all this trouble for me. It’s not far from here; I could walk. It’s such a beautiful night and I love Paris when it snows.’

  They had made it to the end of his street when he stopped the car. ‘Do you want to walk?’

  ‘Sure. That’s fine,’ she said and opened the door. ‘Thank you. Have a great evening.’

  He smiled, got out of the car and followed her.

  ‘Where are you going? Your house is the other way,’ she asked, visibly confused.

  ‘Aren’t we walking?’

  ‘We?’

  ‘If that’s alright with you.’

  She nodded, and he hoped he didn’t make her uncomfortable. That was the last thing he wanted.

  DOMINIQUE

  9 DECEMBER 1963, 11 P.M.

  PARIS

  When they got out of the car, it was so hushed, except for the snow crunching under their feet. The moon was perfectly round, like a brie wheel. Dominique felt Alexander’s gaze on her and it made her both comfortable and nervous.

  Now that they were alone, she could tell him anything, but she was tongue-tied. I don’t want this night to end, she thought. If it ends, it will all go back to how it was. A world you’re not part of. What I feel now with you, I’m afraid I will never feel again. If this is love, I’ve been missing it all my life.

  No, she couldn’t say that. It was all too crazy and irresponsible. She caught him gazing at her again and, afraid he’d guessed what she was thinking, she looked away.

  ‘Tell me about yourself. About your job as an art curator,’ he said sounding nervous.

  ‘Intern art curator. I have a few years until I finish school. What do you want to know?’

  ‘Everything. What is your favorite painting from the collection you help manage?’

  ‘There are so many. I recently finished restoring one that’s close to my heart. It is a lily pond painting by Monet.’

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘Monet?’

  ‘Yes, he’s my favorite.’

  ‘I liked him too, a long time ago,’ said Alexander.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Too many things. Painful things.’

  ‘All I know is that once you discover Monet, you can’t help but love him,’ she said.

  They continued walking. A window closing broke the silence.

  ‘I’d love to stop by the Marmottan sometime. Maybe you can help me rediscover Monet,’ he said.

  They were getting close to her apartment building. She wasn’t ready.

  ‘It’s just around the corner,’ Dominique said.

  ‘Oh, so soon?’ he said, sounding just like she felt. She wanted more time. She wanted to stop him from leaving; she wanted him to stop her from leaving.

  It was wrong. But how could something be wrong when it felt so right?

  ALEXANDER

  9 DECEMBER 1963, 11 P.M.

  PARIS

  Walking next to her, talking to her, listening to her beautiful voice, and looking into her eyes. It was perfection as he’d never dared to dream before. He didn’t feel the cold or how tired he was, and he wasn’t thinking about the consequences. It was just them that night and he would’ve done anything to keep it going.

  Alexander wanted to get to know her, to be part of her world, even if it was for just a short while. Even if the next day she said it was a bad idea, that she had someone else, he had someone else. Tonight, there was no one else. There was nothing else in their perfect little world except the snowflakes that danced around and sat quietly on her face, the tree branches that bowed as they passed, and the lights that flickered to let them know they were taken care of. Guided.

  How many times in life can you feel the same thing? He was feeling now the exact same way he’d felt ten years before for Zara. And if he didn’t know her name was different, he could’ve sworn Dominique was Zara. Because his heart was telling him such love could only happen once.

  Dominique stopped next to a tree, took her gloves off and picked up a flower someone had probably thrown away. A small, almost lifeless white rose. ‘I’m going to save it,’ she said. ‘I will take it home and care for it.’

  He smiled.

  She did the same with a book, so wet you couldn’t see the printed words anymore.

  She hid it under her coat and walked on like nothing had happened.

  ‘I love books,’ she said. ‘I’ve always loved books. They’re like a magic gateway to, well, to everywhere. To all the places we’ll never go to, to all the people we’ll never meet.’

  ‘I studied literature in college before art,’ he said.

  ‘Then you must know what I’m talking about. What made you change your mind?’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Art?’

  ‘I think it’s because you can only ignore your heart for so long before it takes over.’

  She stopped and, for a moment, he thought she would say something, but she didn’t.

  When their hands accidentally touched, a lightning bolt shot through his body. He wanted to feel that again. But not by accident. On purpose. Would he offend her though? Would she run away if he tried holding her hand? What if she thought he did that all the time and he was that kind of man? After all, she didn’t know him. Oh, but he wanted her to know him. All of him. The good, the bad, the scary, the embarrassing, the funny and the painful. He wanted to tell her about his father, about his past. Yet, when she asked about his family, he avoided the subject. It was too soon. He worried she wouldn’t like him anymore if she found out about his broken family. About what his father had done, and how his mother didn’t care about him.

  Time went by too quickly. They walked some more, talking and enjoying each other’s company. With her, he felt something he couldn’t define at first, but the familiarity of her presence was what he had experienced as a boy in Alsace. The same intensity, passion, and heartbreak when he thought about saying goodbye. No, he didn’t want to say goodbye.

  DOMINIQUE

  9 DECEMBER 1963, 11.30 P.M.

  PARIS

  ‘We’re here,’ she said when she saw the coffee shop downstairs.

  ‘Already?’ said Alexander, the regret poignant in his tone.

  A car stopped at the curb, in front of them. It was one of Vincent’s Rolls-Royces.

  ‘Vincent,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘Is everything alright? What are you doing here?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have left you alone,’ he said, looking intently into her eyes.

  Then he turned to Alexander. ‘I didn’t realize you live in this neighborhood too.’

  His tone gave Dominique chills.

  Alexander raised his eyebrows and looked straight at Vincent but didn’t say anything.

  Vincent turned back to Dominique. ‘I wanted to make sure you got home alright. Let me take you upstairs,’ Vincent said and took her arm, almost a little too tightly.

  Just as Vincent opened the door, Dominique turned around. She didn’t know what unknown, invisible force made her do it. She turned to see if Alexander was still there, to see him one more time. He was walking in the opposite direction and turned at the same time. Their eyes met, yet again. That moment. That look. Was that when she knew her life would never be the same again?

  DOMINIQUE

  11 MARCH 1964

  PARIS

  At the beginning of spring, on a Wednesday, she was supposed to meet Vincent after her weekly shift at Le Petit Coin to have dinner with him and his family. Dominique had struggled in the last three months. As much as she tried to forget about that night, about Alexander, she couldn’t let go. It worried her and made her feel guilty that Vincent might suspect something was different about her, so she tried extra hard, calling him out of the blue, just to hear his voice, buying him small presents, suggesting they go away somewhere for a weekend, or two, thinking the
more time they spent together, the easier it would be for her to forget about Alexander. To forget about that impossible dream. Because it was just that. She was ridiculous and childish to still think about him.

  She and Constance had just reopened Le Petit Coin a couple of weeks before, and it was still a bit hectic. They had been working on it for over a year – painting, remodeling, bringing in new furniture and doing final touch-ups – but they had finally made it. The charming little restaurant with a pleasant terrace for dining in the warmer months was unrecognizable. They did their best to restore the interior as closely as possible to the ambiance and feel of its golden days with red leather booths, a zinc bar, and soft candlelight plus a single bar-like small table next to the window for people-watching – which immediately became Dominique’s favorite spot.

  Constance reworked the menu as well and hired two more people. On the first day, they had no customers. Same on the second day. And the third. On the fourth, a young couple came in and had coffee. The next day, a group of people had lunch. By the end of the week, you couldn’t find a table at rush hour. Word got around that the café had the best food, music, and ambiance in the area. Masses of people trickled in, and they never stopped coming.

  That Wednesday, Dominique was running late for lunch at the café, before her afternoon shift. The deal with Constance was for her to work there one day a week after school, and then to help out with planning, buying supplies, and reservations when she had time during the week. Dominique walked in, went straight to the kitchen and got herself a plate while trying not to step on Constance’s toes. She threw together her usual ham and cheese brioche topped with a fried egg and béchamel sauce. A glass of sparkling water with mint syrup and she was all set. But her favorite spot was taken. A man was sitting with his back to her, looking out the window.

  She didn’t need to see his face. She didn’t need to hear his voice. It was him. Alexander. How and why he was there she didn’t know. Just like she didn’t know what to do. She took a step back and tripped on a chair that fell to the ground. By the time she picked it up, he was standing next to her. Smiling.