To the Paris of our dreams

by Tomas Goncalves

  But... was that what he really wanted to do? What he was feeling like doing those days?

  He had contradictories thoughts about Montreal: In any case, if he decided to go back, it would never be like it was before. Not with the way he had left things.

  And finally there was the Katherine factor... Did he still hope that she would call him or just show up in Paris looking for him?

  Yes... he still had hopes at that point, although he was starting to wonder what was going on with her.... I mean, he thought he had made things right last time they had seen each other

  Still, that would happen less than two weeks later...Well, kind of...

  Eric had a meeting with his dad and his dad's sexy assistant, who was more and more involved on his company those days. If Eric could, he would have given all the money Mike needed. It was an insane amount, but he would have given it to him without thinking twice. Did he have that kind of money? On paper, yeah he did, but because of his lasts investments on his company with Tom and his dad, he didn't have that kind of money available, not like that. His dad didn't have that kind of money either. They were getting more and more desperate. What good is money when you can't help your friends when they are in need? Eric always liked money for giving him power, but now, it was just worse to know how much he had and that he couldn't touch it to help Mike, at all. He was feeling stupid and powerless.

  In the days that followed, Eric spoke to Tom, Marie, Liam, Jack, even Richard. Everyone willing to help, no one with anything near of what Mike needed. It was impossible, not even close, and they would all have gotten stuck in a very bad position too.

  It was ridiculous.

  That happened a bit before his dad went back to Toulouse, and the farewell was tense: Everyone was running out of money to try to save Mike's situation and no one had any idea of how to get to the necessary amount: Mike was afraid of losing the apartment, or the school, in the months to come.

  All of that was hurting Mike's energy and pride in a very aggressive way. That was even reflecting on the dinners at their place that were getting quieter and more awkward each night. In some of them they really tried their best to break the ice and had a bearable dinner, but it was obvious that everyone was worried. Jan was also kind of crashing on their place now, because he was not having a very comfortable situation monetary-ise in Paris: Liam and Jack's friends were long gone. When Alice decided to stay a bit more in Paris, she had to go back to work for her aunt at her library: She now was totally depending on that job to survive there. She even started to question herself if it wasn't her time to go back home, but she ended up staying for gratitude to Eric, Mike and everyone else. She would help anywhere as possible, but there was not much she could do. She didn't have a penny to help.

  Things were starting to fall apart. Two weeks went by. Nothing.

  Three weeks since Eric has spoken to his father and nothing new to that situation.

  The dinners getting quieter, people getting more worried.

  ... All of that for being naive, for being stupid. For a dream.

  Marie and Tom met on a public square near Tom's apartment.

  She said she needed to talk to him, and as she sounded a bit anxious, he assumed that it was something related to Eric, or her family. After all, it wouldn't be the first time.

  As soon as he saw her face though, he was sure it wasn't.

  - Hey Marie...

  - Hi, Tom

  She was clearly nervous. Somehow, he had an intuition on what that was all about.

  - Tom, there's something I need to tell you...

  - Ok...

  - I'm really sorry, but I don't know how to tell you this so.... I'm sorry if it's not in the best way.

  - Marie... – Tom smiled

  - Ok...ok...

  She paused for a second.

  -...Katherine was here

  -What? - He suddenly went in shock

  - Katherine was here. Not like here, heere...I meant here, Paris.

  -... When? Is she still here?

  - I think she spent the last three or four days here. She came to visit my sister and some friends... I just got to know that yesterday afternoon, because she was at my place with my sister, chilling at the pool and I saw her. I saw her, Tom. I talked to her and everything...

  Tom was in complete silence. He spoke the next four words very slowly, tense:

  -...Is she still here?

  -...No - Marie was showing pain in her face when she said that, knowing what that would cause on Tom. Then she quickly started talking again – Apparently she left this morning. I'm only telling you now because I wanted to tell you this personally, and...Well... in case...she...you know...wanted to see you.

  Tom was again in complete silence.

  - I am soo sorry, Tom. I'm so sorry for telling you like this. I don't even know if I should've but I thought you needed to know...I'm really sorry, man. Are you ok? Tom? Talk to me...

  After several moments, Tom finally said:

  - … Its ok, Marie – His voice was showing an incredible amount of exhaustion and melancholy

  - Tom...

  He went back into his silence. Once again she tried to call him off.

  - Tom...

  - It's ok Marie... She came, and spent four days shopping and partying with her friends, enjoying your pool and running around Paris.... It's ok, we all know what she's trying to say with that... Or maybe she just doesn't give a fuck, right? What does it matter now...

  - Tom...

  Tom, the strongest man in the world, felt suddenly very tired and weak. He was feeling like his legs weren't able to sustain his weight, so he just sat down at the bench near Marie.

  Marie had no idea on what to say, she was just looking to her best friend, feeling all his pain with him. She would eventually hug him and soon after she would start quietly crying on his shoulder.

  What it felt like an hour later, they stood up and walked until Tom's place, without saying a single word.

  They spent the rest of the day – and night – there.

  Marie refused to leave her friend alone and Tom knew it was useless to insist. He needed her there.

  Tom spent hours in that depressed silence, completely distant.

  Hours and hours later, in the silence of the night, he started to silently cry for several minutes, and Marie felt like dying for not being able to do anything to help him. She just hugged him and let him cry on her shoulders. After he was done, he just said:

  - I have to get out of here, Marie...

  - What? … Where? Where do you wanna go?

  - I don't know, I'm feeling claustrophobic, I need to walk... I just need to get out of here...

  - Ok, sure, let's go... - She kissed his head and caressed his hair.

  They walked for hours in the middle of the night, most of the time without saying anything. Then Tom started to talk about his life, about Katherine, about Eric, about his philosophy of life, dreams and everything... he was in pain, he needed to let it all off of his chest. He was finally giving up and it was just too painful.

  Marie listened, walked with him, and tried to support him. And she would have walked with him to the end of the world.

  Mike's situation stayed the same for weeks.

 
Mike doing whatever he could to renegotiate his debts and everyone else trying to keep living their lives: Nothing had changed and yet nothing was the same.

  It seems like they weren't able to have fun anymore. Mike seemed to have gotten years older in the weeks that followed the festival and the bad news, all due to the pressure that he was facing. He wasn't sleeping properly, nor eating properly. He was still working insane hours and was trying to not let anyone see how bad he was truly feeling. He probably had no idea on how he was going to get out of that mess.

  Tom, on his side of the story, soon started to work out in an insane way, even for him, because it was one of the few things that was making him feel less miserable. No one actually knew exactly what he was doing with his life those days: He would sometimes go to the school to try to help a bit, but as Mike was not being very cooperative and talkative, almost refusing to talk about his debts and his problems, Tom started to get frustrated with all of that.

  He wouldn't be able to help Mike unless Mike accepted help on dealing with his problem, and it seemed like not only he was refusing to talk about it, but also sort of trying to pretend it didn't exist sometimes. He was working like an insane person in the school as if that would be the solution for his problems, but Tom knew it wouldn't. It was a great start, but alone it wouldn't do much.

  The only person who apparently was talking to Tom more often was Marie. Truth is, Tom's own presence was vanishing away: Eric was too busy with Mike and with the school to notice what happened to his friend, and because Tom was way better to hide things than Mike.

  Eric ended up trying to take the responsibility of making a miracle: the miracle of diminishing that pressure from over Mike's shoulders.

  Things were not even looking good for their band: They weren't in a very comfortable situation with their studio, or the company that took care of their concerts and image, or with Richard, that was always “too busy” now with other projects, even though he genuinely got concern with Mike's situation. If they were able to make a small tour, of five or six months and everyone could donate or borrowed half of their pay to Mike, they would have had a freaking easy time, but now it didn't seemed like an option: Mike didn't want to abandon his school, there was not much interest on getting them back on tour, and it had been forever since they had release new material.

  Eric had to start to face the fact that maybe his band was also fading away. For good. I mean, Liam and Jack were already back to the States, making gigs with other bands, for weeks and weeks now.

  There was also the fact that they would never let Isadora and Gustavo alone in Paris like that either. One more month went by and nothing changed. Nothing was getting done.

  Finding a solution was apparently impossible, and things didn't seemed like they could get much worse at point.

 

  It was in this context that one day, a young woman, saying to be a journalist, asked to talk to Eric. He had a bit of free time so he accepted to talk for fifteen minutes.

  - Do you want a coffee? - Eric

  - Hmm, I think it would be better if we could speak in private...

  - Sure, no problem. I think we have a room available. Let me check.... - He came back seconds later – Yeah, we have it for some half an hour or so...

  - Perfect

  - Ok, but I do need a coffee before...

  She seemed to be really young and a bit nervous: Eric assumed that she was a newbie and that she hadn't actually interviewed anyone, or at least not that many people before. He actually tried to be nice to make her feel more comfortable.

  When they were already seating in the office room, Eric noticed that she had a big yellow envelope in hands: He hadn't noticed since when.

  - Soo...How can I help you today...? - Eric smiled

  - Jessica. You can call me Jessica

  Eric smiled at her

  - All right, Jessica...You're from the US, aren't you?

  - Guilty...

  - From where?

  - Manhattan

  - Nice.... a bit far from home, hun?

  She just smiled in a forced way.

  - Truth is Eric... May I call you Eric?

  - Sure...

  - I need you to see something – She put the envelope closer to Eric

  - Ahn... Ok

  Eric slowly opened the envelope and realized that there were dozens and dozens of papers... Documents.

  He looked at her again, and she just kept smiling at the same way, indicating he should focus on the envelope.

  That's what Eric started to do, and he could have never imagined what was in there:

  He opened the first folder, and in less than five seconds he knew he had lost it: his face got pale and terrified, and the more he read and looked through the documents, the more he felt like the world was opening beneath his feet. He felt his heart wanting to explode, and as if time was slowing down. He was feeling hot: He was feeling like dying.

  It was all there: The police report about that night, the process... Everything.

  Pictures with a lot of blood. The gun, the wounds, the place, the bodies, the faces, the data from everyone involved, the police officers, the attorneys, and the process.

  Everything was there.

  Everything was in Portuguese, and there were copies in English of everything.

  Eric couldn't believe it. He felt like drowning in the air. He felt that room compressing his whole existence. He knew that at that moment, he wouldn’t be able to stand up even if his life depended on that.

  He looked at her, but wasn't able to say anything.

  - ...Eric, you have a really nice story to tell... and thaats why I’m here: so that you can give me your side of the story....

  She kept looking at Eric, but when she realized he wouldn't say anything, she kept going:

  - People are going to freak out about this story... You are finally giving an explanation about all your aggressive behavior... and how you are recovering from your problems...and from this... Isn't that an amazing story? I think so... We, Americans, we loove stories like that, you know that, right?

  Eric sat back on his chair: he thought he was having difficulty to breath, and like it was a million degrees in that room.

  He read what looked like a draft for a news article that she was planning to do, and she was being extremely mean and acid: She wanted Eric guilty for all of that. It would definitely sell more. “They were never able to implicate him” “Lack of proofs” “influence of Eric's family” “Brazilian tendency to political and justice corruption” “Spoiled rich kid?” Everything just to say: Eric was a murderer, former drug dealer, and he wasn't in jail for being a minor in Brazil when that happened, and because they never got enough evidence against him. Because that's how things work in that third world country. A shitty article for a gossip magazine.

  - You don't have anything to declare, Eric?

  - You... You are distorting what happened to make me look guilty, only to sell more...?

  - … Part of my job

  - ...No, No its not... And I don’t think you are after my version. You already have my version on these papers...

  - That was seven years ago, darling...

  - … Well, the truth sta
ys the same... I'm not what you're trying to make me look like.

  - I guess you're right... I have to do my best though, right?

  Eric for the first time, gave a little cynical smile.

  - Sure...

  - So... Nothing to declare? Are you sure?

  - No, nothing else to declare

  - Hmm... Ok then. That's a shame.

  Eric shook his head. It was real, it was not a nightmare. But the girl started talking again:

  -... Eric, let me put this way: I'm not this kind of journalist. Gossip and whatnot... It won't be any helpful for the career I want to have. I really really hated to dig this kind of dirt about someone... but what can I say, I saw an opportunity and I took it.

  - … So don't publish it. If you really looked into the story, you know I'm not this guy you're describing.

  She just smiled

  - I imagine you're a nice guy and all. I really do... And you also have a lot of money. Aaand you know the good part about having money? You are always going to be the priority when it comes to... Sell a story, for example. I imagine that it is more helpful to you to have this story hidden than for the world to read in some gossip magazine, right?

  Eric kept looking at her.

  - Are you blackmailing me?

  - Technically, no. I'm offering you the opportunity to buy this story from me. If you don't want to, I'll sell it to someone else and it's going to be on his or her conscious if this ever gets published or not. I'm not threatening you with anything. I am giving you an option. A way out. A way you will never have to worry about this coming to public... I'm a freelance journalist, nobody own this story yet - She paused for a second - I made friends that helped me to dig this. They would be pretty pleased in keeping this hidden too, it doesn't matter to them...

  - Of course you are...

  Jessica shrugged her shoulders

  - Anyway, put it the way you want.