A Second Chance in Paris

by Ziv Amit

  After a few seconds he smiles at me with approval and asks The Beauty, “What do you think?”

  “She’s beautiful and sexy,” she says smilingly, continuously looking into my eyes, as if trying to figure out if I had cried earlier.

  I like her answer and I smile at them.

  “Shall we look for something additional for the shoot?” he asks and I start getting excited again.

  The Beauty walks over to the clothes rail and starts looking for another outfit and I join her in the search, walking around the shop freely, dressed in a shiny black corset which I can’t breathe in and is making my breasts look like round balls, completely ignoring the other couple who just arrived in the basement in search for an outfit to suit their sex games.

  Later on, when we leave the shop, me with two bags and a smile and the photographer with The Beauty’s purchases, she lets go of his hand for a moment, presses against me and brings her lips close to my ear.

  “Were you crying earlier?” she asks.

  “No, I had something in my eye,” I lie to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispers to me.

  I smile at her, hoping they’ll take me with them so that I don’t have to go back to the hotel.

  Hotel, Room 314, Early Evening

  Adam

  “She was here and went back out again,” I think to myself as I turn on the lights and survey the room while standing by the front door. She’s not here, but her side of the bed is messy, it seems that The Little One had been here and slept. The curtains by the window are drawn open and evening light fills the room. I put my jacket on the bed and sit beside it. Hours of searching throughout the city have brought no results except for the discovery that she had been here while I was out, been and gone. I’m starting to feel like I’m missing something here, I feel like I’m not searching for her in the right places.

  “At least she hasn’t packed her stuff and gone to a different hotel.”

  “Plus you bought her a book for a present, that’s important.” I take the book out of the jacket pocket and look at it. What difference does having this book make if I can’t find her?

  “I should have waited for her at the hotel,” I think to myself with frustration, I wasted hours looking for her all over town and she had been here all along. I get up and wander around the little room, looking for something to do. I spontaneously take my smartphone out and send her a message.

  She doesn’t reply, I wait and wait and she doesn’t reply, I wander around the room for a little bit longer. No reply from her.

  Another wander around and a few more minutes pass by and another glance at the silent smartphone.

  “That’s it, she’s decided to screen me.”

  “Maybe she was busy doing something and didn’t hear the message ping?” I try to calm down the feeling of unease.

  “Yeah, just like when she didn’t hear the message pings when she left me that time, didn’t hear the phone for days, whole days without replying to me, until one day she decided to come back,” I talk to myself cynically.

  “Calm down, she hasn’t left you, her things are still here,” but no matter how I try to calm myself down it’s unsuccessful, I know I’m probably over-exaggerating with my reaction and she’ll probably reply soon, but my thoughts are all over the place. I walk back and forth across the tiny room, it’s too small and it can’t contain me right now.

  “Go shower, wash off this day, it’ll do you good.” I toss the clothes messily on the bed and go to the shower, wash myself off with cool water, so that I get a little bit cold. I want to make myself suffer a bit, take revenge on myself for everything I had done, I deserve a little bit of suffering.

  I dry myself with rough strokes, trying to remain collected, but I’m finding it difficult to stay calm. I don’t want to stay in the room, sit around and wait for her for hours until she decides to come back here or reply to my message. Waiting for her reply is stressing me out.

  Pants, shirt, sweater, everything quickly covering me. The jacket that was laying on the bed and the key card in my pocket, I shut the door behind me and walk through the hallway.

  I just feel like I have to get out of that room, get out of this hotel and go, though I’m not sure where to.

  Alexandre III Bridge, Evening

  Kate

  I’m not yet sure where we’re going, am I going over to their house with them to do the photoshoot? It seemed so earlier, but now I’m not really sure and I’m finding it uncomfortable to raise the subject. If they don’t offer me that soon then I’ll part company from them and return to the hotel, I don’t want to be a burden, I hate feeling like someone’s taking me in out of pity. The photographer is walking behind us, busy with his smartphone, The Beauty and I are walking side by side ahead of him. Little droplets of rain fall occasionally, not the kind that would force us to run through the streets or feel sorry for not having taken an umbrella with us. The boulevard of street lamps across the bridge is fully lit, and the lights of the cars flash against the marble pillars, coloring them yellow.

  The bridge is almost entirely barren of people and I don’t stall to look at the pretty lights, also ignoring the sparkling Eiffel Tower, which shines from afar as though it were a lighthouse warning me about danger. There’s only one couple here, standing with their backs to us, she’s leaning on the rail and looking at the water, not at the man standing next to her, he’s talking to her and giving her flowers. “I love getting flowers,” The Beauty whispers to me and tightens her grip on my arm momentarily. “Me too,” I answer her and smile, but I don’t stop to look at them, I look at the lights of the cars crossing the bridge.

  Taxi ride, Evening

  Kate

  We’re in the darkness of the taxi’s back seat, driving through the city. I’m sitting between them, listening to the tires knocking against the wet pavestones of the road. The Beauty’s hand is gently placed on my thigh, she’s playing with her nails, drawing invisible circles and lines, and the photographer’s hand is placed on my other thigh with a sense of ownership, as if I belong to him.

  “We’ve been invited to meet at the club,” the photographer announced a few moments prior as we were walking through the streets, leaving me confused, what was I thinking? To be honest, I wasn’t really thinking, I was hoping that we were going to his apartment for a photoshoot, but actually I wasn’t really prepared for the occasion. I hadn’t showered since noon and I hadn’t shaved my legs and we never even talked about it. “Do you really want him to photograph you? And what if he’ll want more than to just take photos? Do you really want that? You have, I mean, you had a partner for this romantic vacation, do you remember that?” I stood in the middle of the street, looking at the two of them exchanging words which I couldn’t understand. Occasionally they added a word or two I could understand but I was already dizzy from all of my thoughts, I needed to stop for a minute and collect myself. I felt like the last few days had been an emotional rollercoaster, I was sometimes happy and laughing and sometimes wanting to vomit.

  “Tomorrow night is my last night on this vacation,” I said with hesitation and they paused their discussion and stared at me.

  “Excellent,” the photographer said after a few seconds, taking on the role of the decision maker, “then come with us to the club.”

  “And what about my photoshoot, which I haven’t yet decided if I really want or not?” I thought to myself sadly, I didn’t dare ask. I thought you wanted to photograph me, even though I hadn’t shaved my legs and I’m not a model and I’m not that pretty.

  The Beauty looked at me and said a few sentences to the photographer, I looked at them, trying to decipher what they were saying, waiting for their verdict.

  “Of course,” he answered her and looked at me, “and tomorrow night you’ll come over and we’ll photograph you.”

  I smiled at him through the darkness. I w
as on a roller-coaster of thoughts and fears, but I smiled nonetheless.

  “Tomorrow is your final night, we’ll have to celebrate,” he added and smiled back at me.

  I wanted to celebrate too, even though I wasn’t quite sure how to, and why everything had gotten so messy. I was missing a hug. “I hope you find me a little bit special, and that you haven’t simply added me to the list of tourists you collect on a weekly basis like you do your models,” I kept my fears to myself, didn’t dare say them out loud.

  We’re in the darkness of the taxi’s back seat on our way to the club, or dance bar or something along those lines, and I feel their hands on my thighs. All my senses are sharpened towards the points of contact where their fingers are stroking me, I’m entirely concentrated on the feeling of their fingers over my skin.

  The Beauty gently moves her fingers over my thigh, drawing paths along it with the tips of her nails, occasionally scratching me a bit harder, creating a line of moderate pain which she makes sure to quickly stop and caress, while the photographer’s hand is holding my other thigh tightly and further up, holding a spot where my skin is more sensitive because of my half-open legs.

  “Do you think he’ll take his hand further up your thigh the way he did to The Beauty at the party?” Would I stop him? I feel special now, surrounded and enveloped by the attention I was lacking so badly recently. They remain silent, I don’t know what to say or think, what do they want with me? Obviously I’m not going to be here in a couple of days, do they talk about me amongst themselves? I could ask The Beauty if we got a moment alone but I’m scared to, the cold outside the taxi scares me too.

  The Bridge, Evening

  Adam

  The cold is bothering me, despite the jacket I took as I left the hotel room, I’m still cold, and I’m pulling it against my body tightly while hastening my steps.

  I’m walking through the streets without an actual destination, I cross the bridge. Occasionally I stop to check my smartphone, no reply from The Little One, she’s choosing to ignore me. It’s difficult for me to think of a clear objective right now, I just feel like I can’t go back to the hotel, I have to walk, wander around, do something.

  There are hardly any people on the bridge and the only sounds are those of the cars crossing it, the wind must have scared everyone away back to their homes. I stop for a moment to look at the black water and then I notice a bundle of flowers thrown on the sidewalk. “Someone must have dropped them without noticing,” I think as I lean over and pick them up, cram them into my jacket pocket.

  “Before I give her the book I’ll insert petals between the pages, red petals, she’ll love that,” I think to myself, I hope she’ll love it. I feel like a travel agent searching for his long-lost love, with pockets full of flowers and a book and fantasies and hope.

  The wind is cold despite my tightly-held jacket but I’m not going back to the hotel. I keep walking through the streets, continuing persistently, stopping for a moment to look at a few young women in short dresses who are trying to get a taxi, probably on their way to a party or a club.

  Club, Evening

  Kate

  “Why did you want me to get revealing clothing for the photoshoot?” I ask the photographer, trying to speak over the loud music. It’s hard to hold a conversation with people dancing and music blazing and lights flashing in the background, but I’m intrigued so I decide to ask. We’re sitting on a round couch at the side of the club, there’s a main dance floor here with people dancing and there are seating areas around it where lights of various colors occasionally flash. The Beauty is sitting between me and the photographer and I’m forced to lean over her in order to get close enough to talk to him, otherwise I won’t be heard over the loud music.

  The Beauty offers me to swap seats and we do, she leans over me to listen to the conversation, her arm placed on my knee, I no longer have to shout, and I can hear him too. The club is packed full of people and there’s an excited assembly of youngsters and alcohol by the bar.

  “There’s something special about shooting you in an environment that you’re not used to,” he answers my question.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m not interested in your everyday emotions, I want to make you feel uncomfortable, take you to unfamiliar places, that’s what interests me,” he gives me an examining look, as if evaluating my reaction.

  “So I take you to a sex shop and make you try on clothes you hadn’t tried on before, and suddenly you start feeling new sensations, shame, breaking inhibitions, daring, shutting yourself off, all sorts of feelings. Some are nice and some aren’t, but they all belong to you,” he explains and I hope I’m understanding everything he means, this conversation is becoming increasingly interesting and complex. He definitely creates sensations within me, but I’m not going to tell him that.

  “After that you return home.”

  “Return to the hotel,” I correct him and he smiles.

  “After that you return to the hotel, taking with you the bags of outfits you’d purchased,” he’s talking and I touch the bags which are placed by my feet, making sure they’re near me at all times.

  “And you think about the outfits folded inside the bags and you start fantasizing, what’s your photoshoot going to be like and which poses I’ll be putting you in and what I’ll be asking you to do, what you’ll agree to do and what you’ll refuse.” I’ve been thinking about that since yesterday, I’m just too ashamed to admit it, even to myself.

  “And you arrive at my place, ready, with all your feelings and fears.” Oh I have a lot of fears.

  “And you go to a side room, prepare, or maybe you arrive with your outfit on already.” I’ll arrive after having prepared in advance, I need to take my time, I need time to think about this exciting and scary thing.

  “And you stand in front of me, in front of the camera, and now you’re truly exposed.” I already feel exposed in front of you.

  “And then you meet my desires.” I’m sure you have desires.

  “And out of that combination a photo is born, that’s the photo I’m after, the visibility of your fears, embarrassment, fantasies, everything you feel. Your eyes and your movements will create the life and substance for the photo,” he’s talking and using his hands to describe his words and I’m listening intently, I get how he charms all the models who want to be photographed by him.

  “And doesn’t it ever happen that a photoshoot doesn’t work? That the photos don’t come out good? That the model changes her mind?” I’m genuinely intrigued, I’m also looking for future escape routes.

  “Of course, that happens sometimes.” I’m not the only one, just so that it’s clear to me, I shouldn’t be delusional. I want to ask him about other women he photographed and what The Beauty thought of them and did he sleep with them during the photoshoots too, but I don’t have the guts to ask and I don’t think he’s planning on telling me.

  I have loads of questions to ask him, but his smartphone beeps and he asks me to excuse him and turns to answer it.

  “Pardon me,” he tells me and The Beauty, who’s been leaning on me and listening to our conversation. “The people who invited us have just arrived, I’ll be right back,” and he gets up and disappears into the crowd, leaving me and The Beauty to sit and continue staring at the people around. A few moments later he returns escorted by two women who are obviously famous models and he introduces us, inviting them to join us on the couch.

  They’re both holding glasses of drinks, smiling at us and looking like they’ve just walked out of a photoshoot set for a fashion magazine. One’s wearing tiny shorts and boots, with endless legs and a smile that belongs to someone who knows her own worth, and the other’s in a short silver dress, nonchalantly shaking our hands as if we were merely an obstacle for her to shoo away on her way to the photographer. “I don’t think you’ll have a hard time shooing away a
n obstacle such as myself,” I think as I look at them with envy, “you’re out of my league,” and I get closer to The Beauty to make room for them, pushing the bags with my feet to a safe spot near me. “Please don’t ask what’s in the bags,” I think fearfully, “then I’ll really be humiliated what with all my photoshoot fantasies, the midget that I am.” But I think The Beauty and I are of no interest to them, they’re only interested in the photographer. The Beauty didn’t even get up to shake their hands, she just gave them a polite smile and she’s still leaning her arm on my knee right now, her fingers holding me tighter than before.

  The photographer has finished paying attention to me and his body is now turned to the new purchases sitting on his other side, leaving me and The Beauty sitting next to each other, staring at his back and at the people dancing around us.

  “Do you want to dance?” The Beauty suddenly asks me.

  I’d happily dance with her but I already feel tired from this whole day and from my emotional roller-coaster, one moment I’m getting attention and the next moment I’m being ignored. I’m also worried that if I were to dance with her there would be no one to look after my shopping bags, the photographer definitely won’t keep an eye on them, he’s wholly busy with chatting to the sparkly women sitting at his side.

  “I’m sorry, I’m already tired and these shoes are killing my feet,” I answer her and I think the look of disappointment in her face is genuine.

  “I need to go to sleep at the hotel, I’m tired,” I continue and place my hand on hers, she straightens up and releases her hand.

  I pick up my shopping bags and get up to leave, The Beauty gets up and hugs me tightly, I think she would have loved me to take her away from here.