One Week in Paris

by Roya Carmen

  “Wow,” is all I manage to say at first, once I finally swallow my calamari. “I can’t believe you kept that photo.”

  “I’ve kept all my photos,” he tells me. “I have quite a few of you, but this one is my favorite.”

  I study the photo. I’m sitting on a swing, a green lollipop in my hand, a huge smile on my face. I remember that day. It was such a happy day.

  I realize then that I was way too hard on myself. I was pretty; flushed cheeks, big brown eyes, a smattering of freckles on my nose, thick brown hair, and of course the braces. I was a little chubby, yes, but it suited me.

  He hands me the frame. “It’s a gift for you. Keep it.”

  I take it carefully from his hands. “Oh…”

  I study the photo again, and lean it against the wall next to us. “Thank you,” I say quietly. You’ve ruined my teenage years, but there’s that.

  Almost as if he can read my mind, he says, “I know it doesn’t make up for all I’ve done to you, but it’s a start… there’s more where that came from.”

  I’m just about to ask him to elaborate when the server arrives with our entrées. A huge steak for him and an avocado salad for me. We both dig in, and when he swallows his first bite, he smiles at me again. “I want to take you to Le Jules Verne.”

  “Oh… where is that? What is that?” I ask. I haven’t a clue. I feel so stupid.

  “It’s a restaurant at the top of the Eiffel tower,” he tells me. “When we’re there for the wedding, I’d love to take you there.”

  I want to tell him to go fuck himself. I really do. But it does sound really nice, and I love nice restaurants… I just can’t afford them. I also love the idea of being at the top of the Eiffel tower at night and enjoying the views. Even if it would be with him.

  “We’ll have to see,” I say. “It could get really busy. I’m my mother’s maid of honor, as you probably know.” I don’t give him the satisfaction of saying, “Yes, I’d love that! So romantic! You’re so amazing!” I’d rather stick my finger in my mouth and expel that expensive calamari appetizer before uttering any kind complimentary word to him.

  “You’d love it,” he goes on. “The views are gorgeous, and the food is amazing.”

  I stick my fork in a slice of avocado. “So what is it that you do, Matt?” I ask in a matter-of-fact tone.

  He clears his throat. “Well, I sorta work for my dad. I’m an attorney at his firm.”

  “Oh,” I say. “What do you mean… you sorta work for him?”

  He stares down at his plate and cuts into his steak. “Well, not sorta, I guess. I work for him.”

  “I see,” I say. “You are a glowing example of nepotism. That must be hard. I couldn’t stand working with my mother all day. Don’t get me wrong… I love her, but she drives me crazy.”

  Yep. Stick it to him, and continue babbling before he can defend himself… that’s the strategy I’ve taken, and it seems to work. He seems ill-at-ease. It was a low-blow, I know.

  “Well, I never see my father, actually. We barely interact, and trust me, it’s best that way.”

  “So you probably do pretty well there,” I add. I can tell he does okay for himself. Men like him reek of money; the nice suit, the air of superiority, the talk of travel, and the watch on his wrist. “You’re paying for my dinner, I assume.”

  His eyes grow wide as saucers. “Of course! I’m the one who invited you,” he points out. “I always pay.”

  “A gentleman, I see.”

  He smiles. “I try,” he says. “Especially when the woman is worth it.”

  “And what makes a woman ‘worth it’?” I ask. I’m nowhere near done with him.

  He’s caught off guard for a second, but recovers well. “Well, first off. Someone kind,” he says. “Someone smart, interesting… someone I can have a decent conversation with. Someone classy. Someone funny.”

  I smile, thinking he’s full of shit. But then as he fixes me for just a moment, his eyes darken and his gaze travels to the swell of my cleavage. “And someone sexy. Someone I want to bend over the back of my Audi and fuck all night. Someone who doesn’t mind getting her hair pulled.”

  I almost choke on my wine.

  10

  HE BLUSHES A LITTLE and leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that last bit out loud. Got carried away, I guess.”

  I swallow hard and stare down at my plate. I dig into my salad, not quite able to look at him. I was trying to make him uncomfortable, and he certainly turned the tables on me. I chew a bite of my salad, but I don’t taste it.

  An awkward silence follows, and we both polish off our meals. He steers us in to polite conversation territory; our family, our travels, and the weather. I opt out of dessert because my stomach is completely tied up in knots. I didn’t expect to feel like this. I’m actually enjoying myself. Matt is really nice, and I’m not sure if it’s just an act. I honestly don’t know what to think.

  Matt pays the bill, as promised. As we’re about to make our way out, he offers to help me with my coat, like a true gentleman. I protest at first, but then concede. He walks me to my old Dodge Caravan, and as we near my car, I curse out loud, and immediately slap my hand to my mouth — not very classy.

  He laughs. “Damn Vermont,” he says. “Let me help you out.”

  “No, it’s okay,” I argue. “I’m perfectly capable of clearing my own car, thank you. I’m no damsel in distress.”

  He closes the distance between us. A cloud of hot breath escapes his mouth. “I know that. I just want to help.”

  I feel his warmth as he inches even closer. We stand close and get lost in each other for a second. I press on my key fob, and a beep startles him. How dare him try to have a moment with me. Not gonna happen.

  He pulls at my car handle and I laugh when it sticks. I don’t want him to be able to open it. I want him to look weak in front of me, and feel emasculated. But no such luck. He gives it a good tug and it flies open with a loud thud. He climbs in.

  Hell, no.

  He comes out holding my snow brush. It looks like I’m not winning this argument. Hugging my picture frame, I watch him brush the snow off my car. I enjoy the sight of him, huffing and puffing… for me.

  When he’s finally done, I smile and thank him.

  “No problem,” he says. “My pleasure.”

  I’m a little appalled with myself. I played right into his hands, the damsel in distress to his rescuing hero. Whatever. Tomorrow is another day.

  I smile at him again when I say goodnight. There is way too much smiling happening here.

  He waves bye as he inches farther, and my heart skips a beat.

  I absentmindedly climb in my cold car. What the fuck is wrong with me? I start the engine, and it stalls. Yet again. God, if I need another jump, I’m going to cry.

  I try again, and again. But no luck.

  To my dismay, I spot Matt in the distance, running towards me. Part of me would rather be stuck here all night than let him help me again. Enough of this stupid let’s pretend we like each other shit. But I also really, really want to get home and have a nice warm bath.

  I hate February.

  I press the button to roll down the window, and realize that yes, my car is dead. I get out of the car. “My battery’s dead again,” I tell him. “I need a jump. I have cables in my car.”

  “Oh, okay,” he says. “I’ll drive my car over.”

  He turns on his heel and runs back. I pop the hood of my car, dig into my purse and check my text messages. It’s going to take him a while to shovel the snow off his car, and there’s no way I’m helping him.

  Before long, he’s back. I hop out of my car and run to the back to fetch my cables.

  I pry open the hood of my Caravan. I look over at him, cables in hand. He stares at me for a second and bites his bottom lip, and I realize he has no clue what do to.

  A slow smile traces my lips. I fucking love it. Who’s the damsel in distress now? I can’t belie
ve the guy doesn’t know how to jump a car.

  “Okay…” I hand him the cables. “Here you go.”

  “Um…” he says, at a complete loss for words. “Yeah, okay. Yeah, I’ll pop my trunk… uh, I mean, my hood.” He scurries back to his car.

  He’s there for way too long — he probably doesn’t even know where the hood thingie is. Meanwhile, I’m freezing my rear off, but I’m still enjoying this. So much.

  He’s finally back, and fiddles with the hood for a few seconds. I laugh. He eventually manages to open and secure it. It seems he’s not completely useless, after all.

  I throw him the cables, hoping he won’t electrocute himself. “Okay, do your thing.”

  He stares at his engine, and looks over at me, stares at his car again, and then at me again. He winces and finally admits, “I have no clue how to jump a car.”

  Many things are priceless: a baby’s first laugh, a perfect proposal, a child’s smile on Christmas morning. And also: Matt Moore’s complete inability to come to my rescue.

  I smile and grab the cables from him. “I can’t believe you don’t know how to jump a car,” I sneer. “And you call yourself a man.” I’m being a total bitch, but the man did ruin my high school life. Not to mention junior high.

  This is only a drop in the bucket of the payback he deserves.

  I clip the red clamp to the positive terminal of my battery, and then I repeat the process on his car. I’ve done this so many times, I could do it in my sleep. Then I clip the black clamp to the negative terminal, and ground the other black clamp on a bolt on the engine of his car. When I’m done, I stare at him for a good five seconds.

  “What?” he says

  “Now you need to turn on your car,” I tell him in that you’re an idiot tone, a tone I don’t think I’ve ever used in my life. “It’s cold. Let your car run for a few minutes.”

  He scurries to the car again like an obedient puppy, and does as asked.

  When he comes back, we stand motionless, and stare at each other, completely speechless — the moment could not possibly be more awkward. He might have wined and dined me, and been the perfect ‘date’, but all he’ll remember is this. I like that.

  I hop in my car and rev the engine. It takes two tries, but…success! I jump back out, pull off the cables, and shut both hoods.

  I shoot him a smile. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver."

  “You’re pretty good at that,” he says. “Why did you make me suffer like that?”

  I shoot him a wicked grin. “I couldn’t resist… it was too much fun.” I stare at my old Dodge. “And not all of us get to drive brand new Audis.”

  He pulls a face. “True,” he says, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, I’ll let you get home. It’s freezing.”

  “That, it is.” I smile and wave goodbye.

  He waves as he heads towards his car.

  As I climb into mine, I feel a little guilty.

  Just a little.

  Attraction

  I believe very strongly that when it comes to desire, when it comes to attraction, that things are never black and white, things are very much shades of grey. — Brian Molko

  Attraction is fascinating. What draws us to a specific person, yet makes us completely oblivious to another? Why does that certain someone have that certain something? The object of our attraction may not always be the most beautiful, the most perfect. But there’s just something about them.

  Is it to do with our pasts? Certain ideas and concepts have been wired in our brains from a very early age. We all respond to different stimuli, in very different ways, depending on our life experiences, our prejudices, and our own personal idea of what is attractive.

  One man might go crazy for short brunettes, while another one might love tall blondes. It may be the way someone dresses, or the way they speak. It might be the way their smile takes over their whole face, the smattering of freckles on their nose, the arch of their brow. For men, it’s often the curve of the rear or the legs, or perhaps the swell of breasts.

  Attraction is sexual, but it’s also more than that. Attraction in its most intoxicating form, is the magnetic power the body and the mind have together. Often we are attracted to someone’s mind even more than we are to their eyes, face or body. When two people click, there is instant attraction. Instant curiosity, a desire to know more about the other, to share more, to let them into your world.

  Attraction is a powerful thing. It is the precursor to lust, biology’s handy work, the secret to humanity’s propagation. Thankfully, human sexuality goes beyond the mere physical. Well, most of the time, anyway.

  When two people meet who are both attracted to each other, it’s electric. Mutual attraction is powerful — it can lead to conflict, love, hatred, broken hearts… even wars.

  And what of inexplicable attraction? You might completely hate someone, despise everything they stand for, and have no respect whatsoever for them. Yet, you find yourself constantly drawn to them, despite your objections. You try to talk some sense into yourself, but you still find yourself pursuing them. And you hate yourself for it. You hate your lack of control. You feel powerless and weak.

  Despite the fact that I hate Matt Moore, I still find myself attracted to him. And I’m not too happy about that. After all he’s put me through, how does he manage to still pull me in? It makes absolutely no sense.

  But that’s attraction for you.

  11

  A FEW DAYS LATER, I’ve all but forgotten about Matt. Oscar wraps his arms around my waist and tries to pull me back to bed.

  I can’t help but smile at my reflection in the mirror — I’m putting on my favorite earrings, a gift from Corrie. “You’re insatiable.”

  “What can I say.” He smirks. “You’re just so sexy, Bernie.”

  I jerk around. “Stop calling me that.”

  I made the mistake of telling him once that my middle name was Bernadette. Ever since, he calls me Bernie when he wants to get on my nerves.

  I push him away. “I’ve got my dress on and I’m not taking it off.”

  He slides a hand up my thigh. “The dress can stay on.”

  “Are you for real?” I ask. “We just did it, like, twenty minutes ago.”

  He looks over at the clock on my bedside table. “Actually, it was more like an hour ago. I’m raring to go again.”

  “Well, I’m not. I need to get ready. And you do too.” I stare at the disaster that is his head; a mussed up mess, less Robert Pattinson, more bird’s nest. “I’m not bringing you if you don’t do anything with your hair.”

  He hops off the bed. He’s wearing nothing but boxers, pizza themed. He likes to ask me if he looks delicious when he wears those. It was funny the first time, but now it’s just annoying.

  “What is this party for again?” he asks as he slips into his suit pants. “A wedding party?”

  “It’s an engagement party,” I tell him. “Everyone will be there. It’s a way for us to congratulate the lucky couple.”

  “Can’t we just congratulate them on their wedding day?”

  I’m silent for a beat. The man does make an excellent point. “Well, it’s also a chance for the two families to get to know each other.”

  “Dickwad will be there?”

  “Yep,” I say, touching up my makeup. “Dickwad will be there.” I’m looking good in a sheer pink dress, and I have the perfect stilettos I bought at Forever 21 — black peep-toes with a black ankle lace accent. I’m giddy when I slip them on and tie up the laces.

  “Holy shit, girl,” Oscar says. “Those are hot. How ‘bout we take off the dress and leave the shoes on?”

  The offer is tempting — I’m suddenly feeling very sexy. I could definitely go for another round, but time is running out, and I still need to work on my hair. I decide to wear it in a loose up-do. It’s the perfect style — classic casual — it says I don’t really care, but I still look good.

  The thing is, I do care. I care a lot. I want Matt to see me and g
et hard. I don’t want to sleep with him. I just want him to want me. I know it’s fucked up, but that’s what he’s done to me, I guess. He’s fucked me up good.

  Oscar is fiddling with the buttons on his dress shirt. The curves of his torso look amazing in the shirt — it fits perfectly. “Who else will be there? Anyone else I know?”

  “I invited Corrie and Gabbie.”

  “Really? You can do that?”

  “Well, it’s my mom’s party, and I can do whatever I want. It’ll be fun.”

  I think about it for a beat. Why did I invite the girls? I don’t need to ponder the question too long. It’s obvious that I want to show Matt that I’ve changed. I have friends now, I have a ‘boyfriend’. I’m cool.

  Pathetic.

  I shake my head. Maybe I’ll just ignore the guy all night. Why am I giving him so much power?

  I turn to look at Oscar. He’s slipping on his jacket. He suits it. He’s beautiful. Even the hair works. “Leave your hair,” I say, “it’s perfect that way.”

  He cocks a brow. “Really? You sure?”

  “Positive.”

  The party is already in full swing when we get there, thanks to more car problems. I recognize quite a few faces, friends of Mom’s mostly. When I spot my sister, Sarah, I dash over and give her a quick hug. Oscar swoops in and gives her a huge bear hug, like he’s known her all his life. In actuality, he’s only met her once or twice briefly — unfortunately, Sarah and I are not super close.

  Mom swoops in and gives us both tight hugs. “So nice to see you again, Oscar,” she says. “Have you met Mark yet?”

  “Nope,” Oscar says. “Haven’t had the pleasure.” They exchange a manly shake.