The third day

ONE

Yvonne rang in the middle of breakfast to tell me what time to meet her for lunch. Last night, she’d written down the address of our rendezvous, plus the name and phone number of the taxi service I had to call, and then she’d told me what to say on the phone and how to say it. She seemed to anticipate what I needed as soon as, or even before, I thought of it myself.

As I looked around the main room, I noticed how tidy Yvonne was. The main room was personal and had a lovely feeling to it, but at the same time it was very orderly and functional. The bed was practically the only thing that was occasionally messy, until Simone made it, which she did every time I had a shower.

I felt amazed by where I was and who I was with. But I accepted it. Sure Yvonne wore very stylish and expensive clothes and her jewelry was probably the best. But that’s who she was. I accepted her as she accepted me. Somehow we met in the middle. There was no point in me being constantly amazed at everything. I wasn’t like that. I just seemed to go with the flow, letting things happen around me. And if they were great, why pick at them? If Yvonne were an African woman living in a bark hut with hundreds of hoops through her ears or rings around her neck, I would have accepted that as being part of her culture. Yvonne was a direct result of her culture and I was a direct result of mine. I was in Paris and I was in love with a wonderful woman who wore strange clothes and hats and jewelry. She was a walking Vogue. Part of me loved it. Hard to touch Vogue, though.

TWO

I met Yvonne outside a small, unpretentious restaurant. She tapped her watch. I was two minutes late. We kissed and went inside.

Yvonne and I ate lunch, talked nonstop and looked only at each other, until some people, either friends or admirers, stopped by to say hello.

She sparkled. She sent shivers up my spine, running her bare foot up my bare leg and looking at me in her special, seductive way. Then she would look away, all innocence, as if nothing was going on, leaving me the only one with a sexy look on my face.

She didn’t have very long for lunch. We cuddled and kissed outside until a taxi came past. So romantic and sad, having to be apart.

THREE

I was determined to see a picture of Yvonne. I went into the spare bedroom. I found loads of them, some framed, some in magazines. I stood a framed one on the cover of Vogue against the head of the bed and stared at it. No warmth. Cool. Beautiful. I tried to sink into her eyes, but I couldn’t. It was Yvonne all right, but the picture had no soul. I smiled at the thought of Yvonne climaxing in bed. This photo was perfect, too perfect. I was so happy to have the real thing coming home to me and happy that she was happier in life than she appeared to be on the cover of this magazine.

FOUR

Yvonne found me among them. I was a bit unsure as to how she would react to this, snooping into her personal life without her permission, but she calmly sat on the bed and slid her arms around me as we kissed. Then we looked at them together. She seemed extremely tired and bored seeing herself. The photos became less interesting than us and we pushed them aside willy-nilly to make room for our welcome home session of lovemaking, make-up and all.

FIVE

“You know,” I said, lying back on the bare mattress, “whoever lives behind us can’t have a very large place.”

Yvonne didn’t ask what I was talking about or how I’d arrived at this conclusion. She just waited for me to go on, knowing full well I would. As long as she was paying attention…

“Are you asleep?” I asked.

“No, go on. I’m listening,” she said.

“Simone lives downstairs, so that leaves only upstairs.”

“Simone’s place isn’t that big. I see what you’re getting at. You think someone only lives in a small bedsit right next to us, cramped beside this room and behind our bed. Well, maybe.” She shrugged.

“Don’t you care?” I asked.

“Lyn, this is Paris. Home of small terraced bedsits. It’s famous for them. People thrive on them, artists, authors. All those movies with only a bed, a stove and a bathroom down the hall.”

“Or in the bedroom, before an open fire.”

“That’s London. You’ve got your cities mixed up. Going down to the local cafe for coffee and bread.”

“See, I told you about bread.”

SIX

“I worry about what you do all day while I’m not here,” Yvonne said over dinner.

“I’m in Paris. I’ll get a tourist guide book and see it.”

“On your own?”

“Well, what else can I do? You can’t come with me. We’d be mobbed and you’re too busy. I’ll wander around and see the main attractions.”

“You don’t seem too thrilled by the idea.”

“I’d prefer to spend my time with you, but the holidays are over. You work, and I play at being tourist. That’s why I came here in the first place. It’s just that what’s in this room seems a lot more appealing than what’s outside,” I said, staring across the table. Yvonne had one leg bent up on her chair as she ripped into a chop bone. Her make-up was gone and she’d brushed her hair. She looked gorgeous. “They should take your picture right now,” I said. “You look much better in real life.”

“Maybe to you, but not to the camera. You don’t know what you are talking about,” she said with a flick of her hair and a hint of impatience in her voice. I caught a glimpse of something in her eyes for just a second. Maybe it was anger. “What would you want to do besides being a tourist?” she asked, all loving now and really interested.

“Play tennis. I haven’t played in ages. And swim, except…” I trailed off, too embarrassed to finish.

“Tennis. I have a friend who plays. I’ll give him a call,” she said, wiping her greasy hands on her napkin, then stacking the plates on the tray.

“Yvonne, I’d like to see a beautician while I’m here,” I said uncomfortably.

“Of course, if you want. Anything special?” she asked with concern.

“Lots of things. I’m like a car abandoned in an old garage. I need lots of bodywork.” Yvonne started to head downstairs with the tray. Before she vanished, I called, “Only I don’t want someone in your business.”

SEVEN

We sat on the window seat, drinking coffee and looking out.

Yvonne tapped my foot with hers and said, “You’ve been shy all night. I thought we were close enough to be past that.”

“In a lot of ways we are,” I said, “but, basically, I’m a very shy person. I only get on well with some people. Most people are too busy or I don’t seem to connect with them on any level. I never know how I’m going to be until it happens.”

“Until what happens?”

“Anything. You, for example. Somehow I work with you, in every way.” I smiled at her as I played with her foot.

“So why are you shy now?”

“ Because,” I said, stressing the point, “seeing a beautician is scary.” Yvonne shrugged and stood up with her hand out. “And because you wouldn’t have any idea how I feel about this. You haven’t led a normal life since you were twelve years old. When were you first waxed?” I asked.

“I can’t remember. This is silly.” She waved her hand at me to stand up and go with her. “I’ll get you someone who is considerate. Don’t worry. I’ll handle it.”

CHAPTER 6

Дата добавления: 2015-11-14