Paris Dreaming Read online

  Praise for Manhattan Dreaming

  ‘It’s a contemporary romance with spunk, and I enjoyed it a lot.’

  Australian Bookseller and Publisher

  Praise for Not Meeting Mr Right

  ‘Anita Heiss creates the genre of Koori chick lit in Not Meeting Mr Right.’ Susan Wyndham, ‘This Year’s Best Books’,

  Sydney Morning Herald

  ‘Great witty entertainment here, from a clever young Aussie author. More please.’

  Woman’s Day

  Praise for Avoiding Mr Right

  ‘Sassy, intelligent, strong, independent and brilliantly funny.’

  Deborah Mailman

  ‘Cheeky fun … Anita Heiss’ witty prose will have you hooked from the first page.’

  Andrea Black, New Idea

  www.anitaheiss.com

  Anita Heiss is the bestselling author of Not Meeting Mr Right and Avoiding Mr Right, both published by Bantam Australia. Anita was recognised for Outstanding Achievement in Literature in the 2010 Deadly Awards for her third novel, Manhattan Dreaming.

  A writer, satirist, activist, social commentator and occasional academic, Anita is a member of the Wiradjuri nation of central New South Wales and an Indigenous Literacy Day Ambassador.

  She lives in Sydney and enjoys her research trips to Paris and Denilliquin.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including printing, photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.

  Paris Dreaming

  ePub ISBN 9781742743226

  Kindle ISBN 9781742743233

  A Bantam book

  Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

  Level 3, 100 Pacific Highway, North Sydney NSW 2060

  www.randomhouse.com.au

  First published by Bantam in 2011

  Copyright © Anita Heiss 2011

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted by any person or entity, including internet search engines or retailers, in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying (except under the statutory exceptions provisions of the Australian Copyright Act 1968), recording, scanning or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of Random House Australia.

  Addresses for companies within the Random House Group can be found at

  www.randomhouse.com.au/offices

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Author: Heiss, Anita, 1968–.

  Title: Paris dreaming / Anita Heiss.

  ISBN: 978 1 74166 893 3 (pbk).

  Dewey Number: A823.3

  Cover illustration and design by saso content & design pty ltd

  Author photo by Amanda James

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Praise for Anita Heiss

  About the Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Imprint Page

  Chapter 1: I’m on a man-fast

  Chapter 2: The One!

  Chapter 3: Cultural Canberra

  Chapter 4: I’m no Blackpacker

  Chapter 5: Festival du film français

  Chapter 6: The NAG, the P4P and the MQB

  Chapter 7: Monogamy bores me

  Chapter 8: Adieu, Canberra!

  Chapter 9: Bonjour, Paris!

  Chapter 10: The red béret

  Chapter 11: Man-fast to man-feast

  Chapter 12: Becoming Elizabeth

  Chapter 13: Champers on the Champs-Elysées

  Chapter 14: Feeling sexy in Paris

  Chapter 15: The Nude Poet

  Chapter 16: Le poet turns le prick

  Chapter 17: Banning the burqa and the Blackfella

  Chapter 18: The universe was being kind

  Chapter 19: It’s on

  Chapter 20: This is not love, this is lust

  Chapter 21: Oohlala, it’s Christmas in Paris

  Chapter 22: It happened again

  Chapter 23: The universe is a bitch

  Chapter 24: Au revoir, Jake

  Chapter 25: I’ll be fine with or without him

  Acknowledgements

  By the same Author

  Random House

  ‘I’m a born-again virgin!’ I panted. ‘Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I had sex.’

  ‘There’s no man on the horizon?’ Lauren asked, as we jogged around Lake Burley Griffin.

  It was good to have her back from Manhattan. I’d missed my tidda when she’d left the National Aboriginal Gallery to work at the Smithsonian and we were still catching up on basic goss and news.

  ‘Oh, he’s there on the horizon all right, I just never seem to reach it. And I can’t even be bothered trying anymore.’

  I was half-joking, but Lauren turned serious. ‘You need to focus on what you really want, Libs. A fling or love?’

  ‘I don’t want either; the barman in New York was my last unintentional fling. And as for looking for love,’ I jumped over a small puddle from some late-night rain, ‘in my case, it’s like jogging on a treadmill. You know, running and getting nowhere.’

  I stopped and bent over, sweat dripping down my spine as the January sun stung my shoulders. I pulled the elastic on my ponytail tighter and was glad that nearly all the layers and my fringe had almost grown out. I breathed deeply, smelled the freshly cut grass and listened to the sounds of local birds chirping good morning to each other. Lauren did some stretches.

  Our friendship was as strong as ever but we didn’t get to see each other much since she had returned with Wyatt, her Mohawk fiancé who adored her. I was worried she would become one of those women who dropped off the radar altogether when they meet a man, only ‘available’ to their friends when the bloke was busy. But she wasn’t like that.

  ‘It’s good to have you back, Loz,’ I panted.

  ‘I missed you too, Libs,’ she said, as we started to run again. ‘But you know you’d miss me less if you had someone to love.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before.’ I ran faster.

  ‘I’m serious, you’ve become a loner.’

  ‘I’m not a loner,’ I protested, ‘I’m just self-sufficient! I don’t need a bloke or romance to be happy.’

  I kept jogging, Lauren keeping up with my pace.

  ‘Don’t you want to fall in love?’ she asked seriously.

  ‘Love schmove, you know it’s not my thing. I’ve been on a man-fast since I got back to Canberra. The way I see it: no love, no lust, no dramas!’

  Lauren looked at me with a frown.

  ‘I’m telling you now, Loz: I’m never having another boyfriend – EVER!’ The words carried me back to my first heartbreak in Moree when my first love Peter cheated on me. In my misguided youthful life I’d had my share of loser boyfriends. I’d sworn then that I wouldn’t date again, but this time I meant it.

  ‘Never say never, Libs. Anyway, I really don’t understand why you’re on this man-fast as you call it. You used to like men; you used to have fun. You used to try and set me up with blokes, remember? And you didn’t waste any time on that fella at The Australian Hotel in New York. You were like a bee to honey.’

  ‘I was on holidays, and there was nothing re
ally in that, no heart stuff anyway. Which was lucky, because he was full of shit. Gonna send me emails and come visit: blah, blah, blah. He never did and he never will. I’ve just learnt not to expect anything from men, they can’t be trusted.’

  Lauren stopped running and looked at me concerned. ‘I want the old Libs back, the fun Libs who perved on firemen and worried about her friends’ dating dilemmas.’

  I wondered if I really had changed that much over the past couple of years. Maybe Lauren was right. Maybe I needed to get back into the dating game. But why would what worked for Lauren work for me? She and I were different. She always wanted a man in her life whereas to me, a bloke was secondary to my happiness.

  ‘I don’t need you to look after me, Loz. I need this man-fast. I need a bloody good detox of them, just like you needed with Fullofhimself.’

  Lauren stopped still at the mention of Adam Fuller, her ex. She had spent months agonising over her first love – Canberra’s bad-boy footballer otherwise known as Adam Fullofhimself – who had once crushed her self-esteem and her sense of logic.

  ‘We don’t talk about him anymore, remember?’

  Lauren hadn’t mentioned Adam’s name since Wyatt declared his love for her atop the Empire State Building eighteen months ago, like all good men did in all good love stories, apparently.

  ‘You’ve been away so long, you’ve forgotten what my love-life was like before you left or, indeed, while you were gone. Shall I remind you?’

  I turned around and jogged backwards, aiming to work my postural muscles, ankles and hips. Lauren stayed forward-focused, guiding me with her hand so I didn’t bump into anything or anyone.

  ‘Paul, remember him? Scrawny, sickly white, shaved head?’

  ‘That’s mean. He seemed all right, just not right for you.’ Lauren never really said harsh words about anyone, even ex-boyfriends.

  ‘Mean? I’m being generous, trust me, he totally emotionally abused me with mind games, only to tell me at our final meeting that he was gay.’ I had really liked Paul and my tone softened at the thought of how devastating his revelation had been to me. ‘I felt like I was just his litmus test, to see if he liked women or not. It hurt.’

  ‘I can understand that. It’s unfortunate he hadn’t figured out his sexuality before he met you.’ Lauren was trying to help but I knew she couldn’t possibly have understood what it felt like for me.

  ‘Yeah, well. Apparently he’s living with someone in Darlo. I should’ve guessed it with all that bum action he tried to talk me into every other day.’ I turned around, running forward again.

  ‘Too much information, Libs.’ Lauren stopped in her tracks and waved her hands in the air.

  ‘It’s my own fault in some ways. I told him – “Look, I’ve got a perfectly workable vag, never been stretched through childbirth and in pristine condition. You want bum action, go get a boy.” And so he did!’

  ‘Ouch!’ Lauren screwed up her face. ‘That had to hurt!’

  ‘Ouch indeed! In more ways than one.’ I clenched my butt cheeks together and tried to jog off while Lauren keeled over laughing.

  ‘Oh well, good on him for moving forward with his life, I guess. It’s not good for you, but at least he’s found his match, eh?’ Lauren somehow remained the eternal romantic, even if it meant her best friend lost out.

  ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  I loved working and working out with Lauren. It was moments like these with her that made me feel like I had a sister, a real sister. It was hard sometimes being the baby of five brothers, with Mum – whom everyone else called Aunty Iris – living up in Moree. I missed having someone close to talk to about life and men. The girly conversations were important, and often I just wanted to yarn with Lauren. It was difficult while she was away; the time difference made it hard to Skype for both of us.

  As for talking to my brothers about men issues, they simply refused to accept that their little sister was a fully-grown woman who could be sexually active. I was always just the baby of the family.

  Lauren would not change the topic. ‘And what was wrong with that John guy again? He didn’t last long either. I don’t think I met him more than half-a-dozen times. But he seemed really sweet.’

  ‘Yes, really sweet, that was John the Fyshwick Freak!’ I jogged on.

  ‘That’s right. Oh god, now I remember, Fyshwick. You can pick them.’

  ‘How is it I find a bloke who every weekend wanted to invest in “marital aids” despite the fact we weren’t even married? And swinging by Fyshwick wasn’t the only swinging he wanted to do either.’

  ‘No, seriously?’ Lauren looked shocked.

  ‘Seriously! And it’s not like I’d been living under a rock, but it reached the point where I would’ve been grateful for some boring missionary sex.’

  ‘Geez, I’m glad I’ve got Wyatt!’ She slowed down. ‘Not that I mean he’s boring or anything, just that he’s “normal”, you know?’

  ‘I know. And you should be grateful, because after Paul and John there was Richard. Remember him?’

  Lauren started laughing. ‘Yes, the one you called Hamlet behind his back.’

  ‘Only because I am sure he was in love with his mother!’ I said, looking Lauren directly in the eyes.

  Lauren’s tone changed dramatically. ‘Now, there’s some serious issues going on there.’

  I shook my head. ‘Tell me about it. How many times can you cancel dinner because you have to do things with your mother? And when he wasn’t with her, he was talking about her.’

  ‘That’s too weird.’

  ‘Then, after the bullshitting barman, well, I threw him back in the sea and haven’t really been interested in fishing since.’ I made long sweeping brushstrokes with my hands. ‘I’ve literally wiped my hands clean of men altogether.’

  As I got ready for dinner with the girls that night, I looked in the mirror and noticed two small creases around my eyes. I wasn’t game to see if there were any grey hairs. Mum didn’t go grey until she was in her forties, so I knew I had good genes; the creases were simply ‘laugh lines’.

  I was in good nick for thirty-two: the running had toned my legs, the nightly crunches made me believe there was a sixpack there somewhere, a good bra made my D-cups sit right and the pigmentation in my skin was evening out after regular glycolic peels. I had big boobs and big hips, but everything was firm at least.

  I was pleased I never got into women’s magazines and all the propaganda that affects the self-esteem of female youth. Two legs, ten fingers and toes, a brain, teeth and all my senses meant I was doing okay in my books. Although I did want my fringe to finally be gone, at least my hair was strong and shiny and the new shade of burgundy really suited me.

  ‘I love this place,’ I said as we entered Griffith Vietnamese. I always enjoyed reading the walls covered in testimonials by pollies, locals and tourists.

  ‘I wish they’d ask me to write one,’ Lauren said, also scanning the newest additions.

  ‘Lucky-dip dinner?’ Denise enquired, only vaguely looking at the menu.

  ‘Yes!’ Lauren and I agreed.

  It had been a while since we’d all been there together. When Denise and I shared a house we hung out all the time. Now she shared with a local lawyer, Caro, while Lauren shared with Wyatt, and I lived with my cats Bonnie and Clyde. These days we had to schedule girly catch-ups in advance.

  ‘We’d like three mystery dishes, thanks,’ Denise instructed our waiter, who smiled at the opportunity to surprise us.

  ‘I missed this when I was in New York,’ Lauren said, pouring water for us all. ‘My flatmates worked the weirdest hours so we didn’t go out for dinner that much.’

  ‘And you were clearly very busy.’ Denise rolled Lauren’s hand over to reveal a stunning emerald-cut diamond.

  ‘Apparently,’ she giggled, losing herself in the stone’s brilliance as if it were just her and the ring in the restaurant. ‘Wyatt is absolutely perfect for me.’

  Lauren looked like
she was the first woman to have ever fallen in love.

  ‘I can’t believe I ever dated he-who-shall-remain-nameless. We had nothing in common, but Wyatt – he and I were made for each other.’

  I couldn’t imagine ever being ‘made’ for someone. Were my last boyfriends ‘made’ for other people?

  Lauren continued, ‘I always believed I would meet the love of my life up the Empire State Building and I did. Okay, so I didn’t know it was going to be Wyatt, but half the premonition was correct.’

  Lauren drifted off into a romantic headspace where only she and her sparkling rock could fit. I was happy for my friend but couldn’t imagine wanting a man in my life like she did.

  Although I hadn’t known my dad for long – he abandoned me by dying from lung cancer when I was only six – I’d always been surrounded by men at home. My five older brothers were there all the time: working, brawling, causing Mum grief sometimes, making her laugh hysterically other days, and they were nearly always there at dinnertime.

  Mum is a good cook, not like me. I hate cooking, always have, always will, and I certainly have no desire to cook for a man or men every night like Mum still does. I’ve always admired her ability to throw together a meal for the boys and all their mates at the last minute. Snags become a gourmet curry, and mince is never mince in Mum’s kitchen.

  I had decided I could probably do without living in the same house as a man ever again after leaving home, unless he could wash, cook and clean for himself. And definitely didn’t smoke. God knows I was flat out getting myself organised in the morning and then working long hours at the gallery. I couldn’t imagine having or wanting to coordinate daily meals and clothes for a man as well. Making sure Bonnie and Clyde were fed every day was a hard enough task for me.

  And yet, somehow, meals had always been the cornerstone of maintaining my relationships – personal and professional. Now with Lauren glowing like a meteor across the table from me, and her diamond as blinding as a mirror hitting the sun, I wondered if the right man might make me glow like she did.