Paris Dreaming Read online

  I looked around at all the people and shops with sales and waited for the rest of her commentary.

  ‘This is what we know as the heart of Paris.’

  ‘What do you mean exactly? Is it because it is really exciting and pumping?’ I studied the crowds and music flowing out from various shops.

  ‘No, this is the point from where they measure distances to other parts of the city. Les Halles is known as the heart and Île Saint-Louis is the oldest part of the city.’

  Canelle took me to some of her favourite shops and I bought a pair of tan boots, a red cashmere bolero and a slinky black dress for going out. Retail therapy really did work: cheering me up by making me feel physically beautiful and then emotionally happy. I felt uplifted when I got on the train back to the 20th.

  I picked up a quiche and tarte à l’orange from the corner pâtisserie and ate them both in front of the telly. I sat there and felt totally alone. Perhaps my ability to be self-sufficient was beginning to disappear.

  As I drifted into a deep sleep, I thought about how my relationship with Canelle mirrored that of mine with Lauren back home, where we could talk for hours about politics, and then shop for hours too.

  At the end of September, I received an invitation from the Australian embassy to celebrate the Prix Nomad – an annual prize that resulted in the publication of an artist’s work. It reminded me that I hadn’t called Judith to arrange a meeting with Jake Ross. The Ames situation had knocked me around a bit and the call slipped through the cracks. I rsvp’d to Judith and said I’d see them both at Nomad’s.

  A local photographer had won the award for his photos taken travelling around Italy and I was looking forward to the prize-giving. I was thinking about the networking opportunities that might present themselves. Time was running out for me in France, as I knew my contract with the musée would not be renewed with a new exhibition locked into the temporary space when mine ended. I really wanted to find a way to stay longer if possible. I was homesick, but I wasn’t ready to leave just yet.

  As I approached Nomad’s, I looked forward to what the window display might be, since the restaurant changed it regularly. This time, it reflected the theme of the month – Italy – and the winner’s work. There was an Italian-made car in one window – a logistical feat if nothing else – and Italian films running on a loop in another window. I was impressed by the installation and it gave me ideas about what might be possible when I got back to the NAG.

  I saw Jake the minute I walked in. We locked eyes. We walked towards each other immediately, his thin lips smiling the entire time. I wanted to be able to smile the same way, but I was still suffering from Ames’ betrayal and was not in the mood for flirting. But I had to try to at least be professional; I knew this was the perfect opportunity to let Jake know my contract was just about up.

  ‘Bonsoir, Libby, it’s good to see you.’ Jake was friendly. ‘I’m glad you came.’

  ‘Oh well, you never know who you might meet in a big city like Paris, and I love this place.’ I was making small talk but hoped the effort wasn’t noticeable. ‘It’s funky, and the food’s great.’

  He was looking at me but I sensed he wasn’t listening.

  ‘I’m sorry I haven’t lined up that meeting Judith asked for – I’ve been buried.’ I felt guilty that I may have offended him and was worried I’d been unprofessional at the same time.

  ‘I know, everyone’s in the same boat,’ Jake smiled warmly, ‘it’s important but not urgent. Can we have a quick chat now, before the speeches begin?’ His voice had a definite diplomatic tone to it.

  We sat at a table in the corner as people milled around the winner, looked at the photos on the walls, bought books and had them signed.

  I looked directly into his thin-framed glasses. ‘I should’ve asked you when we first met, who’s your mob?’

  ‘I’m a Ross from Deniliquin,’ he responded proudly.

  ‘Oh, I thought we might be related; there’s a running joke where I’m from that all the good-looking people are related.’

  I couldn’t believe I’d just said it, but it was true. Especially with my mob, it was hard to find someone attractive to date who wasn’t a Cutmore. Jake didn’t seem to mind, he was grinning with his thin lips because I had unintentionally told him he was good-looking. And I had just realised that I thought he was.

  ‘Sorry, what did you want to meet about?’ I was desperate to change the subject.

  He put his hands palms down on the table. ‘Are you interested in some work?’

  ‘I have a job,’ I said, frowning with confusion.

  ‘I heard your contract is up soon,’ he said, taking a sip of his wine.

  ‘How?’ I nervously took a sip of my water and wondered where the conversation was heading.

  ‘I am the first secretary at the Australian embassy, and I’m a Blackfella.’ He sounded slightly defensive and offended that I was answering his questions with my own questions. ‘So, aside from being the ambassador’s right-hand man, fostering links with key French decision-makers in government and industry, managing the major policy advocacy and reporting requirements of the embassy and overseeing high-level visits to France, I also make it my business to know what contracts Blackfellas have here, when they end, et cetera. I’d like to keep more of us employed here if I can. And, we have a relationship with the musée, as you know.’

  ‘Of course, I’m sorry, I’m a little vague tonight,’ I said apologetically, feeling like a complete fool. Of course he knew what was going on with me, it was his job. ‘You’d know then that I met with Judith and we set the wheels in motion for two of the musée’s featured artists to be represented by two small galleries here.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I asked Judith to take control of the issue, because …’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Because I was attracted to you the night I met you and I didn’t know if I could separate my personal interest in seeing you again and my responsibility to work with you professionally in the arts. And I was embarrassed when you didn’t respond to the text so I got Judith to respond to your email.’

  Jake had just vomited the whole speech in one breath and I was so shocked that I wasn’t able to interrupt. I couldn’t believe it. He was behaving seriously inappropriately, I thought, if he were sober. And if he were drunk, then he should really stay off the juice, for everyone’s sake.

  ‘Oh,’ was all I could say, and the surprise must’ve shown on my face as he looked equally and suitably embarrassed.

  ‘But for the record, I wasn’t trying to sleaze onto you or anything. It was strictly a professional invitation. Can we move on from that now?’

  ‘Yes, please. I’m sorry also, and I appreciate your honesty, there’s not a lot of it around these days.’

  Jake didn’t respond at all and it was awkward.

  ‘It’s funny, you know?’

  ‘What is?’ he asked almost nervously.

  ‘Sometimes I have to remind myself I’m just a Koori girl in Paris. It’s easy to get lost in the sea of other Black faces here.’ We both looked around the restaurant. ‘I can’t believe how many people I’ve met here from Senegal, Mali, the Ivory Coast.’

  ‘Not to mention the Black Caribbeans from Haiti, Guadeloupe and Martinique,’ he added to my list.

  ‘I know, Canelle is from Guadeloupe, so it was like meeting up with another tidda here in so many ways. I feel like I’m at home. I think I might’ve struggled if I’d chosen to go to a Nordic country.’

  ‘If you really do feel comfortable and want to stay, there is a job on offer when your contract is up.’ He sounded impatient as he stood up. ‘I have to talk to some guests now, but it’s a genuine offer, and we’d love to have you on staff. I’ve only had good reports about the work you’ve done at the musée.’

  He touched my elbow gently obviously not wanting to cross any more lines. I smiled and nodded.

  When I arrived at 10 am at the embassy a few weeks later, it was quiet. I signed in, helped myself to th
e antiseptic gel on the counter and wondered how many germs I may have picked up on the train journey.

  I looked at the photos of Julia Gillard and Quentin Bryce and a bust of Nicolas Thomas Baudin – a French-born mariner, explorer and botanist – in the foyer. There were also Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander flags in the uncluttered space, which was noticeably quiet for somewhere so close to the street.

  I sat and waited nervously for Jake to collect me. I had no idea what the job was, just that I wanted to stay. Jake was warm but in diplomatic mode when he collected me from reception.

  We got the lift to the first floor to a café run by the International Energy Agency. As we ordered our coffees and sat down, Jake told me that the IEA took up four floors of the building and let embassy staff have the occasional cuppa in their coffee shop. I liked the space with its orange-and-brown leather bucket chairs, and plenty of light.

  ‘There’s sixty embassy staff here, made up of the Australian delegation to France, a delegate to UNESCO and another to the OECD. These are all A-based staff: diplomatic, fixed-term and employed by DFAT.’

  Jake was very formal, so I followed his lead. ‘Where and how exactly would I fit into that structure, given my very specific background in visual arts?’ I couldn’t imagine what I might do.

  ‘We’re just about to begin a short-term contract to look at developing Indigenous arts and culture in Western Europe, and the position will be based in Paris. Here at the embassy.’

  ‘Who’s funding it?’ I asked, more out of curiosity than anything else.

  ‘The Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Arts Board of the Australia Council and a silent philanthropist,’ he advised.

  The job sounded perfect. ‘Will the position be advertised? I mean, what’s the process of appointment?’

  Jake leaned forward in his chair. ‘I have the authority to appoint, and professionally I can’t think of anyone more suited. Judith gave you a good reference, as did the musée, and I have had some email communication with your boss Emma at the NAG. She gave you a glowing reference as well.’

  I couldn’t believe this had been discussed behind my back. I was not only surprised but a little annoyed that I hadn’t been included in the conversations. ‘All of that without me even knowing?’

  ‘You must understand that a range of security and employment criteria are always sorted out before an appointment can even be flagged with a potential staff member, Libby.’ I was starting to realise the important role Jake had at the embassy and hated myself for not paying him more respect that first night.

  I had one major doubt screaming in my mind. ‘Is my French good enough?’

  ‘You’ll probably need some more language training as there will be meetings with foreign ministry people in French, and the protocol is that you should speak their language.’

  ‘Of course, I don’t know how I’ve gotten away with it for so long here. Or should I say: Je ne sais pas comment je m’évade depuis si longtemps ici.’

  Jake smiled politely and then looked at his watch. ‘I have a teleconference in ten minutes so I’ll have to go. Here’s a copy of the job description and selection criteria.’

  He handed me the document and our hands brushed awkwardly. We looked at each other and then the paper.

  ‘The position reports to Judith and you’ll need to send her an up-to-date CV and application addressing the criteria if you’re interested. If you could do it by the end of the week it would be good to get the paperwork sorted sooner rather than later.’

  He stood up so I did as well.

  ‘I’m flattered that you think I am capable of the role. I really do need to speak to my colleagues back at the NAG to make sure I’m not leaving the team in the lurch. I also need to talk to my family.’ I was grateful to the point of wanting to explode with excitement and just hoped there was no tone of arrogance in my voice.

  ‘Of course, I completely understand.’

  He shook my hand gently but firmly and smiled with his thin lips. He had dimples that I hadn’t noticed before. I smiled back and thought how sexy some influential, authoritative men could appear, even to those no longer interested in men.

  I called Mum as soon as I got home that night.

  ‘Hi Mum,’ I said excitedly. ‘It’s me, Libby.’

  ‘Hi there, it’s Mum,’ she said.

  I had to laugh, of course it was Mum.

  ‘How are you?’ she asked first, and without giving me the chance to answer she added, ‘Your brothers ask about you all the time, and wonder if you speak with a French accent now.’

  ‘Oui, Mum, tell my brothers I do,’ I said, turning the accent on as severely as I could.

  I could hear her giggling like a schoolgirl down the line.

  ‘Mum, I’m having a great time, working hard, meeting amazing people and even other Blackfellas here. One’s just offered me a job at the Australian Embassy. I think I should take it.’ It was an affirmation to make the statement out loud.

  ‘Dear girl, a job at the Australian embassy! I can’t wait to tell the ladies at line-dancing. Can you send me a letter with the details so I can read it out to them, please? Don’t send me one of those email things, I’m not on the line, or whatever it is.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll send a letter. I also bought you a nice scarf from a fella near the Eiffel Tower to keep you warm in winter. I’ll post it this week.’

  ‘You know, Libby, if you didn’t give me a present I’d never get one, your brothers are hopeless. Your father never missed a birthday or anniversary and I always got a present, and a card.’

  ‘Dad never wrote on the cards though, Mum.’

  ‘No, he didn’t, but he went to the paper shop and bought them. You know he couldn’t write very well, it was the thought and effort that counted.’

  I could hear some racket in the faraway background.

  ‘Okay, the grannies have just arrived, I better go and make something to eat for them.’

  ‘Hug and kiss everyone for me, please, and I’ll write you this week with all the details and my dates, okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  Mum was gone before I was ready to hang up, but I could just picture the chaos that was unfolding back at her place right now.

  Before going to sleep that night I emailed the girls about the proposed new job and Jake:

  On Friday night Caro, Lauren and I used Skype chat. Denise was away on school camp. It was great to see the girls on the webcam.

  Caro was gone and then Lauren and then me. I never told them how much I truly missed them. I should have.

  Four weeks later at the end of November, winter had settled in Paris and I had settled into my new embassy workspace overlooking the Eiffel Tower.

  I had easily coordinated the logistics of staying on in France. The universe was being kind again. Even Adrien had come around by the time I left the musée, making a speech at my farewell afternoon tea, commenting on how much he’d learned about Indigenous protocols through working with me. Resolution and reconciliation was a good way to go out.

  Dom and Catherine were thrilled to have me stay and cooked a special meal to celebrate. Extending my lease was no problem at all, and they didn’t even want to put an expiry date on it. There were a couple of things that needed doing in the flat, including hanging new curtains, so Catherine bought some material and I paid Sorina – whose business continued to flourish – to sew them for me. Catherine liked Sorina’s work so much she recommended her to another tenant on the fourth floor.

  Dom hung a new framed print I’d bought from les banlieues and suggested he put track lighting over it. I was worried they thought I’d never leave. I don’t think they wanted me to. Dom felt like the father I’d never had growing up. I wanted to take him back to Canberra to do all the ‘fatherly duties’ around my flat in Braddon. Romeo the poodle had started coming up to my apartment and to keep me company on occasion as well.

  Denise had emailed to say she and Dave were moving in together and that they�
�d love to take my flat and the cats and would mind both for the rest of the time I was away. It all fell into place quickly and when it happened without too much effort, I knew it was all meant to be.

  With my new ability to ‘forgive’ and having gotten over Ames, sort of, I was back to thriving in Paris. I couldn’t believe how my life had become even more amazing and monumentally better with the job opportunity at the embassy.

  I was building the new position from the ground up and was both challenged and inspired by the opportunity it presented to me, as well as the potential the role had to showcase even more Indigenous artists across Europe. I had ideas about interdisciplinary exhibitions with Indigenous writers and visual artists, collaborations between Aboriginal and Basque artists. The potential for a touring Indigenous arts market. I felt like anything was possible, and that I had this new sense of professional invincibility. I was back to being happy with the only relationship that ever truly satisfied me: my career.

  I worked directly with Judith. With her super-efficient working methods and appreciation of a glass of wine, we quickly became friends. She had a background in languages and her dry wit and worldliness reminded me of Caro. She only had a few months left in her job though and was taking a post in Barcelona. It made me wonder how my new job might also springboard me somewhere else.

  ‘Libby, the ambassador is going to Australia next week and is keen to meet with some Indigenous curators and artists, given your new role here. Can you draft up a brief for me on the key players with relevant contacts?’ Judith was at my desk holding a cup of coffee.

  ‘Of course, I’ll get it to you by COB. Sounds great.’

  ‘Here are some names that have come through from ATSIAB already.’

  She handed me a sheet with a list of appropriate people from the NAG, the MCA, AGNSW, Queensland Art Gallery, and two regional galleries.

  ‘This is my ultimate dream job, Judith. I’m getting paid to do what I love. I’m all over this.’ I waved the page.