Paris Dreaming Read online

  The room was silent except for my deep sobs.

  ‘Libby, please say something.’ There was a quiver in his voice.

  ‘She wants you back after all this time? Why?’

  He sat silently with his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know why.’

  ‘I’ll tell you why.’ If I had to spell it out like a schoolteacher I would. ‘She only wants you back because you’re happy with someone else. Classic. I don’t want you but I don’t want anyone else to have you, nice woman indeed.’

  ‘Libby, please.’

  ‘Don’t defend her.’ I put my hand up to his face. ‘She cheated on you. Or have you forgotten about the ute root? What happened to him? Let me guess, he couldn’t bankroll the business she doesn’t know how to run?’

  ‘Libby, stop it, sarcasm doesn’t suit you. You are better than that.’

  ‘Yes, I am!’ I shook my head. ‘At least tell me you are smart enough to realise what she’s doing. Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you want her back. Is that what you want? What about how happy we’ve been?’

  He was silent.

  I felt a sudden pain in my heart. I didn’t want to argue. I wanted him. I wanted to tell him how much he meant to me. But there was no way I could tell him I loved him now, not if he was thinking of going back to her.

  ‘It’s the honeymoon period, that’s what we were supposed to feel.’

  I was furious again. ‘What the fuck? You’ve had one girlfriend your entire life, and by the sounds of it she walked all over you and then left you for a bloke she knew for five minutes in the back of a ute. What the hell would you know about the freaking honeymoon period?’

  He looked sheepish.

  Then it dawned on me. ‘Oh, I get it. Let me guess. She said something like: you can’t compare a few months with me with all those years with her, is that right? Because we’re just in the honeymoon period?’

  He tilted his head to one side, looking apologetic.

  ‘Jake, you know in the end she was using you for your money, don’t you?’

  ‘She did love me. She says she still does.’

  I started to yell. I found a lung capacity I didn’t know I had, and all the years of betrayal, infidelity, emotional and psychological abuse by men who were not good enough found a place in my vocal cords.

  ‘So, what was I? Just one of those 5-to-7-pm affairs everyone talks about in Paris? Is that what I was?’

  We were both standing up and he walked towards me. He reached for my hand.

  ‘No, you know that’s not what we had. I love you.’

  ‘If you love me why are we having this conversation?’ I looked him directly in the eye. ‘Because you don’t love me enough, clearly.’

  I turned to face the window and stared into the night sky.

  ‘I’m pretty sure it’s you who doesn’t love me,’ he said behind me.

  I didn’t turn around, rather stood there silently looking down at a lone woman on the street.

  ‘Do you think that when the honeymoon period is over, we’ll have nothing left to feel, or share or even like about each other? Is that it?’

  ‘That’s not it,’ he stumbled with his words as if he’d forgotten his script, or worse, didn’t have one. ‘It’s just that she was my first love. The only love I had until I came here, until I met you.’

  ‘She wants to reconcile so you’re just going to do it?’ I could hardly breathe I was so angry. ‘You are pissweak.’

  I walked towards the door, while he just stood looking as useless as he was.

  ‘And you’re a monumental fool. Get out.’ I opened the door.

  ‘Libby, please,’ he mumbled on the verge of tears.

  ‘I need a man with a high IQ and a high EQ, and certainly one who knows right from wrong. And clearly that’s not you. Get out, and don’t ever speak to me again.’

  He didn’t move.

  ‘LEEEAAAAVVVVE!!!’ I yelled.

  He walked past me, head hung low.

  I slammed the door behind him.

  Tears flooded my cheeks for the rest of the night as I cried out a lifetime of disappointment. I had never felt such heartache before. I couldn’t sleep and lay awake analysing and over-analysing Jake’s actions, his irrational thinking. How he could just decide to walk away and go back to a woman he had admitted didn’t love him.

  It dawned on me that this was the very reason why I had never believed in love or the One because, inevitably, unless the universe was in a really good mood, then chances were things like this happened. They always happened to me. I had had the final humiliation: yet another man had left me for another woman, even though I loved him more than she ever could.

  I saw Peter’s lovebites and Andy’s loving look at another woman and Ames in the bath with the skeleton and my world came crashing down around me. But even with those memories burned into my mind and my heart, nothing had hurt me as much or prepared me for the pain I felt at that moment.

  I went to work the next morning but the entire day was a blur. I walked to and from the bus and metro stations on autopilot, with my legs feeling like they were full of lead. I had no appetite at all, and was terrified of bumping into Jake. I made my way through security, up the lift and to my desk as quickly as possible, looking at the ground most of the time.

  I was paranoid that my eyes were red and puffy from crying. My new boss, Frané, was still on Christmas leave and an email to all staff detailed the movements of the ambassador and the first secretary. They were out of the office for three days. I sighed with relief when I read the message, and I realised Jake and I hadn’t discussed the week beyond the night of his return.

  I was glad I had no meetings to attend. I wasn’t up to making small talk or serious talk. I’d received emails from the girls back home and one from Canelle who wanted to catch up for a drink, but I didn’t even have the capacity to chat online.

  Sorina also emailed me to say she’d reached 400 fans on Facebook and had orders for fifteen skirts and twenty-five handbags and that business was booming. I could read the happiness in her words. She wasn’t sleeping either, it seemed, but for much more positive reasons. I smiled for her, but it was all I could muster.

  I went through the processes of a job that for the first time was a grind. By bedtime I couldn’t remember the conversations or the ground that I had travelled. I fell into an exhausted sleep after spending more time beating myself up for falling so hard for Jake, only to be humiliated all over again.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Canelle said down the line as I trudged across the road the next morning. ‘I emailed you, Elizabeth, and I texted you last night. You usually get back straightaway. I know you’re in love and all but please don’t lose your manners like those other women you don’t like.’

  ‘I went to bed early,’ I said pathetically.

  ‘Are you sick, Elizabeth?’

  ‘Yes,’ I said softly, exhausted.

  ‘What is it? This terrible flu? I am still fighting it off.’

  ‘No, I’m sick of men.’ I burst into tears.

  Embarrassed but still holding the phone to my ear, I turned from the footpath to face a wall, but it was a salon window and in it I saw my reflection. I hardly recognised myself. I looked so sad it scared me. This was not who I was. This was not who I wanted to be and it certainly wasn’t someone that anyone else would want to be around.

  ‘Meet me at Ladurée Bonaparte now, I am on my way.’ Canelle had given the directive and I was without the strength to argue.

  I was ahead in my duties from working overtime while Jake had been away, and I didn’t feel like I could be productive at the embassy. I made my way to the Ladurée tearoom in the heart of the Saint-Germain-des-Prés district. The décor was elegant and looking at the sweets on offer cheered me up and upset me at the same time because I was reminded of the macarons Jake had given me.

  ‘He dumped me,’ I cried into my green tea. I’d lessened my caffeine intake after I noticed it made my already sensitive state of min
d more hyper.

  Canelle didn’t ask for details, and I didn’t want to go through it, it was too painful.

  ‘Go away for the weekend. Go for a week. How much leave do you have?’ Canelle was concerned and practical.

  ‘I have eight days, I think. I’d have to check.’

  ‘Then go for eight days, at least. You need to be away from where the memories are, and out of that office.’ She put her hand on mine, caringly.

  ‘But where to?’ I asked, not being able to think clearly.

  ‘Go to Barcelona. It is warmer there, the men are nicer, trust me, they are not so stupid as your Jake man. He is, how you say, an idiot. Go see Judith – she is a good friend, another tidda, oui?’

  ‘A tidda, oui.’

  I started to think Canelle might be right, just as she took my phone from the table.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘I am calling Judith, I will organise it. This is what friends do.’

  I put in for leave and Frané, while not having become a close friend of mine, knew that I’d worked hard over Christmas and approved my eight days owing.

  I hadn’t heard from nor contacted Jake. As I prepared for Barcelona, I went through the motions of life as much as possible, although every minute it felt as if someone was standing on my chest, squashing my heart. I knew it was pumping blood around my body, but that was all the good it was.

  I was an emotional wreck and didn’t want to share my misery with anyone back home, so I didn’t contact the girls. I didn’t want to lie to them, and I knew my silence would suggest I was busy being happy. They would only worry if they knew the truth.

  I went to Mama’s Shelter – where I’d stayed in my first days in Paris – for a drink after work on the night before I was to leave. I reluctantly agreed to meet Sorina there. She was full of beans on the phone at how successful her skirts and bags had been and was lining up meetings with local stores to stock some of her work.

  I promised myself I wouldn’t burden her with my miserable dramas when we met, she had enough real dramas herself, feeling insecure in a country she called home. I needed perspective, however difficult it was.

  Quiksilver boy wasn’t there – there was a new barman with the face of a twelve-year-old. There was a new girl behind the bar, youthful and very pretty, French pretty, with big eyes and dramatic makeup, blood-red pouting lips and a petite build. I hated her the minute I heard the barman call her Suzette.

  Lionel Ritchie sang ‘All Night Long’ in the background and I could feel tears welling up. I hated myself again. I was a strong Black woman with a great career and I was in Paris. What the hell was I doing crying to Lionel Ritchie?

  I looked at the ceiling as if I’d never seen it before, but I had, dozens of times. I tilted my head upwards and read the range of famous quotes, hoping the tears would run back into their ducts.

  ‘Born to be wild’, ‘Africa is the future’, ‘Je hais les resignes’, which I knew meant, ‘I hate the resigned’. I hated Jake right then. He had resigned himself to being with the wrong woman. If Quiksilver boy were there, he would’ve given me some chalk to write on the ceiling, ‘Jake is a complete idiot!’ and then in French, ‘Jake est un idiot total!’

  ‘Bonsoir, Libby,’ Sorina surprised me out of my thoughts.

  ‘Bonsoir,’ I said, sadly.

  ‘What is wrong?’

  Oh god, I didn’t want to go through it all again and I wondered if I should’ve just made a Facebook status update of ‘Jake and I are over, he is an idiot and I am back on the man-fast’ so everyone knew the story at the same time and no repetition was required. Against my will, I told Sorina as much as I could stomach without falling into a miserable heap at the bar.

  ‘I think maybe it’s my own fault. Karma for all the terrible things I’ve done and said in my life to date. Or maybe I deserve it because I keep choosing the same kind of men – bastards!’

  ‘My friend, you are such a kind, giving and generous woman.’ Sorina smiled warmly and put her hand on mine. ‘Look what you have done to support me, my career and most importantly, my life here. It has not only helped me, but my family also.’

  ‘Thanks Sorina.’ I tried to sound grateful. ‘I know you are trying to make me feel better, but I can’t feel better. I am too angry with Jake and with myself. Maybe my time away with Judith in Barcelona will make me feel better about everything, about life.’

  ‘I think you are right,’ she nodded. ‘And especially some time away from the office and the chances of seeing Jake.’

  I was drunk when I got back to my apartment and was glad that I was never one to do the drunk dial. I logged onto my computer to check that my departure time for the next morning hadn’t changed and to send a quick note to Judith.

  There were emails from Lauren, Denise and Caro asking why I hadn’t been in touch. I still didn’t want to tell them the latest disaster for the woman who didn’t want to meet men anyway. I was embarrassed, especially after calling Lauren about Ames when I was drunk. I needed to appease them though, so I sent a brief email.

  Just before I logged off, I realised there was a new email from Jake I had missed.

  ‘Because you’re a fucking idiot!’ is what I wanted to write, but the embassy firewall wouldn’t let it through anyway. So I typed something I knew would pass.

  I hit the ‘send’ button and passed out.

  I didn’t know how I was ever going to pull it off. I rested my head on the handle of my cabin bag, exhausted and emotionally drained. I waited for my case to appear on the baggage carousel and wondered how I could feign happiness to Judith who was waiting through the Spanish customs doors.

  With extra effort, I dragged my bag off the conveyor belt and headed towards the frosted glass. I took a deep breath as the doors opened and I saw Judith there, right in the middle of the crowd of others waiting for family and friends.

  The minute she saw me, she smiled, waved her arms and jumped slightly. It was like a bolt of sunshine went right through me and instantly I felt better. The power of female friendship had never felt so remarkable.

  ‘It’s good to see you,’ Judith said, hugging me tightly. ‘You look good.’

  I knew then she was lying; I looked terrible, having spent the last few days crying more than sleeping.

  ‘Thanks for letting me come to visit. I really need a break, a holiday.’ It wasn’t a lie. I did need a break.

  The driver lifted my case into the boot of a cab and we both climbed in the back seat. Judith gave him directions as I stared out the window.

  ‘I like having visitors. I’m still making friends here so I’m glad you came.’ Judith seemed genuinely pleased to see me which also lifted my mood. ‘We’re going to get some Catalan culture and caring into you. And we don’t have to talk about you-know-who at all, unless you want to.’

  ‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. We didn’t think it was a good idea for staff to know.’

  I felt weird being with Judith then because she had known Jake longer than I had, and as far as I knew, she never had a clue about Jake and me.

  ‘Libby, I knew about you two the whole time.’ Judith looked kindly at me.

  ‘How?’ I was totally surprised. ‘Did he tell you?’

  ‘He didn’t need to. He always beamed when you were in the room, or when your name was mentioned. Personally, I don’t think he was a happy man until he met you. I actually thought he was gay!’

  We both laughed.

  ‘Clearly I was wrong.’

  Already I felt Judith and Barcelona were going to be food for my soul. I noticed then that her elegant burgundy stripes in her blonde bob had been changed to green and that they matched her green-framed glasses. Being a translator in Catalunya was less stifling to the personality than working for the Australian government in Paris, it seemed.

  The cab pulled up outside Judith’s building in the La Ribera district of the upmarket El Born area.

  Judith chatted away as we exited the cab and I h
alf-listened.

  ‘There are designer outlets next door, including Hugo Boss, but I don’t even look in his windows. You know, he was a member of the Nazi party and a supplier of uniforms for the SS and Hitler Youth?’ Judith was always full of trivia that I needed to know but didn’t.

  ‘And across the road is a nineteenth-century marketplace being rebuilt, so it’s pretty noisy during the day. But the Basilica de Santa Maria del Mar and the Museu Picasso are only minutes walking distance away, so there’s plenty for you to do locally.’

  Judith was talking a lot and I didn’t know if it was because she was talking for both of us, or because she had been without company just a tad too long.

  We took the lift to the second floor, stopping right outside Judith’s door. Her enormous flat had tiled floors, ornate ceilings and pale yellow walls covered with an eclectic mix of paintings and prints. There were three bedrooms, a bathroom door held closed by a chopstick and a kitchen painted blue.

  She took me straight to my room at the back of the apartment with a small balcony facing another residential block. The place was full of light and I felt welcomed immediately.

  ‘I got these stripy sheets and a new bath mat just to mark your visit,’ she said, handing me new towels as well.

  ‘Just for me?’ I was surprised and embarrassed by her unnecessary effort.

  ‘Just for you. It’s a treat for me to have you here.’

  ‘Really?’ I couldn’t imagine having a miseryguts in your house as something of a treat.

  ‘Yes, I’m missing Paris and Australia and you bring a little of both.’ Judith hugged me. ‘Now, I have a meeting at the Centre de Cultura Contemporània de Barcelona or the CCCB for short, but here’s your key and there’s plenty of maps and guidebooks there,’ she pointed to the desk in my room, ‘if you feel like going out. Or else you can just chill here. I’ll be back in about three hours and we’ll have a Tinto de Verano. It’s a red wine spritzer.’

  I wasn’t sure what I wanted at that point and said nothing.