Sleeping With Paris (8 page)

***

Later that night, I headed out on my own to meet Lexi at
Le Violin Dingue
, a bar in the Latin Quarter. She told me that it had a good mix of Anglos and French guys and that the dance floor was wild. It sounded perfect—I was more than ready for a crazy night out on the town. 

As I left the Fondation des États-Unis, I joined the large groups of international students herding down the sidewalk toward the RER station. Ahead of me, three bubbly, young girls spoke Italian and two skinny French guys, clad in tight jeans and white tennis shoes, eyed them up. I smiled to myself. Everyone here was so different from the polo-sporting, collar-popping, preppy kids back in Georgetown. It was refreshing.

We waited at the crosswalk while the spiffy new tramway that ran down boulevard Jourdan stopped and picked up a load of students. I crossed the street behind the Italian girls, admiring their long, silky black hair and the way they looked so confident, all dressed in their tight skirts and low-cut tops, excited for a wild night of study abroad debauchery.

As I climbed into the red, white and blue RER train that smelled of car exhaust and body odor, I squeezed into a free pocket of space and steadied myself against the metal railing until the bumpy train came to the Luxembourg stop.

On my way up the stairs, I breathed in the humid night air as I filed past the same two tight jeans guys, who were now laughing like hyenas and shoving each other around.

“
Mademoiselle
!” I heard one of the boys shout in my direction.

I swiveled my head around to find them both staring at me with goofy grins.

“
Comme vous êtes sexy. Vous voulez coucher chez moi ce soir
?” 

I took one last glimpse of their excruciatingly tight pants, and instead of giving in to my urge to laugh, I shot them a look of disgust before making a beeline in the other direction.

To give DC
some
credit, the preppy, collar-popping boys back in Georgetown did not stop random girls in the street to tell them how sexy they were and ask them to spend the night.

I forgot all about the French boys’ immature advances as soon as I had a chance to gaze around at the lively Parisian streets. I weaved past one of the leisurely cafés that lined boulevard St. Michel and fixed my eyes on a group of four French women feasting on a meal of  cheesy crêpes, colorful salads,
and my favorite ham and cheese sandwich—the
croque-monsieur
. Across the street, a tall, iron gate surrounded the Luxembourg Gardens, and a group of high school-aged girls and boys lingered at the entrance, tossing French slang and flirty glances at each other.

As I turned the corner onto rue Soufflet and spotted the towering Panthéon building at the end of the street, I realized I’d been in such a jet-lagged haze over the past week that I’d barely left my dorm room. There was so much life in this city, so much excitement. I made a pact with myself right then and there, that no matter how bad I felt about losing Jeff, I wouldn’t waste my year in Paris by moping around by myself.

After performing a balancing act with my heels on the uneven cobblestone streets that wound past the Panthéon, I spotted Lexi smoking a cigarette and showing some leg underneath the blue and white awning of the bar. I felt cute in my favorite red, strapless top, my dark, boot-cut jeans, and my black, strappy heels. But Lexi was dressed to the nines. She had on a short, black skirt and a skimpy, metallic-blue tank top which showcased her outrageous cleavage. She definitely wasn’t leaving much to the imagination.  

Inside the smoky bar, Lexi led me downstairs, and we pushed our way through the crowded dance floor over to the bar where we ordered two rum and cokes.  

“So, have you heard from that scumbag ex-fiancé of yours since you got here?” She took a swig of her drink, then a puff of her cigarette.

“Nope, not a word.”

“And you’re not trying to get in touch with him, are you?”

“No way,” I assured her.

“Good, because you don’t want to look pathetic. And you don’t want to be the one crawling back to him. I mean you’re in Paris, you’re hot, and you’re going to meet other guys, so you have nothing to worry about.”

I surveyed the dance floor and didn’t see anyone even remotely interesting. Oh God, did I really have to play this game again? Dress up, try to impress some stupid guy at a bar, take him home, hook up, wake up and do it all over again? What in the hell was I doing?

Then I thought of Brooke. Jeff having sex with Brooke while I was wearing his ring. And suddenly, my motivation to go buck wild in Paris came roaring back.

 “Wanna take a shot and get moving on this meeting new guys thing?” I asked her.

“Hell yeah, girl.”

And with that, we ordered two shots of tequila, downed them like they were water and hit the dance floor.

Not more than ten seconds after we started dancing, two decent-looking French guys made eyes at us from across the room, bolted across the dance floor and started dancing with us. They were both super skinny (surprise, surprise) and had short, military haircuts. Lexi immediately gravitated toward the dark-haired one and wrapped her arms around him. The blond one closed in on me, gripped my waist, and pushed me further into the center of the dance floor. I rested my arms on his bony shoulders and let all thoughts of the past week drift away as the alcohol numbed me.

After dancing with the random, nameless French guy for about two songs, he finally spoke to me. 

“
Vous êtes française
?” he shouted into my ear. The bass was bumping so loud, it was hard to hear anything other than the music.

“
Non, je suis américaine
.”

“Oh, you speak zee English?
You are . . . euh, how do you say . . . very pretty.”

As I laughed at his typical, corny response, he shouted, “You want a drink?”

He took my hand and led me over to the bar. For a split second, I remembered how Jeff had taken my hand and led me to the bar the night we first met. I didn’t feel any butterflies this time though.  

We ordered two shots each and took them one right after the other. After the second shot, Nameless French Boy led me back out onto the dance floor so we could really start heating the place up. He slid his hands up and down my back as he pressed his body close to mine. I didn’t even notice if he was a good dancer because those shots had hit me pretty hard. Before I knew it, his lips were on mine and we were making out as if we were alone in my room and not in the middle of a crowded dance floor.

I caught a glimpse of Lexi and the other nameless French boy next to us. They were doing the exact same thing.

I wasn’t sure how long the dancing and kissing continued, but it felt great to relax in another man’s arms and forget about everything that had been happening. 

At the end of the night, Nameless French Boy finally told me his name.

“Frédéric,” he said with a grin. “And you?” he asked with his arms still wrapped around my waist.

“Charlotte,” I stammered, giggling.

“I love zat name. So beauteeful. And you, you are so beauteeful too. Maybe we can see each other zis week?”

“Sure, when are you free?”

“Well, I am an officer of zee police, so I work at zee daytime. But maybe at night I can see you? I can have your phone number?”

After I scribbled my number on a napkin for Frédéric, he leaned down to give me one last passionate bar kiss. How romantic. I couldn’t say I didn’t enjoy it though.

“I go to find my friend now . . . but I will miss you,” Frédéric said as he looked down at me longingly. Then he wiped a fake tear out from under his eye and said almost incomprehensibly, “I tear without you.”

I laughed out loud. Come on—
I tear
? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He was going to cry because he had to leave me?

“I’m sure you’ll be okay, Freddy boy,” I said as I grabbed his hand and led him over to the corner of the bar where Lexi and her French dude were still going at it pretty hot and heavy. It was definitely time to go home.

“Mmhmm,” Frédéric grunted, trying to get their attention.

Lexi disentangled herself from Frédéric’s friend’s lips and shot us a devious grin. If we had waited any longer to come over here, they probably would’ve been kicked out of the bar for indecent exposure. This dude looked like he was just dying to rip her clothes off.

“
On y va?”
Frédéric asked Lexi’s new boy toy if he wanted to get going.

“
Ouais
,” he answered reluctantly before he went in for another long, passionate kiss, much like the one Frédéric had just given me. Having already completed our make-out and dance session for the night, Frédéric and I shuffled around and surveyed the steamy bar for what seemed like an eternity while the horny love birds wrapped things up.

Finally, they came up for air and the boys were off. A wave of exhaustion swept over me as Lexi and I headed for the door. My feet were killing me. It was time to go home and get some sleep.

“So, it looks like you had a pretty hot time. I told you that you had nothing to worry about,” Lexi said as she put her arm around me. We laughed as we stumbled out of the bar and split a cab ride home.

The alcohol had worn off by the time I reached my dorm, and suddenly I wasn’t feeling that tired anymore. I hated going home alone and trying to fall asleep by myself. While it had been fun to distract myself for the night with a new guy, the whole bar scene made me feel even more desperate and alone than I already felt. I missed home. I missed my friends. And most of all, I missed the feeling of security that I had felt with Jeff. But here I was, back in the singles scene again, back out at the bars, making out with random guys. Acting like I was in college. But, what other choice did I have? 

I glanced at myself in the mirror. My black eye make-up had smudged, my lipstick had worn off, and the circles under my eyes had grown to epic proportions. I looked like a drunken mess.

What in the hell was I doing?

I sat down at my computer, hoping to find some emails from home that could take away this empty, sickening feeling.

But there, at the top of my inbox, was an email from Jeff.

Seven

samedi, le 2 octobre

When the ex comes knocking, lock your heart in a vault and don’t answer the door.

Charlotte,

How are you? How are things in Paris? I hope you’re okay.  I miss you more than you can imagine. I wish you would’ve let me explain so we could’ve worked things out. Can you email me your number over there so we can at least talk?

I need you, Charlotte.

I love you,

Jeff

Patches of heat stung my face as I stared at the screen. What in the hell was he thinking? Did he forget that he
cheated on
me
?

At the same time I felt elated that he had written to me, that he missed me, that he still loved me. I loved him so much and just wanted to be with him, talk to him, feel his arms around me. Anything to make this emptiness go away. 

And still, I was so furious with him. Furious at everything he had done and at his insensitive email. I needed to move on and get over him, but reading his words on the screen made me want to fly back to DC and forget that any of this had ever happened.

I started typing.

Dear Jeff,

I miss you like crazy and I love you too. I’m coming home tomorrow. Let’s just forget about everything and move on. 

Love,

Charlotte

I read my email over and over again, wanting to hit the “send” button so that I could erase everything and go back to the way things used to be before he had hurt me so badly. But that’s just it—he had hurt me, more than anyone had in my entire life, and I knew in my heart that there was no way I could move on and pretend it had never happened. I deleted my email and started over.

Jeff,

After everything you’ve put me through, how can you expect me to want to talk to you? Please just leave me alone.

Charlotte
 

***

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my head pounding inside my skull. My mind raced to remember the night before. The shots, Frédéric, and as if I could forget, Jeff’s email. As soon as I remembered our email exchange, I shot out of bed and turned on my computer to see if Jeff had replied.

Nothing. No response. I guess I
had
told him to leave me alone. Still, I was hoping for a response. I wanted Jeff to fight for me. To not take no for an answer. But there was nothing except the pounding inside my head and the silence in my lonely room greeting me when I awoke that morning.