After thirty minutes, Claudia still hasn’t returned.
“We should go find her,” MJ says, clearly beginning to worry.
“She’s a big girl,” Sophie says, still pissed off. “If she doesn’t show in the next ten minutes, I’m leaving. She can meet us at the hotel.”
“Sophie, we shouldn’t split up.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you should have told her that before the little drama queen stormed off.”
MJ sighs. “I’ll look for her myself. Just don’t leave, okay? I’ll be back before your deadline.”
Sophie shrugs.
When MJ leaves, the dark-haired man walks over. “Bonjour.”
“Bonjour,” Sophie replies half-heartedly.
I can’t believe Claudia just dismissed what I do, she thinks. I mean, I’ve never ragged on her, even though she’s been out of college for a while now and still hasn’t finished her novel, or even published a short story. And I paid for her to come out here! Now she’s ruining my night to the point that I can’t even get excited about a gorgeous man coming to talk to me…
“Pardon?” the man asks in a delicious French accent.
Oh shit, have I been talking out loud?
“Eh, hehe, nothing. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I can see that you and your friends are having a rough night. They have left you?”
“Oh, no, we’re fine. They’ll be back any second now.”
“Ah. Well, perhaps I can wait with you.”
“Um, okay.” Sophie scoots over to make room for him at the bar.
They are silent for a while. She keeps her face on the crowd, to watch for MJ and/or Claudia’s return, but occasionally she sneaks a glance at the man out of the corner of her eyes. He is simply tapping his foot to the beat of the music.
When Sophie finishes her drink, she turns to set it on the counter. The man turns also, and their eyes meet. His are a greenish-brown, and penetrating.
“I’m Mathieu,” he says.
“Sophie.” She offers her hand and he accepts. He shakes it firmly, American style. For no reason at all, she finds this comforting. “I’m sorry if I’ve been standoffish. You caught me on a weird night.”
“That’s twice you apologize, and yet you say you are fine.” He shakes his head. “You are not fine. But maybe a dance will help.”
“Excuse me?”
“A dance.” He gestures to the crowd. “Do you want to dance?”
She looks out at the pulsating bodies, the flashing colored lights, the joy and abandon on people’s faces. She nods.
Mathieu leads her out, and she raises her arms, ready to lose herself to the beat. Instead, he reaches up and draws her hands down. He links them around his neck, so that she is embracing him. And he begins to sway slowly, ignoring the upbeat tempo of the music and everyone around them.
For a moment Sophie considers protesting, or just walking away. But she is tired of fighting. So instead, she lays her head upon his shoulder, and they dance.
…
MJ eventually finds Claudia bent backwards over a stool, pouring the last drops of a shot glass into her mouth, and pawing at the strap of her silver top, which has slipped off her shoulder. On the table behind her is an array of empty glasses. At first MJ thinks her friend must have fallen in with a group of heavy partiers. But as she looks around, she notices Claudia is alone.
“Claudia? Did you drink all of this?”
Claudia sits up. She squints at MJ, then breaks out into a wide smile. “MJ!” She stands to give MJ a hug but trips over her own feet.
“I guess that’s my answer,” MJ mutters as she catches her friend. “Geezus, you are too small and inexperienced to drink alone your first time.”
“Inexperienced,” Claudia repeats. “Exactly! That’s why. I need experience.”
Her tongue is clunky, her words poorly articulated, but MJ manages to decipher them. She hefts Claudia to her feet and leads her across the club, back to where Sophie is, hopefully, still waiting. “You need experience being drunk? What on Earth for?”
“Sex, drunks, drugs,” Claudia says cheerfully. It’s close enough to what she intended. “That’s what a good writer has to do. Depression is bonus.”
They stumble along the edges of the dance floor, and MJ frowns. “Who told you that garbage?”
Claudia raises her arms in a giant shrug, accidentally smacking MJ in the face. They both lose their balance and fall into a couple grinding nearby. “Sorry!” MJ says, grabbing Claudia and hurrying away.
“I mean, look at Sophie,” Claudia continues. “She drinks. She probably sexes. Don’t know ‘bout drugs or depression, but that’s two for three.” She holds up four fingers, just in case MJ didn’t understand. “And now she’s a writer. Poof, like magic!”
At this, Claudia begins to cry.
“What the hell?”
It’s Sophie, walking towards them from the dance floor. Following close behind her is Mathieu. MJ notes the complete lack of judgment on his face and mentally applauds him for it. She’s not sure she would be as kind in his shoes.
“She’s drunk,” MJ explains.
“I can see that,” Sophie says at the same time that Claudia protests, “No, I’m drunk! I was going to be a writer, but Sophie got it first. She can’t have drunk too!”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “Seriously, I don’t know why you wanted to find her.” With one last shake of her head, Sophie walks away, feeling completely disgusted, frustrated, and… guilty.
Claudia opens her mouth, intending to shout something at her retreating “friend.” But instead of words coming out, vomit does. And lands directly on Mathieu’s shoes.
“Oh gross,” MJ says, looking away so as not to retch herself. “Anyone know how to say ‘hot mess’ in French?”
…
Despite MJ’s insistence that he doesn’t have to, Mathieu carries Claudia back to their hotel. (After he cleans off his shoes, of course.) Secretly, she’s grateful for his assistance. Claudia is deadweight, and MJ is way past tired.
Meanwhile, Claudia’s mood turns from bad to worse.
I can’t believe Sophie threw that writing stuff in my face, she thinks. Does she have any idea how hard I try, how many stories I’ve submitted, how crappy the market is right now? No, of course not. Because she’s one of the lucky ones, one of the lottery winners who just stumbled into good fortune. It’s not fair. And it’s not just her blog. Look at this guy! He’s gorgeous, and forgiving, and obviously helping me just to impress Sophie. Not that I mind. My feet are killing me. My head too…
When at last they arrive at the hotel suite, Sophie is already in bed. The sliding door that separates her area from the rest has been drawn shut.
“Guess she doesn’t want company,” MJ mutters. She’s not mad at anyone, just annoyed with everyone.
Sophie hears her but says nothing. She is only pretending to be asleep. She watches through a crack in the door as Mathieu deposits Claudia gently on the sofa. When Claudia retches into the nearby waste bin, Sophie starts forward, wanting to help her friend.
“This is all Sophie’s fault,” Claudia moans, leaning back against the sofa with an expression of agony on her face.
At that, Sophie pulls back from the door, sinks onto her bed, and sits alone in the dark.
…
Mathieu leaves after Claudia finally falls asleep, having emptied the contents of her stomach several times over. MJ thanks him, apologizes for the hundredth time, and reluctantly nods when he insists that he will return to check on them in the morning. First, she’s not wild about a strange Frenchman knowing where they are staying, and second, she doesn’t need checking up on. But whatever. She’ll let Sophie deal with him.
It’s nearly morning by the time MJ changes out of her clubbing outfit and into sweatpants and a shirt. She gently wipes off her makeup and examines at herself in the bathroom mirror. She looks just like the night she had: hell.
There’s another bed in the suite, which she and Claudia are supposed to share, but for some reason, MJ doesn’t feel like going to it. Instead, she grabs a sweater and her key and heads out to the streets of Paris.
She walks aimlessly at first. The bakeries are not yet open but already abuzz with activity. A few Parisians trickle in and out of the Metro on their way to work. A garbage truck passes and then halts, and two men jump out to collect bags and boxes from the street. One part of MJ’s brain takes in all of these details, and their accompanying sounds and scents. But another part of MJ’s brain cannot see, smell, or hear anything — it is too overwhelmed.
I can’t believe how this trip is turning out, she thinks. I took valuable time off from school and the lab to be with Sophie and Claudia, and all they’ve done is go at each other’s throats. This was supposed to be my time to relax, to escape from the pressure I was getting from both Felix and Dr. Storm. Instead, I’m more stressed than ever, and still being asked to pick between two people who matter to me. It’s ridiculous. Maybe I should just go back to England…
Just then, she arrives at the Tour Montparnasse, and she realizes that’s where she was headed all along. The skyscraper is, in her opinion, monstrously ugly, but it’s not what she came to see. It’s where she came to see from.
Unfortunately, the building doesn’t open to the public for another three hours. When MJ reads the sign, she nearly crumples under the disappointment. But after a day in which everything has fallen apart, MJ refuses to do the same.
Instead she sits on the steps to wait. Sophie and Claudia be damned. She’s a big girl too, she thinks, remembering what Sophie said. She’ll find her way back to the hotel when she’s good and ready.
A few minutes later, a man in faded coveralls opens the door. He calls to her from the doorway, but she can’t understand his French. She says something back, but he doesn’t understand her English. After a few unintelligible back-and-forths, the janitor says “Bah!” and motions for her to follow him inside. Puzzled, she does.
The janitor takes her to the elevator. While they wait for the car to come down, he points to her and frowns. Then he points to the elevator, points up, and smiles. At last, MJ understands.
Breaking who knows how many rules for who knows what reasons, the janitor takes MJ up to the observation deck on the 56th floor. He points to his watch and then holds up both his hands. Ten minutes. MJ nods.
The janitor politely wanders off, leaving her to enjoy her short time there. MJ intends to do just that. She walks over to the window and leans against the rail.
Alone and at peace at last, MJ watches the sun rise over Paris.
…
To be continued…
