Generation of Liars (39 page)

“Sara, Pressley’s hair is dark, but
it’s cut very short. Maybe you’re just remembering it wrong.”

“No, this guy’s name wasn’t Elvis,
or Pressley, or anything like that, it was a simple name.” She snapped her
fingers together as if to summon the name. “His name was Ben.”

I stopped and twisted backwards on
my heels. I looked at Sara, hand on hip, cigarette dangling from her juicy red
lips, and a bouffant tied with a
scrunchie
at the side of her head. “Did you say Ben?” I asked her.

“Yeah, like I told you, he was real
cute. It got me all taken off guard and mixed up with remembering his name. We
don’t usually get the handsome types around here in Pigalle.”

Wally’s eyes were roving the length
of the alley. “I don’t care if the guy’s name was Elvis or Elmer Fudd, I want
you out of here, Alice. Before someone sees us together.”

“I’m gone,” I said, dazed and preoccupied
with the question of why Ben had been looking for me in Pigalle the morning
after our first encounter in the emergency room.

Chapter Thirty-eight: The Night We Met

W
HEN
I GOT BACK to the apartment, Ben was sitting at the breakfast counter. He was
opening and sorting mail while having a cup of coffee. “Hello, Alice,” he
greeted, as I walked through the door.

“Ben, hey,” I greeted back, doing
all I could to hide my fluster. “I was just out in the city doing a little job
hunting.”

“That’s the spirit, Alice! Good for
you.”

I wiggled onto the stool next to
Ben and pulled over his cup of coffee and took a sip. “Ben, can I ask you
something?”

“Of course, Alice. You can ask me
anything.” His nose brushed mine. He reached for his cup back, and seeing that
it was empty now, he got up to refill it from the carafe on the counter. His
back was turned to me.

“It’s about the night we first
met.”

“You mean when you tumbled into the
emergency room and stole my heart? That was a crazy night, wasn’t it? It’s amazing
that such a meaningful relationship sprang up from such a chaotic and seemingly
random meeting. That two polar opposites could fall in love after such a
tumultuous introduction, well, it boggles my mind still.”

“It was pretty crazy,” I agreed.

“You know,” Ben said, grabbing a
handful of pink and chocolate macaroons from the cupboard and bringing them
back over to me along with the replenished coffee cup, “when my parents asked
me how I met the new girlfriend I’ve been telling them about, I lied and told
them you were a patient who came into the emergency room with food poisoning. I
just didn’t think they would be thrilled about the whole tale of your
ex-boyfriend and a gun.”

“I can see how that story might not
sit well with parental units.” I positioned my mouth over a macaroon, but
froze. “Wait a minute, you’ve told your parents about me?”

“Of course I did, Alice. I had too.
They were quickly suspicious about why I was always in such a good mood all the
time.”

“They noticed that you were
happier?”

“Almost immediately. The morning
after I met you, my mother called to tell me about my cousin having a baby, and
not a minute into the conversation she noticed a change in my voice. I guess
love really can change a man.”

“She noticed the day after you met
me? You mean even before we were dating?”

“Alice, I hope you won’t think this
makes me sound desperate, but from the moment you stepped into the ER that
night, I could think about nothing but you.”

My front teeth snapped off a nibble
from the macaroon. “Even just the next day?”

“I woke up thinking about you.”

“Ben, that is so sweet.”

“What about you, Alice? Did you
think about me the next day?”

I shoved the rest of the macaroon
into my mouth, and gave a sheepish smile. “Sort of.”

“Oh, Alice, I should have guessed,
you didn’t really find anything riveting about me, did you?”

“I was just very preoccupied that
night. Plus, I was sure I would never see you again, and I really didn’t think
I was, you know, you’re type. The unorthodox hair color usually turns off stable
men. Plus, when I met you I was wearing smudged makeup and a burnt cigarette
butt in my hair, not exactly a lovely first impression. So I didn’t bother
entertaining any romantic notions about you.”

“You were wearing a very curious
note inside your stocking too,” he added.

“Hey, I thought we decided that was
off topic.”

“You’re right, you’re right,” he
said. “It was a pretty awesome coincidence that I saw you that next day on the
street. And to think, we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for a cup of coffee
shared after a second chance encounter.”

I took a breath to muster some
confidence for the question I was about to ask. “But was it a coincidence,
Ben?”

He looked up, his startled eyes
shiny like jewelry. “What do you mean, Alice? Of course it was. You were there.
You remember.”

“Or had you been looking for me
already?”

“Looking for you?”

“Looking for me in Pigalle. Did you
go to the address I had written on the forms at the hospital when I signed in
with the receptionist?”

Ben seemed to tense up and he
cupped a hand over his chin with his elbow leaning on the counter. “Alright,
Alice, I did go and look for you. Like I told you, I just couldn’t stop
thinking about you, and I was a little worried about you, especially when I saw
the neighborhood you gave the receptionist as your address.”

“It’s a perfectly fine
neighborhood.”

“Well, Pigalle has a certain
reputation, and I thought you might be in trouble. When the girl I spoke to
while I was looking for you at your old apartment said nobody had seen you in a
few days, I really panicked.”

“That was my friend, Sara
Cinnamon.”

“She was, um, lively,” Ben said,
straining his face as he found the delicate words.

“It’s okay, you can say it, she’s
strung out.”

“More accurate, you’re right.”

“Well, Pigalle is made up of all
kinds.”

“I understand that. The city
certainly has its character’s, but I don’t necessarily think Pigalle is the
right place for you. Alice, when I saw you on the street that day here in my
neighborhood, I was relieved. Seeing you again was the best thing that could
have happened. If you want to know the truth, I believe it was fate.”

I looked down into the coffee cup.
“I believe it was fate, too.”

He moved in and gave me a
passionate kiss before pulling away to say, “All this reminiscing about our
first meeting and I do believe I’ve made myself late for returning to work. I
was only home on a lunch break to get my bills sorted out.” He stood up and I
adoringly brushed the rainbow macaroon crumbs from his scrubs. I kissed Ben
goodbye in the doorway.

I hugged myself inside the blanket
on Ben’s sofa. I was thrilled that Ben was so in love with me, but it didn’t
ease my worry about how I would keep hiding from Motley. Or how I would ever
get back Rabbit the money I promised him.

Chapter Thirty-nine: Thanksgiving

A
FTER
THAT, THE days seemed to blur together.

The couch became my haven. Ben
didn’t seem to mind. He was working a lot of hours at the hospital. With him
being gone all the time, I occasionally felt a twinge of jealousy about that
flirtatious blonde who had climbed him like a set of monkey bars that day I
visited him at the hospital. But I had no reason not to trust him. He came home
every night, and as it turns out, he had been in love with me since the moment
he saw me.

I spent a lot of time lying on the
couch, shoulder-deep under a blanket, obsessing about Rabbit’s money being down
in that hole. Once a day, I padded to the linen closet and pulled out the
dynamite stick and dangled it over the toilet. I couldn’t bring myself to
destroy it. I knew I might need it as collateral in case Motley ever went after
my family.

Ben’s apartment wasn’t a bad place
to crash. He kept it neat. And you could see the tippy top of the Eiffel Tower
out his window. At night it looked like the North Star. And just because he was
technically a bachelor, Ben didn’t take the decorative route of sport teams and
busty bimbos with his wall décor. He had tasteful pieces of art and colorful
paintings on the wall. He had this one watercolor of a pretty girl wrapped in
yellow floating down a river, flowers all around her. He said she reminded him
of me.

Thanksgiving was coming, but Paris,
as usual, didn’t care. The anticipation I felt for the holiday amidst an
indifferent city awoke a feeling of homesickness deep within me. The Wednesday
morning before Thanksgiving, Ben was getting ready to leave for his shift when
I padded, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen, dragging the cuffs of his borrowed
pajamas. “I am going to make us a traditional Thanksgiving meal this year,” I
announced.

“Wow, Alice,” Ben said. He whirled
a spoon like a wand in his coffee. “That sounds amazing.”

I climbed one of the breakfast
counter stools and started writing down a list of groceries. I listed a turkey,
cranberries, marshmallows, yams, and flour for homemade rolls. I handed the
list to Ben.

He looked down at the paper beneath
his nose. “You can’t be serious. You don’t really expect me to have time to get
these groceries.”

“Can’t you just pick them up on
your way back from the hospital?”

“Alice, you know I will be utterly
wiped out by the time I get off my shift. Plus, I usually get home well past
when the markets close. I doubt I will be in the mood to scour Paris for an
all-night grocery store after a grueling twelve hours in the emergency room.”

“But, Ben,” I protested, feeling
the tip of my nose going cold like a kitten’s, “I really want to have a nice
Thanksgiving.”

“Then go to the market and get
these things for yourself.” His voice was sharply irritated. “You’re home all
day long with nothing to do.”

“You don’t have to be such a jerk
about it.”

“I’m serious, Alice, why do you
have such an aversion to leaving the apartment? You think I don’t notice, but I
see you crying all the time, even in your sleep. When I get home from my shifts
at the hospital, your eyes are always raw from crying. I have a suspicion that
once I leave for work you just spend the entire day on the couch.”

“You’re such a jerk.” I slid off
the stool and torpedoed to the bedroom as a rush of hot tears began streaming
down my cheeks. I slammed the door shut. I slid down against the back of the
door and sobbed with my knees against my chin.

“Please let me in, Alice.” Ben was
pounding the door. “I only have a few minutes before I need to leave for work.
Please don’t let me leave with things between us like this.”

“You think I’m lazy. That I just
act like a slob on the couch all day.”

“No I don’t think you’re lazy,
Alice. I think you’re depressed.”

I sucked back my tears and blew my
nose onto my sleeve, sounding like an obtuse horn. “I’m sorry if I can’t be
perky all the time, Ben, not like the peppy blonde you were hugging at the
hospital.”

“Oh, Alice, for goodness’ sake, not
this again. We’ve been through this.” He slammed one fist on the door. “Oh
gosh, I think I’m going to start pulling out my hair.”

“Admit it, Ben, you’re sick of me.
You think I’m just a big, boring lump taking up room on your sofa.”

“Alice,” I heard him sliding down
to his knees, leveling his lips to the keyhole on the door. “I don’t find you
boring at all. I love you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

I sniffled again, and when I opened
my lips to speak, I couldn’t think of anything to say back, so I licked at the
dryness of my lips and stayed silent. Ben got up from the floor and I heard him
reach for his keys and slam the front door on his way out.

*   
*    *

When Ben got home from work that
night, I was sitting on the couch, pretending not to see him walk through the
door wearing his aqua-blue scrubs.

I slid my eyes to the side and
observed that he was hefting a grocery bag in each hand, and when he set them
down on the counter I sprang up to my feet and ran towards him. I peeked into
the bags and saw that they were stuffed with my Thanksgiving grocery list.

“Oh Ben!” I gasped, pulling out an
enormous frozen turkey. I began methodically lining up the rest of the
ingredients on the counter.

That night, I didn’t go to sleep. I
stayed up all night thawing the bird and then basting it in butter and rosemary
and setting it inside the refrigerator to be cooked in the morning. Then I got
to mixing, with maniacal pace, a batter for fresh rolls from the flour Ben had
brought home.

“Alice, are you coming to bed?” Ben
was leaning against the bedroom doorway with his jaw unhinged into a yawn.

“Not until I finish everything.” My
hands were covered in white flour, pressing into the dough to roll out flat
sheets.

“Alright,” Ben said, dragging his
feet over the floorboards and shutting the lights off behind him on his way to
bed.

Chapter Forty: Ophelia

T
HE
TURKEY, FULL of buoyant air, bobbed along the diamond white sidewalk pavers.
Snoopy was there too.

It was the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day
parade. Even though I was in Paris, I had to find a station that broadcasted
it. I proudly put the finished bird on the table as the television cut to a
commercial break.  

“I can’t believe you cooked all
this,” Ben said, his eyes taking in the cornucopia of colors and textures on
the table. “I am really impressed.”

“There’s cranberry too!” I
declared, spinning to the counter and grabbing a glass bowl that was
overlapping with red, juicy pearls.

His face lit up and he reached
across the table for one of the fluffy dinner rolls. “You know, this is the
first time I’ve celebrated Thanksgiving since coming to Paris. I forgot how
much I missed it.”