21 Steps to Happiness (12 page)

“Oh, j'ai dormi!”
Guy jerks back to life and looks around.

“It's all right, darling. We didn't miss you.”

“I'm sick. I want out,” he manages to whine in English.

“You're a big boy. You can go out by yourself.”

“It's all right,” Hubert says. He helps the boy to his feet and drags him through the crowd.

How decent of him! If this wasn't a friends-date, I would be so charmed.

“Lynn, let me say this—stay away from Hubert.”

“Nothing will happen. This is—”

“There's no such thing as a friends-date.”

I'm about to protest and explain the terms of a friends-date, but a man falls into Hubert's seat, stares at me and says, “Hey, I know you.”

He is an elegant, overweight guy in his midforties. He has curly red hair and the round red face of somebody who enjoys his beer with lots of potato chips.

“I don't think so.”

“Everybody knows her,” Roxanne tells him. “But nobody knows you. Is that your best pick-up line?”

“Hey, don't be so uptight, lady. The name's Brian. Brian Ferguson from Boston. Are you from Boston?”

He is kind of cute, if you like them chubby and cuddly.

“What do you do for a living, Brian Ferguson from Boston?” Roxanne asks.

He shows his glass of beer.

“I buy and sell wine. That's what I do.”

“That's beer.”

“I'm unfaithful.”

“Lovely job.”

“Simply the best. Cheers to that,” he toasts, then empties his glass. “Hey, can I buy you ladies a drink?”

Roxanne studies him more carefully. “Married?”

“Divorced.”

“Well off?”

“Can't complain.”

“Make it two Bloody Marys.” She shoos him away. “Doesn't he look like the common Joe for a Brian? I like him.”

“I'm not sure Guy is going to like him, too,” I say, reminding Roxanne she's here with a date.

“Speak of the devil.”

Hubert comes back alone.

“I had to put the boy in a cab,” he says.

“Now, Hubert, that's nasty. I had plans for Guy tonight.”

“Hey, I was here first, buddy,” Brian says and puts our drinks on the table.

“Hubert, meet Brian Ferguson from Boston. Brian sells wine.”

“And who are you, buddy?” Brian asks like somebody about to lose his parking place.

“Brian, I have new plans for you tonight. You're going to be my date,” Roxanne purrs at Brian.

“Whatever you say, boss.”

“Good boy. Sit.”

Brian sits with a big smile on his face. Give him beer and women, and he feels complete.

“Can we join you tonight?” Roxanne asks.

“We have a reservation at La Tour d'Argent.”

“La Tour d'Argent!” Brian spits his beer back into the glass. “That's for tourists and sitting ducks, buddy.”

“Oh behave, Brian.”

Brian freezes and gives Roxanne a sleazy look. “Lady, I like it when you talk nasty.”

Look at her. She can't stop a
so
un-Roxanne Green smile. He slams the table and says, “I know another
tour,
but this one is Tour de Montlhéry and, ladies and gentlemen, it's the real thing.”

I look at Hubert and say, “Why not?” So Hubert smiles courteously and says, “Why not, indeed?”

But we're not ready. We're not ready until we drink enough Bloody Marys to kill a small pony, and when we get out of Harry's Bar, I see nothing wrong with Hubert having his arm around my waist. Because that's exactly what friends do when they go out on friends-dates.

He calls Dave on his cell phone. He looks so much in charge. I feel that for once I can rely on someone else and I'm so touched that I could cry (yes, I'm drunk!).

I turn to Roxanne. I need her moral support.

She's useless.

She laughs and laughs! Roxanne Green laughs a normal, earnest laugh. Not the hyena cry she normally uses to punctuate every sentence. She finds the round Brian hilarious.

“Where's that cab?” he yells, but suddenly, the sight of Hubert's Mercedes shuts him up. But just for a moment.

“Oh, wait a minute, buddy! Are you trying to impress us?”

“No, that's just our ride,” Hubert answers, so naturally detached I want to kiss him. But I guess that I shouldn't because first, this is a friends-date and I need to remind myself to feel very guilty from time to time.

 

Dave offers his hand to help me out when we arrive at the restaurant.

“I told you, it's the real thing,” Brian says.

“Lynn, this is going to be by far the worst evening I have ever had in Paris,” Roxanne says, but, by God, she's smiling so much she even forgets about the wrinkles it makes on her face.

We enter the small restaurant. Copper pots and various-shaped and -sized salamis are hanging from the ceiling. A woman, apparently the owner, is guarding the entrance. She recognizes Hubert and they shake hands. He speaks in French to her. He makes a joke and she laughs and calls one of the waiters. They start shuffling things around in the tiny restaurant to arrange a table for us.

It seems like there is a special private function going on in there, like a wedding or corporate party, but Brian says, “It's like this every night, a big party with strangers.”

It's a gourmets' gang bang!

There are no separated tables. You sit at a long table among perfect strangers. Everybody shares their wine and food.

I don't know if it's all a dream or if this is for real. I feel like a young teenager. Excited and overwhelmed. Hubert doesn't look like an enemy. I don't need to be careful with him. Not tonight. Tonight, he's my partner. He's the one I can rely on. The one who will protect me and see me right.

We've ordered food but I have no idea what I have asked for. The waiter puts a large, deep platter in front of me that contains something that looks like giant dead slime in sauce. I hear Brian laugh out the word
kidney
and I feel instantly sick and claustrophobic.

I need oxygen. I stand up and start to push people out of my way.

I try to smile as I pass by the owner. She sits like an old queen behind the till. She controls who pays and who tips. Money and whiskey on ice are her two things. I smile, so she'll think I'm all right and still a young lady. But you can't fool people like her. She knows that I'm as drunk as a pig and sick as a dog. She tosses me a condescending smile. She has no time for people who can't hold their liquor. I push open the door and reach the street. It's a hot night. I'm disappointed. I expected a fresh cool supply of air and all I get is a warm blanket charged with pollen.

“Do you want to go?” Hubert has followed me outside. He puts one hand on my shoulder and the other on my cheek. I'm trapped. I feel possessed by him and very safe all at the same time.

“Yes,” I say, looking back into the restaurant.

“They'll be fine,” he says as he pushes buttons on his cell phone.

“Don't call Dave, please. I need to walk a bit.”

“Whatever you like,” Hub says as he smiles at me. “Lynn, I need to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I haven't felt like this in years.”

“Sick and drunk?”

“No.” He shakes his head and laughs. “I don't know if I have ever felt like this before.”

“Oh, come on!” This has to stop right now. Even as drunk as I am I know a line when I hear one.

“Listen! I felt like
this
…tonight. With you.”

“Is that the best you can do?” I snap defensively. I'm caught off guard. Men like Hubert Barclay don't speak like this. Not to women like me.

“In fact, you're right. I can do much better.” He stops me by grabbing my arm gently. I don't want to see his eyes. I look farther down the street. I look at the passing cars and the traffic lights as they turn to red.

“I want to do much better, Lynn.”

I turn back to him. I shouldn't have.

He kisses me. Very fast. On the tip of my lips.

No, no, no! This is not happening. This is not what friends do on friends-dates.

“I don't…” I try to say something to stop Hubert's kiss.

“Shh!”

Oh, don't fool yourself, Lynn. I feel the pressure of his hand on my back as he comes back for more. I made a mess out of this friends-dating thing. I'm overwhelmed by his charm, by his strength, by his desire. I don't want it to happen but I can't fight it either. I kiss him back.

He breaks our embrace and calls Dave on his cell phone. We both know that the walk is over. We need a ride.

 

I wake up at dusk. At first it's hard to remember where I am. Then it hits me like a torpedo.

Boom!

I'm lying in bed and the Hub is asleep beside me. This is not a hotel room. It's more like an apartment and as I ease up I see the Seine through the panoramic bedroom windows.

Oh, my God!

I turn to look at him. All I see is his very large shoulders, his face smashed against the pillows.

Alarm bells go off in my head. I've got to get out of here.

I slide out of bed. The last thing I need is for him to wake up and ask me how I feel.

Oh, my God!

Help me!

I find my panties on the floor. My Kazo dress lies like a neglected kitchen towel nearby. My shoes didn't make it farther then the living room. I pick them and tiptoe to the door.

I can't even pretend that I don't remember a thing. I remember all the dirty details.

Him all over me.

His body.

His skin.

How could I have done this? The guy just asked me out on a date, a little restaurant dinner, and now I'm running out of his apartment after a night of passionate mating and multiple orgasms.

Help me, help me!

It's not what I wanted. I just wanted a medium-rare steak. Maybe some béarnaise sauce.

I try to open the door as discreetly as I can, but I make an awful racket trying to figure out how to operate the lock.

“Lynn!” I hear him calling from the bedroom. “Lynn!”

I slide out onto the staircase and close the door. I run down the steps like a thief. My heart is racing. I imagine him running after me. I imagine that I will never make it to the street. I press all the buttons to get the front door to open and finally there is a
bip
noise and I run out and away barefoot.

I see a taxi and I wave. I finally put on my shoes before I jump in.

“Vous, vous avez fait la fête,”
the driver says.

“La fête?”

“Party, party…” He winks.

Even the taxi driver knows. And…Talking about a party! We didn't even use condoms!

Well, it was supposed to be a friends-date! You don't take condoms to those.

It didn't stop me.

I'm pa-athetic!

I feel so guilty, but…why? I'm not married to Nicolas. We're not even together-together. I'm a single, young American girl in Paris with boiling hormones in a hot Kazo dress. I'm going out with high-flying American society and having amazing sex with a Hub. Until Nicolas steps up and tells me he wants a relationship, that's allowed. Right?

 

I run up to my room. I look for my card key in my purse but I can't find it. Oh, no. Did I leave it in Hub's apartment? Will he come here later and enter my room? Will he ravage me again and again until I die of ecstasy? Will he—oh! I finally find my card and enter my room.

I lock myself inside and collapse against the door.

He has kissed and he will tell! Everybody is going to know what kind of dirty girl Jodie Blanchett's daughter is. One night, that's all it takes to have me. You don't even need to buy me dessert. Just bring me to a bar, fill me up with drinks, and I'm yours.

I find his business card and go to the phone. It's 5:30 a.m. but I need to call him and set the record straight.

I let the phone ring…and get his answering machine. I hang up and phone again. It's busy. I hang up and phone again. He picks up.

“Nicolas?”

He doesn't answer at first.

I just hear him breathing and I imagine him trying to figure out who in the world would call him at this ungodly hour while he stands completely naked in the middle of his living room with his phone in his hand.