CHASING LIFE (11 page)

‘No way could I be falling for her,’ Dave mumbled to himself. He felt
silly. Why had he acted like a teenager? It was crazy. A childish crush by an adult and brought on by excess consumption of alcohol.
Ease up on the booze, will you
?

Times
Square was opening for business. In the middle of the foyer a giant television screen was set up, and soccer balls hung all over the place in preparation for the soccer finals and a huge party. The travel agent was open by the time he arrived, and he sat down to talk to a pretty assistant.

‘Hello, how can I help you?’ s
he said and gave Dave a bright morning smile Dave.

‘Can you tell me when the next flight for Melbourne is?’

‘Sure, one moment please.’ The lady punched away at her keyboard searching for flights while Dave looked around. Hong Kong was getting under his skin. It was a crazy and exciting place but not for someone like him. He just wasn’t up for it anymore. He was getting older and Melbourne was safe. It was home and there everything was predictable. He’d get a job easily enough and fall back into routine.

C
ould he go back into the same routine just when he got out of it? He was so confused. He’d set out on a quest to find some kind of happiness, live moment to moment, and leave the past. But, could he cope with uncertainty? Was it better to stop before it got crazy and couldn’t deal with his own feelings? He wasn’t sure what to do. It frustrated him. Could he live his life alone? And then he thought of Erin, her face, her body, her breath on his skin. She left a permanent imprint on him in such a short time. Once that ticket was in his hand he’d never see her again. He’d never know what could have been. There was that feeling rising in his chest, excitement. He experienced it every time he thought of her. He was getting what he wanted, so why was he in a panic? Dave’s heart beat faster and his breath quickened.

‘
Wait. Can you search for a flight to Paris instead?’ he burst out.

‘When would you like to go?’

‘When’s the next available flight?’

Chapter 13

Dave wheeled his suitcase into
the French bistro with excitement. The ticket to Paris protruded slightly from his pocket and reminded him of his new journey. He was bumping into people and excusing himself along the way. And he was smiling at everyone for no reason. He ordered a drink and waited for Sam. He’d done it—booked himself a one–way ticket to Paris and checked out of Ragan Hotel. A long trip awaited him, and he purposely hadn’t slept; he’d save it for the long flight. Sam came into to the Bistro in his usual manner, greeting everyone but the kitchen staff: a local celebrity.

‘You’re leavin
g us?’ he asked on seeing Dave’s suitcase.

‘I’m off to Paris.’

‘Hah! You’re doing it? What changed your mind?’

‘Well, to be honest, I feel something
when I think about Erin. I haven’t felt like this for … I can’t remember actually, for ages. So I’ll see where it leads me and this place is a good start. I love this Bistro, I can’t wait to get more of it.’

‘
I know, it’s pretty cool. It’s a little piece of France, and that’s why I come here all the time. Carla says sorry for not being here. A head spin from the other night. She’ll be rapt when I tell her about this.’

‘I was hoping she would know where I could catch up with
Erin. Have you guys heard from her?’

‘Nah
, mate. The last time Carla and I were in Paris, we used to hang out at the Jazz Inn, and she would drop in and hang out with us. Do you know where you’ll be staying?’

‘Nope.
I was gonna ask you for advice, actually,’ he said and Sam laughed.

‘You really are taking it casually
, aren’t you? The Jazz Inn is a bar on St Germain on the edge of the Latin Quarter. Try anywhere in that area.’

‘Thanks.
I’ll look around for accommodation on the Internet at the airport.’

‘What time is your flight?’

‘Midnight.’

‘I know the owner at the jazz bar,
his name is Vincant,’ Sam pronounced his name by prolonging the ‘a’ and wrote the address on a serviette. ‘He’s a great guy, and he’ll show you a good time, but keep an eye on him. He can be a shifty bastard, so I’m giving you a friendly warning. Tell him you’re Sammy’s friend from Hong Kong and make sure you say his name properly. He doesn’t like it when people call him “Vincent”.’ He wrote ‘Vincant’ on the serviette and pointed instructively, in a humorous way but with a note of caution.

‘
I’ll try not to make a mockery of it.’

‘
Have a great time.’

‘
Thanks, I will.’

‘
Cheers!’ Sam lifted his drink.

‘
Cheers!’ Dave responded, taking a sip of his beer. ‘Carla is a great girl, Sam. Anyone can tell she loves you.’ Dave hoped he wasn’t being too personal. Sam took a sip of his drink and gazed out the window for a moment. His expression was quietly happy and contemplative.

‘
I know,’ he said.

‘I had that. Tha
t look on your face.’ Dave looked down at his drink. ‘Some stories end too soon.’ He rubbed his ring finger unconsciously.

‘
Here’s to a great trip,’ Sam raised his glass again, and they downed their drinks. Dave ordered another round and the topic changed to Paris.

Dinner at
the bistro
went down nicely in preparation for the long trip to Paris. In Hong Kong he’d met interesting people completely by accident, and now he was running after a girl to the other side of the world. Dave grabbed his suitcase and exchanged contact details with Sam before saying goodbye.

He
took a Hong Kong taxi for a final time while Sam went to work—Dave knew it was just the beginning of a new night of partying and mayhem for him. Sitting there in the back seat, Dave wondered whether he should have stayed at least for a week. He hadn’t even experienced a night out on a weekend. Everyone had boasted about it and said that it couldn’t be missed. But as fun as it was, Dave knew huge nights out were a short-lived experience. The morning after was such a punishment, and he was starting to think he was getting too old for it.

While en route to the airport, Dave thought about
Erin. His excitement grew every time she popped into his head. He felt compelled to pursue her. He saw in her an opportunity for something new and he needed to cling on to that. Who knew where she would be, and who knew what the chances of finding her in that city were. But it didn’t matter. Dave was heading somewhere. He was getting a chance to start a new life, and so far, he was having fun on the way.

Hong Kong
was a great city, but when the partying ended and everyone went home, the loneliness was all that was left for him. Being on the move felt right. He had a direction, a purpose, even if that purpose was a mysterious woman he might never find. At the airport, he spent the last of his Hong Kong dollars in an Internet café. He was searching for an apartment in the Latin Quarter of Paris. He would also need a French phrase book. Mental note to buy one, he said to himself.

Finding an apartment within his budget
was harder than he thought, and time was running out before he would have to catch the plane. He finally found a vacancy at an apartment complex on rue Buffon and used his credit card to make an online booking. He printed off the instructions for his arrival, and he made a final check of the address and price. He was dealing with euros now, and it worked out to be a lot more than he anticipated. He glanced up and saw that on the board his flight number displayed ‘boarding’ just as he finished up on the computer. ‘Shit! Forgot to buy a camera,’ he swore quietly to himself as he hurried to the boarding gate.

Once on the plane, h
e buckled up once again, and the Airbus rumbled off the runway and ascended into the sky. He looked out the window and watched the enormous city shrink below and disappear out of view, leaving no traces of his visit. From high above, cities seem impersonal and mysterious, he thought. Like distant lands from a fantasy novel, promising excitement and adventure. And among those tiny streets, a microcosm of life that could not be imagined revealed itself.

The plane was old; the seats still had ashtrays from an era long gone. Dave
nestled his head against the seat in an effort to find the best sleeping position and tried to relax. It felt as though he were sitting on a wooden chair, upright and stiff, without decent back or neck support. Even stuffing his jacket behind his back didn’t give him much comfort. The passenger to Dave’s right was playing with his mobile phone until he was told by a flight attendant to turn it off. On Dave’s left was a well-groomed man a little older than him, who was engrossed in a French real-estate magazine. Dave exhaled deeply and closed his eyelids, focussing his mind on the jet noise until he finally switched off and fell asleep.

‘
Bonjour
,
monsieur
. What would you like for breakfast?’ A male flight attendant was doing the rounds, presenting passengers with their choice of meal. Dave stirred upon hearing the noise of food being served. He looked at his watch. He’d slept for nine hours straight. Impressive, he thought as he stretched to get his circulation going. His limbs made cracking noises as if they hadn’t been used for years. He twisted in his seat, trying to get his vertebrae in the right order. His spine was like a bike chain pulled off its gears .

The man
who had been fiddling with his phone was now asleep, snoring loudly and flapping his lips as he exhaled. The well-groomed gentleman to Dave’s left was finishing a glass of wine and asking for another. Dave listened to the man’s French closely but could not understand a word. It flowed melodically, a delight to his ears. A shame he couldn’t speak it.

‘Nice wine?’ Dave
asked, trying to initiate a conversation.

‘No. I
t’s terrible, but it will have to do,’ the man answered with a heavy accent as he rolled his eyes in disappointment. ‘You cannot expect much on airplanes.’ His tone was abrupt—it made him sound a little angry.

‘Are you French?’
Dave asked, somewhat thick-headedly.

‘Yes.’

‘Which city?’

‘Paris.’

‘I’m from Melbourne, Australia.’

‘You are coming from very far,’ the Frenchman replied.
‘I would love to go there but the flight is too long. I hate long flights and stewards piss me off.’ He raised his voice intentionally and looked over at the flight attendants.

‘How is life in Paris
?’ Dave asked, mostly because he was curious, but also because he wanted to get the guy to focus on something else.

‘I
t’s dirty! It’s not like it used to be ten years ago. A lot of people come from everywhere, very mixed. A lot of poor people on the streets, too. It’s the bloody economy. The prime minister is a fucking joke.’ He took a drink of his wine and fell silent. The Frenchman’s snappy mood added a thickness to his accent. His speech was fast and animated, waving his hands about like an orchestra conductor. Dave wasn’t sure if he meant that the streets were dirty or the people in it, but he still wanted to keep him talking.

‘W
hat do you do for work?’ Dave asked.

‘Now? Nothing. No, I lie.
I try to change career in real estate. I used to be a fashion designer.’

‘That must be a great job, any big labels?’

‘When I first started many years ago, yes. Later I opened my own business and worked for myself. I opened five stores around Paris. You know, clothes for big ladies.’

‘Oh, right, for large women
,’ Dave nodded. He had to admit, he’d never met a plus-size ladies’ apparel designer before. ‘Having your own business in Paris must have been profitable.’

‘It can be
, but not as much as it would be in Australia,’ he said. Dave chuckled at the slight dig. ‘It’s hard work, and I don’t like talking to people. I am not a good manager. It’s difficult to get good workers, you know? If someone is not working, I tell them to fuck off, but you cannot do that. One girl was stealing from me, but I couldn’t prove it, and you cannot just fire them anymore. They will take you to court. It’s terrible, I got sick of it all.’

‘
The world’s gone crazy,’ Dave agreed, enjoying himself. ‘Are you still in the industry?’

‘I sold the business
, and I told my father I will do real estate now. There’s more money in real estate.’

‘That’s quite a change. What did he say?’

‘He told me that I was fucking crazy. “What do you know about selling or buying houses”, he said. He was right. I knew nothing about it, but how hard could it be? The fashion business is not for me anymore. This world is full of people with drama, and you must put up with a lot of crap. I am getting too old for that bullshit.’ He waved his hand as if brushing off a loathsome memory.

‘I hope you don’t take offence
, but I hear people say Parisians are stuck up and rude. Is it true?’ Dave was having a little dig at him now.

‘Of course!
’ the man waved his hand dismissively, as if Dave had asked whether the sky was blue. ‘We are the rudest people in France, probably in the world.’

‘Well,
at least you’re honest,’ Dave grinned, expecting an educated explanation in defence of the Parisians.

‘Yes, I tell you, this is true.
We can be real assholes, we Parisians. I perhaps am one of them. We think very highly of ourselves. And, look, I did not even ask your name.’

‘It’s David or Dave, whatever you prefer
.’

‘I am Jean Pi
rredu de Clari and I am dying for a cigarette, Dave,’ Jean Pirredu said. ‘This is why I hate flying. On a train, at least you can hide somewhere or go to the smoking carriage.’ He gulped the wine, got up and excused himself for the toilet. This guy’s mad, Dave thought as he reached for the in-flight magazine. He observed the tall Parisian with curiosity. His leather boots made a metallic cling like Clint Eastwood’s in a Western. Dave imagined him walking off into the horizon after a gun battle, disdainfully swigging from a wine bottle.

A few minutes later
, Dave heard a scuffle near the toilet compartments and looked up to see what the fracas was about. Jean Pirredu was in the middle of it, waving his arms about and arguing with the flight attendants. Dave didn’t know many French words, but he definitely heard ‘
merde
’ used quite frequently in the heated exchange. The Frenchman was escorted back to his seat and sternly instructed not to move. The flight attendants spoke fast and pointed fingers at him in anger.

‘What
’s going on?’ Dave asked, unable to fathom what could possibly have happened.

‘Nothing.
I just had a few puffs of a fucking cigarette and the alarm switched on in the fucking toilet. Fucking airplanes.’ Jean Pirredu fidgeted nervously. ‘Can you get a glass of wine for me please, Dave? I need to calm my nerves and they are angry with me right now.’ The Frenchman spoke in a low voice, as if embarrassed by the experience.