Sleeping With Paris (6 page)

“Thanks so much for taking me out tonight . . . I really needed this,” I stammered, stifling a giggle. I always broke into uncontrollable giggles whenever I was drunk. I hoped I wasn’t annoying Luc and tried to get the laughing fit under control.

“What is so funny?” he asked as he burst into laughter. I realized then that Luc was drunk too.

He kept his arm squeezed tightly around my shoulders as we crossed the bridge that led us back over to Place St. Michel. In my drunken state, Luc’s arm around me suddenly made me sad. It made me think of Jeff and how this easily could’ve been my first night in Paris with him—strolling down the Seine, his strong arm around me, gazing out at the city lights glistening along the river and getting ready to start our adventure in Paris together. But we weren’t together anymore. Jeff didn’t love me anymore.

And maybe he never really had.

A few salty tears escaped and rolled down my cheeks.

Luc turned to me, shocked. “What is the matter?”

“Nothing, nothing.” I wiped the tears away. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to do this.”

“What happened? Why are you sorry? I do not understand,” he replied, looking a little scared. After all, he had just met me, and we had spent a great evening together. Poor guy. I was sure he was looking for a little action—not a drunk, sobbing American girl.

“It’s just that I . . .” I tried to regain composure. “I miss home.” I thought about stopping there, but the alcohol got the best of me. “The truth is, my fiancé left me. Well, I left him. But he deserved it . . . that bastard,” I howled. “He was cheating on me, and we were supposed to move to Paris together, but I just found out about it . . . so I came alone.”

 “Come here, sit down with me.” Luc held on to me and led me over to a bench facing the river. “Zis just happened?”

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled.

Luc hugged me tightly and held on for a while. He let me cry on his shoulder while he stroked my hair.

“That is horrible. I am so sorry,” he said, shaking his head.

“Thank you.” I hiccupped again and tried my best to stifle the tears.

After the embarrassing cry session which Luc handled extraordinarily well seeing as how he had only known me for five hours, he led me back to the metro station, and we took the train home together. I don’t remember much of the ride or the walk back to our dorm, (I think I was fading in and out of consciousness), but I do remember that Luc kept his arm around me the entire way home. By the time we made it back to my room, I’d calmed down. I was still really drunk though.

“Thank you so much Luc . . . I’m really sorry. I had so much fun with you tonight,” I blabbered.

Just as Luc was starting to say something back, I leaned in and kissed him like a crazy woman right there in front of my door. Despite my puffy, swollen eyes which, no doubt, had streaks of mascara pouring out of them and my bright red, irritated nose, he kissed me back. I had no idea what made me do that. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was Lexi’s words about French lovers, maybe it was the way he’d taken care of me that night, or maybe it was because I felt totally and utterly desperate. Whatever it was, before I knew it, I had unlocked my door and was making out with Luc inside my little dorm room.

Five

mardi, le 28 septembre

Jet-lag + Broken engagement + Cute French guy + Five glasses of wine = Disaster

All thoughts of Jeff flew out the window and all that existed was Luc pushing me up against the wall and kissing my neck. Then my mouth. Then my shoulders. His hands were all over me, roaming over my hips, my thighs and my waist. We made our way two feet over from the door to my sorry excuse for a bed which was draped in a cheap, white sheet, and Luc pulled me down on top of him. Within seconds, our shirts were off, and even in our drunken state, we both knew where this was headed.

But then, as soon as it had begun, it was over. Luc sat up all of a sudden and looked at me.

“We cannot do this, Charlotte. You are sad . . . you are drunk. It is not right.”

I wanted him so badly in that moment. All of this build-up for nothing! All of the tears, all of the crap from Jeff, the trip to Paris, this great night out, and then Luc was going to leave me here alone in this forsaken bed with no covers!

Luc must’ve noticed the look on my face, and probably out of fear that I would start crying again, he lay back down with me. But then, instead of making some lame excuse to flee the scene like most guys would’ve done after the way I had acted, he wrapped his arms around me, kissed me on the cheek, and stroked my hair.

His hand was so soothing that within minutes, I passed out like a baby.

***

I woke up in a cold sweat in pitch darkness and realized that someone else’s sweaty arms were wrapped around my bare chest. Oh dear. What had I done?

I checked for my pants. Still on. Whew. At least I didn’t sleep with him. I tried to recall the events of the previous night as my head pounded. I remembered drinking wine (clearly I had surpassed my limit), meeting Benoît and Lexi, and then crying. Oh God, that’s right, I had cried in front of Luc. I had cried really, really hard in front of Luc. In public! What a disaster I was becoming.

The scene of me attacking him at my apartment door flashed through my mind. Well, we’d already covered several major stages of a relationship in one night: seeing each other half-naked in the shower, meeting his friends, crying over a past event, hooking up, and spending the night together. I just couldn’t believe he was still here. I was certain I wouldn’t be hearing from him after he woke up and bolted back to his room.

I tried to fall back asleep, not wanting to wake Luc after the night I had put him through, but my head was pounding something fierce. I wondered what time it was. I needed to take something for this headache and put a shirt on. I lifted Luc’s arm up off of my chest, set it ever so gently on the bed and tried to climb over him without bumping him or making any noise. I successfully took a couple of steps until, a few feet from the bed, I tripped over my gargantuan suitcase. Damn.

Luc began to stir. “What time is it?” he groaned. I found my watch on the nightstand. It was only five a.m.

“It’s early. Sorry to wake you . . . I have a headache.”

“Are you okay?” he asked. Jeez, does this guy ever stop being nice?

“Yes, yes, go back to sleep. I’m fine,” I murmured as I groped around in the darkness for my bra, a t-shirt, anything.

Luc got up, put his shirt on, and walked over to me just as I managed to find my tank top from last night curled up in a ball on the floor.

“I think I should go to my bed now to sleep,” he said as he let out a big yawn.

Good idea
. “Thank you for everything last night. Go get some sleep, okay?” I urged as I threw on my tank top.

Luc gave me a kiss on the cheek and left. I fumbled to turn the light on and grimaced from the brightness. I quickly found my trusty bottle of Aleve buried in my purse, took one for my splitting headache, and switched the light back off. I lay back down on my bed and cringed again as I thought about how I’d behaved the night before.

What was wrong with me?

 I remembered then that it was only eleven p.m. in DC. I needed to talk to someone from home—someone who could remind me who I used to be before my life was flipped upside down. I reached for the phone and dialed Katie’s number.

“Hey,” I croaked into the receiver.

“Charlotte!” she practically screamed. “How are you? How’s Paris? I miss you!”

“Well, things started off with quite a bang . . . Luc, my French neighbor, just left my room, and I’m pretty sure he won’t be coming back anytime soon.”  

“What? What time is it there? Isn’t it like really early in the morning?”

“Yeah, it’s five a.m. here.”

Katie laughed. “What is going on? You just got there! Who in the hell is Luc?”

I proceeded to give Katie the whole Luc story, being careful not to miss the half-naked shower encounter, the embarrassing drunken cry and the near-sex disaster.

“Is he cute?”

“Yeah, he’s definitely a looker. But, now that I’ve made a complete fool out of myself, I doubt we’ll be spending any more time together . . . well, not that it matters anyway.”

“You did just break up with Jeff a couple of days ago. I’m glad you found someone to distract you, but you might want to give yourself some time to get over things, you know?”

“I know, I know. I was a total, drunken disaster. I really hope I don’t run into him again in the shower or something.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’ve had a terrible week. I think you need to get some rest and maybe take things a little slower from here on out.”

“Katie, what am I doing here? Do you think I made the right choice? Moving to Paris by myself? I miss you, and . . . I miss Jeff. I miss him so much. Do you think I should've at least tried to work things out with him?”

“After what he did to you, he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Of course you miss him, everything happened so fast. But give it some time. You’ll be starting school soon, you’ll make friends and things will get better. And in the meantime, I’m always here to talk. And if, after a little while, you don’t like it over there, you can always come back home.”

“Thanks, Katie.”

“Of course. You're going to get through this. It's just going to take time. So, when do you meet with your advisor?”

“Oh, shoot. I’m meeting with her at eight o’clock this morning. I’m glad you reminded me—that’s in three hours.”

“This is the woman who will potentially help you get a teaching job in Paris after the program ends, right?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Well, good luck and let me know how it goes. I hate to run, but I have to be at the hospital at four a.m. tomorrow, so I need to get to bed. I’m so glad you called though. I miss you already!”

“I know. I miss you too. I’ll call again soon. Bye, Kate.”

“Bye, Charlotte.”

I felt a little better after talking to Katie, but it also made me realize how badly I wanted to talk to Jeff.  I wanted to hear his voice, hear him tell me that he was sorry and that he was coming to Paris to get me. That he’d given Brooke a big fat kick to the curb and that she was a huge mistake. But even if he wanted to call me here, he’d have no way of getting my number. Katie sure as hell wouldn’t give it to him.

I thought about calling him. I could tell him that I was having a wonderful time in Paris and that I already had a new guy in my life. He’d be so jealous. Or I could tell him the truth. That I missed him and loved him and that my heart was totally and utterly broken.

I couldn’t call though. It would seem desperate, and if he wanted to get in touch with me, he could always email me. After all, he had been spending a lot of time on the Internet these days. Just the thought of that website with his picture on it made me sick to my stomach. Or was it the five glasses of red wine from the night before?

To avoid making any more desperate, drunken moves, I fished out my laptop and signed onto my blog. I had a few hits on it already, but was hoping to build this up to epic proportions. I had to reach as many women as possible. It was time to stop this smart-women-falling-for-cheaters phenomenon. I wracked my brain for a catchy title, and began typing my second post.

Sleeping with Paris

A Girl’s Guide to Dating like a Man in the City of Love

by an Américaine in Paris

Two days after finding out that my fiancé has been cheating on me through an online dating site, I sit here wondering how I got here. How did it come to this? If you’re a woman, you’ve probably had this exact experience. Okay, maybe you didn’t discover your fiancé’s online dating profile two days before you were supposed to move to Paris together, and have an online chat with the girl who he just slept with, but you’ve most likely found out one way or another that a man you loved has cheated on you with another woman. And you’re sick of it. You’re tired of the games. You want the next man who walks through your front door to be Mr. Right so you don’t have to keep putting yourself through all of this misery. So you keep on plugging away, hoping and dreaming that someday, somehow, there will be a man out there who loves you enough not to cheat on you.

Well ladies, I’m here to tell you that it’s all one big crapshoot and we’ve been on the wrong end of the shoot. It’s time to turn the tables and take control of our lives.

Goodbye Charlotte York. Hello Samantha Jones.

If you’ve had enough and want to start having some fun, here are a few key rules:

Rule # 1 – Cut ties with all cheating, desperate exes (switch continents if necessary) and find a rebound. Rebounds are key to getting over the dreaded ex.

Would your ex be sitting around, eating chocolate and wondering what went wrong? No, he’d be out there finding his next victim. So, get your butt out of that cozy recliner, put down your self-help book, call your girlfriends and hit the town.