Taxi to Paris Read online

  I don't know how much time went by while we stood there like that. In my whole life, I'd never wanted to do anything more. At some point, I let my head fall against her back, because it was getting to heavy to hold up. "I'd like to kiss the back of your neck," I wished dreamily, "but you're just too tall."

  She sighed. "Yes, that's always been a problem for me." The supple softness of her body turned into tension. I knew what was coming. If only I'd just kept my mouth shut!

  "I could kneel," she offered. That's exactly what I'd expected. She just couldn't get past that!

  "Would that really be much fun for you?" I asked solemnly.

  "Fun?" She seemed entirely confused. It obviously hadn't occurred to her to think about having fun with this. At least not for her.

  "Yes, fun! You know, that's the silly reason why people talk to each other, why they go out together, why they sleep together. Just for fun! And for both of them, no less."

  "Yeah, sure." She looked at me like a child to whom I had just suggested something it didn't quite understand.

  "And? Would it have been fun for you to kneel in front of me?"

  She squirmed uncomfortably. "No," she said quietly, as if she were expecting me to hit her for answering that way. Her sovereignty had disappeared.

  "Then why did you offer?" I asked as gently as I could.

  As if it were completely self-explanatory, she answered, "Because I thought that you..."

  "Exactly!" I said. "Because you thought I would like it."

  "But you said..."

  "I said I'd like to kiss the nape of your neck. I still want to. I have these urges sometimes with women I -" I bit my tongue in the nick of time - "like. But I could stand on a chair to do it, or maybe I'm still going to grow a few more inches."

  She clearly couldn't follow my train of thought. "You're still growing?"

  "Yeah, I'm a genetic wonder," I sighed, exhausted. "No, of course not. I just wanted to point out that there are other ways to do this sort of thing."

  "Oh, I see," she said. "Sure." She took three steps to the left, toward the other window. "Pardon me." She emphasized the meaninglessness of this error with a careless gesture. "I'm just used to it."

  "That's the terrible thing!" I exclaimed. "You're so used to going along with other people's wishes that you've forgotten about your own." She'd understand that quickly, I was sure of it. More than such a quick peek behind the facade was out of the question, but I was sure of this much.

  "Yeah, yeah." She tossed off my observation. "It's not quite like that, either. Don't make such a big deal about it." Make a big deal about it? Me? She looked back at me. "I know what you mean," she continued placidly, probably in an attempt to get this conversation over with. "But in my line of work, my own wishes are the last thing that come into consideration."

  It was a simple explanation that apparently sufficed for her purposes. She had accepted it and lived by it. And her clients had as well. A fait accompli. Didn't she have any other desires? And her clients - was there never one among them who - like me - wanted to know more? Who wanted to know about the joys and sorrows of the woman behind the mask? And who said so? I'd come back to the place where I noticed how strange this world was to me. "Don't they ever ask...?" The strangeness of the situation had propelled me to ask the question.

  She laughed disdainfully. "Once in awhile, sure. But of course they don't really want to know. And they only ever do it once, usually at the beginning."

  "And you don't talk about it?"

  "No, of course not. No prostitute would." Yes, exactly, that was the reason. I still didn't think of her as a prostitute.

  I shrugged in a gesture of resignation. "I'm sorry," I said. "I didn't want to...". I was just like the rest. Instead of finding the cause, I let my frustrations out on her. How was she supposed to know what I wanted from her? "I just don't understand it. It's so strange to me. They are women, after all. Don't they ever tell you something..." How could I put it, that which was so self-explanatory to me, without actually saying it? Expressions of love would get me nowhere. Then she'd retreat anyway. "... encouraging?" I concluded vaguely.

  "Oh, of course!" She laughed bitterly. "They do that."

  Now I didn't understand anything anymore. So they did? "But what...?"

  "What do they say to me?" She smiled coldly. "Sometimes they just say: ‘You're really good.'"

  I looked at her blankly. She responded accordingly.

  "You don't think that's so bad? That's true." She took a few more steps away from me, crossed her arms, and looked back at me. "Do you want to hear some more?" I didn't really want to, but that had been a rhetorical question. She continued without pause, "Sometimes they also say, ‘You made it really good for me.'"

  I didn't want to hear any more. She was making a voyeur of me. But apparently, she wasn't going to stop now. "Sometimes they make comparisons. Then they say, ‘You really fuck the best.' Or they just grab me between the legs when they pay and say, ‘You're a horny -'".

  "Stop it!" I couldn't bear it any longer.

  She was still smiling coldly at me. "That wasn't nearly everything. Was it encouraging enough?"

  "Oh, God," I said. "They're women."

  "Yes," she said indifferently. "They're women. But they're paying me. And for that, they should expect a little fun, right?" She was so bitter, it felt like physical pain. Slowly, I began to understand. Those humiliations, this contempt - and for how long had she put up with it? Actually, it didn't make much difference. I wouldn't have wanted to take it once - and I probably couldn't. That's where her hardness and indifference came from. Now she was so closed off again, she felt like a stone fortress.

  And it was their fault! Anger flooded me with such furor, I almost vomited. Then I felt a sudden coldness inside. No, it wasn't their fault - it was my fault. I'd asked her to talk about it. Now I was no better than the others. Just the opposite. I was the worst one of all: she'd trusted me, at least to a degree. I could at least have done my best not to cause her more pain. But now it was too late. There was nothing left for me to do but leave. I couldn't help her; I was only making things worse by staying. The noose around my neck pulled itself tighter. I swallowed hard. I felt paralyzed.

  She stood there - an icy mountain of contempt. I was afraid to leave her alone. But I had to. I was only going to keep reminding her of all the pain and insults. I forced myself to make a decision.

  "I have to go now," I said. I tried to look at her. She stared blankly into space. I couldn't move her to say goodbye, nor could I say anything to her myself. I turned around and headed for the door, hesitantly putting one foot before the other. Finally, I got there. I laid a hand on the doorknob. She still didn't say anything. I opened the door and turned around. She still stood there, completely lifeless and stiff. She didn't look at me. I closed the door behind me.

  Chapter 9

  The next few days were like a preview of the fires of hell.

  I went to work, came home from work, slept, went to work...

  Sleep wasn't really the right word for this restless tossing and turning, nor could one really say these were nights to remember. After a week of this, I looked like a ghost. My colleagues sent me home with good intentions, under the assumption that I would find rest there. This made it even worse. Now I didn't even have those few hours a day during which I could throw myself into a routine and forget her.

  I started walking through the city, looking in shop windows, though I couldn't have said what was in any of them. I visited cafes full of old women stuffing themselves with cream pastries.

  On the third day, I saw her. It gave me quite a shock. She was crossing the street - I only saw her back - but I recognized her immediately. That wasn't exactly a great feat, given her unusual height.

  After she crossed the street, she walked along the main strip of the pedestrian zone's shopping area. I leapt up and threw the money for my coffee on the table. From the corner of my eye, I saw my waitress jump in confus
ion as I dashed out of the cafe like an elite sprinter. Perhaps I did still have a shot at the Olympics...

  By the time I got to the pedestrian zone, I couldn't see her anymore. I sprinted some more. My lungs burned. The street forked. I raced off to the right. She wasn't there. I ran back and took the other path. I caught a glimpse of her at the end of the block, entering a supermarket. Of course she wouldn't shop at little mom-and-pop stores - those were much to personal. A supermarket provided the anonymity she required.

  I was about to slow down when I realized that the supermarket had two exits. I begged the pardon of my aching lungs and sprinted off down the block. When I got to the market, I tried to decide what she would be likely to shop for. She had admitted herself that she didn't cook, so I could forget the produce as well as the usual "housewife" areas. Slowly, I began to breathe normally again. I wandered hesitantly through the aisles.

  The deli section! I walked more quickly again. I turned the corner and looked around. There she was. She was putting two bottles of champagne in a cart. Those were for her clients, I assumed for no particular reason. Perhaps because she'd never offered me any. I followed her. She picked up a few more things - not many - and headed for the checkout. After paying, she put everything in a leather backpack and walked quickly to the exit. She was in quite a rush. Was it always like this when she went shopping? Hurry home quickly to get out of danger?

  I only now realized how much of a gift she had given me by going out to dinner. Hopefully she flew to Paris as often as possible - no one could put up with this for long!

  She had chosen the exit that was closest to her apartment. She would probably bo going directly there. I was going to lose sight of her soon if I didn't hurry up. Those long legs!

  As I got closer, I saw the reactions of the people who crossed her path. Some stared shamelessly at her. A couple of women ignored her so ostentatiously that I assumed they were clients of hers. She walked with a stiff back. She was getting close to home.

  What should I do? As soon as she got to her building, there would be nothing left for me to do. I ducked into an alleyway that I knew intersected with the main street again several yards ahead. I ran. Panting, I rounded the corner. I'd caught up with her precisely. I almost ran into her.

  Her backpack slipped. Oh, shit - the champagne! I reached for it quickly. Just before it hit the ground, we both caught the bag. Only then did she recognize me. Her face went blank.

  "Thank you, ma'am," she said.

  Ah! She wanted to act as though she didn't know me. Like she did with her clients. You aren't going to get rid of me that easily!

  "You're very welcome," I replied. "How are you?" She was in the middle of straightening herself out and stopped dead in her tracks. She stood rather crookedly.

  "That's not good for your back," I observed helpfully.

  She finally stood up straight. She looked at me as though she were rather distressed. I acted as though I didn't notice. I had to get it right this time. She wouldn't be giving me a second chance.

  "Would you like to have coffee?" I offered, as if we were old friends who'd just run into each other around town. "At my place?" I added with emphasis.

  She still looked quite distressed. This was the chance I'd been hoping for. I decided to act. "Fine." I exhaled. I had to collect myself first. Then I pointed in the direction of my street. "I live right over there." I turned to the left. "Are you coming?"

  She actually did. She walked right behind me, mostly staring straight ahead but once looking in my direction with the confusion of a deer caught in headlights. If I could just get her into my apartment quickly, everything would be all right.

  What would be all right? At some point, she was going to get her wits about her again. I should just have myself lobotomized and be done with it. Leave me in peace! I protested silently.

  She was still following me like a little lamb when I opened the front door. I turned to face her. "I'm afraid there's no elevator," I said apologetically. "It's an old building." I didn't get the impression that that interested her in the slightest. I started up the steps. Four stories! Why hadn't I decided to live on the ground floor?

  By the time we got to my floor, the tension in my body was almost unbearable. I gasped for air, and not just from climbing the stairs. She was breathing quietly, as if four flights were nothing to her. She must be in great shape. No wonder, with her job - she'd have to stay fit! Shh, be quiet!

  After I'd shut the door to my apartment behind us, I let myself exhale. We'd made it! "To the left," I directed. "In the kitchen."

  She went on ahead of me. She must still be deep in shock. She still wasn't quite all there. Most likely, she'd planned on never seeing me again - and certainly not so suddenly.

  I motioned to my rocking chair - the only piece of furniture that I never usually gave up for a guest. "Have a seat," I said softly. "I'll make some coffee."

  She sat down. I filled the kettle with water and set it on the burner. I was starting to get a little worried. She'd have to react to something eventually. I went over to her and took her bag. She just let me take it. "The champagne should probably go in the refrigerator, don't you think?" I offered congenially. Oh, damn!

  Exactly - that woke her up! "Champagne?" she said. "How do you know that I bought champagne?" Her eyes, as they probed my face, were getting some life back in them.

  I tried to brush it off and act harmless. "I looked in the bag."

  "No, you didn't," she countered firmly. It seems she'd been with it enough to follow that much.

  "Right." I was going to have to come clean. If she got up and left now, there would be nothing I could do to stop her. "I saw you at the grocery store."

  "But I didn't see you." She obviously had no idea why not, and was trying to figure out how she would have missed me.

  "No," I said.

  Her face hardened into a mask. "You were watching me," she concluded icily.

  Oh, God, I was never going to get her to open up this way! "Completely by accident," I said to pardon myself. "You were crossing the street, and I was sitting over at the cafe." At least she shouldn't think that I'd been watching her for any length of time. "I saw you go into the supermarket..."

  "And so you just followed me in," she finished soberly.

  I could no longer be so calm with her. "Yes, dammit!" I exploded. "I wanted to see you again! Is that so hard to understand?"

  "You could've called me," she suggested, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

  "And make an appointment with you?" Oh no, not again! Why couldn't I just keep my big mouth shut?

  "For instance." She underlined her unequivocal coldness, even more than before, with disinterested calmness. She would not be provoked. Instead, she examined her fingernails absently.

  I could've bawled. Why had I done that? I knew perfectly well how she reacted to attention. She was used to it. She walled herself off to it and became unreachable. I looked at her. I couldn't take it anymore. "I -" love you, I finished in my head. I walked over to her, bent down, and kissed her. She opened her lips automatically and let me in. It was a terrible feeling. That's how it must be when she let her clients kiss her! I pulled back and straightened.

  "You could've had that, too," she said, completely unaffected. "You didn't have to ambush me on the street."

  The teakettle started to whistle. I turned around and shut it off. I'd done everything wrong! Now I really would have to go to her as a client if I wanted to see her. She'd never allow me more. Assuming she'd even allow me that. I stood with my back to her. I couldn't look at her now. I leaned against the stove. "Please -" I said. Not a sound. I turned on one heel. She was sitting exactly as before. All the feelings I had for her overwhelmed me at once. "I yearn for you," I said desperately.

  "I understand," she answered unconcernedly. "Where is your bed?"

  "No - please - don't do that to me!" I wanted to scream, but I could only manage a hoarse whisper.

 
"Do what to you? I thought you wanted to sleep with me." She was the cool professional again, the whore.

  Yes. Yes, I wanted that. But with her, not with this soulless body. I collapsed inside. "I can't." I felt completely burned out.

  "Then I can go." She took her bag, stood up, and went to the door. I followed her. She turned the knob.

  "I love you," I said.

  For the second time that day, she stopped dead in her tracks. I repeated, "I love you."

  Slowly, she let go of the doorknob. "No," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

  "Yes," I restated quietly. "I can't help it."

  Now nothing mattered to me anymore. I went up to her, embraced her from behind, and pulled her tight to me. "I love you, I love you, I love you!"

  I was so happy that I could finally say it. Even if this had to be the last time.

  "You can't do that," she said, just as softly as before.

  "Yes, I can," I insisted. "Not even you can forbid me that."

  She jerked. I thought she was going to cry, but I didn't hear a sound. I snuggled up against her one more time, then let her go. If she wanted to leave, there was no way for me to stop her.

  She didn't move. We stood there so completely motionless that we could hear the clock ticking all the way in the kitchen.

  I turned to face her. "That's not possible." The pressure I'd brought to bear on her was apparent in her face. "I'm a -". Contrary to her usual habit, she didn't say the word aloud.

  "I know what you are. And I didn't just find out today." I took a deep breath. "It doesn't bother me." Whether or not that was true wasn't something I wanted to test just now. "And it certainly won't stop me from loving you. Whether you like it or not." So, it was out! Either she'd go or she'd stay. I had to leave that up to her.