P.S. from Paris(32)
“Maybe that’s why I’m staying here . . . to spare myself from having to get over her.”
“So your fear of flying isn’t really all that’s holding you back.”
“Well, we all need a good excuse for keeping our heads buried in the sand. So what’s yours?”
Mia pushed away her plate, drank her water in one gulp, and set the glass back down on the table.
“At the moment, I’d say the only excuse we need to think up is one to justify our next encounter,” she said, smiling as she dodged his last question.
“You really think we need one?”
“Yes, unless you want to be the first one who ‘feels like’ calling the other.”
“No, no, no, that’d be way too easy. There’s no law saying that men have to make the first move, especially not when you’re just friends. In fact, in the spirit of equal treatment, I think women should have to do it.”
“I couldn’t agree with you less.”
“Of course not, because it doesn’t work in your favor.”
They fell silent for a few moments, watching the passersby.
“Would you like a private tour of the Opera? When it’s closed to the public?” Paul asked.
“Is it true there’s an underground lake?”
“And beehives on the roof . . .”
“I think I would like that very much.”
“Good. I’ll set it up and call you with the details.”
“I’ll have to give you my number first.”
Paul picked up his pen and opened his notebook.
“Go ahead.”
“You have to ask for it first. Just because we’re only friends doesn’t mean these things don’t matter.”
“May I please have your phone number?” Paul sighed.
Mia grabbed the pen and began scribbling in his notebook. Paul looked at her in surprise.
“You kept your English number.”
“I did,” she admitted, blushing slightly.
“You have to agree that you are complicated.”
“Me in particular, or women in general?”
“Women in general,” Paul muttered.
“Just imagine how dull men’s lives would be if we weren’t. Oh, and this one’s on me. No ifs, ands, or buts.”
“I’m not sure the waiter’s going to go for that. I come here for lunch every day, and he has been given strict orders. Besides, I’m not sure they take British credit cards . . .”
Mia was obliged to accept.
“See you soon, then,” she said, shaking his hand.
“You got it. See you soon,” Paul replied.
He watched her disappear down the steps of the métro.
9
Arthur was waiting for Paul on the landing.
“Guess what? It seems I may have lost your spare keys,” he said.
“It just gets better and better,” Paul replied, opening the door. “How was Honfleur?”
“Gorgeous, charming.”
Paul entered the apartment without another word.
“Are you really still mad at me? It was only a joke.”
“Where’s your wife?”
“She’s visiting a colleague who’s interning at the American Hospital.”
“Do you have anything planned for tonight?” Paul asked as he started making coffee.
“You’re going to leave me in suspense—is that your sweet, sweet revenge?”
“Grow up, will you? I’m not going to waste my breath.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You mean during the half hour when this lovely woman thought she was having dinner with a psycho? Or afterward, when I realized just how god-awfully ridiculous you made me look?”
“She seemed nice. You might have had a good time together.”
Paul thrust a cup of coffee into Arthur’s hands.
“Tell me how she could have a good time when the best friend of the guy she was out with had mocked her in a way no man should be allowed to mock a woman.”
“You like her!” Arthur gasped. “You do! If you’re defending her honor, you must like this woman!”
He clapped his hands, walked over to Paul’s desk, and sat down in his chair.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?”
“I know you’re plotting your revenge. But for now, put vengeance on the back burner. Tell me what happened.”
“Nothing to tell. The whole farce lasted about ten minutes. I mean, how long did you think it would take for two reasonably intelligent people to realize that they were the victims of a nasty trick? I apologized on your behalf. I explained to her that my best friend was a nice guy, but a total jackass, and we went our separate ways. I don’t even remember her name.”
“And that’s all?”
“Yes, that’s all!”
“So, it actually wasn’t that bad.”
“No, not that bad. But you got one thing right: I will get you back for this.”
Coming out of the métro, Mia headed toward a bookshop. She wandered around the displays and, not finding what she was looking for, asked one of the staff. The man typed something into his computer and then made his way to the back to search a shelf.