The Paris Library(63)

“You worry about everyone else, but I worry about you,” Paul said. He explained that he’d saved an entire year for a special surprise.

“What is it?”

“Tomorrow, we’re going to a cabaret.”

“A cabaret!” Maman gasped.

“They’ll be surrounded by dozens of people,” Eugénie soothed.

I threw my arms around Paul’s neck. Music! Champagne! No chaperone! We’d dance all night, since partygoers got around the curfew by staying at the cabaret all night, leaving only at sunrise.

“It won’t resolve our worries,” he said, “but we’ll be carefree for a few hours.”

The following evening, Maman tucked a dewy frond in my hair while Paul fidgeted in his corduroy suit. At the cabaret, he and I sipped bubbly as buxom danseuses in brassieres and bloomers shimmied onstage, offering an occasional glimpse of cleavage. I was more interested in the chicken breast on my plate. The knife and fork quivered in my grasp. It had been so long since I’d had any kind of meat. Picking it up, I bit into the moist flesh and slid my tongue along the bone. Not willing to waste a drop of sauce on my napkin, I licked my fingers. After dinner, surrounded by couples on the dance floor, Paul and I clung to each other.

At first light, revelers—sated and sleepy—filed out of the cabaret. Paul and I meandered through the empty streets, passing the mairie, where banns were posted. Mademoiselle Anne Jouslin of Paris will wed Monsieur Vincent de Saint-Ferjeux of Chollet.

“Odd to see people getting married,” I said, thinking of Rémy, so far away, of Bitsi, who spent her evenings alone.

“Life goes on.” Paul gazed at me.

I suspected that if it were up to him, we’d already be married. I tugged him along through the winding streets of Montmartre. As the sun rose, we settled on the steps of the Sacré-Coeur church. Cradled in his arms, I watched the orange and pink clouds blossom like flowers.

“From the beginning, I knew you were different from the others,” I said contentedly.

“How?”

“You defended Rémy, and me when I wanted to work.”

He drew me closer. “I’m glad that you’re independent. It’s a relief.”

“A relief?”

“I’ve taken care of my mother ever since my father took off.”

“But you were so young!”

“As a kid, I never knew what state she’d be in when I got home—drunk, weepy, half-naked with some man. Later, I had to drop out of school to get a job. Most of what I make, I send to her. Honestly, I see why my father left.”

“Oh, Paul.”

He pulled away. “We should go.”

“Let’s talk.”

“I don’t want your parents to worry.”

He remained aloof on the way home. I wanted to close the distance that had grown between us. On the darkened landing, I embraced him. I could feel his pounding heart, and reveled in the feel of his lips on mine, the taste of his champagne in my mouth. My hands roamed his body as he kissed my cheek, my neck, my décolletage. In thrall to this tender, wild magic we performed together, I wanted him around me, inside me. It was time to write a new chapter in our relationship.

I loosened his tie. “Let’s.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, but his belt was already unbuckled.

I loved feeling him stir beneath my fingers, loved hearing his quiet groan, knowing I had the same effect on him that he had on me. I let my foot trace a trail along his calf, his knee. He grabbed my thigh and hauled my body to his. My tongue met his, stroke for stroke. He wrapped my legs around his waist. Blood pounded through my veins.

“Odile, is that you?” Maman’s voice was muffled behind the door.

Slowly Paul lowered me back to earth. Thrumming with desire, I teetered in my heels. He held me steady with one hand and tugged the hem of my dress down with the other. My body ached. I hadn’t wanted to stop. Passion had made me reckless, and I liked it.

The front door swung open. “Did you forget your key?” Maman asked.

“Find a way for us to be alone,” I whispered to Paul. I rubbed my swollen lips. The risk we’d taken…



* * *




AT THE LIBRARY, I hung up my jacket, tipsily humming a ballad the band had played. My belly was full, my body still sang. When Bitsi—cloaked in her coat of melancholy—entered, I sobered immediately.

Bitsi could see my distress. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I couldn’t bear to meet her gaze.

“Something.”

“With Rémy gone, it’s not fair that I go on with my life.”

“Who said life is fair?” she said gently.

“How can I let myself be happy when he’s miserable, when you’re miserable?”

“I hope you and Paul aren’t holding off on getting married.”

I looked at her. “He’s hinted at it…”

“Your happiness isn’t at Rémy’s expense. You and Paul belong together.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

When Bitsi turned to go to the children’s room, it seemed to me that her braided crown of hair had become a halo.

Before I could follow, Boris tendered a bundle of books to be delivered. On my way to Professor Cohen’s, I passed a flower girl on the street corner. I thought of how when the professor and I chatted, she sometimes cast a melancholy glance at her empty crystal vase. Hoping to cheer her, I bought a bouquet.