Authors: Anita Heiss
Paris Dreaming (5 page)
'Anyway, why would I want to meet him this late at night? That doesn't send a good signal for either party, professionally or personally.'
'This is France, it is not late for us to eat and drink. And anyway you are both professionals. Why are you being a '¦ how you say?'
'A bitch?'
'Yes, a bitch,
merci
.'
'You're welcome.' I stared out the cab window.
'Elizabeth, only some men like bitches, trust me, and some men, well, they like life to be less complicated than it sometimes is. You are being too serious and you are already complicating this situation.'
'What situation, Canelle? Even if I was interested in him, he's a Blackfella from Australia and I certainly didn't come to Paris to meet a guy I could meet back home. Apart from that, we're probably related, stranger things have happened in more unlikely places, believe me. Now, that doesn't make me a complicated bitch, does it?' I wasn't even sure myself.
'Maybe not,' Canelle said unconvincingly.
'The thing is, Canelle, I came here to work. It's safe flirting with someone who lives in another country, because there's no chance of being hurt flirting with someone on the train who you'll never see again. But Jake is Australian ' I just don't want to get involved. Anyway, I'm going home in a few months.' I said all that with Ames still occupying my thoughts.
'I just don't think it is a very smart move to turn down the first secretary of your home country, Elizabeth.' Canelle was almost chastising me. 'Do you not want to make more contacts?'
'Of course I do,' I could hear the annoyance in my voice, 'but I don't think a work meeting is going to happen after too many drinks, late at night. I know enough of men to know that. I'll arrange a meeting with him to discuss work during business hours.'
'Whatever you think, my friend, but you know in the arts, every hour is a business hour. Pull over here, driver,' she said, handing me some euros before getting out of the cab. 'I think he had a very nice
derri¨re
. I'll see you in the morning.'
I hadn't looked at Jake's arse and didn't know when Canelle had had the chance to either, but it wasn't something I was going to consider. The last thing I needed while building my reputation in the arts in Paris was building a reputation for following Australian men's arses in France.
After organising my clothes for the next day, I was grateful to crawl into bed at midnight, feeling my calves paining from standing in heels all night. I soon swapped thoughts of sore feet with vivid images of how Ames had kissed my ankles and each of my toes the night before.
I woke in the morning to find a text message.
My head was flooded with questions, looking for justifications. This must be a joke. Blackfellas don't talk like that at home or in Paris. He must've had one of his French staff write that. Or he was charged up. Or he was just a sleazebag using his position to his own advantage and that wasn't a game I was going to play. I had earned every stripe I had through hard work and was happy to keep doing it.
I didn't respond to his text. I wanted to talk about it with Canelle first after work.
'I think he sounds like a stalker,' I said over coffee at Le Café Branly.
'You are being ridiculous. He is your countryman, he is a good-looking man, and he is an influential man.' Canelle sipped her espresso.
I shook my head at Canelle's naivety. 'I think the common factor he shares with the guys back home is that he is a
man
. And anyway, who says those kinds of things to someone they've just met?'
'This is Paris, this is romance. If it is not Aboriginal, then it is very French. I like it. Give him my number, and I will sext him back.'
'Don't you mean text?'
I couldn't believe Canelle had her phone out as if she was going to text him right then.
'Yes, it gets lost sometimes when I speak English. Did I mention he had a nice
derri¨re
?'
'Yes, you did.'
I liked Canelle's sense of humour. She reminded me of me, before I became bitter and twisted over the men who'd burned me. And although I had been seduced by Ames and the romance that envelops even single people on trains in Paris, I really wanted to focus on why I was there and my work.
Back at my desk, I got Jake's card out of my wallet and emailed him about a meeting, completely ignoring the text he had sent me. I received a response later in the day from the cultural attaché, Judith Marks ' with Jake cc'd in. It said that Judith would meet with me in the next few weeks. I was relieved that Jake wouldn't be there.
'Thanks for meeting me here, Sorina,' I said, as we sat in Le Café Branly on Saturday afternoon.
Sorina had a big smile. 'It is wonderful to see you, Libby. You are not just my best customer ever, but you are a positive face to see in my day.'
'I have an idea,' I said, hoping she wouldn't think I was imposing.
'Yes?'
'I think we can get more people to buy your bags if we can get you some more promotion and perhaps a proper place to sell.'
Sorina's eyes widened with interest, then her face became sad. 'Libby, it is kind of you to think about that and I wish it were possible, but I cannot make any more bags than I currently sell. I only have access to a sewing machine one night a week at a friend's place. She is already doing me a huge favour. Anyway, I would have to have more materials to produce more bags.'
I thought hard while I looked at Sorina's dark brown eyes and the dark circles under them. It was time to tell her my other idea.
'What if I got you your own machine and your own materials, do you think you could make more bags, even on order?'
'Of course, it is my love, designing these bags.' She pulled something out of the big handmade bag she carried her smaller bags in. 'This is my latest, do you like it?'
She handed me a brown-and-gold corduroy bag with sequins and beads. A press-stud closed it and it fitted snugly under my arm.
'I must have this,' I reached for my wallet.
Sorina put her hand on mine to stop me. 'It is yours then, a gift.'
I was shocked and embarrassed. My plan was to help Sorina
sell
bags not take them from her for free.
'Absolutely not! I will pay you for it, and when you sell your first hundred, if you want to make me one then, fine. But I am going to help you start a little business, okay? And I have worked out a plan.'
I pulled out my folder and what I had coordinated already, explaining the whole setup to my new friend. I had told my landlords about Sorina's problem and they were eager to help. Dom was getting a second-hand sewing machine for me and his wife Catherine was rallying materials from all her friends and family and already had three bag orders waiting. Back in Australia, Lauren had asked someone at the NAG to design a simple business card that I could print out on cardboard at work. Denise had offered to set up a Facebook fan page as soon as we had an outlet where items could be sold.
At this point, Canelle came in, arriving just in time, and carrying one of Sorina's bags.
'Perfect timing,' I said, as she sat down. 'I'm just telling Sorina about my idea to grow her talent and her business and I'm just up to the part about needing to find someone to be her patron of sorts.'
'You would know about
les banlieues
, Sorina. Yes?' Canelle asked.
'Of course,' Sorina said knowingly. 'Some of my friends are desperate to be discovered by the wealthy people visiting there.'
Canelle turned to me. 'Most of the people in these outskirts are 'people of colour', often disenfranchised, but they contribute to French culture as a whole through hip-hop culture, graphic arts, music publishing, and other artistic activities like fashion design, and many others.'
Canelle pulled out some newspaper clippings to illustrate what she was talking about. 'Many 'mainstream' French personalities have been digging for artistic novelty in the
banlieues
hoping to stumble upon the next brilliant fringe artist like Jean-Michel Basquiat. Now,' Canelle turned her attention back to Sorina, 'one of the fastest growing designers in the last few years is Agnes B, and she has put her Parisian facilities at the disposal of several artists from the
banlieues
and regularly sponsors art exhibitions. She is a fabulous patron for emerging designers.'
'She sounds great.' I looked at Sorina, who nodded. 'And this is the kind of support we want long-term. Do you know her?' I asked Canelle.
'I know someone who knows her. I think we can at least get an introduction. Do you have some bags with you today?' Canelle looked at Sorina.
Sorina tipped her collection of bags out on the table. She was so excited about what she'd just heard.
Canelle looked impressed at the different styles in front of her. 'Then, today we will go to the non-tourist
banlieue
art scene in La Seine-Saint-Denis, which is also the most impoverished
banlieue
. They have set up an association in order to offer a platform to local artists and help them display their creations. I think this is where we shall start.'
Once we had arrived in La Seine-Saint-Denis, I was impressed by the arts and crafts being created as part of employment programs but the sight of burnt-out vehicles and people living in poverty made me sad. It reminded me of communities back home but also my own sense of privilege in the life I had in Canberra and even in Paris. By the time we left the area, Sorina had been granted a space for three months to sell her bags. It was all systems go.
As we caught the Metro back later that afternoon, I think we all felt a sense of relief. I was making lists in my head regarding emails to the girls about setting up a Facebook page, designing business cards and coordinating the machine and materials. Canelle listened to her iPod while reading emails on her BlackBerry and Sorina sketched new bags in a notebook.
'Libby, next weekend is
Nuit Blanche
,' Sorina said, without looking up.
'
Nuit Blanche
?' I said, with less of the accent than it really required.
'It is a celebration where museums, art galleries and other cultural institutions are opened to the public, free of charge.' Sorina seemed proud of the city that wanted to kick her out. 'It's good for families especially.'
'What a great idea!' I got my Moleskine and made a note to check it out. It would be even more professional development I could write up in my report when I went back. And more to make the girls envious about.
Canelle watched me writing in my book and took her earplugs out.
'Ah, you know the best thing about
Nuit Blanche
is that the city becomes a de facto art gallery with designated space for installations and a whole range of performances across art forms,' Canelle's voice sounded excited as she spoke.
'Most of our museums and galleries are already free in Australia, but a joint effort across art forms over one weekend is something that we could do in Canberra for sure, and perhaps the NAG could coordinate it.' I'd add it to my debrief when I got back home.