Taxi to Paris (6 page)

Chapter 4

"
T
hat's a rather unusual appointment," she said.

Now that was really strange. She found it entirely acceptable to make an appointment for sex, but she called a simple invitation to dinner "unusual." Until now, I'd thought of going out to eat as a relatively ordinary activity. When work didn't prevent it by sabotaging my social life - some did call me a workaholic - I went out to dinner with a friend or girlfriend two or three times a week. Cooking wasn't always possible with my workload, and it wasn't much fun to cook just for myself. When I had time - which, granted, didn't happen very often - I'd ask a couple of friends over and cook for them. In contrast to my outer appearance, which didn't always seem to fit with such "feminine" activities, I actually cooked quite well. My souffles are famous.

"Too unusual to accept?" I asked directly. There didn't seem to be any reason to beat around the bush. Her decision probably depended on criteria I knew nothing about - as little as I knew about her. In my head, a few ideas buzzed around about what I'd do if she turned me down: tie balloons outside her window with "Happy Birthday" printed on them? I didn't even know when her birthday was. Whatever I did, I was going to get turned down. I loved to be frustrated by a woman with whom I was haplessly in love!

"Too unusual not to think about it first," she said right away. She wouldn't let herself be surprised. Neither professional nor personal. I could understand that. But her cool manner annoyed me. I wanted to know what was beneath it.

"So I can't give you an answer right now." She proceeded so indifferently, I could've kicked myself for calling her at all. She had no reason to want to meet with me. Other than, perhaps, professionally, but that wasn't what I'd offered. Or was that what was holding her up? Did she first have to decide in which category I belonged: client or - yes, or what?

"Can you call me again next week?" What? Next week?

Damn it all, what was I doing here? She didn't want to! "Yeah, sure. When - when's the best time to reach you?" The thought of disturbing her "at work" was unbearable.

"You'll know," she said. Of course - either she answered the phone or she was "occupied." Why did I torment myself like this? Because you always do. Because you find those women most desirable who reject you. It angered me, but I couldn't contradict my own head. It was simply right. And to be honest, that was probably the only reason we'd ever come together in the first place. It had attracted me, her cool look-right-past-you attitude, her indifference, pretended or real. In the meantime, I probably should have noticed that it was real. I would have liked to suppose otherwise.

"Fine, but do you prefer a particular day?" I'm sure my voice sounded rather sarcastic. I didn't feel like calling her every day and not reaching her until the end of the week. My masochism didn't go that far after all.

She laughed - honestly, she laughed! "You're mad," she remarked.

"Does that surprise you?" Now I was really ticked. She'd laughed at me! I definitely would not put up with that. And ordinarily, my dinner invitations were taken with a little more enthusiasm! I grumbled under my breath.

And she didn't even notice! "I won't be reachable before Wednesday, if that helps you."

"Oh, yes, that helps a lot. Thank you very much!" I slammed the receiver down into the cradle. What did she take me for? Probably precisely that which I was: a dog scratching at the door. I was embarrassing myself, but I couldn't give up yet. She still hadn't said no.

I buried myself in my work and tried not to think about her constantly. The project hadn't made such rapid progress in a long time. With not thinking about her, I had less success. Every free minute was filled with thoughts of her. In the middle of filling out a form to request a half- million-dollar budget expansion, I saw her there in her silk robe, smiling at me. I wanted to undress her, to press myself against her, but that couldn't be. I simply couldn't imagine her naked. I knew why. She'd willing put her body at my disposal. There, she hid nothing. Until now, only a tiny piece of her soul had shown itself, when she wasn't looking. What interested me was the rest of what belonged to that tiny piece. It was, no doubt, very well hidden. And she'd hardly show it willingly.

During the course of the week, I came to the decision to try one last time. I couldn't, after all, make a complete fool of myself! Whether or not I could stick to my decision I didn't know. She occupied my thoughts completely. The worst part was that I imagined she wouldn't waste a single thought on me. She probably amused herself with some other woman who had more to offer than I did.

Chapter 5

T
he days slid past like scenes from a bad movie. I remembered our first encounter, in a women's cafe called Bella Donna. How appropriate. That's exactly what she was: a pretty woman and - so it seemed to me now - a slow, deadly poison.

How she'd turned me on! She came in, a majestic appearance, appearing to know no one or everyone. She could've been there for the first time or the thousandth time. I couldn't tell whether the women who spoke to her did so because they found her as riveting as I did or because they already knew her. She treated them all with the same noncommittal nonchalance and didn't join anyone for a drink. She sat alone, and the others came to her - truly, like a queen holding court. I observed her from a distance and, after awhile, decided to get her attention. She didn't look my way at all. That intrigued me even more. Perhaps it was just my mild frustration that drove me to the determination I felt to meet her. She seemed completely disinterested.

To be honest, I couldn't really reconstruct how it happened after the fact. I'd just found myself suddenly in the middle of a situation without knowing quite how or why I'd gotten there. And this was the outcome of that!

By force of will, I managed not to spend the whole day thinking about her. I did, after all, have other things to do - a little work, for instance. This forced distraction was to my advantage. Otherwise, the day would have dragged on forever. And it was true: after a dreary weekend spent in self-imposed isolation - why did I do this to myself? - Wednesday had at last rolled around. No, no, no! I forbid myself to call her all afternoon. Who knew what awaited me?

It occurred to me that she was probably "booked up" more often in the mornings. One went to the hairdresser, another grocery shopping...

I wondered how the other women felt about that, about fitting her in between the butcher and the greengrocer. Did that kind of frivolity have a special attraction for them? Or was it just more of what they always did: passing the time? The more I thought about it, the more I became aware that this was not part of my world. And yet I'd fallen in love with her!

Ha, ha, ha! You're making a fool of yourself! You're making a fool of yourself! Like jumping rope in grade school, when the rope cuts through the air, before it clatters and scrapes across the floor, the sing-song turned through my head. Angry disappointment surged in me. Was I not my own master? Couldn't I decide what was good for me and what wasn't?

Is this good for you? No, probably not. So why are you doing it? Exactly.

So it was. I had to come to terms with it. I yearned for her; I wanted more than just to have dinner with her. I decided something.

Special women require special plans, you idiot!

So I called her that afternoon. It was almost like the first time. She answered quietly, without announcing a name.

I couldn't think of a good opening line, so I asked her directly, after I'd said who it was, "Have you considered my suggestion?"

"Which suggestion?" she asked.

I should have known! A week was, after all, a good stretch of time. How could I expect her to remember my invitation? She had certainly been busy with entirely unrelated things.

I was afraid to speak, because I knew my anger would be plainly audible. "Are you still there?" she asked after a bit.

"Yes," I said, carefully controlled, hoping that wasn't obvious through the telephone. "I had asked you if you'd go out to eat with me."

"Oh, yeah," she said, as if she could vaguely remember that. "I've considered it." That was a feat! She'd forgotten it, but still managed to think about it. Someone should do that to her sometime!

"And?" "Biting" might just begin to describe my tone of voice. "To what conclusion have you come?" I really didn't know how much longer I could control myself. She was definitely going to decline, I was sure of that. And that forecast calmed me. A short, painless (yeah, right!) end could, after all, only be good for me.

"I'm not sure yet," she answered softly.

"You've had an entire week to think about it!" The outburst came more from surprise than from irritation. But of course: she hadn't had a week to think about it, she'd just now been reminded of it by my phone call.

Why were so much anger and so much desire building inside me at the same time? Had she stood before me, I wouldn't have left like I had the last time -- that much was clear, regardless of whether or not she meant to charge me. I wouldn't have gotten what I really wanted from her, but at least I would've gotten great sex. Even I knew that much!

"A week is short," she remarked, more as an excuse than as a statement of fact.

Oh, yes! I was convinced that the time had passed much more quickly for her than it had for me. In a busy life like hers, time went by much faster. She made me look really old. But my rage slowly faded away. It was pointless, after all. She would put me off for another week if I let her, then another, and another...

"It's all right," I said, in a resigned, self-sacrificing tone. "You don't have to if you don't want to."

"I didn't say that." She surprised me yet again. Now it was turned around - I got a more positive answer than I had expected. "There's just so much to think about."

About a dinner invitation? She really did live in a wholly different world from mine. With me, there were only two things to consider: could I and did I want to. And perhaps also the type of food. But that decision couldn't possibly take a whole week - could it? "Why? Can you not decide whether you'd like Chinese or Italian?" As banal as that seemed to me, maybe it had a deeper meaning for her.

She laughed. "It's not that simple," she said. This line of reasoning was too much for me. I couldn't imagine any convincing grounds for this degree of complication. And I couldn't wait another week, I was sure of that. So it was now or never!

"Could you accept an invitation to meet at a place outside the city that's just opened, doesn't serve Chinese or Italian, and has a patio?"  That truly left all possibilities open. It was neither too intimate nor too casual, and on a mild summer evening - who knew what might happen?

A sound came through the line that didn't sound too unlike a chuckle. "You're really stubborn," she said.

"Well, yes, it's hard work to convince you to go out to eat, I'll admit that. But for --" a beautiful woman, I wanted to say, but that would surely bore her since she heard it every day, so I finished with "a good meal, I'll do almost anything." That would have to do!

"Well, then...," she agreed goodnaturedly. "But I still have to put you off. I can't today. The first I could go is tomorrow."

Immediately, the wildest of possibilities flew through my head as to why she couldn't go out tonight. There could really only be one reason: she already had another commitment. And I could imagine with whom. It was certainly with a client.

A client, who was more important to her than I was. So we were back to square one. I suppressed a new wave of anger and the impulse to contradict her. "Should I pick you up or should we meet somewhere?" I asked instead.

"Tell me where it is. Then we'll meet there." She seemed to want to avoid dependence on me by all means possible. Although it seemed to me to be rather environmentally irresponsible to go in separate cars, it was clear that she wouldn't agree to anything else. So I told her the address.

"Oh, yes, I've heard of the place," she said in acknowledgment. Lightning flashed through my head again. From whom, I wanted to ask. But I didn't.

"When?" I asked.

"Eight o'clock," she answered, without thinking. She had her schedule memorized. That must help her avoid jealousy and embarrassment.

"Then I'll see you there," I said finally.

"I'll be there," she assured me.

I hung up hesitantly. I would've liked to talk with her more, but there was absolutely no reason to go on. And I would see her the next day, or so I hoped. Would she keep this kind of date? I didn't know her well enough to predict that. Perhaps she would only come because she still saw a potential client in me, one she didn't want to turn away. Did I want to know that? No, I didn't want to know, I decided. But all that would be clear to me tomorrow after dessert, at the latest.

Chapter 6

S
he was already there when I arrived, although I was, contrary to my usual habit, extraordinarily punctual. I'd been staring at the clock all day long, and it took a serious discussion with myself not to come early.

She was sitting under one of the old lime trees that made the patio such a lovely and interesting place, and would certainly make it a popular and crowded meeting place soon. Now, it was still relatively empty. I could see her from the entrance before she saw me. It seemed to me that she had dressed quite conservatively, but for my taste still very attractively. I asked myself what that meant. Did she always dress like that for dinner dates, had she had an appointment right before this one that had demanded such an outfit, or had she dressed that way for me? And if the last case was true, what had I to expect?

I wasn't going to solve this mystery standing in the doorway, so I entered the cobblestone patio and walked without hurrying - something that took a considerable effort - to the table. She was looking in another direction, so I had a good view of her classical profile. Her beauty almost frightened me. The symmetry of her features was almost surreal. Never had I seen anything close in another woman. She first noticed me when I was close enough for her to hear my footsteps on the stones. Almost startled, as if she'd been thinking about something totally unrelated and wasn't expecting me at all, she looked up. I felt like a troublemaker. I deliberately put on a friendly smile, to take some of the uncomfortable intimacy out of the situation. "Hello. I'm sorry if I'm late."