Romancing the Dark in the City of Light (20 page)

“Wow. I don’t know what to say.” So much for refusing expensive gifts from gentlemen.

“A tiny token of my affection for you.”

Now all the times she’s paid for them and all the times he disappeared mean nothing. No one’s ever given her such a thoughtful gift before.

“Thanks.” She gives him a hug. The flask sloshes. “Anything in it?”

“Open it and see.”

“Oh. I kind of…” She trails off, then says almost inaudibly, “I’m not drinking.”

Kurt laughs heartily. “You were last night.”

“You don’t have to be quite so amused.”

“It’s very good cognac. One sip won’t hurt.”

One day at a time. She can’t very well not drink from this gorgeous gift. She pushes Moony from her thoughts. A little won’t hurt. The key is keeping it to a little.

“‘I can resist anything but temptation,’” she quotes, opening the stopper top and taking a slug of strong, smooth cognac. It tastes like heaven. “Aaaah.”

“Oscar Wilde,” says Kurt.

“Yep. He’s in P
è
re Lachaise, you know. This is so excellent. Care for some?”

He takes a pull then hands it back. The bourgeois couple in line ahead give her disdainful looks. Summer takes one more sip, savors the burn, then puts the flask in her jacket.

“I thought we might see the
Chainsaw Chicks
movie,” he says. “It’s so deliciously depraved.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope.”

“I, uh, those are kind of sick.” That’s the
only
film up on the marquee that she has no desire to see. She would rather watch an incomprehensible French movie. She can’t believe they are even showing that here.

“You can close your eyes in the rough parts. It gets easier. This one is very well done and it’s
version original
.” In English.

Small hard lines that she’s never noticed crinkle his eyes. He could be a lot older than she thought, which gives her a sort of woozy feeling. That and
Chainsaw Chicks
. She takes another draw of cognac.

But he laces his fingers in her gloved hand. Old guys go for younger women, even if they’re homely. Maybe that explains things. But how old is he? Thirties? Maybe it only shows now because he’s been up all night or something.

“Fine,” she says. “Have it your way.” Her excitement from before has morphed into abdominal dragonflies. Mutant ones on meth. Yet her thick fatigue makes it so hard to think.

He makes a show of pulling out a smooth black Italian leather wallet to pay. Then makes a show of finding it empty, so Summer pulls out a twenty. She gets the French popcorn
sucr
é
and a diet Coke and he gets nothing. She does like standing beside him.
Hey, look, everybody! I’m on a date with a hot guy.

The theater is only half full and smells like stale popcorn, but they sit in the very back with empty seats on either side. He’s still holding her hand like he thinks she’s going to bolt. It has crossed her mind. But she pulls away to open her new flask and pours as much cognac into her “Coca Light” as will fit and chugs. Then he puts his arm around her shoulders.

It’s nice to be physically close and she can’t help but relax a little. His gesture is protective and she likes it.

The movie starts and wastes no time. Blood’s spurting and body parts are flying as the too-loud sound system fills the space with screams before the opening credits stop rolling. She turns her head into his shoulder, kind of used to his odor. He pats her and chuckles.

“Thanks for coming to this with me,” he says.

“Hmm.”

A little later, there’s a sort of sexy scene with the crazy guy and a young hitchhiker. It’s only a matter of minutes though before she’s history, and Kurt’s hand migrates around her back, through her armpit, onto her right breast. He caresses it gently, then firmly. His other hand crawls between her legs.

She pulls away from him. “Cut it out.” Now she’s sorry to be watching this horrible movie with him. She puts her arms in her coat, knocking over the box of popcorn.

“Don’t fight me,” he says. Her arms are still half stuck in her coat. He massages the scar tissue on her neck and pulls her back in her chair, with strength she can’t fight. He touches her between her legs again, but softly.

Physical desire shoots through every blood vein in her body.

Kurt whispers warmly in her ear, “I want you more than life itself.” Next thing she knows, he’s manipulating his hand inside her jeans. She’s breathing hard. He’s caught her off guard. A theater full of people wouldn’t stop her from making a scene, but during this feature no one would notice anyway. Maybe he figured that.

He whispers, “You are so hot for me.”

She squeezes her legs and gets a hand free. She grabs his to stop him. He relaxes and strokes her cheek, and hair. Then gently, teasingly works his fingers back into her pants. She would yell or punch him, but she can’t.

She doesn’t want to.

“Ah, Summer, I will have you,” he breathes. He pulls her head to him and kisses her, flicking her tongue with his. He sucks the breath out of her. The room’s on fire. His fingers work her over. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

But he stops.

She’s panting, shaking, like a coiled live wire.

The screams on the screen fill her head. She can’t look at the screen or at Kurt, who still has one arm clenched around her. She’s half waiting for him to put her hand on his crotch. His turn. But he doesn’t. He just sits there calmly, and as far as she can tell, he hasn’t gotten worked up about any of this at all. She doesn’t turn him on?

He whispers, “No, you don’t. You disgust me.”

She doubles over, as if she’s been hit. An icy wave of fear washes over her. She buttons her jeans, grabs her backpack, and stands up.

“Urgent appointment?” he asks.

“You’re an asshole,” she hisses. “Get out of my way.”

He smiles.

FORTY-TWO

Summer double bolts the doors of the empty apartment then texts Moony with shaking thumbs:

Please please call when ur free

Using Mom’s easy-to-find liquor, she makes a tall vodka with a splash of orange juice and downs it. She makes another, sits in the living room in the dark, nurses it, smokes, and waits. Camus trots in and sits on her lap. Summer barely notices. About twenty-five minutes later, Moony texts:

Still on family duty. What’s up?

Need to talk.

OK, hang on.

A few interminable minutes later, her phone sings.

“Summer? You okay?”

There’s a long pause. “Moony. Thangs for calling. Yeah I’m okay, but … I—jus…” She can tell she’s slurring. She confesses, “I’ve been drinking.”

“Figured,” he says evenly.

“Something happened,” she blurts out.

“What?”

“Oh, Moony, iss—it, I caan’t—”

“Anybody with you?”

“Nope.”

“Okay. Coming over.”

The next morning, Summer wakes on the long living room couch, covered with a blanket and one of her pillows under her head. Camus sleeps at her feet. She has no idea what happened. She probably passed out. Someone covered her up. It had to have been Moony. Or Ouaiba. Who let Moony in when he arrived and she didn’t answer. She cringes at the thought of Kurt, feels sick actually, and at the huge mess she is, and how her life is so effed up. Totally and completely. Let’s see. Is there any one she’s not letting down?

The dog walks across her abdomen and licks her chin.

“Thanks for that, Camus.” She rubs his head and he licks her hand. They’re fast friends these days. But somehow his affection makes her feel even worse. Dogs are loyal regardless of what a shit you are.

What day is it? Sunday, and Mom will be back this evening. It’s Ouaiba’s day off and Camus needs to go out. She’s still dressed and staggers to the elevator, the dog in her arms, to take him to the courtyard to pee.

When she comes back, there’s a text from Moony.

Coffee?

Where?

Caf
é
au Coin.

OK. There in 30.

Her head and whole body hurt, and Moony will be highly annoyed with her, but seeing him is the only thing that matters.

FORTY-THREE

Caf
é
au Coin is the dodgy one on the market street near Moony’s apartment where Summer went before. But she’s glad to go over to his neighborhood, the seventeenth, and so grabs a taxi. After all, she made him come all the way to her house late at night and then passed out on him. She has to talk to him. She has to tell him.

The market street is bustling and all the stalls are piled with leafy green and beta-carotene-rich produce that hurts to look at. It’s still before noon and it’s raining lightly. Summer enters the caf
é
, says, “
Bonjour,
monsieur,” to the proprietor, and sits at a table. She needs something in her stomach and orders a croissant and a caf
é
cr
è
me.

Moony walks in slowly with his cane, pale—and stern looking.

Summer jumps up and hugs him, noting the startled look on his face.

“I passed out, huh? You buzzed Ouaiba?”

“Yes, Sherlock.” He’s
trying
to look mad, though.

“I’m so sorry, Moony. That you came all that way. Thank you.”

“So what happened?” He falls awkwardly onto his chair, leaning heavily on his cane.

“What happened to
you
? Why the cane now?” She sits down.

“Doctor’s orders. Fell. It’s stupid.”

“Oh, Moony.” She huffs in frustration. He needs to talk to her as much as she needs to talk to him. Why won’t he? She knows the answer, though.

The proprietor comes over to exchange greetings and see what Moony wants. He gets an orange juice, then sighs deeply.

“May need
another
operation after Christmas one. Body’s … straining. After everything.” Summer reaches out to touch his hand, but Moony pulls it back.

She says gently, “Dude. You need to slow down.” He’s already mad. So what if he gets madder?

“Tell me,” he demands. “What’s going on?”

She puts her hands in her lap. “I’ve been—upset … there’s something really … it’s hard…” Why can’t she just say
There’s this pervert who has scary control over me and I need your help?

Moony interrupts, looking distressed, “Summer. About that kiss.”

“Ohmigod. That’s not it!”

He looks down. “No, I want to say … took advantage of the situation. Not the time or place.”

“It’s cool.” She twists her fingers under the table. It was a fine time and place, she thinks.

“Also, I’m here for you … if you ever … want me.
But,
” he says, “happy to just be your friend.” He lets his breath out.

She lets her breath out and nods at her cup. He’s so brave. “Thank you. It means everything to me, Moony. That you’re here. But honest to God, it’s not that. I—I’m…” She stares at the Formica tabletop and loses her train of thought. She puts her head in her hands as if that might shake her aching brain into action. “I’m so tired of all this. Life. Here. I mean. I can’t keep on.”

“You drank. Big deal. Start over.”

“No, but yeah, but I—I couldn’t even make it one day.”

“Don’t give up,” he says, frowning slightly. He takes her hand in his left and looks at her intently. “Something’s really wrong. Tell me what happened.”

“It’s hard to talk about. But you’re the only person in the world I can tell.” He gently squeezes her hand. She takes a deep breath and says what she must. “It involves a guy.”

He lets go of her as a flash of pain dulls his eyes. Seeing it stabs her in the gut. Then Moony’s brows lower. “Who?” he says.

“I wanted to tell you … a while ago. I just couldn’t.”

“Not that guy you saw at Les Puces?” he asks.

“It’s no one you know,” she hedges. “No one from school. He’s, uh, older.”

“What happened?”

Summer swallows. The words she needs aren’t there.

Moony leans forward and says intently, “Did he … do something?”

“Yes! Well, not exactly.” Her face goes hot. She fidgets with an unlit cigarette. “But he, I guess, sort of … But I didn’t say no, or fight him. He sort of forced me, in a movie theater, just … but also caught me by surprise, and…” She pauses, then her eyes fill.

Moony’s eyes narrow. “What’s his name?”

“Kurt de la something something.”

The scar between Moony’s dark eyebrows crinkles. “What an evil asshole.”

“Thank you,” she says, putting sugar in her coffee and stirring. “I needed to say it. I feel much better talking about it and thank you for listening. I’m just confused. I don’t even
like
him, swear to god, but he has this … hold—that’s what scares me.” She glances at Moony.

He frowns like he’s trying to figure something out. “Don’t see him again. Anyone hurts you, disrespects you, should be banned. And punished.”

“I haven’t seen this side of you.”

“Can still kick butt. With walking implements.”

She smiles. Moony bashing Kurt with a crutch.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are. I love you for it.” He looks at her quickly. “It’s funny,” she says, “when I was little, I had, like, girlie fantasies about a handsome knight saving me from dark dungeons. You are kind of knightlike.” He is. He’s noble, and courageous, and fights for what’s right.

“No, knight-
lite
.” An uneven smile spreads across his face. “Mine were … battling evil doctors with ray guns. To protect Nurse Sophie.”

“That’s who that picture was of! In your room,” she says. “Nurse Sophie.”

Moony’s cheeks pink.

“She had a mustache,” Summer can’t help pointing out.

He juts his chin forward. “It was a pure love.”

“I imagine.”

“You’re jealous.”

She concedes. “You’re right. Totally. I don’t know why you haven’t dumped me as a friend. But I thank Allah you haven’t.”

He flashes that boyish grin, and takes her hand again.

Summer puts the unlit cigarette back in the pack. “I so need a drink,” she announces.