The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets) (32 page)

I was well aware that my trips to the bakeries were fueled by my need for company and, perhaps, a misplaced hunger—a weak attempt to fill my empty love life. Thank God, my slender curves were keeping in check, despite my love for pastries.

I was five foot six and three-quarter inches. As they say, every inch counts. Lucky for me, I had a fast metabolism and what nature didn’t burn, activity did—I walked almost everywhere, leaving my footprints all over the city, catching my breath around every corner. My eyes bright and opened, in awe of all the beauty of everything!

Because the French were such crazy drivers, I vowed never to own a car in Paris. French drivers made the drivers in New York look safe. My habit of walking everywhere, as well as taking the Metro helped me to justify my passion for pastries and allowed me to
burn them off.

My daily jaunts to the university also stimulated my creativity. Walking, as opposed to driving, allowed me to slow down enough to observe the local culture and absorb the local color along the way.

The stolen moments, that I was privy to as a pedestrian, provided me with nuances that I would weave into the novel I was fully expected to write over the next six months. 

I retrieved the last item out of the box, an original 1970‘s edition of a Chanel Fashion book. It was a gift from my beloved grandmother. I placed it in the center of the cocktail table. It was the final item to be placed.

I exhaled and sank back into the comfort of the sofa, finally I had finished a weeks worth of unpacking. The apartment was breathtaking and felt both comfortable and familiar with all of my own things arranged in it.

My decorating style was nothing short of Ben Laurette’s style, a famous architect, and infamous for being a bigamist. I certainly didn’t follow in his footsteps. All my little personal effects made the furnished flat seem more like mine. Laurette wouldn’t be caught dead with family photos and personal items scattered around; doing such lent to human weakness, or so he thought. He certainly would’ve seen me as a wimp.

I planned to sleep in my place for the first time that night, rather than at Nuilley’s apartment. When I figured I’d done enough nesting for the afternoon, I hurried to meet Nuilley.

We finally made good on our childhood promise to visit Paris together. Actually we exceeded the promise. We both now lived in Paris. Our plan for the night was to celebrate my move to Paris in style, or so she promised. One thing about Nuilley, her word was gold, if she says she’s going to do something, she did.

Nuilley moved back to France, her homeland, a few years before I arrived to promote her own fashion jewelry line in Paris, following in her mother’s footsteps. Nuilley took modeling gigs on the side in return for clothing gratis. She absolutely refused to pay retail price for designer labels.

What she didn’t like from the freebies, she donated to charity. Okay, so maybe by charity I mean
me
. In any event, she was charitable, but not to the point of being a philanthropist. Modeling also benefited Nuilley’s jewelry line. All of the other models supported her business endeavor by donning her flashy silver trinkets all around the city.

-37-

Casual Encounters

Nuilley and I met each other at Café de Flore located on Saint-Germain. I had already been seated and was waiting at a sidewalk table when she climbed out of a black sleek limo. I didn’t expect anything less.

Damn! When she strutted out of the limousine heads rolled in her direction. She wore her short-red hair pulled up with a nineteen-fifties bump high at the crown, an oversized wide-necked sweater hung off to the side, baring one shoulder, paired with a black pencil skirt and shoe boots. To top it off, she was
definitely
braless.

I suddenly felt under dressed in my skinny jeans and the simple body-hugging black turtleneck. My hair was ironed-out pin straight, parted in the middle, hanging long and free. We both had on the same pair of black boots, a gift from one of her celebrity goody parties, but mine were lost beneath my jeans. 

Our dinner was heavenly; afterwards, we headed to a few clubs on the right bank. We ended up staying out much longer than I had planned and spent the evening toasting to anything and everything. After having a few too many, I broke out my signature butt-popping moves that brought me a huge amount of attention. We danced with everyone, both male and female. Near to the end of the evening, my face hurt from laughing so much.

After the nightclubs closed, we winded down at a quaint neighborhood after-hours café. There, we sang songs in French—
I tried
—around a piano with our arms wrapped around each other in drunken friendliness. The city of lights was everything that I dreamed it would be with all of its elegance, style and luxurious details. The night was a great way to begin my Paris relocation, even if everyone was sucking in one cigarette after another.

So,
that
was how everyone stays thin in Paris, I thought. I smoked a few
French
cigarettes my self just as an experiment. They are much stronger than American cigs. I felt green and sick afterwards. We ended up shutting down this place too, but not before Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome joined us...

“Nuilley, can you believe after all these years we are both here?”

“I told you one day it would happen.” She flashed me a smile, eyeballing a group of drunks in the darkest corner of the bar.

“You were right.”

“Hey, that kissable man over there is staring at you.”

He’s staring at me?
Hopes to meet a man flared in me.

“Where?” I responded, squaring my shoulders. “Point him out.”

“It’s not nice to point. Look out—he’s on his way over here...give him a moment.”

I scanned the crowd then spotted a tall, rather rugged handsome man with coal black hair. Not bad looking at all. He was heading in our direction. He looked very American from my perspective, but what did I know. Perhaps he was from Italy.

“Ciao—Bella’s.” He had a very smooth Italian accent. This confirmed it—there was no doubt that he was from Italy. I had an affinity for dark-haired men.

“English or French, sil vous plait,” Nuilley spouted out rather rudely.

“You are the two most beautiful women here tonight.”

“Merci,”
Nuilley piped out
thank you
in French. She softened to his compliment.

His manners were impeccable. “My name is Michelangelo, but you can call me Angelo.” We followed suit, introducing ourselves. He kissed both our hands, softly.

Without an invitation, he sat down at our table and lit a cigarette. “Let me order you lovely ladies some drinks.” He snapped his fingers at the waiter, and the waiter complied, promptly.

Angelo commanded a demure authority. Soon our table was taken over by champagne, and we were sharing cigarettes and laughter. When Nuilley excused herself to the ladies room, Angelo slid into her seat next to me.

“Thanks for the drinks. I’m have a great time.” I smiled softly. He inched closer and closer to me.

“Do you feel it?” He whispered in my ear.

“Feel what?” I hesitantly replied, concerned about what he was referring to, tilting out of his reach. His tacky come-on spoiled any attraction I had initially felt for him.

“The passion in the air—the spark between us.” He flashed me a devilish grin.

“Oh dear...passion?” I bit my lower lip.

“Yes. You look so delish, I want to taste you.” Angelo leaned in closer to me and whispered heavily. His hot cigarette breath swarmed around my neck. “You’re such a gorgeous American woman. Can I—how do American men say it...rock your world tonight?” I gaped at his lack of couth.

“I don’t think that’s how it’s said.” I blanched, trying to smile.

“Let us say we dump your friend and go back to my place.” He caressed his fingers down my forearm. I instinctively jerked back.

“I could never do that—she is my lover.” Surely, this would turn him away. Naïve thinking on my part. Out of the blue Nuilley returned, hovering over us.

“You two look cozy.”

“Ahhh...well, Angelo here just asked me to dump you and go back to his place to feel the passion,” I blurted out, my cheeks flared with heat.

Michelangelo’s broad smile stretched from ear to ear, and he quickly lost the debonair allure that I had been drawn to. “Well, since you two are lovers, how about we make it a ménage tois? You both can come back to my hotel with me if that pleases you.”

“Excusez-moi.” Nuilley snapped her fingers, loudly. “Get the fuck out of here, asshole.” Her face contorted into an evil snare.

Michelangelo’s eyes shot into hers, and his shit-eating grin quickly evaporated. “Whoa...I didn’t mean to offend you. I thought you two ladies might want to have some fun tonight. My mistake.”

“Yeah, a huge one,” Nuilley hissed, all breathy. “Besides, she is not my lover. And you’re not going to get with either one of us, now!” I never had the guts to admit to her that he thought we were lovers because I had told him so.

“I suppose it’s time for me to go.” He sheepishly stood, making his getaway into the dwindling crowd.

“Yeah, we don’t want to waste your time,” Nuilley mumbled under her breath. “Fucker.”

“Gosh, Nuilley, you haven’t changed a bit.” I giggled.

“He’s a creep,” she belted out in her French accent. “He deserves public humiliation!”

“Yeah right, let’s stone him to death,” I responded factiously. Nuilley’s snarl disappeared.

“Oui.” Her eyes widened with her grin.

“No, I’m just kidding.” I laughed. “I think it’s time to go before we get into trouble. Besides, it looks like they’re getting ready to close.” The dim lights lifted slightly.

“Yeah, there’s nothing but leftovers here.” Nuilley scanned the room desperately. “Well, except for him over there.” She pointed towards the bar at a fair-haired man and fanned her face with her hand.

So much for Nuilley reprimanding me for pointing out someone in public. It shouldn’t have surprised me. Nuilley lived her life based on double standards. There was one set of rules for her and another set that she expected others to live up to.

“Forget him. Let’s go,” I ordered politely, feeling a little irritated.

“Wow, he is making me hot. I might get lucky tonight.”

“No, Nuilley. Please. I think I am going to be sick; the cigarettes are getting to me.” I grabbed my sweater and bag.

“Oh damn. I’m right behind you. Just give me one
petite
second.” When I looked up, Nuilley was gone.

I waited outside by the curb for her. The fresh breeze cancelled out the scent of cigarettes. Laughter, meddling with the sound of sexy French lyrics and background music, poured out into the misty street. I could see through the dusty window that Nuilley was flirting her ass off with Mr. Hot—exchanging cards, two-cheek kisses—and finally she was heading in my direction.

“Two seconds longer and I was coming in for you,” I stammered.

“Oh darling, I wish I would’ve known that I had more time,” she said, eyeing me provocatively, slowly grinning, and then flashing me a wink. “Because in two seconds, I would have
come
undone.” She breathily exhaled. “That man was mine for the taking.”

“Oh Nui, let’s go,” I said, tugging at her arm, and she reluctantly followed.

Nuilley always had a sexual innuendo up her sleeve, which made me uncomfortable at times. Her appetite for sex began at a very young age. I think her insatiable hunger for sex helped to curb mine. All of her wild stories about orgies, spankings and one-night stands kind of creeped me out. Not to mention the huge supply of condoms in her night-stand…yuck. But, at least she was keeping it safe.

Nuilley blossomed into a gorgeous woman, tall, lanky with short croppy-choppy hair—the color changed with her moods—big blue eyes, high cheekbones and a thin pointed nose; it fit her face perfectly. She was confident, independent and a smart ass. Soooo French. Men would fall at her feet.

I didn’t understand why she didn’t want more than her causal fly-by-night kind of guys. She was racking up the one-night stands, one after the other. There was no reason for her reckless behaviors. It wasn’t as if she was damaged. She had the perfect childhood, short of her parents getting divorced. Nuilley had never been dumped by a man, or suffered from a broken heart, on the contrary. And, she aimed to keep it that way too.

I closed my eyes for a brief moment, inhaling as I opened the window of the limo. It was beginning to rain, but I didn’t mind, the soft droplets of rain felt refreshing on my face.

The night air and the city lights streamed by, melting into a blur. I knew that there would be hell to pay in the morning. I expected to suffer from a major hangover. I was certain I would never smoke Galois’s cigarettes again.

-38-

Muah!

Nuilley shoveled me to get my attention. “Don’t worry, I will find you a man in Paris that will love you forever.” She offered on many occasions to fix me up with her plethora of men friends, unsolicited by me of course.