As I Breathe (One Breath at a Time: Book 2) (25 page)

I sat there listening, smiling, hemming and hawing when necessary. There was no doubt, she had her eyes on Troy, and she needed me to come along as her wing girl. Nuilley usually had an ulterior motive despite her good intentions. Gotta love her though.

When we arrived back at my apartment, Nuilley and I kissed each other goodbye in a very French sort of way, on one cheek and then the other. I always laughed at how the French found every opportunity to exchange kisses.

The cute limo driver, Collin, sheltered me from the soft rain beneath his big black umbrella. He walked me to my front step and then paused, smiled shyly and leaned in closer to me. For a minute, I felt as if he wanted to kiss me, too.

At the bar, the waiters had kept topping off my glass. I was pretty tipsy, and unaccustomed to such mass quantities of champagne. I swayed back and forward toward Collin and he reached out, holding onto my forearm, balancing me.

“
Mademoiselle Eden, do you need help to your flat?” Collin asked. He certainly was easy on the eyes.

“
Ooh, that’s so sweet of you! Sure, and honestly, I told you to call me, Brielle.” With having said that, he nervously glanced back at the car. It was plain to see that through the tinted window Nuilley’s cell-phone light was near to her ear. She was probably on the phone with either Troy, or the man she had just met. That was my guess. At any rate she was preoccupied. I glanced back up at Collin. “Don’t worry, I’m so not as formal as Nuilley. I’m an American girl.” I slapped a limp palm against his chest, and a rasp of a giggle escaped my lips, probably giving him the wrong impression.

“
If you like, I can come back and check on you after I drop off Mademoiselle, Lambert.” Collin’s eyes smiled when he spoke.

“
Oh no. Thanks though. On second thought, I think I can manage from here.” The alcohol in my veins mustered up a bravado flirty smile, showing lots of teeth.
Why not?
Despite his overt pass, I liked him well enough to be playful with him. I thought about giving him a friendly little kiss on the cheek, which would have mortified Nuilley if she were paying attention.

According to Nuilley’s rules, it’s so taboo, to kiss, date or even mingle with anyone you do business with, with the exception of those who earn six figures or more. She could be the biggest snob. I’m probably her only friend who had ever challenged all her ridiculous rules.

I leaned in closer to Collin. It had been so long since I’d stood so close to a man. He was extremely handsome. Deep brown eyes, long dark lashes, a boyishly crooked smile that looked very kissable.

The sound of the rain pitter-pattered on the umbrella. Realizing we were getting wet, we huddled in closer to the brownstone, taking cover beneath the large blue awning. The night air, and clean rain felt refreshing and cleared my mind. The wind blew across my face, wrapping a strand of my hair between my lips.

“Here let me get that.” He carefully took the strand from my cheek. It tickled my lips as he pulled it away. “You’re hair is so beautiful.”

“
Oh thanks. Well, I’d best get going.” I gave him an awkward little hug. When doing so, I caught the scent of his cologne. It smelled expensive, of sandalwood and possibly the scent of new leather. He smelled so enticing I could hardly resist planting my lips on his cheek. A little kiss shouldn’t cause World War III between Nui and me. Pulling back from him, I realized I should’ve nixed the hug for his sake.

“
Anytime you need a ride around town or to the market, anywhere you need to go, please, call me, okay?” He handled me his business card. “It will be on the house.”

Nodding, I responded, “You’re so sweet.”

“And you aren’t interested, are you?” His beautiful smile dropped.

I furrowed my brows. “In you?” It was a rhetorical question. I knew what he meant. “It’s just. Uh, well,” I stuttered.

“Hey pretty lady, it’s okay. How about being friends?”

“
Yes, definitely.” I smiled broadly.

He leaned in to kiss my cheek. I turned my face down, embarrassed that I’d previously sent him the wrong message.

Rethinking my flirty behavior, there couldn’t ever be as much as a peck on the cheek for him. For one, we’d established a new friendship. Clearly there wouldn’t be anything more between us, other than being friends even with his good looks. The chemistry just wasn’t there for me. I was smart enough to know it was nothing but the champagne tickling my libido. Most importantly, I didn’t want to lead him on. He was such a nice man. The thought of allowing him to kiss me, even a friendly kiss, made me shudder. My mouth tasted peculiar, like a mixture of sweet cream and cigarette ash. He probably would have shoveled a mint in my mouth afterwards.

“
All is good. Call me and I’ll give you the grand tour around the city.”

“
Really?”

“
As a friend.” He winked.

“
Sounds, perfect.”

“
Sounds, parfait,” Collin repeated my words in French.

“
Parfait,” I emulated his accent. We both laughed.

So, rather than another one last peck, I fished a few dozen Euros from my bag and shoved them into his free hand.

“No, I can’t take this.”

“
Please,” I pouted whimsically.

“
Merci, Mademoiselle...I mean, Brielle.” He tilted his head slightly, rubbing his fingers along his jawline. Damn, he was good looking. “You sure are a beautiful American woman. My wish for you is a lovely evening.”

I marveled at the romantic way he spoke.

Before I could reply, Collin turned and skipped confidently down the steps. He didn’t seem too hurt that I had turned him down. This gave me a sense of relief.

“
Merci,” I shouted after him, “my new friend.”

“
Bonne nuit.” Collin waved and slipped into the front seat of the limo. I leaned against the front door, wondering if I’d made a mistake turning down anything more than friendship.

Before turning my back on the night, I was startled unexpectedly.

“Brie, call me tomorrow,” Nuilley bit out from her now cracked-open window.

“
Gosh, you scared me, Nuilley.”

“
I’d be scared too if I had to live in that brownstone all by myself,” she teased.

“
Stop with that,” I yelled back over the sound of intermittent thunder. She probably didn’t hear me. “You just want your way,” I whispered to myself.

“
Get inside, hurry I’m going to be late,” Nuilley shouted loudly.
Late for what?
I wondered. Thank God, the onset of the storm muffled her high pitch. I worried she would wake up the neighbors.

The limo’s engine idled as I punched in my private entry code on the keypad discreetly located behind a tall bush on the exterior wall of the brownstone. When the alarm buzzed, I leaned against the heavy double doors and pushed them open with my body weight, trying to keep my balance while inebriated.

“Night. Love you, baby,” I called out, and waved over my shoulder to Nuilley and Collin. “Bye, Collin.” Nuilley probably cringed with disgust if she’d heard my enthusiastic farewell to our driver.

I had one friend in Paris whom I loved. Thank God, for Nuilley. Despite her reckless behavior with men, and the high-class VIP air that she put on in public, she had many redeeming qualities as most people do. She knew what true friendship was. I couldn’t imagine being in Paris without her. Now I’d made a new friend, the night had turned out to be parfait.

I stood there with the door ajar, watching until I could no longer see the taillights of the limo. I could hardly wait to brush my teeth and wash the makeup off my face before slipping between my new soft cotton sheets in my own bed, surrounded by fluffy pillows.

Once completely inside, the sound of the limousine’s motor driving off down the narrow road lingered in my ears. The sound of stillness made me feel lonely.

***

There I was, drunk and suddenly ridiculously close to crying. It must have been the alcohol or the culture shock. Everyone back home had told me that I would cry when I traded New York City for Paris. While I recognized that I most certainly would cry here and there, I also believed that I would quickly embrace the heart of Paris, and then I would dry my tears and make a fantastic life here.

The brownstone’s atrium was oddly quiet, except for a faint whistle of the wind streaming through the cracks in the old walls. The downpour of rain had eased up outside. Storms moved in fast and left just as quickly.

I walked to the stairs and grabbed the smooth wooden banister. I stood there for a moment staring up into the dimly lit stairwell, when suddenly I felt dangerously dizzy. I tightened my grip on the banister and started to make my journey up the stairs to my apartment.

When I arrived at the second floor landing, I stopped to rest my legs for a moment and sank my butt to the stairs. There was no way in hell that I was going to climb three flights in my high-heeled boots. After all, I could barely walk on flat ground, as dizzy as I was, let alone up the old rickety staircase. I felt the fizz of the champagne gurgling in my stomach, and racing its way up to my throbbing head. I prayed that I would not get sick in the stairwell.

I sat there for what seemed like eons trying to shake off the buzzing sound deep within my eardrums. The silence was deafening, making the mind-numbing buzz more intense. I decided to take off my boots to improve my equilibrium. I unzipped my boots and placed them beside my purse on the step below me. I also unbuttoned the top button of my jeans.

Not only had I drank too much, I had overindulged on the food, too.
If I continued at this rate, I
wouldn’t be a size four for long. I already felt positively obese by French standards, especially in comparison to the locals.

The women in the clubs I’d noticed were stick thin. The trend was to be a bag of bones, wearing size zeros—is that even a size? They all had pale skin, no hips and a flat-chest appeared to be in vogue, as well. It was as if they were competing in an anorexic beauty contest, and the “Skinny Bitch” book was the prized trophy. I on the other hand, preferred indulging on the French cuisine and wasn’t interested in any book that would scare the flesh off my bones, or possibly send me into starvation!

I stuck to the motto Tara from St. Augustine had preached to me:
Embrace your curves!

I continued to sit on the steps, watching a few other late night partiers making their way down the narrow street. They made no effort to keep their voices down. Their laughter flooded my ears, which caused me to feel so lonely. Everyone seemed to have someone to love in Paris—everyone but me.

In the front window, I caught the reflection of my image. Damn, the humidity had done a number on my hair. It was no wonder I was alone. I looked like Medusa sitting there in the dimly lit lobby, waiting for some unsuspecting man to stumble into my trap and turn him into stone.

Fortunately, long hair was the trend in Paris, and with my long locks, I looked as if I belonged, even though I didn’t feel as if I did. My hair was fairly thick, long and blonde, similar to one of my new best friend’s hair.

Her name - Carrie
Bradshaw. Okay, so she wasn’t
really
my best friend per se. However, since
Sex in the City
was the only series I found televised in English. Sometimes I felt as if I was the only American girl lost in a foreign country.

Thank God
, Sex in the City
’s popularity was also a big hit in Paris too. I never had the time to see it when it was right under my nose in NYC. I had spent many lonely nights watching reruns at Nuilley’s place while she went out on the town. I discovered Carrie and I definitely had a lot in common. Fiction meets reality. She was a writer and so was I. We were both from New York City, and we both had BIG men problems! Only, unlike Carrie, I came to Paris to find a lover while
she
went to Paris with a lover. Of course, that didn’t turn out so well for her. I hoped to have better luck than she did.

-24-

Untouched by Time

When I reached over to retrieve my Louboutin bag and boots, I found that I was sitting a step up from the graffiti that some lovebirds from long ago had carved—two connecting hearts. The outline of the hearts were untouched by time, their names in the center of each heart were faded and no longer legible. It was ironic that the outline was so clear and precise.

I sat there feeling sorry for myself and alone while continuously tracing my finger around the edge of the two hearts. There was something that made me feel connected them. In the center of one of the hearts was a deep hole as if the wood had been chipped away when the carving was done, or later, as the spot had become worn. I wondered who the lovers were and whether their love lasted forever.

A deeper sense of isolation settled in my heart. I wished that I was with someone, anyone, no,
the right one
! Would anyone carve my initials, or my name, inside of a heart and proclaim their love for me? At the rate I was going I doubted it. Who would have thought I would end up this way.