Romancing the Dark in the City of Light (25 page)

“Another time,” she says. “Oh. Wait. No more times. Where were you?”

“Watching you from over there. Lovely in your solitary determination.”

The elevators and therefore the tower close at eleven. Only a young Japanese couple is ahead of them when they get in line. She already bought her ticket. Kurt, of course, has lifetime privileges.

He’s dressed in his usual impeccable style, but his skin and teeth are mellow yellow in these lights, his eyes ringed with dark shadows. In fact, he looks old and ghastly. Summer would be repulsed if he weren’t such an intimate friend. And even in the cold, he smells like …
les
é
gouts
.

“Have you been, like, partying? Staying out late?” she asks him as they stroll into the room-sized, industrial elevator. Only the operator, the Japanese couple, and three loud, hammered Russian men who push on, occupy it.

“Why, yes.”

“That would explain the dark circles under your eyes.”

“The better to see you with my dear.”

The uniformed male operator keeps turning to stare at them. The Japanese quietly back into the far corner.

“By the way,” she says, hooking her thumb at the operator. “Can he see you?”

“Amy Winehouse,” he mouths. As Kurt winks at Summer, she startles. The set of his eyes reminds her of the newspaper photo of Dad.

I wish I’d known, Dad, she thinks. I guess I was too young to really understand. I know now. I understand completely. How you felt. How you didn’t feel.

And you knew Kurt. What a small world. She doesn’t really believe there will be anything after she hits the ground on the Champs de Mars, but a little part of her wonders if she’ll see her Dad again. Or Kentucky Morris.

Doesn’t matter. Leaving this one is all that does.

Kurt laces his long fingers through hers. “Can I hold your hand?” he asks, after the fact.

No one else gets on. The elevator jerks into motion and they ascend. Looking out at the Quai Branly, the street along the Seine by the tower, Summer catches sight through the steel girders of a scooter as it bounces up illegally on the wide walkway. It speeds across the plaza under the tower, and screeches to a stop. Then her line of sight is obstructed by too much steel. At the first platform everyone has to get out. There are still quite a few people milling around. Summer and Kurt make a beeline for the lifts to the summit.

A sign by the smaller elevators to the top says they close at 22:30. 10:30. “Too late!” Summer cries. She can’t believe it.

“Here, use the wire cutters,” Kurt says. Following his instructions, she uses the short blades as a sort of wedge-lever, and forces the doors partially open. Then they are easy to part. Inside, he points to the main power switch. She flips it. The lights blink on and hum.

“We’re in luck. Now, push that,” he says. She does; the doors close and they move up.

The lights of Paris, in fact all of the
Î
le-de-France, spread out twinkling for miles and miles. They watch in silence as everything slips farther and farther beneath them. It’s spectacular.

“‘The carriage held but just ourselves,’” he quotes. “You are brave and true, to leave this vale of tears for … you’ll see. Freedom. From pain and strife.”

“I know. Speaking of strife, I’m sorry I won’t get to see my relatives rip each other apart over that money.”

The ride is long, compared to the first elevator. “This is taking forever,” Summer says. “You know, it would be nice to see the sparkling lights. Before I jump.” She wants to see them, from within them. “They come on at eleven.”

“It should work out about right,” he says, glancing at his flashy watch. The elevator grinds to a halt. “Next stop. Eternity.” As if he were Prince Charming, Kurt offers his hand to her. “Come, Razorback.”

She takes it.

They emerge in an all-dark, closed observation area. A couple of
SORTIE
lights glow pale green. A chain blocks the stairs that leads up to the very top deck. They slip under it, climb and emerge onto a metal walkway. The wind blows so hard and loud, frozen pellets of rain sting her face like BBs. A small, enclosed room is ringed by the open walkway. Way above, the giant searchlight sweeps the city. Right below it, on the roof of the enclosed apartment are antennas, and other high-tech paraphernalia. Bright red lights glow on each corner of this last platform, probably for airplanes. Heavy metal fencing curves up and over them like a cage. Meant to impede people like her.

They push past a dark window.

“Ack,” Summer screeches. “There’s someone sitting in there!”

“Look again,” Kurt yells back. Light spillover from the huge searchlight momentarily illuminates a life-size wax dummy of Monsieur Eiffel in his late-nineteenth-century waistcoat and jacket, forever at his drawing table.

“Creepy.”

Frigid air blasts from the northwest and the English Channel, whistling—screaming around every wire and solid surface. They struggle to the south side of the deck and stare out at the million lights of Paris way, way below. Above, it’s starless. Even in the lee of the covered observation area, the noise is fierce and their coats slap their legs. Her face is numb. She fishes the wire cutters out of her coat pocket.

She squeezes the handles as hard as she can, working on one bit of the surprisingly thick wire above the wooden banister, atop a denser metal mesh railing. She works with concentration she hasn’t had in years. The wind is too loud for conversation anyway. The Champs de Mars park stretches out far below.

“Need bolt cutters,” Kurt yells into her ear.

Her hand aches. The tool is simply too small for the thick wire. “You could help, you know.”

“Nope. Not my job. Besides, I’m saving my strength for the important part.”

“Running away?” she mutters. She does wonder what he means. Will he push her or something? No. But she already knows he’ll desert her, as usual.

It doesn’t matter.

She pulls a flap of the wire backward and tears her leather glove. She works at it a little longer. It’s ridiculous, it will take weeks.

“Kurt. Can you just give me a hand here, please?” she yells.

He shakes his head. With effort, she dislodges another piece of the cut metal and with the blades, pushes it back. Great. She has a five-inch hole now.

“If your cutters are too wimpy,” he says into her ear, “there’s always the river.”

Summer nods. “Yep. I guess you were right. Maybe we should just head on down there—”

Over the roar, they feel rather than hear the clunk of the elevator below them on the lower level. Kurt holds his hand up, as in
Wait and listen
.

Some security person has come to bust them. It might even be the police.

She pulls Kurt by the arm. They move farther along the walkway behind the apartment and wait. There’s too much noise to hear anything. Summer leans out from the wall to see the spot where the stairs come up. Her pulse is banging in her ears.

Nothing.

But two seconds later, a figure appears at the corner of the deck, illuminated in the glow of the red and white tower lights. It’s Moony! She could recognize his tilted silhouette anywhere. He sees her and yells something that’s lost in the wind.

“Get rid of him,” growls Kurt, stepping back farther into the shadows.

She steps out. Moony has on only his thin navy fleece jacket, and no gloves or hat. Or cane. He limps over to her moving as quickly as she’s ever seen him move. He’s panting and wild eyed.

“What’re you doing?” he demands between gasps.

She doesn’t know what to say. It seems kind of obvious standing there with her wire cutters.

“Someone with you?” His hair is plastered to his forehead and his jacket and eyelashes are beaded with rain.

“No,” she lies.

“Come on. Get hot chocolate.” He reaches for her hand.

She steps back against the railing and wire cage. “Moony, please go.”

“No way.” He takes her by the arm. Over the wind, a siren wails far below.

“You’re being a
helper,
” she says, an attempt at a low blow.

But it doesn’t work. He won’t let go of her arm.

“Why are you even here?” she demands. The powerful beam of the searchlight shoots over their heads and their shadows spin beneath them

Moony says matter-of-factly, “I love you.”

His brown eyes lock on hers with defiance. She lets her breath out and looks away, then back at him. “I know. I love you, too.”

There. They both said it. They love each other.

But it’s not enough.

“I still have to do this.”

“No. You
absolutely don’t
!” he screams into the gale. “Let’s go home.”

“I guess it’s silly to expect you to understand.” She’s contemplating her options. No matter how she kills herself, she has to get him to leave. If she talks to him calmly, reassures him—

He wraps his arms around her and holds on. She struggles to break free of him but he’s stronger. She pushes him off, huffing. He grabs her again.

“Let me go! You’ve ruined everything!” she cries. She’s got to get away.

“Going over with you, then,” he says.

“Oh, for chrissakes.” He will not let go. Summer looks around for Kurt. He’s going to have to help if he wants her to do it tonight.

He’s nowhere to be seen.

She’ll have to plan this way better next time. She did, after all, call Moony and tell him exactly where she was going.

They stand as the wind screeches around them. Then Moony pulls her, arms still locked around her, down the metal stairs to the elevators.

The sparkling lights come on. There are only a few there at the very top, but they can’t help looking down at the wider sweep of the tower below and see the hundreds of thousands of lights twinkling.

A night guard waits by one of the elevators. He stares at Summer with dark Gallic wariness.

“Smile,” hisses Moony. “Said you came up on a dare.”

She forces a smile. Moony rattles off something reassuring to the man in French. He probably paid him off, too, to get up here. If he’d told them his real suspicions, there would be a squad of police with handcuffs waiting for her below.

When they arrive at the second platform, Moony drags her to the metal stairs. “Lower elevators closed. Gotta walk down.”

As if she has any choice. “Okay, freaking let go,” she says. “I’m coming with you.”

FIFTY-THREE

It takes forever getting down the Eiffel Tower stairs from the second platform to the bottom even though Summer helps Moony the whole way. She has to.

“Why
do
you even like me?” she asks him as they round yet another landing. “It’s sick to like me.” She knows it, he knows it.

He hesitates, then says slowly, “On some level, suspected this.”

“You mean … jumping?” She’s shocked.

“Admire your attitude. Also sucker for lost causes.” He smiles weakly.

“Now, that makes more sense. Damn straight.”

Then he says what she’s thinking. “They thought
I
was a lost cause. Proved them wrong.” He goes on. “You think
you
are. Give anything if you could see through my eyes. What a gift and privilege life is. How it can get better.” They pause on a landing and he gazes at her.

She shakes her head. He can’t understand.

His face hardens. “Think it’s all brave to want to die.”

She takes his hand and holds it with both of hers. “Don’t you see? I love you. Moony, I do. But I’m a black hole! Can you understand that? More than anything I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the only thing that matters to me.”

He says nothing.

She adds, “I
don’t
think it’s brave. There’s no way I can make you understand.”

“You’re wrong. I do understand.”

“I can’t bear living.”

“Brave enough to die, then you’re brave enough to live.” He grips her hand. “Have the freaking courage to get help, to get better.”

He makes it sound so straightforward and easy. “You have no idea. I’ve tried so, so many times. It’s not a matter of courage. It’s a matter of energy. Now it takes way more energy than I have. It’s like I’m already dead.”

“Bullshit,” he spits.

It stuns her, coming from him. She pulls her hand away.

His eyes flash. “Can’t believe how lame—how
pigheaded
—you’re being. You
are
backing down from only thing that matters. Living.”

“It’s unbearable! I can’t do it any longer!” she cries.

“You’re the only one who can make it bearable!” he screams. “You! You! Not others!”

“But I can’t. It’s not worth it. And I can’t hang on any longer. I don’t want to live. I want to die.” She drops her head in her hands. “I want to kill myself.”

Moony bellows, “You have everything … you need … to get help … to find meaning. We all do. Fucking look for it! It’s everywhere. So much you could do if you stop feeling sorry for yourself, being the world’s biggest brat.”

Summer’s jaw drops. “But—You—I—You’re not supposed to say that to a suicidal person.”

“You’re saying …
everything
 … I
fought
for … suffered for, since accident, is … worthless!” He shakes his head in disgust then glares at her. “Should be executed.”

“Me? Oh, that makes a lot of sense! Go ahead. Please! Shoot me now. And while you’re at it, fuck you.”

“
You’re
the one throwing away life.” He takes a deep breath, then says quietly, “And love.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence. Red fury at Moony bubbles. She hates him. She wants to kill him. No, she doesn’t. Herself is enough. But her brain is a tilt-a-whirl bouncing around her skull. Which way is up?

Finally on solid ground again, he grips her by the arm, all the way across the plaza beneath the tower. The sparkling lights come on again, blinking and sparkling all around them, like a fairy disco land. One whole hour has gone by.

It’s midnight and December 17 is over.

“I am
not
riding that scooter all the way home. I’d rather be
executed,
” she says scowling and pulling her flask from her coat pocket. Strangely, a part of her doesn’t want it. But she
does
need it right now. Plus it will annoy the hell out of Moony.