Chasing Paris Read online

  “Why are you tired of school if you’re studying what you love?” He took the cigarette back.

  “Because school is not making me famous.”

  “Where is this school? This school that isn’t making you famous?”

  “In Northern California.”

  “Well, California is certainly a good place to be if you want to become famous.”

  “Not Northern California. I need to be in Los Angeles.”

  He nodded. “You do.”

  Lizzie pointed across the street and stepped off the sidewalk. “Do you feel like having a drink?”

  Billy’s eyes followed her finger and caught sight of a building permeating music and lights. “Sure.” They walked toward the bar. “Do you dance as well?”

  “I do.” Lizzie twirled across the street, her skirt whipping around her legs and her hair crisscrossing her face. “The question, really,” she said, “is do you dance well?”

  ***

  Will leaned back against the couch, and in a sing-song voice said, “I know what’s going to happen next.”

  “What?” Amy looked up from the page she was reading and pushed some hair behind her ear.

  Will squinted at her. “Come on, really? They’re going to a bar, Lizzie asked him to have a drink with her, she wants to dance…” His voice trailed off.

  Amy looked down at the piece of paper in her hand and then back at Will. “I’m a bit ahead of you in reading, and I still don’t know what you mean.”

  “Dear Amy,” April said, carrying two plates piled high with shrimp boil. “He’s saying your grandmother was a loose woman and that Billy’s probably going to get lucky.”

  Amy’s eyes darted back and forth between Will and her sister. “Why would you think that?”

  April set the plates on the coffee table and looked at Will. “She’s serious, you know. She really doesn’t know why we would think that.” April winked at Amy. “She’s always been a bit naïve.”

  “This is amazing,” Will said, his attention focused on the food. “Thank you, April.” He stabbed a piece of sausage and shifted his body to look at Amy. “Listen,” he pushed the food into his mouth and began chewing between words, “Bars are only for two things: getting drunk and hooking up. I know things have changed in the last fifty or sixty years, but I bet things haven’t changed that much. They’re going home together.”

  Amy picked up a shrimp and bit into it. “I don’t know. You two really think bars are just for drinking and hooking up? You can’t go to a bar just to hang out?”

  April and Will shook their heads.

  “You might end up just hanging out,” Will said, talking through a mouthful of potato. “But who wants to do that?”

  “That would be fine with me,” Amy said. “And here in this story, I just don’t think that’s what’s going to happen.”

  “There is zero evidence to support your conclusion,” Will said. “They’ve been flirting constantly. This is headed somewhere.”

  “Okay Mr. English major, settle down. We’re not writing an argumentative essay here.”

  April grinned, watching her sister. “It’ll all be okay in the end, Amy. Don’t worry about it.”

  “But it’s not all okay in the end.” The volume of Amy’s voice began to increase. “That’s the problem. That’s why we’re sitting here decades later trying to piece together what happened.”

  April walked toward the kitchen. “Details,” she said over her shoulder. She stopped in the doorway. “Oh, and by the way Will, I like your truck.”

  Will swallowed his food and answered, “Oh, thanks.”

  “Have you had it a long time?”

  He nodded his head. “Yeah, I got it when I went away to college—so three years.”

  “Hmm,” April said, thinking. “Okay, well, goodnight.”

  “Thanks again for dinner,” Will said.

  As she headed toward her room, Amy and Will exchanged sideways glances. “Is your sister a fan of old trucks?” Will asked.

  “Don’t know, don’t care,” Amy replied. She picked up a piece of corn on the cob and then leaned toward the paper she was reading.

  Will continued looking at Amy for a moment. “This thing with Lizzie—you do know that it’s going to be okay in the end, right? In its own imperfect way, it will be okay. It is okay. You and your sister, Eva, your mom—you’re all proof that it is okay.”

  Amy nodded, chewing slowly, unable to think of an answer. She kept her eyes on the paper.

  ***

  Morning crept over the horizon without the slightest warning, drowning shadows with its light and rousing people from their dreams. Eva opened the windows in the living room of her apartment. She spent a few moments staring out a window and across the courtyard, breathing in the warm, quiet air. Then she turned around and pursed her lips, taking in the sight of her sister sleeping on the couch. She walked to the couch and thought about pouring her cup of tea directly on Lizzie.

  Instead, however, she said, “Liz, the next time I arrange a date for you and a friend of mine, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t leave him at a restaurant all night long.”

  Lizzie opened her eyes. The light flooding through the window blurred her vision. “Huh?” She lifted her head off the couch pillow and then dropped it back down. Pain pulsed through her temples.

  Eva stripped a blanket off her younger sister. “Get up. It’s time to go.”

  Lizzie moaned. “No.” She reached for the blanket rumpled at her feet. “Leave me alone.”

  “We have to go. The day’s already wasting away, and we’re supposed to meet Rob for lunch.”

  Lizzie’s eyes remained shut, but her eyebrows furrowed. “Who’s Rob?”

  “Lizzie! Get up!” Eva sat down on the couch and shook her sister’s shoulder. “What happened to you last night? I don’t remember hearing you come home.”

  Lizzie tried to open her eyes. They felt like rocks pressed into her head. “I came home last night? I don’t remember that, either. Who’s Bob?”

  “Rob—not Bob—is the man that you left at the restaurant. He came by late last night wondering what happened to you. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know where you were, either. So I told him we’d have lunch today to make up for your rudeness.”

  “Oh.” Lizzie licked her lips. “Eva, could you get me some water, please?”

  Eva walked toward the bathroom. “How much did you drink last night?”

  The tap water ran in the bathroom for a few seconds before Eva reappeared at Lizzie’s side with a cup. Eva smiled as Lizzie reached for the water.

  “I have no idea,” Lizzie said. She brought the cup to her lips without propping herself up. Water spilled down her neck as she drank. “I can’t go anywhere today. I’m going to die if I go anywhere.”

  Eva sat down again. “What happened last night?”

  Lizzie drank more water and then held the cup out to Eva. “More?” She closed her eyes. “I don’t know what happened. I can’t remember.”

  She felt the couch move as Eva got up for more water. Lizzie tried to think. Out of the fogginess in her mind, she began to extract memories of the previous evening.

  “Eva, you said that I left—what’s his name? Bob? I left Bob at the restaurant? Why did I do that?”

  “I don’t know.” Eva called from the bathroom. “Why did you do that?”

  Billy’s face flashed across Lizzie’s mind. “Oh, I remember. I met a man last night.”

  Eva tapped Lizzie’s shoulder with the dripping cup of water. “You met a man? While you were out with someone else?”

  Lizzie wasn’t sure. “Yes?” Her voice was small. “Maybe? Wait, no. I met him before last night. But I saw him last night. And since he was a whole lot more interesting than your friend, I decided to spend my time with him.”

  “He must have been quite interesting. You can’t remember what happened.”

  Lizzie poured water down her throat. “I hope I didn’t do anything stupid.�
�

  Eva smiled. “Oh, I’m sure you did.”

  “Probably.” Talking was becoming difficult as her head pulsed harder. “I’m going to have to find out. But not now, not tonight, not tomorrow, not for a really long time.” She pushed the cup against Eva’s arm. “Tell Bob that I’m really sorry. And go now. Leave me alone to die in peace.”

  Eva stood up. “His name is Rob.”

  “I don’t care. And don’t send me on a date with any of your boring friends again. This is all your fault.”

  Eva smiled and walked out of the room. “It’s always my fault, isn’t it?” she said. “I’ve been blamed since the beginning of time.”

  ***

  Will cast a sideways glance at Amy as she passed him the next page. He suppressed a smile.

  “We still don’t know what happened,” she said, keeping her eyes down. She tried to hide the smile teasing the corners of her mouth. “Plus, all we are getting here is fragments, and they were written by Eva, who wasn’t even there most of the time. She probably was writing from fragments that Lizzie told her. We don’t know how reliable any of this is.”

  Will couldn’t suppress his smile any longer. “You’re right,” he said, taking the paper from Amy.

  ***

  A week later, Lizzie walked up to Billy’s easel and sat down on his stool.

  “Hello,” she said when he looked at her.

  Billy studied her a moment before turning back to his work. “You again,” he breathed.

  “Me again?” She pointed to herself. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I mean exactly what I said. “You again.”

  Lizzie’s voice left her momentarily. When it returned, she stood up and said, “Well, if that’s all you have to say, I can certainly go.”

  He reached over and touched her elbow before she could step away. “No. Don’t go.” His voice was soft. “Sit down.”

  She obeyed. “I’m sorry that you’re not happier to see me.”

  He studied his canvas. “I would have been happier to see you sooner.”

  “You could have found me earlier if you wanted to.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Billy set down his paintbrush and turned to her. He crossed his arms and stared directly into her eyes. Lizzie stared back. She stood up so that they were closer to the same height. The urge to ask ‘what?’ tickled the back of her throat, but she swallowed it.

  “I don’t remember what happened that night I was with you,” she said, forfeiting the contest of silent staring.

  Billy’s continued to study her eyes. “And you want to know what happened?”

  “I wouldn’t mind knowing.”

  “Have you ever done that before? Drank so much alcohol with a man you don’t know? So much that he has to find out where you live and carry you home over his shoulder?”

  Her eyebrows furrowed and she looked past him at a coffee shop, thinking. “I don’t know. It is a possibility—after all, if it has happened before, I wouldn’t remember it, right?”

  “How old are you, Elizabeth?”

  “Call me Lizzie. I’m twenty.”

  “You don’t drink often, do you?”

  “Why do you say that?”

  Billy turned back to his painting. He didn’t answer.

  “No. I don’t drink much.” She sat back down on the stool and watched him paint. After a while, she asked, “So, are you going to tell me what happened that night?”

  “Well,” Billy said, dipping his brush into some paint. “You and I drank a little, then you tried to get me to dance but I wouldn’t. Then we drank some more, then went for a walk and screamed at the moon. Then you got sick, then you passed out, and then I had to carry you around the Latin Quarter, asking if anyone knew you and where to find your sister’s place. When I finally found someone who knew you and your sister, I took you home. It’s a good thing your sister doesn’t lock her door.”

  Lizzie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s what happened? Really?”

  “That’s exactly what happened.” Billy continued painting.

  Lizzie watched his hands fly over the canvas. Her eyes were still narrowed, and they remained that way until she said, “You wouldn’t dance with me?”

  “Is that the only part of the evening that concerns you?”

  “Well, that’s definitely what concerns me most. If you’d scream at the moon, why wouldn’t you dance?”

  Billy put his paintbrush down. “I will dance with you tonight, at eight, at the same place, if you like. “I will dance with you, sober, if you leave me to my work now, and if you show up at eight.”

  Lizzie stood up. She examined him for a moment and then walked down the row of artists without saying anything.

  ***

  Amy waited for Will to finish reading. When he looked up, she smiled. “See. My grandmother wasn’t loose. A little bit of an idiot, but not easy.”

  “There’s still a lot left in this story.”

  “We’ll see.” She turned back to the papers.

  SIXTEEN

  T

  he thick moan of a trumpet hung in the air, darkening the club’s already dim atmosphere and invoking dancers to sway across the dance floor like zombies in a trance. Behind the powerful voice of the trumpet hummed a choir of piano, bass, and saxophone, but behind the musical lament was an unmistakable silence throughout the club. No laughter or conversation challenged the instruments’ voices. Only the shuffling feet of dancers could be heard every now and again when the musicians gasped for breath between notes.

  Billy sat at a table near the back of the bar. He watched the dancers circling the floor in front of his table, and he watched the band playing on the other side of the dance floor. He sat there, waiting and watching. He waited, comfortable, listening to music with a thin smile.

  Eva walked into the bar and went straight to Billy’s table, weaving gracefully through the unaware dancers. She set her purse on the table and sat down.

  “Hello,” she said.

  He smiled at her. “Hello.”

  “Lizzie’s running a little late,” she said. “So I came to entertain you until she gets here. I’m her sister, Eva.” She extended her hand. He took it.

  “Nice to meet you,” he said. “How thoughtful of you to come by. How thoughtful of you—and of her.”

  “Oh, well, if there’s one thing Lizzie and I are not, it’s rude.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Well, I’m not rude, and Lizzie, well, you know Lizzie.” She smiled and placed her elbows on the table. Her eyes wandered around the room as she dropped her cheek against her fist. “So, tell me, how is it that you met my sister?”

  She noticed that her voice was the only one in the club full of drinkers at tables and dancers on the floor. She continued smiling.

  Billy lit a cigarette. “Hasn’t she told you already?’

  “I want you to tell me.”

  “Well,” he said, looking past Eva to the exit, “your sister walked up to me and demanded that I draw a portrait of her. So I did.”

  Eva smiled. “She demanded it? Sounds like her.”

  “Oh yes.” Billy nodded and blew smoke toward his shoulder. “Not with words. But with those eyes and that breezy way of hers. He nodded again, looking at Eva. “Surely you know this already.”

  Eva took his cigarette and sighed. “She does tend to demand what she wants.”

  “And you don’t?” He watched Eva draw on the cigarette, remembering the way Lizzie had helped herself to his cigarette the night he carried her home over his shoulder.

  “Sometimes.” She ashed the cigarette and handed it back to him. “So, you’re an artist?”

  “I am. I hear you are too.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Lizzie told me that you were.”

  Eva smiled. “She thinks everyone is an artist. When we were in middle school, our family visited Monet’s home. I fell in love with the gardens there, and I tr
ied to draw the little bridge in that one very famous painting—you know the one, I’m sure. Water Lilies, I think. It’s a rather poor drawing, but I’ve hung it in my room—a reminder of a simpler time.” She shrugged. “That’s just about my only foray into art. I do like looking at art, though.”

  “So, is she a real artist then, if she thinks that everyone is an artist?”

  “Lizzie? You mean as a dancer? Or an actress? Oh yes. She’s quite talented. Always has been.”

  A couple blocks away, Lizzie plunged her dirty arms into a basin of cold water. She scrubbed them, splashing water across her blouse and skirt, but not minding the water because her clothes were as dirty as her arms. She whipped her head around to see the clock hanging on the wall. Eight-ten. She shook her head, going back to washing her arms and wondering how she could have spent the whole evening planting flowers on Eva’s balcony without noticing the movement of the sun toward the horizon. If only she had asked Eva to call her in at seven instead of relying on herself.

  She shook the water off her clean arms, rushing toward her collection of clothes where she found a yellow skirt and a matching pair of shoes. Changing her clothes, she noticed dirt rubbing off her face onto her hand. Sighing, she snatched her dirty skirt off the floor and wiped her face with the fabric. In her high heels, she wobbled to a mirror in the wardrobe. Her hair hung about her face, tangled and unbrushed. She groaned with frustration. Her shoes banged against the wardrobe door as she kicked them off and headed back toward the basin. Her stomach growled, but she barely noticed as she brushed her teeth and washed the remaining dirt off her face. At the last glance of the clock, it was eight-seventeen. Without makeup, brushed hair, or shoes, she left her sister’s flat, moving quickly toward the club. The evening was warm and felt nice on her neck. She smiled, her breath and composure coming back to her.

  “Ah—I’m here!”

  Eva and Billy looked up to see Lizzie standing next to their table.

  “Your sister told me you were running late,” Billy said. “You could have taken an extra moment to put shoes on. I would have continued to wait.” He remained seated.