A Season to Loneliness (Part 3, Complete)
Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3
Chapter 5
Jared is absolutely hysterical when he returns home that evening. He alternates between shakes and utter stillness, and he speaks in French so fast, with the words all jumbled together that I barely can understand him. It isn’t until half a cigarette later, that he finally calms down and slumps down on the bed.
“What’s wrong?” Sitting next to him, I take him in my arms. He all but collapses against me.
“He’s done it.”
“Who’s done what?” Even though he hasn’t yet told me, I think I know. My heart is already sinking like a leaden weight in my chest.
“I have no job, he fired me.” A bitter laugh leaves his lips, it’s so tempting to raise my hands and cover my ears. “I’ve always known...that he would do it. I’ve always told myself, that he’d tire of me one day...it’s just--” Jared seems to be speaking to himself. For my part, I just try hard not to listen.
Later, he sits at his piano and plays. The notes crash and tumble over one another like violent waves fighting to get to shore. I sit at the table and try to write. An hour later, I’m still staring at a blank page.
Abruptly, he stands and go over to the hole next to the bookcase, it’s a sizable hole now, but I know it’s still not going to work. He has left it alone the last couple of days, I almost think that he has forgotten about it.
“Jared, what are you doing?”
He stares at the wall a moment before he looks over at me. Whatever he is doing, I wish he would stop it.
Jared smiles at me, it is a heartbreaking smile, trying too hard to be too many things. “I’m going to try to finish the bookcase for you tonight. I have nothing better to do, after all.”
This is true, but we have had this conversation before. I don’t think I can stand it. I get up from the table and go to stand behind him, my hands on his shoulders. I should probably admit to him that this is all my fault.
Suddenly, I want so much to tell him everything. Everything from the time I woke up in someone else’s bed and hated myself for it. I’ve hated myself so much that I had to run away to Paris. Perhaps he won’t love me so much after he finds out that I’ve lied about everything.
“Stop this. Please.”
I hate how he looks at me. As if I am really the only person left in the world who will love him. Jared grips my hands tight. “I don’t know how.”
“You’re supposed to be the one that knows everything.” I say.
“Non, I’m supposed to be the one that knows enough,” Jared tilts his head back to look at me.
“Please don’t work on the bookcase, I don’t need something like that,” it suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea how to be honest. This is all I can say to him.
For a long, long moment, Jared just looks at me. “Then...what do you want?”
Nothing and everything that he wants to give me. I am suddenly exhausted. “To get away from this place.” From him, maybe. “You make me hate Paris.”
“I have no money,” Jared must love me so much that he has to convince himself that I’m not being selfish at all. He wants so much to love me. “I doubt we can get far.”
I tilt my head, “I thought you were the romantic.”
He shrugs, “Only when I have the luxury to be, now is not one of those times.”
Of course it isn’t. I think one of his hands is straying towards the hammer, so I grip it and hold it tight. “I could write my father to send us money...we can go away. We can go to Venice.”
“You really want to go to Venice?”
Jared just holds me and does not answer. I suddenly do not remember how to breathe.
.
It takes me a day and a half to figure out what to write to my father. I am spared from opening his earlier letter to me because it seems to have gotten lost somewhere. Danneel’s letters earn a spot between my notebook and Jared’s copy of Baudelaire. The letters are still in their envelopes, but obviously we don’t talk about it. I don’t write much to my father, except that I might come home and I need the money to do so. Of course I do not mention Jared, my father’s opinions on Paris are already unfavorable enough without further prodding.
We don’t talk about a lot of things. Most days, we don’t talk at all. Jared spends a majority of his spare time smoking and playing his piano. The melodies are strange and confusing. They are no longer beautiful.
It’s getting colder and colder, but our windows never close. I can’t stand the smoke.
“I’m going to check my mail. Come with me.” I put my hand on his shoulder, “You haven’t been out of the room for ages.”
“I am not going to come with you to see if your girlfriend wrote you,” Jared’s smile is oddly bitter. “Desole.”
Except not really. “Stop calling her that,” I reach for his coat, it is much warmer than mine, although it is too large.
“What should I call her then?” He blows smoke in my face, I want to yell at him, but I don’t think he quite means to. “Never mind, I’ll think on it while you’re out.”
It is a relief to get out; nowadays, I don’t have enough excuses to leave him. I take a taxi to my old place, and my landlady stands there, as if her face is permanently soured by a lemon. She hands an envelope wordlessly over to me and tells me to leave. I gladly do.
But I don’t want to go back to Jared’s room, so I wander, stopping briefly to buy a bag of cherries. I eat them one by one, flicking the pits to the side, although I do stop when an old man limping by with a cane glares at me.
I suppose he thinks that Americans really have no propriety in Paris, and maybe I agree with him for the most part. It’s a bit horrible.
While I don’t think that it is courage that enables me to finally open her letter, maybe it’s a bit of curiosity and a bit of obligation. It’s been so long since I read any of her letters.
This one is short, barely a page, and there’s nothing about Riley.
She says she is tired of Barcelona, and that she misses me terribly. For whatever reason I have not been writing. Do her letters bore me? Danneel suddenly misses me, she has never realized that Barcelona would be so desperately lonely without me. She wanted to come back; when we marry, we can most certainly go again. It would be such a nice spot for a honeymoon. Especially now, since her Spanish isn’t rusty anymore.
Danneel is coming back to marry me after all, now all her doubts seem so silly, but she’s grown out of that now. She is no longer a little girl, she knows what she wants, and she wants -- me.
Suddenly, she is the one that disgusts me, I want to crumple up the letter and throw it away, never to look at it again. But I couldn’t. So instead, I stuff the letter back into its envelope and resolve to get very, very drunk.
.
I once asked Danneel what she saw in me. She just laughed and told me that I was who I am, and that was enough for her. And then she went on to say that even though her mother would never approve, she’s always dreamed of marrying a writer. Why a writer? She didn’t quite know. Unknowing is contagious, I wonder if she knows now.
She must know, or she wouldn’t have agreed to marry me. I think she is making a horrid mistake. When she comes back, maybe I will tell her. I must tell her.
It is a strange bar, and it’s sort of relieving that no one knows me, although that does not stop them from looking. I try to look mostly at my beer glass and not anywhere else.
There is a girl, a bit younger than me, with bright eyes, bright innocent eyes that are thoroughly misleading. If she is anything near innocent, she probably would not be here. I don’t look at her when she comes and sits next to me.
She has a nice smile, I think, although she is nothing like Danneel. Nowhere as beautiful.
Her voice is nice too, when she finally finishes her brightly-colored cocktail, and turns to speak to me. “You look desperately lonely, Monsieur.”
I don’t look at her. “I might be more one than the other.”
“Oh?” Her mouth is an inviting red. “Which?”
“I don’t know.”
She is closer now, her hand is over mine, much too smooth, much too small. “But you must know, Monsieur. Because I have every intention of finding out which. Come.”
.
This girl is no stranger to the company of strange, desperately lonely men. Her apartment is sparse, but her bed sheets are fresh. She kisses me, and I taste dizzying fresh liquor.
Perhaps I should ask her name.
She stares at me in the dark, kneeling over me. Her eyes are wide and searching. “What’s wrong?”
“I--” The girl with her too red lips and bright eyes is suddenly despicable to me. Her skin is too smooth and her hands much too wanting. I sit up, and she lets me. “I don’t know what I’m doing...I should go.”
She does not stop me.
.
I go back to Jared’s room. There is no place else for me to go. He is still awake, sprawled on his bed not wearing any clothes. I try not to look while he pretends not to notice me. We’re getting to be very good at that. I shrug off his coat and toss it. It lands with a thump somewhere.
The room is too silent, I jump when Jared clicks his lighter, lighting a fresh cigarette. He seems determined not to say anything, so I finally take a deep breath.
“Jared, I--”
Jared holds up a hand, “I do not want to hear anything you have to say. Just come to bed.”
The knot that has formed in my chest loosens, but my throat feels ever so tight, like someone is choking me. Jared is forgiving; he has forgiven me. I climb into bed with him, and he stares at me for a very long time in the dark.
“You miss women.” Jared reaches over after a moment to brush his thumb over my jaw, there’s lipstick.
“Not really,” I say. “If I did, you probably wouldn’t even understand. I didn’t...” I want him to know that I didn’t.
Jared only shrugs.
There is a silence, and I decide that while I don’t exactly ‘miss women’ the way I miss the way that Jared’s rough palms rub my back. “You aren’t angry with me.” That is a bit surprising.
“You’ve come back to me,” he says. “I’ve no reason to be angry.”
But what about the day that I won’t come back at all? Danneel would certainly be not so forgiving. I don’t want to think about it. “Well...good night then.”
“Good night.”
.
He has started to look for work again. I keep thinking that Sandra is going to show up and demand rent and then some, but she never does. Jared seems to be in much better spirits, now that he thinks that I will never leave.
I still don’t tell him about Danneel. I know I eventually have to, but I can’t.
Jared is out somewhere the day she comes back, sometime in the early afternoon, and I’m glad that he isn’t there to expect a reasonable explanation from me.
The train station is crowded, and it takes me a good half hour to find her skimming the hordes of people with their trunks and things, but when I finally see her, Danneel is all smiles. She is wearing the ring I gave her, glinting almost sinisterly in the gray afternoon sun.
She throws her arms around me and kisses me, right there in the port with people watching. No one seems to notice. People that notice, obviously think little of it. We are a man and a woman in love. It’s a precious thing and our own business.
Jared and I can never kiss like that with people watching.
Barcelona has been good for her, I can tell. I have never seen her so happy. I smile and take her hands, “You look wonderful.”
Her smile is lovely, but faint. “I don’t feel so wonderful. The train ride was horrid, but at least I’m back now. I’ve missed you.” Danneel takes my hand, “And I didn’t put it in my letters, as I think it is better to tell you in person.”
“Oh?”
“The ring is lovely,” she splayed her fingers for me to see. I almost hate the ring there on her finger. “Thank you.”
I drag her trunk for her, mostly because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. “So...your mind’s all made up then?”
“What do you mean?”
Something tells me not to look at her, so I don’t. “I mean...this,” it is probably safe to look down at our hands. Her hand is too small. “Your settling for me, getting married and all.”
Danneel gives me a long look, “What are you talking about?” Her eyes narrow.
“I’m talking about...” I falter, of course she wouldn’t have an affair. Danneel is nothing like me. Although I don’t know if that fact also suggests that I’m something like Jared. “Nothing.”
She stops and practically wrenches her hand from mine, “I’m not settling for anything, I’m marrying you because I want to. What’s with you, all of the sudden?”
“Nothing, I just...” I suck in a deep breath, “Anyway, I moved in with a roommate while you were gone, so I’ll have to take care of that soon.”
“So there’s someone living with you?”
“No, I’m living with him. He’s got a cheaper room.” I shrug it off.
“Oh, well, that would make sense then.” She nods, having no reason to think about it further, “We can get our old room back, though...did you tell Madame Gilbert to keep our room?”
Our landlady’s name is apparently Madame Gilbert. I’ve never known before, “I forgot to mention it, but I’m sure she has other rooms.”
“I’m not worried about it, just asking,” she links her arm through mine and smiles at me. “What’s he like, your roommate?”
“You’d probably think he’s handsome,” I say after a long long pause. “He’s a talented pianist.”
“I’ve always loved the piano,” she says, squeezing my arm tighter. “Did you tell him I used to play as a girl?”
Danneel used to play piano as a girl. Suddenly, I remember, I bite down on my tongue, “Jared and I...we don’t talk much.”
.
I spend the rest of the day with her and we have a lovely time. We have no probably getting our old room back because Madame Gilbert is almost relieved to see Danneel return. Her French is flawless.
We spend a lot of time kissing, but nothing further. She asks if I mind. I shrug and say it doesn’t matter.
Danneel laughs and rolls closer to me, her bare leg brushes against mine, “Because you know, we have to save something for our wedding night...I don’t think it’d be fun otherwise.”
Our wedding night, now it is inevitable. I fight the urge to roll away, the bed is too big, the mattress too soft, and I wonder about Jared -- if he’s even left the piano at all today.
“Jensen?” She reaches over to pinch my shoulder.
“What?”
“You aren’t listening to me.” She blinks somewhat disapprovingly at me in the dark. Although I can barely see the outline of her face, I can always tell when Danneel is displeased with me.
“I’m just...tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” I fake a yawn and stretch, I’m actually not tired at all.
Danneel believes me, she always believes me. She kisses my cheek and traces her fingers over my jaw. Her fingers are smooth and womanly. “Shouldn’t you call your roommate and tell him that you aren’t returning for the night? It’s polite, isn’t it? He can have his girlfriend over while you aren’t there -- does he have a girlfriend?”
“No,” I say. It’s utterly impossible to see Jared with a girlfriend. It’s altogether laughable.
“Pourquoi pas?” She’s grinning, “If he’s as handsome as you claim...won’t girls line up around the corner to wait for him? You’re probably a nuisance if you’re always around.” Obviously this is amusing for her.
“Jared doesn’t have any money,” I tell her, wishing that she would shut up about him. He’s none of her business, after all. “It’s impossible to keep a girl without money. Besides, he doesn’t want one.”
“All right, all right,” Danneel is sounding mildly displeased again. “You don’t need to get angry about it. Good night.”
.
It goes on like that for almost a week. Danneel and I scarcely leave the room and Jared is not so far away in my thoughts as he really should be. It’s only when I’ve begun to tire of wearing the same clothes over and over, that I sit down seriously to think about it.
“By the way,” Danneel is sorting out the various dresses in her closet. “How’s that book of yours going? You’re going to become the next Dickens?”
Dickens. I am sitting on our bed, diligently pretending to write, but still it takes me a few minutes to realize what she’s talking about. “Oh...good, Paris is very inspirational. But I don’t like Dickens.”
She smiles indulgently at me, “Twain then, whoever you prefer. Read me something.”
Twain, I don’t like him much either. I try to smile back, but my lips feel too stiff, “I haven’t written anything I like yet. When I do I will let you know.”
“You always say that. Must you try so hard to be perfect?” She must think that it’d be somewhat endearing though, or else she would not be smiling like that. “But fair enough.”
Danneel knows nothing, this room suddenly stifles me and I long for the freedom that is Jared’s room. I can’t stay here, but I doubt I’d be welcome there either. I hastily stuff the notebook back under the mattress.
She studies me as I hunt for my shoes, “Jensen, where are you going?”
“For a walk.”
Since she is not saying anything, I hurriedly leave, but when I hear the door open again, I stop and flinch. Daneel sticks her head out of the door and holds up my coat.
“You might want to bring a coat, it’s cold outside, supposed to get colder.”
.
Paris a city for lovers, but it is a grave misfortune if you love too many people at once. I start out on foot and resist the temptation of a taxi because I know where the taxi will ultimately take me.
Danneel is right, it is getting colder and colder, and the tips of my fingers are red and numb. There’s an unassuming bookshop right down there at the corner and even though my pockets are empty, I go in because it is warm.
There are shelves and shelves of books, and even though I have not read most of them, I like to think I recognize some titles. The bookkeeper smiles at me, he’s an elderly man who reminds me of my father, but his smile is kinder. I am about to reach for a volume on the life of Fredric Chopin, when a warm familiar hand drops on my shoulder.
“And so you’ve come out of hiding,” it’s Jared, and his expression does not look happy to see me, but his touch is gentle. “Finally suffocated by your girlfriend’s skirt...or something similar.”
The bookkeeper is listening, I know because his white brows are wrinkling in a superbly scandalized fashion. “Jared, there are people listening.” I hiss at him, knocking his hand away from my shoulder.
“I’m not ashamed of you, could it be that you’re ashamed of me?”
I refuse to answer, it has nothing to do with shame anyway. I pull him by the wrist down one of the aisles.
“This hasn’t anything to do with that.”
“Non? Then why are we hiding?”
Jared’s eyes refuse to look elsewhere and in the end, I’m the one that looks away. “We are not hiding. I wish you’d stop this. What are you even doing here?”
“Looking for you. You make it sound as if it is all my fault.” He’s laughing at me, it’s a cruel laugh that does not suit him. Perhaps in my absence, he has at long last given into Chad.
“Perhaps it is your fault.”
Jared gives a thoroughly inelegant snort. “Or so you like to think. You think too much, you never do.” Every sentence out of his mouth is accusing. I shut my eyes tight.
“What would you like me to do?” I ask. “You don’t need me.” My voice shakes a little as I say it, but I at least have the comfort of the statement being true. It’s also a bit comforting that he has someone else -- “Does Jeffrey help you?”
“Yes, he helps me,” Jared’s smile is a faintly bitter one. “We have dinner a lot. Yesterday I had dinner with him, and tomorrow I will also have dinner with him. Are you jealous?”
I bite down hard on my tongue, “I don’t have any reason to be jealous. Louis might be jealous.”
Jared only tilts his head, “Louis went to visit his aunt in Nice. Jeffrey paid for his ticket there. It’s a pity, Louis would have been a nice boy.”
A spark of anger curls in the pit of my stomach, “So that’s it then? You’re just going to sleep with him?”
For a long moment, Jared is quiet. It suddenly seems to me, as if his smile has smoothed into something that is almost affectionate. Something twists in my stomach, but it is not jealousy. It cannot be. Finally, he speaks, and his voice is dreadfully soft:
“He knows what it’s like. And he professes to love me. Jeffrey lets me keep my room, pays my rent.”
I taste blood in my mouth. “I love you.”
Jared touches my shoulder, “You’re only saying that now,” his voice is patiently even, as if he is trying to talk a mere child out of throwing a tantrum. “Because I’m standing here with you looking miserable.”
“You don’t just look miserable,” I say. “You are.”
At this, he only dips his head in mock acknowledgement, “I am only what you make of me. Of course you don’t make much. Do you not think I can be happy without you? Or do you just not wish me happiness?”
I grapple for words, but I can’t find them. Jared leans forward and kisses me, brief and fleeting, like a sharp wintry snap of air. Before he turns to go, he says, “Jeffrey would like very much to meet your girlfriend. As would I, let’s meet for dinner tomorrow? He said I can invite you if I feel generous...I suppose I would do well to learn from him.”
Without quite knowing why, I’m nodding as if I agree. “Fine, tomorrow.”
.
Danneel frowns at herself in front of the mirror. “You’ve complained about Jeffrey so much, I think I hate him before meeting him.”
She will probably hate him even more, actually. But I just stand there and don’t say anything, “In any event, try to be civil for my sake? Jeffrey is a generous man, he’s helped me a lot while you were away.” Before she can peel off her dress again, I hastily add, “Please, that dress looks perfect on you, I don’t want to be late.”
Jeffrey (or perhaps it was Jared) had chosen tonight’s restaurant. It is a small grandoise affair named Giovanni’s Room, all the servers wore neat uniforms with matching red ties and wore identical smiles.
“Ah, monsieur, your party is over here. Please, follow me.”
Our table is by the window, overlooking the river. The water looks brilliantly dark and blue. Jeffrey and Jared are already there, sipping at their wineglasses and I try not to notice how Jeffrey must have brought Jared new clothes.
“You must be Jensen’s girlfriend,” Jeffrey is on his feet, while Jared remains seated, staring sullenly at the cream tablecloth. “Jensen’s regaled us all about you. Even the things we don’t want to know about, he’s told us. I suppose that means he loves you.”
“Likewise,” Danneel tries to smile, and mostly succeeds. Because I know her, I know she isn’t quite comfortable. I tighten my hand on her elbow and she seems to relax a little.
Jeffrey notes the diamond ring on her finger and charges ahead, ignoring my glare. “To think, you’re the woman who’s going to imprison Jensen for the rest of his life...rather unthinkable if you ask me. Don’t you think so, Jared?”
For the first time, Jared looks up. Danneel has turned very pale, but she has not forgotten her manners. She’s learned manners especially for Europe. “You must be Jensen’s roommate. Thank you for taking care of him while I was away.”
Jared shakes her hand politely, but something about him seems mocking. Perhaps it’s his eyes. He smiles an effortlessly charming smile, “Your boyfriend is charming and you are a very fortunate mademoiselle.”
Grateful for a turn of conversation, Danneel brightens her smile as I pull out her chair for her. She sits across from Jared and I take my seat across from Jeffrey. “Oh, merci. I know I am.” Gently, her hand settles over mine.
I think I see Jared’s eyes flicker over at me. I wear a carefully blank expression, I don’t think he will be able to find a thing. He does not know me at all; he only knows what I want him to know.
Jared says, “I hear that you’ve been in Barcelona.”
“I have,” Danneel nods. “It’s a beautiful city, Jensen and I are going there for our honeymoon.”
We haven’t exactly talked about where we want to go, but I can always berate her about it later. Jared’s lips are twitching again and that is not a good sign. “Are you? I think he prefers Venice. But what would I know? I’m only his roommate.”
Not for the first time, her smile is polite still, but strained. “We’re planning to go to Barcelona first, and then Venice.”
I say, “Actually, we haven’t planned much of anything. So things are still uncertain, really. I don’t mind Barcelona.” This is meant to be as a comfort to her and a warning for Jared.
“Of course you don’t,” Jared reaches for his wine and sips at it; I try hard not to search his bare throat for marks that Jeffrey might have left on him. Of course I don’t find anything. “At least you get to plan something still, you’re also fortunate that no one stole your Jensen away...he’s got a sense of propriety.”
.
The dinner was very good, but I don’t remember much of what it tasted like. And that night, Danneel clings to me and would not stop kissing me. “You have despicable friends. Why would you even call them friends?”
I stare up at the ceiling, running a hand through her hair, “I suppose I shouldn’t call them...friends.”
“Let’s get out of Paris,” she says. “I can’t bear to stay here a moment longer.”
Neither can I.
Chapter 6
It is early in the morning, although the door to his room is open, as if he is already waiting for me. I think Jared knows it even before I speak. He is sitting on the bed, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. In his lap sits his battered copy of Rimbaud, although I doubt he is reading.
He looks at me, but doesn’t say anything. My tongue feels much too thick in my mouth.
Jared spares me, he puts his book down and stands. His eyes are impossibly dark, like he has already weathered a thousand storms. “So...this is it then. You are leaving.”
I quickly look away from him. “Jared --”
“I always knew it,” he hesitates, unsure of whether to walk towards me and strangle me with his bare hands because he loves me. “I knew it.
I want to ask him how he knows. “Jared, you must think that I’ve always been lying to you, I just...”
“I wouldn’t be wrong there, would I, Jensen?”
Yes, yes he is. No, he is not. I don’t know. Jared stands too close to me, and yet he refuses to touch me, nor can I bring myself to touch him. Although we have touched so many times, there is no part of his body that is strange to me. I would know, I’m enslaved to his body.
“Don’t say it like that,” I say. “Please.”
For the first time, I think I have angered him. He raises his hands...only to drop them again and clench them into tight fists, so tight that his knuckles are pale. “How should I say it? You’re always telling me that I shouldn’t say things. Why shouldn’t I say them? Because you’re too much of a coward to listen to them?”
I shake my head, “You’ve got it all wrong. Jared, just listen to me, I can explain everything.”
“No,” Jared looks at me, his eyes are filled with pity. No one has ever looked at me like that. I don’t like it at all. “I don’t think you want to explain anything.”
“Yes, I do.” I reach out my hands and drop them again. He seems like he might shatter if I touch him.
“No, you want to explain away everything, because everything that you’ve ever told me is a lie.” Jared’s skin and pale and gray. “You can’t do that. I have no idea why you’ve even come to Paris.”
“I’m not trying to do that!”
Jared turns his back to me and goes to search for some kind of liquor under the sink. Usually, there is an abundant supply. “Of course you are, you’re going off to get married.” He only straightens up again when he’s finally located a fresh unopened bottle of bourbon. “So...either that is a lie, or this--” he pauses to gesture with the bottle still in hand. “--Whatever this is. I don’t suppose you have a nice word for it.”
“There’s nothing for us here,” I say, setting my suitcase down with a heavy thump. “There’s nothing for us. We say all these things and...” I throw up my hands. “You’re just being ridiculous about it now. All of these things, they are impossible things, fantasies.”
He sets the two glasses down, and as he pours the bourbon for us both, Jared’s hands are oddly steady. I did expect them to tremble. He is a lot more brave than I can ever hope be. “What is ridiculous, is that you have never loved anyone, Jensen. I don’t know what it is about you, you think you have diamonds in between your legs, like some damn fucking precious thing.”
“Stop it,” I say, although he does not appear to listen to me. Jared never listens to me. “Just stop it! I don’t--”
Jared sighs a noisy sigh, but it is a sad sigh, as if he has given up on me. Perhaps he has.
“You don’t want to talk about it, or you don’t want to think about it...I’m not sure which.” Jared puts the bourbon back under the sink. “Come and have a drink with me. What is the phrase you have -- one for the road? We are not going to fight anymore. I hate fighting.”
I pick up one of the glasses and drink from it, bourbon is always bitter. But now, I’ll remember. I take a deep breath, fogging up the edge of the glass, maybe if I try again--
“I didn’t want things to turn out...this way.”
His smile is tight and bitter like the bourbon making its way down my throat, “And yet they did, because of you.” Before I can open my mouth to protest, Jared continues, “You probably shouldn’t talk, otherwise we will start fighting again.”
I put down my glass, “We should talk about something else.”
“...There’s nothing to talk about. We’ve talked about everything. And besides, you don’t really want to talk. You just want to leave.”
No, not quite everything. But I don’t think we’ll ever talk about that. Or any of those things that we really need to. There’s only a bit of bourbon left, once I drink it, I’ll be free of this room. Across the table, Jared just looks at me, he is suddenly like an old man hunched over his glass.
I drain my drink and set it down.
“Au revoir, mon cheri.”
Or I can stay, I can stay and--I know he wants me to stay, although Jared will never ask me, I know he wants me. I too, want him. It is an aching want.
But she is waiting for me, my feet are itching to carry me in the other direction, away from him. I go to him and touch his shoulder, he does not move. “Good bye, Jared.”
.
Instead of going directly back to America, Danneel and I decide on the south of France for a little while. Neither of us want to say why, exactly, but at least we agree so explanations aren’t necessary. I’m secretly glad for that.
We rent a charming house by the sea, and we sometimes run out barefoot like idiots in freezing cold weather. The locals laugh at us and we try to lessen our stupidity by laughing along with them.
She notices that I am miserable. I don’t try so hard to hide it as I ought to.
“Jensen,” It’s maybe the fourth or fifth time that we’ve tried (or rather, she’s tried) to have this conversation. It’s never gone anywhere.
“What?” She is writing, it’s funny that she writes more than I do. I’m just sitting at the desk next to the bed trying to write. It’s not exactly working, not really.
“Please talk to me.”
I don’t look at her, I think my pen is leaking. “About what?”
Her arms are around me, and she presses her lips to my neck. Jared has done that hundreds, if not thousands of times, and it’s always made me shiver. Now I shiver from something else. “I don’t know, I feel like we don’t talk anymore, you’ve changed.”
“Of course I’ve changed,” I say, “People change, you change.”
“Yes, but not like...how you’ve changed,” I can hear her pacing across the room. “Not like this, people don’t just change like this. Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about, because you do.”
I can’t stop thinking about Jared. I think about him every time I try to write, every time I sleep -- wondering if he has already found a replacement for me. Given how smitten he seemed to be with Jeffrey when I left --
I think Jeffrey will take good care of him. At least, he knows how to treasure things and I...do not.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Danneel is wearing a nightgown and little else. If I try, I can probably see the vague tempting outline of her breasts but I don’t try. There isn’t any reason for me to try, not really.
She does not say anything for a long long moment. “I miss the way you were.”
I’m exhausted, “I don’t remember the way that I was.” If I was any particular way at all. Jared would have thought me silly.
“That’s proof enough that you’ve changed,” the mattress squeaks in warning when she sits down again. “We could go away, you know. We can go back and get married, your father would like that, wouldn’t he? We are engaged, after all.”
I wouldn’t know. Going away with her would change nothing. I’m far enough from Paris now, but the city still haunts me at night when I sleep.
“I like it here,” I say. “It’s nice.”
Of course she doesn’t look convinced, but at least Danneel is smart enough not to irk me further. “When are you coming to bed?”
“Soon,” I stare at the blank page before me, there’s a smudge of ink. “...After I finish writing.”
There is a long silence after that, and I try to write a few words to no avail.
“Jensen?”
“Yes?”
“I wish...that you would talk to me.”
I would, if there is anything left to talk about. Danneel and I have never really been good at talking. “What would you want to talk about?” I suck in a deep breath, and while I expect to breathe in cigarette smoke, I breathe in dust.
“Mm...” Her voice is probably muffled by the pillow, “tell me what you are writing, it must be something spectacular if it’s keeping you up.”
Hardly. In the end I just come to bed and don’t tell her a story at all.
.
There is a port nearby the house that we have rented, and right now it is crowded there because all of the sailors are on shore leave. I am well aware that I have no business there, but it smells of smoke in their bars and that is comforting to me. I miss the loud rancorous voices, I miss people looking.
It’s my second night here, just sitting, but already people seem to know, for nothing else than the fact that I am sorely out of place. Maybe Americans are doomed to be that way in Europe. Especially the ones that try and want desperately. Maybe I’m one of those. It is certainly looking that way.
For two nights now, I’ve found myself in the company of a young sailor. His name is Tom, and everything about him is sorely misleading. He has beautiful eyes, and yet he is so sure of himself, sure of his masculinity, more certain than I can ever hope to be.
The second night, I accompany the sailor -- Tom, back to his room at his invitation. The room is untidy and spartan; I have no idea how it can be both. Perhaps it is one of those things about him that intrigues me. His room is nothing like Jared’s, but Jared is all I can think about.
If Tom notices, he’s smart enough not to say anything.
We actually say very little, but we spend a lot of time undressed and not sober. He talks a lot about the voyages that he’s been on, and I envy him. Of course, Tom kisses a path down my stomach and tells me there is nothing to envy.
“Have you ever been to Venice?”
“I have, several times.”
“Is it pathetic like Paris?”
Tom pauses, “Now why would you say something like that?” If anything, my assumption of the city amuses him.
I shrug, “I don’t know.”
“Unless...” he brushes a thoughtful hand over my hip and leans up to kiss my throat (he’s never kissed me anywhere else,) “You must have left something important in Paris, maybe it is you who is pathetic.”
I agree with him completely, but I wish he hadn’t told me. I am not alone here, but Jared is, in his room, or perhaps he has taken up Jeffrey’s long standing offer to be his new Louis. “Sorry I ever brought it up.”
Tom lies back on his bed and stares at the ceiling. The two days I’ve spent with him, I don’t think I have ever seen him smoke a cigarette. “I think I like you, you’re sorry about the strangest things. It doesn’t make any sense -- are all writers like that?”
“Shut up,” I say.
.
Three days after that, when Danneel so ‘mistakenly’ follows me into the bar to meet Tom, I suppose I deserve it completely. She looks confused at first, and so does he. But then Tom laughs, as if this is the funniest thing that he’s ever seen. Carefully, he buttons up my collar for me (laughing still) and goes.
It’s not a very remarkable scene, there isn’t anything memorable. No tears, none at all. Nothing like I’ve always imagined it to be.
.
But she is fuming when we get back at the house, somehow, Danneel manages to smile at me. In that smile, there is everything.
“I think I’ve always known,” she says, between throwing her things in her trunk and looking at me.
“...About me?” I say.
“Yes, about you. But I loved you, I truly did love you, and I think I love you still. It’s a stupid dream that I had, to think that you might love me.” Her eyes are beginning to look moist, but I’ve never seen her cry, and I don’t think I ever will. “It’s stupid of me.”
I walk to her and put my hand on her shoulder, she is shaking, badly. “I can explain.” I wish she would stop talking about love like it’s some doomed thing. “What you saw, it’s not because...”
“You think you can explain everything,” she spits at me, and I suddenly wonder if I have had this conversation before. “You cannot. That’s always been your problem.”
“Danneel--”
“No,” she stands up abruptly and slams her suitcase shut, it doesn’t shut, and she has to slam it three more times before she actually succeeds. “Save your explanations, I’m sure they are ingenious. I’ll soon be gone, and you can shout to the hills about how you love to be guilty. You’ll explain away everything, I’m sure. You always do, or you drown them in your silence, I don’t know which part of you I despise more.”
“Danneel, I was lying to myself,” there’s a knot of desperation in my chest. Somehow, I can’t make it go away. “This -- this has nothing to do with you. My feelings for you, they haven’t changed.”
I catch her wrist, and she immediately jerks it from my grasp. “Don’t. I’m tired of your explanations, I’m tired of your silences. I’m going home.”
She carries her own suitcase out the door, and I follow. Danneel’s face is set in stone and she looks so bitterly handsome. When she finally does turn back to look at me, her smile is brave and sad. “Americans shouldn’t ever come to Europe, it makes us so unhappy. Who are we without happiness?”
I can’t think of anything to say, except perhaps to agree.
A taxi stops in front of us when she waves her hand, and she holds out her hand to me, “Good-bye, Jensen.”
“Good-bye.” Her hand is cold, firm. Daneel does not look at me again.
As the taxi rolls away taking her with it, I raise a hand and wave. Of course she does not wave back.
.
I suppose this means that I love Jared. Danneel knows it, and I think in a way Tom knows it too. Although I can’t find him to ask him because his ship left port yesterday. That is perhaps a good thing. Suddenly, the house that we’ve rented seems much too big, and much too quiet. I long for Paris.
In a way, it is home for me.
It is a Tuesday when I finally pack my things and leave on a Paris-bound train. There is no one there to meet me and the train arrives one hour late. The sky is growing dark, and by the time I lug my suitcase up to Jared’s room, I’m exhausted.
I knock.
“Jared, it’s me,” I say. “I’m sorry for everything, please open the door.”
There is nothing. No one comes to the door. After a long moment of waiting, I try the knob. The door is open and I tentatively look in; part of me almost expects to find him dead on the ground with a bottle of bourbon lying not that far away.
There turns out to be nothing there. The room is perfectly empty: Jared’s piano is gone, along with his books, the closet is left open and there’s probably no more liquor under the sink.
When I look towards the wall, where his imaginary bookcase ought to be, I see that he has finished. There’s a bookcase crammed in the wall. Unexpected tears sting my eyes, I wonder who helped him.
.
I have always had Jeffrey’s address to his apartment scribbled in the last page of my address book, where it’s easy to forget about it. It is the one place that I never want to go, and yet I don’t have anywhere else.
Jeffrey is home, and he doesn’t seem surprised to see me. He steps aside to let me in and I spy a familiar piano in the sitting room. Louis is nowhere to be seen, and my heart thumps in my chest, unsure whether to swell or burst.
“Jared is here?” I say. It isn’t so surprising as it should be.
His face is unexpectedly solemn, “I think you’ve better come in and have tea first -- or would you prefer coffee?”
I shrug, actually I don’t want either, but I take off my shoes and follow him to his kitchen. He makes me tea and there is no sign of Jared in Jeffrey’s kitchen either.
“Jeffrey, why do you have his piano?” I have to ask, because otherwise, Jeffrey isn’t going to tell me. It’s an odd fatherly instinct.
Jeffrey suddenly looks centuries old, hunched over his cup. “It was...just days ago,” he speaks softly, as if in great pain. “After you left, I suppose it was inevitable, but I did promise to get him out of that room. Louis decided that better things were awaiting him in Florence and I gave him my blessing.”
So that makes it my fault? My hands suddenly shake.
“Just tell me what happened,” I say. “Please.”
There is a horrible image of Jared floating around in my mind, dead in the sewers with his face deadly pale.
“He said he needed to work,” Jeffrey says, wringing his hands together. I have never known him to be anxious. “That he needed to feel useful after you’d gone away. He thinks that’s why you left him, you know. Because you found him useless.”
I bite down hard on my tongue, “That isn’t the truth. He knows it.”
“Or maybe he didn’t,” Jeffrey looks over at me, he isn’t quite pleased, but he is smug. He wraps his hands around his own cup. “In any case, I didn’t stop him -- I should have, that fault lies with me, I didn’t because I loved him in my own way.” Again, he inhales a long pathetic sigh.
I want to hit him, “Just tell me.”
“...Chad was found dead, strangled in his room, Jared was arrested for it. They finished up his trial yesterday. The French have never looked so kindly on murderers.” Finally, he looks at me, “That’s what he’s become, you know. A murderer.”
.
This is the first time I’ve ever been in a prison, hopefully it will be the last time. For obvious reasons, Jeffrey refuses to come with me and I don’t argue. He says he has never visited Jared before and doesn’t plan to start.
It is not such an unusual goal. I don’t really want to visit him either, although something tells me that I must. Neither of us will rest easy until I do. The guard spits at me and tells me that visiting hours are long past. I wordlessly slip him what I have in my wallet and he doesn’t say anything else. Jared would have been proud of me.
He puts me in a room with gray walls, a table and two chairs and tells me to wait.
It has not been so long since we parted, yet the Jared that stands in front of me in drab gray prison wear seems like an entirely different person altogether. I think he is surprised to see me, but then, I feel that I scarcely know him.
The guard heads for the door, “I will give you ten minutes.”
“Wait,” I hold up a hand, “...Won’t you release him?”
“I can’t do that, monsieur,” he says tonelessly. Jared just looks at me.
“I gave you everything that I had,” I say. “Please?”
The guard hesitates, but he does. Jared’s wrists look red and raw, and then he leaves. Jared looks up from his wrists and smiles at me. It’s a wholly miserable smile, but he’s at least brave enough to attempt it.
“You gave him everything you had. Pity that you will never do that for me.” Jared finally speaks, “Why are you here? I’ve already said we weren’t fighting anymore,” his voice sounds raw, like the rest of him. “We parted on good terms, cheri.”
He looks so old, and everything about him is gray. My heart aches for him, and suddenly, the back of my eyes feel very hot and I turn from him. “Don’t call me that. I’m not here to fight with you.”
Jared has every right to his suspicions and I don’t blame him, I would not blame him for wanting to strangle me. “Then what are you here to do? I’ve killed a man, you have no cause to come here.”
I grab at his hands and their coldness astounds me. His hands rest limply in mine, and all I want to do is to hold him close. “Why...did you kill him?”
His mouth twitches, “Not for you, certainly. I do a lot of things for you, but I would not ever strangle another man because I love you.”
Every part of my body aches, and my soul has never felt so heavy, “Do you -- do you still love me?”
Jared laughs at me, it’s a grating, bitter laugh, and one that echoes. It reminds me of Chad and Jeffrey and Jared is not like them, “I suppose it is very French of me to love someone and keep loving them, even if all they do...is make me angry. After all, Paris...it’s the city of love. It’s where I’ve found love and where I lost it...where I should die for it, even. It’s ironic.”
“Stop talking like this,” I press his fingers to my lips and he just watches me. “I didn’t come to see you because I wanted to fight. Let us not fight, Jared.” After all, we only have a few minutes, he can fight all he wants with me after I am gone.
“You are not going to die,” I say, shaking my head. “Not to me.”
Jared turns his eyes away again, but his fingers thread through mine and stays. “What happened to her, your girlfriend? Does she know you’ve come to me?”
“She figured out that I loved you even before I did,” I say.
I think Jared looks smug, but only for a moment. “So she left. Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
For a brief moment, his hands cup my face and our lips meet, he tastes dry, desperate and he will be dead tomorrow.
“I’m sorry.” I say, I think I meant it, for the first time because the words are stuck in my throat.
He looks at me, surprised, “...as am I.”
“I mean...I’m sorry I lied about everything.” The confession tastes like bile, but somehow I force it out anyway. “When I say everything, I mean everything.”
Jared does not say anything.
Somehow, I continue, swallowing hard again. “I think...that I loved someone before you. Although I didn’t have the courage to stop lying to him.”
“I don’t think you were ever courageous,” Jared’s lips twitches. “It’s much easier to tell things to a man who is set to carry your secrets to the grave.” But he is still holding me, not pushing me away, I want to think I know what that means. “What was he like?”
“His name was Misha. He lived across the street from me when i lived in Brooklyn,” it feels strange, telling him. Suddenly the secret doesn’t seem like so much of a secret, and I feel stupid. But his hands tighten around mine, urging me to continue. “I suppose I idolized him when I was a boy, he wasn’t that much older than me...but I thought he could do anything...he’s the reason I’ve come to Paris.”
His lips twitch again, I cannot read Jared’s face and that frightens me.
“So you left him too,” he says. “You seem to be quite good at that. I hope you didn’t break his heart. A man’s heart is a fragile thing.”
I don’t think Jared’s heart can shatter again, if anything, I think it has shattered too many times. “I don’t know if I did...but if I did I’m sorry for it.” The last I’ve heard of him, Misha had immersed himself in the military and moved somewhere far away and exotic. He probably hasn’t ever given me a thought.
At least, I hope he’s never thought about me. I’m not worth his thoughts.
“You don’t understand how it is for someone to be sorry,” Jared finally lets go of my hands and walks a slow circle around the room. The light flickers, and he does not face me. I cannot reach out and touch him either.
“And you do?”
“I’d like to think so,” he is looking down at his hands. “If you really think about it, I’ve no right to be angry with you. I’ve strangled a man, starved my mother, left my sister...the lot of a monster is not an easy one.”
My tongue is stuck in my throat. Of all things that he could have said, he chooses to say the most horrible thing that he could have said.
“That is untrue.”
“And now when I tell you the truth, you do not believe me.” Jared shakes his head, “I honestly do not understand you. There is enough horrors in the world that I hardly need to go invent something unimaginable. That’s your job.”
“I just pretend I’m a writer,” I don’t look at him. “I haven’t actually written anything.”
“Why were you pretending then? Because it’s romantic for would-be American writers to spend their time in Paris?” He’s laughing at me, even in his gray prison garb. It’s doubly horrible.
I don’t say anything.
“This is one of the many stupid reasons why I love you,” he takes my hand again and kisses my fingers. After that, he fits a piece of paper neatly into my hand. “And after you read this, you should decide if you love me. But please don’t read it until tomorrow. For tonight, I’d like someone to love me.”
The guard is back, gesturing at me to get out. Jared hurriedly lets go of my hands. Wistfully, he looks at me, as if trying to memorize my face.
“Smile, Jensen. I want to remember you smiling.”
And I smile, and tell him good-bye, as if we’ll meet again soon.
.
I don’t sleep at all that night. Instead I sit in silent vigil next to my window, peeking through the curtains. Jared’s cell must be without a window, and I know he is spending a last sleepless night alone. Tomorrow, everything will be over for him. Although it is an altogether futile stupid wish, I wish I could be there to hold him. Instead, I hold tight to his beloved copy of Rimbaud, Jeffrey hates poetry.
I have never loved him so much.
I don’t think I could have told him enough times.
Quietly, morning comes, the dawn creeping over the horizon, bathing all of Paris in a soft, gentle light. I use to think that Paris is a beautiful city, though now I doubt I will ever return again. Paris is the city where I have lost and gained everything.
Jared is to be executed at dawn, the gray blue sky is the last thing that he’ll ever see. We have stumbled home drunk to his room so many times under that very same sky, and my heart aches for him. I hope that he knows, that he remembers.
The sun is rising, and I feel its mocking warmth brush against my face. I hope he has died, knowing that he cannot have been more loved. Slowly, I open the window and rip up the letter that he has given me, some of the pieces float back, landing soundlessly on the windowsill.
Chapter 5
Jared is absolutely hysterical when he returns home that evening. He alternates between shakes and utter stillness, and he speaks in French so fast, with the words all jumbled together that I barely can understand him. It isn’t until half a cigarette later, that he finally calms down and slumps down on the bed.
“What’s wrong?” Sitting next to him, I take him in my arms. He all but collapses against me.
“He’s done it.”
“Who’s done what?” Even though he hasn’t yet told me, I think I know. My heart is already sinking like a leaden weight in my chest.
“I have no job, he fired me.” A bitter laugh leaves his lips, it’s so tempting to raise my hands and cover my ears. “I’ve always known...that he would do it. I’ve always told myself, that he’d tire of me one day...it’s just--” Jared seems to be speaking to himself. For my part, I just try hard not to listen.
Later, he sits at his piano and plays. The notes crash and tumble over one another like violent waves fighting to get to shore. I sit at the table and try to write. An hour later, I’m still staring at a blank page.
Abruptly, he stands and go over to the hole next to the bookcase, it’s a sizable hole now, but I know it’s still not going to work. He has left it alone the last couple of days, I almost think that he has forgotten about it.
“Jared, what are you doing?”
He stares at the wall a moment before he looks over at me. Whatever he is doing, I wish he would stop it.
Jared smiles at me, it is a heartbreaking smile, trying too hard to be too many things. “I’m going to try to finish the bookcase for you tonight. I have nothing better to do, after all.”
This is true, but we have had this conversation before. I don’t think I can stand it. I get up from the table and go to stand behind him, my hands on his shoulders. I should probably admit to him that this is all my fault.
Suddenly, I want so much to tell him everything. Everything from the time I woke up in someone else’s bed and hated myself for it. I’ve hated myself so much that I had to run away to Paris. Perhaps he won’t love me so much after he finds out that I’ve lied about everything.
“Stop this. Please.”
I hate how he looks at me. As if I am really the only person left in the world who will love him. Jared grips my hands tight. “I don’t know how.”
“You’re supposed to be the one that knows everything.” I say.
“Non, I’m supposed to be the one that knows enough,” Jared tilts his head back to look at me.
“Please don’t work on the bookcase, I don’t need something like that,” it suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea how to be honest. This is all I can say to him.
For a long, long moment, Jared just looks at me. “Then...what do you want?”
Nothing and everything that he wants to give me. I am suddenly exhausted. “To get away from this place.” From him, maybe. “You make me hate Paris.”
“I have no money,” Jared must love me so much that he has to convince himself that I’m not being selfish at all. He wants so much to love me. “I doubt we can get far.”
I tilt my head, “I thought you were the romantic.”
He shrugs, “Only when I have the luxury to be, now is not one of those times.”
Of course it isn’t. I think one of his hands is straying towards the hammer, so I grip it and hold it tight. “I could write my father to send us money...we can go away. We can go to Venice.”
“You really want to go to Venice?”
Jared just holds me and does not answer. I suddenly do not remember how to breathe.
.
It takes me a day and a half to figure out what to write to my father. I am spared from opening his earlier letter to me because it seems to have gotten lost somewhere. Danneel’s letters earn a spot between my notebook and Jared’s copy of Baudelaire. The letters are still in their envelopes, but obviously we don’t talk about it. I don’t write much to my father, except that I might come home and I need the money to do so. Of course I do not mention Jared, my father’s opinions on Paris are already unfavorable enough without further prodding.
We don’t talk about a lot of things. Most days, we don’t talk at all. Jared spends a majority of his spare time smoking and playing his piano. The melodies are strange and confusing. They are no longer beautiful.
It’s getting colder and colder, but our windows never close. I can’t stand the smoke.
“I’m going to check my mail. Come with me.” I put my hand on his shoulder, “You haven’t been out of the room for ages.”
“I am not going to come with you to see if your girlfriend wrote you,” Jared’s smile is oddly bitter. “Desole.”
Except not really. “Stop calling her that,” I reach for his coat, it is much warmer than mine, although it is too large.
“What should I call her then?” He blows smoke in my face, I want to yell at him, but I don’t think he quite means to. “Never mind, I’ll think on it while you’re out.”
It is a relief to get out; nowadays, I don’t have enough excuses to leave him. I take a taxi to my old place, and my landlady stands there, as if her face is permanently soured by a lemon. She hands an envelope wordlessly over to me and tells me to leave. I gladly do.
But I don’t want to go back to Jared’s room, so I wander, stopping briefly to buy a bag of cherries. I eat them one by one, flicking the pits to the side, although I do stop when an old man limping by with a cane glares at me.
I suppose he thinks that Americans really have no propriety in Paris, and maybe I agree with him for the most part. It’s a bit horrible.
While I don’t think that it is courage that enables me to finally open her letter, maybe it’s a bit of curiosity and a bit of obligation. It’s been so long since I read any of her letters.
This one is short, barely a page, and there’s nothing about Riley.
She says she is tired of Barcelona, and that she misses me terribly. For whatever reason I have not been writing. Do her letters bore me? Danneel suddenly misses me, she has never realized that Barcelona would be so desperately lonely without me. She wanted to come back; when we marry, we can most certainly go again. It would be such a nice spot for a honeymoon. Especially now, since her Spanish isn’t rusty anymore.
Danneel is coming back to marry me after all, now all her doubts seem so silly, but she’s grown out of that now. She is no longer a little girl, she knows what she wants, and she wants -- me.
Suddenly, she is the one that disgusts me, I want to crumple up the letter and throw it away, never to look at it again. But I couldn’t. So instead, I stuff the letter back into its envelope and resolve to get very, very drunk.
.
I once asked Danneel what she saw in me. She just laughed and told me that I was who I am, and that was enough for her. And then she went on to say that even though her mother would never approve, she’s always dreamed of marrying a writer. Why a writer? She didn’t quite know. Unknowing is contagious, I wonder if she knows now.
She must know, or she wouldn’t have agreed to marry me. I think she is making a horrid mistake. When she comes back, maybe I will tell her. I must tell her.
It is a strange bar, and it’s sort of relieving that no one knows me, although that does not stop them from looking. I try to look mostly at my beer glass and not anywhere else.
There is a girl, a bit younger than me, with bright eyes, bright innocent eyes that are thoroughly misleading. If she is anything near innocent, she probably would not be here. I don’t look at her when she comes and sits next to me.
She has a nice smile, I think, although she is nothing like Danneel. Nowhere as beautiful.
Her voice is nice too, when she finally finishes her brightly-colored cocktail, and turns to speak to me. “You look desperately lonely, Monsieur.”
I don’t look at her. “I might be more one than the other.”
“Oh?” Her mouth is an inviting red. “Which?”
“I don’t know.”
She is closer now, her hand is over mine, much too smooth, much too small. “But you must know, Monsieur. Because I have every intention of finding out which. Come.”
.
This girl is no stranger to the company of strange, desperately lonely men. Her apartment is sparse, but her bed sheets are fresh. She kisses me, and I taste dizzying fresh liquor.
Perhaps I should ask her name.
She stares at me in the dark, kneeling over me. Her eyes are wide and searching. “What’s wrong?”
“I--” The girl with her too red lips and bright eyes is suddenly despicable to me. Her skin is too smooth and her hands much too wanting. I sit up, and she lets me. “I don’t know what I’m doing...I should go.”
She does not stop me.
.
I go back to Jared’s room. There is no place else for me to go. He is still awake, sprawled on his bed not wearing any clothes. I try not to look while he pretends not to notice me. We’re getting to be very good at that. I shrug off his coat and toss it. It lands with a thump somewhere.
The room is too silent, I jump when Jared clicks his lighter, lighting a fresh cigarette. He seems determined not to say anything, so I finally take a deep breath.
“Jared, I--”
Jared holds up a hand, “I do not want to hear anything you have to say. Just come to bed.”
The knot that has formed in my chest loosens, but my throat feels ever so tight, like someone is choking me. Jared is forgiving; he has forgiven me. I climb into bed with him, and he stares at me for a very long time in the dark.
“You miss women.” Jared reaches over after a moment to brush his thumb over my jaw, there’s lipstick.
“Not really,” I say. “If I did, you probably wouldn’t even understand. I didn’t...” I want him to know that I didn’t.
Jared only shrugs.
There is a silence, and I decide that while I don’t exactly ‘miss women’ the way I miss the way that Jared’s rough palms rub my back. “You aren’t angry with me.” That is a bit surprising.
“You’ve come back to me,” he says. “I’ve no reason to be angry.”
But what about the day that I won’t come back at all? Danneel would certainly be not so forgiving. I don’t want to think about it. “Well...good night then.”
“Good night.”
.
He has started to look for work again. I keep thinking that Sandra is going to show up and demand rent and then some, but she never does. Jared seems to be in much better spirits, now that he thinks that I will never leave.
I still don’t tell him about Danneel. I know I eventually have to, but I can’t.
Jared is out somewhere the day she comes back, sometime in the early afternoon, and I’m glad that he isn’t there to expect a reasonable explanation from me.
The train station is crowded, and it takes me a good half hour to find her skimming the hordes of people with their trunks and things, but when I finally see her, Danneel is all smiles. She is wearing the ring I gave her, glinting almost sinisterly in the gray afternoon sun.
She throws her arms around me and kisses me, right there in the port with people watching. No one seems to notice. People that notice, obviously think little of it. We are a man and a woman in love. It’s a precious thing and our own business.
Jared and I can never kiss like that with people watching.
Barcelona has been good for her, I can tell. I have never seen her so happy. I smile and take her hands, “You look wonderful.”
Her smile is lovely, but faint. “I don’t feel so wonderful. The train ride was horrid, but at least I’m back now. I’ve missed you.” Danneel takes my hand, “And I didn’t put it in my letters, as I think it is better to tell you in person.”
“Oh?”
“The ring is lovely,” she splayed her fingers for me to see. I almost hate the ring there on her finger. “Thank you.”
I drag her trunk for her, mostly because that’s what I’m supposed to be doing. “So...your mind’s all made up then?”
“What do you mean?”
Something tells me not to look at her, so I don’t. “I mean...this,” it is probably safe to look down at our hands. Her hand is too small. “Your settling for me, getting married and all.”
Danneel gives me a long look, “What are you talking about?” Her eyes narrow.
“I’m talking about...” I falter, of course she wouldn’t have an affair. Danneel is nothing like me. Although I don’t know if that fact also suggests that I’m something like Jared. “Nothing.”
She stops and practically wrenches her hand from mine, “I’m not settling for anything, I’m marrying you because I want to. What’s with you, all of the sudden?”
“Nothing, I just...” I suck in a deep breath, “Anyway, I moved in with a roommate while you were gone, so I’ll have to take care of that soon.”
“So there’s someone living with you?”
“No, I’m living with him. He’s got a cheaper room.” I shrug it off.
“Oh, well, that would make sense then.” She nods, having no reason to think about it further, “We can get our old room back, though...did you tell Madame Gilbert to keep our room?”
Our landlady’s name is apparently Madame Gilbert. I’ve never known before, “I forgot to mention it, but I’m sure she has other rooms.”
“I’m not worried about it, just asking,” she links her arm through mine and smiles at me. “What’s he like, your roommate?”
“You’d probably think he’s handsome,” I say after a long long pause. “He’s a talented pianist.”
“I’ve always loved the piano,” she says, squeezing my arm tighter. “Did you tell him I used to play as a girl?”
Danneel used to play piano as a girl. Suddenly, I remember, I bite down on my tongue, “Jared and I...we don’t talk much.”
.
I spend the rest of the day with her and we have a lovely time. We have no probably getting our old room back because Madame Gilbert is almost relieved to see Danneel return. Her French is flawless.
We spend a lot of time kissing, but nothing further. She asks if I mind. I shrug and say it doesn’t matter.
Danneel laughs and rolls closer to me, her bare leg brushes against mine, “Because you know, we have to save something for our wedding night...I don’t think it’d be fun otherwise.”
Our wedding night, now it is inevitable. I fight the urge to roll away, the bed is too big, the mattress too soft, and I wonder about Jared -- if he’s even left the piano at all today.
“Jensen?” She reaches over to pinch my shoulder.
“What?”
“You aren’t listening to me.” She blinks somewhat disapprovingly at me in the dark. Although I can barely see the outline of her face, I can always tell when Danneel is displeased with me.
“I’m just...tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.” I fake a yawn and stretch, I’m actually not tired at all.
Danneel believes me, she always believes me. She kisses my cheek and traces her fingers over my jaw. Her fingers are smooth and womanly. “Shouldn’t you call your roommate and tell him that you aren’t returning for the night? It’s polite, isn’t it? He can have his girlfriend over while you aren’t there -- does he have a girlfriend?”
“No,” I say. It’s utterly impossible to see Jared with a girlfriend. It’s altogether laughable.
“Pourquoi pas?” She’s grinning, “If he’s as handsome as you claim...won’t girls line up around the corner to wait for him? You’re probably a nuisance if you’re always around.” Obviously this is amusing for her.
“Jared doesn’t have any money,” I tell her, wishing that she would shut up about him. He’s none of her business, after all. “It’s impossible to keep a girl without money. Besides, he doesn’t want one.”
“All right, all right,” Danneel is sounding mildly displeased again. “You don’t need to get angry about it. Good night.”
.
It goes on like that for almost a week. Danneel and I scarcely leave the room and Jared is not so far away in my thoughts as he really should be. It’s only when I’ve begun to tire of wearing the same clothes over and over, that I sit down seriously to think about it.
“By the way,” Danneel is sorting out the various dresses in her closet. “How’s that book of yours going? You’re going to become the next Dickens?”
Dickens. I am sitting on our bed, diligently pretending to write, but still it takes me a few minutes to realize what she’s talking about. “Oh...good, Paris is very inspirational. But I don’t like Dickens.”
She smiles indulgently at me, “Twain then, whoever you prefer. Read me something.”
Twain, I don’t like him much either. I try to smile back, but my lips feel too stiff, “I haven’t written anything I like yet. When I do I will let you know.”
“You always say that. Must you try so hard to be perfect?” She must think that it’d be somewhat endearing though, or else she would not be smiling like that. “But fair enough.”
Danneel knows nothing, this room suddenly stifles me and I long for the freedom that is Jared’s room. I can’t stay here, but I doubt I’d be welcome there either. I hastily stuff the notebook back under the mattress.
She studies me as I hunt for my shoes, “Jensen, where are you going?”
“For a walk.”
Since she is not saying anything, I hurriedly leave, but when I hear the door open again, I stop and flinch. Daneel sticks her head out of the door and holds up my coat.
“You might want to bring a coat, it’s cold outside, supposed to get colder.”
.
Paris a city for lovers, but it is a grave misfortune if you love too many people at once. I start out on foot and resist the temptation of a taxi because I know where the taxi will ultimately take me.
Danneel is right, it is getting colder and colder, and the tips of my fingers are red and numb. There’s an unassuming bookshop right down there at the corner and even though my pockets are empty, I go in because it is warm.
There are shelves and shelves of books, and even though I have not read most of them, I like to think I recognize some titles. The bookkeeper smiles at me, he’s an elderly man who reminds me of my father, but his smile is kinder. I am about to reach for a volume on the life of Fredric Chopin, when a warm familiar hand drops on my shoulder.
“And so you’ve come out of hiding,” it’s Jared, and his expression does not look happy to see me, but his touch is gentle. “Finally suffocated by your girlfriend’s skirt...or something similar.”
The bookkeeper is listening, I know because his white brows are wrinkling in a superbly scandalized fashion. “Jared, there are people listening.” I hiss at him, knocking his hand away from my shoulder.
“I’m not ashamed of you, could it be that you’re ashamed of me?”
I refuse to answer, it has nothing to do with shame anyway. I pull him by the wrist down one of the aisles.
“This hasn’t anything to do with that.”
“Non? Then why are we hiding?”
Jared’s eyes refuse to look elsewhere and in the end, I’m the one that looks away. “We are not hiding. I wish you’d stop this. What are you even doing here?”
“Looking for you. You make it sound as if it is all my fault.” He’s laughing at me, it’s a cruel laugh that does not suit him. Perhaps in my absence, he has at long last given into Chad.
“Perhaps it is your fault.”
Jared gives a thoroughly inelegant snort. “Or so you like to think. You think too much, you never do.” Every sentence out of his mouth is accusing. I shut my eyes tight.
“What would you like me to do?” I ask. “You don’t need me.” My voice shakes a little as I say it, but I at least have the comfort of the statement being true. It’s also a bit comforting that he has someone else -- “Does Jeffrey help you?”
“Yes, he helps me,” Jared’s smile is a faintly bitter one. “We have dinner a lot. Yesterday I had dinner with him, and tomorrow I will also have dinner with him. Are you jealous?”
I bite down hard on my tongue, “I don’t have any reason to be jealous. Louis might be jealous.”
Jared only tilts his head, “Louis went to visit his aunt in Nice. Jeffrey paid for his ticket there. It’s a pity, Louis would have been a nice boy.”
A spark of anger curls in the pit of my stomach, “So that’s it then? You’re just going to sleep with him?”
For a long moment, Jared is quiet. It suddenly seems to me, as if his smile has smoothed into something that is almost affectionate. Something twists in my stomach, but it is not jealousy. It cannot be. Finally, he speaks, and his voice is dreadfully soft:
“He knows what it’s like. And he professes to love me. Jeffrey lets me keep my room, pays my rent.”
I taste blood in my mouth. “I love you.”
Jared touches my shoulder, “You’re only saying that now,” his voice is patiently even, as if he is trying to talk a mere child out of throwing a tantrum. “Because I’m standing here with you looking miserable.”
“You don’t just look miserable,” I say. “You are.”
At this, he only dips his head in mock acknowledgement, “I am only what you make of me. Of course you don’t make much. Do you not think I can be happy without you? Or do you just not wish me happiness?”
I grapple for words, but I can’t find them. Jared leans forward and kisses me, brief and fleeting, like a sharp wintry snap of air. Before he turns to go, he says, “Jeffrey would like very much to meet your girlfriend. As would I, let’s meet for dinner tomorrow? He said I can invite you if I feel generous...I suppose I would do well to learn from him.”
Without quite knowing why, I’m nodding as if I agree. “Fine, tomorrow.”
.
Danneel frowns at herself in front of the mirror. “You’ve complained about Jeffrey so much, I think I hate him before meeting him.”
She will probably hate him even more, actually. But I just stand there and don’t say anything, “In any event, try to be civil for my sake? Jeffrey is a generous man, he’s helped me a lot while you were away.” Before she can peel off her dress again, I hastily add, “Please, that dress looks perfect on you, I don’t want to be late.”
Jeffrey (or perhaps it was Jared) had chosen tonight’s restaurant. It is a small grandoise affair named Giovanni’s Room, all the servers wore neat uniforms with matching red ties and wore identical smiles.
“Ah, monsieur, your party is over here. Please, follow me.”
Our table is by the window, overlooking the river. The water looks brilliantly dark and blue. Jeffrey and Jared are already there, sipping at their wineglasses and I try not to notice how Jeffrey must have brought Jared new clothes.
“You must be Jensen’s girlfriend,” Jeffrey is on his feet, while Jared remains seated, staring sullenly at the cream tablecloth. “Jensen’s regaled us all about you. Even the things we don’t want to know about, he’s told us. I suppose that means he loves you.”
“Likewise,” Danneel tries to smile, and mostly succeeds. Because I know her, I know she isn’t quite comfortable. I tighten my hand on her elbow and she seems to relax a little.
Jeffrey notes the diamond ring on her finger and charges ahead, ignoring my glare. “To think, you’re the woman who’s going to imprison Jensen for the rest of his life...rather unthinkable if you ask me. Don’t you think so, Jared?”
For the first time, Jared looks up. Danneel has turned very pale, but she has not forgotten her manners. She’s learned manners especially for Europe. “You must be Jensen’s roommate. Thank you for taking care of him while I was away.”
Jared shakes her hand politely, but something about him seems mocking. Perhaps it’s his eyes. He smiles an effortlessly charming smile, “Your boyfriend is charming and you are a very fortunate mademoiselle.”
Grateful for a turn of conversation, Danneel brightens her smile as I pull out her chair for her. She sits across from Jared and I take my seat across from Jeffrey. “Oh, merci. I know I am.” Gently, her hand settles over mine.
I think I see Jared’s eyes flicker over at me. I wear a carefully blank expression, I don’t think he will be able to find a thing. He does not know me at all; he only knows what I want him to know.
Jared says, “I hear that you’ve been in Barcelona.”
“I have,” Danneel nods. “It’s a beautiful city, Jensen and I are going there for our honeymoon.”
We haven’t exactly talked about where we want to go, but I can always berate her about it later. Jared’s lips are twitching again and that is not a good sign. “Are you? I think he prefers Venice. But what would I know? I’m only his roommate.”
Not for the first time, her smile is polite still, but strained. “We’re planning to go to Barcelona first, and then Venice.”
I say, “Actually, we haven’t planned much of anything. So things are still uncertain, really. I don’t mind Barcelona.” This is meant to be as a comfort to her and a warning for Jared.
“Of course you don’t,” Jared reaches for his wine and sips at it; I try hard not to search his bare throat for marks that Jeffrey might have left on him. Of course I don’t find anything. “At least you get to plan something still, you’re also fortunate that no one stole your Jensen away...he’s got a sense of propriety.”
.
The dinner was very good, but I don’t remember much of what it tasted like. And that night, Danneel clings to me and would not stop kissing me. “You have despicable friends. Why would you even call them friends?”
I stare up at the ceiling, running a hand through her hair, “I suppose I shouldn’t call them...friends.”
“Let’s get out of Paris,” she says. “I can’t bear to stay here a moment longer.”
Neither can I.
Chapter 6
It is early in the morning, although the door to his room is open, as if he is already waiting for me. I think Jared knows it even before I speak. He is sitting on the bed, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other. In his lap sits his battered copy of Rimbaud, although I doubt he is reading.
He looks at me, but doesn’t say anything. My tongue feels much too thick in my mouth.
Jared spares me, he puts his book down and stands. His eyes are impossibly dark, like he has already weathered a thousand storms. “So...this is it then. You are leaving.”
I quickly look away from him. “Jared --”
“I always knew it,” he hesitates, unsure of whether to walk towards me and strangle me with his bare hands because he loves me. “I knew it.
I want to ask him how he knows. “Jared, you must think that I’ve always been lying to you, I just...”
“I wouldn’t be wrong there, would I, Jensen?”
Yes, yes he is. No, he is not. I don’t know. Jared stands too close to me, and yet he refuses to touch me, nor can I bring myself to touch him. Although we have touched so many times, there is no part of his body that is strange to me. I would know, I’m enslaved to his body.
“Don’t say it like that,” I say. “Please.”
For the first time, I think I have angered him. He raises his hands...only to drop them again and clench them into tight fists, so tight that his knuckles are pale. “How should I say it? You’re always telling me that I shouldn’t say things. Why shouldn’t I say them? Because you’re too much of a coward to listen to them?”
I shake my head, “You’ve got it all wrong. Jared, just listen to me, I can explain everything.”
“No,” Jared looks at me, his eyes are filled with pity. No one has ever looked at me like that. I don’t like it at all. “I don’t think you want to explain anything.”
“Yes, I do.” I reach out my hands and drop them again. He seems like he might shatter if I touch him.
“No, you want to explain away everything, because everything that you’ve ever told me is a lie.” Jared’s skin and pale and gray. “You can’t do that. I have no idea why you’ve even come to Paris.”
“I’m not trying to do that!”
Jared turns his back to me and goes to search for some kind of liquor under the sink. Usually, there is an abundant supply. “Of course you are, you’re going off to get married.” He only straightens up again when he’s finally located a fresh unopened bottle of bourbon. “So...either that is a lie, or this--” he pauses to gesture with the bottle still in hand. “--Whatever this is. I don’t suppose you have a nice word for it.”
“There’s nothing for us here,” I say, setting my suitcase down with a heavy thump. “There’s nothing for us. We say all these things and...” I throw up my hands. “You’re just being ridiculous about it now. All of these things, they are impossible things, fantasies.”
He sets the two glasses down, and as he pours the bourbon for us both, Jared’s hands are oddly steady. I did expect them to tremble. He is a lot more brave than I can ever hope be. “What is ridiculous, is that you have never loved anyone, Jensen. I don’t know what it is about you, you think you have diamonds in between your legs, like some damn fucking precious thing.”
“Stop it,” I say, although he does not appear to listen to me. Jared never listens to me. “Just stop it! I don’t--”
Jared sighs a noisy sigh, but it is a sad sigh, as if he has given up on me. Perhaps he has.
“You don’t want to talk about it, or you don’t want to think about it...I’m not sure which.” Jared puts the bourbon back under the sink. “Come and have a drink with me. What is the phrase you have -- one for the road? We are not going to fight anymore. I hate fighting.”
I pick up one of the glasses and drink from it, bourbon is always bitter. But now, I’ll remember. I take a deep breath, fogging up the edge of the glass, maybe if I try again--
“I didn’t want things to turn out...this way.”
His smile is tight and bitter like the bourbon making its way down my throat, “And yet they did, because of you.” Before I can open my mouth to protest, Jared continues, “You probably shouldn’t talk, otherwise we will start fighting again.”
I put down my glass, “We should talk about something else.”
“...There’s nothing to talk about. We’ve talked about everything. And besides, you don’t really want to talk. You just want to leave.”
No, not quite everything. But I don’t think we’ll ever talk about that. Or any of those things that we really need to. There’s only a bit of bourbon left, once I drink it, I’ll be free of this room. Across the table, Jared just looks at me, he is suddenly like an old man hunched over his glass.
I drain my drink and set it down.
“Au revoir, mon cheri.”
Or I can stay, I can stay and--I know he wants me to stay, although Jared will never ask me, I know he wants me. I too, want him. It is an aching want.
But she is waiting for me, my feet are itching to carry me in the other direction, away from him. I go to him and touch his shoulder, he does not move. “Good bye, Jared.”
.
Instead of going directly back to America, Danneel and I decide on the south of France for a little while. Neither of us want to say why, exactly, but at least we agree so explanations aren’t necessary. I’m secretly glad for that.
We rent a charming house by the sea, and we sometimes run out barefoot like idiots in freezing cold weather. The locals laugh at us and we try to lessen our stupidity by laughing along with them.
She notices that I am miserable. I don’t try so hard to hide it as I ought to.
“Jensen,” It’s maybe the fourth or fifth time that we’ve tried (or rather, she’s tried) to have this conversation. It’s never gone anywhere.
“What?” She is writing, it’s funny that she writes more than I do. I’m just sitting at the desk next to the bed trying to write. It’s not exactly working, not really.
“Please talk to me.”
I don’t look at her, I think my pen is leaking. “About what?”
Her arms are around me, and she presses her lips to my neck. Jared has done that hundreds, if not thousands of times, and it’s always made me shiver. Now I shiver from something else. “I don’t know, I feel like we don’t talk anymore, you’ve changed.”
“Of course I’ve changed,” I say, “People change, you change.”
“Yes, but not like...how you’ve changed,” I can hear her pacing across the room. “Not like this, people don’t just change like this. Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about, because you do.”
I can’t stop thinking about Jared. I think about him every time I try to write, every time I sleep -- wondering if he has already found a replacement for me. Given how smitten he seemed to be with Jeffrey when I left --
I think Jeffrey will take good care of him. At least, he knows how to treasure things and I...do not.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Danneel is wearing a nightgown and little else. If I try, I can probably see the vague tempting outline of her breasts but I don’t try. There isn’t any reason for me to try, not really.
She does not say anything for a long long moment. “I miss the way you were.”
I’m exhausted, “I don’t remember the way that I was.” If I was any particular way at all. Jared would have thought me silly.
“That’s proof enough that you’ve changed,” the mattress squeaks in warning when she sits down again. “We could go away, you know. We can go back and get married, your father would like that, wouldn’t he? We are engaged, after all.”
I wouldn’t know. Going away with her would change nothing. I’m far enough from Paris now, but the city still haunts me at night when I sleep.
“I like it here,” I say. “It’s nice.”
Of course she doesn’t look convinced, but at least Danneel is smart enough not to irk me further. “When are you coming to bed?”
“Soon,” I stare at the blank page before me, there’s a smudge of ink. “...After I finish writing.”
There is a long silence after that, and I try to write a few words to no avail.
“Jensen?”
“Yes?”
“I wish...that you would talk to me.”
I would, if there is anything left to talk about. Danneel and I have never really been good at talking. “What would you want to talk about?” I suck in a deep breath, and while I expect to breathe in cigarette smoke, I breathe in dust.
“Mm...” Her voice is probably muffled by the pillow, “tell me what you are writing, it must be something spectacular if it’s keeping you up.”
Hardly. In the end I just come to bed and don’t tell her a story at all.
.
There is a port nearby the house that we have rented, and right now it is crowded there because all of the sailors are on shore leave. I am well aware that I have no business there, but it smells of smoke in their bars and that is comforting to me. I miss the loud rancorous voices, I miss people looking.
It’s my second night here, just sitting, but already people seem to know, for nothing else than the fact that I am sorely out of place. Maybe Americans are doomed to be that way in Europe. Especially the ones that try and want desperately. Maybe I’m one of those. It is certainly looking that way.
For two nights now, I’ve found myself in the company of a young sailor. His name is Tom, and everything about him is sorely misleading. He has beautiful eyes, and yet he is so sure of himself, sure of his masculinity, more certain than I can ever hope to be.
The second night, I accompany the sailor -- Tom, back to his room at his invitation. The room is untidy and spartan; I have no idea how it can be both. Perhaps it is one of those things about him that intrigues me. His room is nothing like Jared’s, but Jared is all I can think about.
If Tom notices, he’s smart enough not to say anything.
We actually say very little, but we spend a lot of time undressed and not sober. He talks a lot about the voyages that he’s been on, and I envy him. Of course, Tom kisses a path down my stomach and tells me there is nothing to envy.
“Have you ever been to Venice?”
“I have, several times.”
“Is it pathetic like Paris?”
Tom pauses, “Now why would you say something like that?” If anything, my assumption of the city amuses him.
I shrug, “I don’t know.”
“Unless...” he brushes a thoughtful hand over my hip and leans up to kiss my throat (he’s never kissed me anywhere else,) “You must have left something important in Paris, maybe it is you who is pathetic.”
I agree with him completely, but I wish he hadn’t told me. I am not alone here, but Jared is, in his room, or perhaps he has taken up Jeffrey’s long standing offer to be his new Louis. “Sorry I ever brought it up.”
Tom lies back on his bed and stares at the ceiling. The two days I’ve spent with him, I don’t think I have ever seen him smoke a cigarette. “I think I like you, you’re sorry about the strangest things. It doesn’t make any sense -- are all writers like that?”
“Shut up,” I say.
.
Three days after that, when Danneel so ‘mistakenly’ follows me into the bar to meet Tom, I suppose I deserve it completely. She looks confused at first, and so does he. But then Tom laughs, as if this is the funniest thing that he’s ever seen. Carefully, he buttons up my collar for me (laughing still) and goes.
It’s not a very remarkable scene, there isn’t anything memorable. No tears, none at all. Nothing like I’ve always imagined it to be.
.
But she is fuming when we get back at the house, somehow, Danneel manages to smile at me. In that smile, there is everything.
“I think I’ve always known,” she says, between throwing her things in her trunk and looking at me.
“...About me?” I say.
“Yes, about you. But I loved you, I truly did love you, and I think I love you still. It’s a stupid dream that I had, to think that you might love me.” Her eyes are beginning to look moist, but I’ve never seen her cry, and I don’t think I ever will. “It’s stupid of me.”
I walk to her and put my hand on her shoulder, she is shaking, badly. “I can explain.” I wish she would stop talking about love like it’s some doomed thing. “What you saw, it’s not because...”
“You think you can explain everything,” she spits at me, and I suddenly wonder if I have had this conversation before. “You cannot. That’s always been your problem.”
“Danneel--”
“No,” she stands up abruptly and slams her suitcase shut, it doesn’t shut, and she has to slam it three more times before she actually succeeds. “Save your explanations, I’m sure they are ingenious. I’ll soon be gone, and you can shout to the hills about how you love to be guilty. You’ll explain away everything, I’m sure. You always do, or you drown them in your silence, I don’t know which part of you I despise more.”
“Danneel, I was lying to myself,” there’s a knot of desperation in my chest. Somehow, I can’t make it go away. “This -- this has nothing to do with you. My feelings for you, they haven’t changed.”
I catch her wrist, and she immediately jerks it from my grasp. “Don’t. I’m tired of your explanations, I’m tired of your silences. I’m going home.”
She carries her own suitcase out the door, and I follow. Danneel’s face is set in stone and she looks so bitterly handsome. When she finally does turn back to look at me, her smile is brave and sad. “Americans shouldn’t ever come to Europe, it makes us so unhappy. Who are we without happiness?”
I can’t think of anything to say, except perhaps to agree.
A taxi stops in front of us when she waves her hand, and she holds out her hand to me, “Good-bye, Jensen.”
“Good-bye.” Her hand is cold, firm. Daneel does not look at me again.
As the taxi rolls away taking her with it, I raise a hand and wave. Of course she does not wave back.
.
I suppose this means that I love Jared. Danneel knows it, and I think in a way Tom knows it too. Although I can’t find him to ask him because his ship left port yesterday. That is perhaps a good thing. Suddenly, the house that we’ve rented seems much too big, and much too quiet. I long for Paris.
In a way, it is home for me.
It is a Tuesday when I finally pack my things and leave on a Paris-bound train. There is no one there to meet me and the train arrives one hour late. The sky is growing dark, and by the time I lug my suitcase up to Jared’s room, I’m exhausted.
I knock.
“Jared, it’s me,” I say. “I’m sorry for everything, please open the door.”
There is nothing. No one comes to the door. After a long moment of waiting, I try the knob. The door is open and I tentatively look in; part of me almost expects to find him dead on the ground with a bottle of bourbon lying not that far away.
There turns out to be nothing there. The room is perfectly empty: Jared’s piano is gone, along with his books, the closet is left open and there’s probably no more liquor under the sink.
When I look towards the wall, where his imaginary bookcase ought to be, I see that he has finished. There’s a bookcase crammed in the wall. Unexpected tears sting my eyes, I wonder who helped him.
.
I have always had Jeffrey’s address to his apartment scribbled in the last page of my address book, where it’s easy to forget about it. It is the one place that I never want to go, and yet I don’t have anywhere else.
Jeffrey is home, and he doesn’t seem surprised to see me. He steps aside to let me in and I spy a familiar piano in the sitting room. Louis is nowhere to be seen, and my heart thumps in my chest, unsure whether to swell or burst.
“Jared is here?” I say. It isn’t so surprising as it should be.
His face is unexpectedly solemn, “I think you’ve better come in and have tea first -- or would you prefer coffee?”
I shrug, actually I don’t want either, but I take off my shoes and follow him to his kitchen. He makes me tea and there is no sign of Jared in Jeffrey’s kitchen either.
“Jeffrey, why do you have his piano?” I have to ask, because otherwise, Jeffrey isn’t going to tell me. It’s an odd fatherly instinct.
Jeffrey suddenly looks centuries old, hunched over his cup. “It was...just days ago,” he speaks softly, as if in great pain. “After you left, I suppose it was inevitable, but I did promise to get him out of that room. Louis decided that better things were awaiting him in Florence and I gave him my blessing.”
So that makes it my fault? My hands suddenly shake.
“Just tell me what happened,” I say. “Please.”
There is a horrible image of Jared floating around in my mind, dead in the sewers with his face deadly pale.
“He said he needed to work,” Jeffrey says, wringing his hands together. I have never known him to be anxious. “That he needed to feel useful after you’d gone away. He thinks that’s why you left him, you know. Because you found him useless.”
I bite down hard on my tongue, “That isn’t the truth. He knows it.”
“Or maybe he didn’t,” Jeffrey looks over at me, he isn’t quite pleased, but he is smug. He wraps his hands around his own cup. “In any case, I didn’t stop him -- I should have, that fault lies with me, I didn’t because I loved him in my own way.” Again, he inhales a long pathetic sigh.
I want to hit him, “Just tell me.”
“...Chad was found dead, strangled in his room, Jared was arrested for it. They finished up his trial yesterday. The French have never looked so kindly on murderers.” Finally, he looks at me, “That’s what he’s become, you know. A murderer.”
.
This is the first time I’ve ever been in a prison, hopefully it will be the last time. For obvious reasons, Jeffrey refuses to come with me and I don’t argue. He says he has never visited Jared before and doesn’t plan to start.
It is not such an unusual goal. I don’t really want to visit him either, although something tells me that I must. Neither of us will rest easy until I do. The guard spits at me and tells me that visiting hours are long past. I wordlessly slip him what I have in my wallet and he doesn’t say anything else. Jared would have been proud of me.
He puts me in a room with gray walls, a table and two chairs and tells me to wait.
It has not been so long since we parted, yet the Jared that stands in front of me in drab gray prison wear seems like an entirely different person altogether. I think he is surprised to see me, but then, I feel that I scarcely know him.
The guard heads for the door, “I will give you ten minutes.”
“Wait,” I hold up a hand, “...Won’t you release him?”
“I can’t do that, monsieur,” he says tonelessly. Jared just looks at me.
“I gave you everything that I had,” I say. “Please?”
The guard hesitates, but he does. Jared’s wrists look red and raw, and then he leaves. Jared looks up from his wrists and smiles at me. It’s a wholly miserable smile, but he’s at least brave enough to attempt it.
“You gave him everything you had. Pity that you will never do that for me.” Jared finally speaks, “Why are you here? I’ve already said we weren’t fighting anymore,” his voice sounds raw, like the rest of him. “We parted on good terms, cheri.”
He looks so old, and everything about him is gray. My heart aches for him, and suddenly, the back of my eyes feel very hot and I turn from him. “Don’t call me that. I’m not here to fight with you.”
Jared has every right to his suspicions and I don’t blame him, I would not blame him for wanting to strangle me. “Then what are you here to do? I’ve killed a man, you have no cause to come here.”
I grab at his hands and their coldness astounds me. His hands rest limply in mine, and all I want to do is to hold him close. “Why...did you kill him?”
His mouth twitches, “Not for you, certainly. I do a lot of things for you, but I would not ever strangle another man because I love you.”
Every part of my body aches, and my soul has never felt so heavy, “Do you -- do you still love me?”
Jared laughs at me, it’s a grating, bitter laugh, and one that echoes. It reminds me of Chad and Jeffrey and Jared is not like them, “I suppose it is very French of me to love someone and keep loving them, even if all they do...is make me angry. After all, Paris...it’s the city of love. It’s where I’ve found love and where I lost it...where I should die for it, even. It’s ironic.”
“Stop talking like this,” I press his fingers to my lips and he just watches me. “I didn’t come to see you because I wanted to fight. Let us not fight, Jared.” After all, we only have a few minutes, he can fight all he wants with me after I am gone.
“You are not going to die,” I say, shaking my head. “Not to me.”
Jared turns his eyes away again, but his fingers thread through mine and stays. “What happened to her, your girlfriend? Does she know you’ve come to me?”
“She figured out that I loved you even before I did,” I say.
I think Jared looks smug, but only for a moment. “So she left. Where did she go?”
“I don’t know.”
For a brief moment, his hands cup my face and our lips meet, he tastes dry, desperate and he will be dead tomorrow.
“I’m sorry.” I say, I think I meant it, for the first time because the words are stuck in my throat.
He looks at me, surprised, “...as am I.”
“I mean...I’m sorry I lied about everything.” The confession tastes like bile, but somehow I force it out anyway. “When I say everything, I mean everything.”
Jared does not say anything.
Somehow, I continue, swallowing hard again. “I think...that I loved someone before you. Although I didn’t have the courage to stop lying to him.”
“I don’t think you were ever courageous,” Jared’s lips twitches. “It’s much easier to tell things to a man who is set to carry your secrets to the grave.” But he is still holding me, not pushing me away, I want to think I know what that means. “What was he like?”
“His name was Misha. He lived across the street from me when i lived in Brooklyn,” it feels strange, telling him. Suddenly the secret doesn’t seem like so much of a secret, and I feel stupid. But his hands tighten around mine, urging me to continue. “I suppose I idolized him when I was a boy, he wasn’t that much older than me...but I thought he could do anything...he’s the reason I’ve come to Paris.”
His lips twitch again, I cannot read Jared’s face and that frightens me.
“So you left him too,” he says. “You seem to be quite good at that. I hope you didn’t break his heart. A man’s heart is a fragile thing.”
I don’t think Jared’s heart can shatter again, if anything, I think it has shattered too many times. “I don’t know if I did...but if I did I’m sorry for it.” The last I’ve heard of him, Misha had immersed himself in the military and moved somewhere far away and exotic. He probably hasn’t ever given me a thought.
At least, I hope he’s never thought about me. I’m not worth his thoughts.
“You don’t understand how it is for someone to be sorry,” Jared finally lets go of my hands and walks a slow circle around the room. The light flickers, and he does not face me. I cannot reach out and touch him either.
“And you do?”
“I’d like to think so,” he is looking down at his hands. “If you really think about it, I’ve no right to be angry with you. I’ve strangled a man, starved my mother, left my sister...the lot of a monster is not an easy one.”
My tongue is stuck in my throat. Of all things that he could have said, he chooses to say the most horrible thing that he could have said.
“That is untrue.”
“And now when I tell you the truth, you do not believe me.” Jared shakes his head, “I honestly do not understand you. There is enough horrors in the world that I hardly need to go invent something unimaginable. That’s your job.”
“I just pretend I’m a writer,” I don’t look at him. “I haven’t actually written anything.”
“Why were you pretending then? Because it’s romantic for would-be American writers to spend their time in Paris?” He’s laughing at me, even in his gray prison garb. It’s doubly horrible.
I don’t say anything.
“This is one of the many stupid reasons why I love you,” he takes my hand again and kisses my fingers. After that, he fits a piece of paper neatly into my hand. “And after you read this, you should decide if you love me. But please don’t read it until tomorrow. For tonight, I’d like someone to love me.”
The guard is back, gesturing at me to get out. Jared hurriedly lets go of my hands. Wistfully, he looks at me, as if trying to memorize my face.
“Smile, Jensen. I want to remember you smiling.”
And I smile, and tell him good-bye, as if we’ll meet again soon.
.
I don’t sleep at all that night. Instead I sit in silent vigil next to my window, peeking through the curtains. Jared’s cell must be without a window, and I know he is spending a last sleepless night alone. Tomorrow, everything will be over for him. Although it is an altogether futile stupid wish, I wish I could be there to hold him. Instead, I hold tight to his beloved copy of Rimbaud, Jeffrey hates poetry.
I have never loved him so much.
I don’t think I could have told him enough times.
Quietly, morning comes, the dawn creeping over the horizon, bathing all of Paris in a soft, gentle light. I use to think that Paris is a beautiful city, though now I doubt I will ever return again. Paris is the city where I have lost and gained everything.
Jared is to be executed at dawn, the gray blue sky is the last thing that he’ll ever see. We have stumbled home drunk to his room so many times under that very same sky, and my heart aches for him. I hope that he knows, that he remembers.
The sun is rising, and I feel its mocking warmth brush against my face. I hope he has died, knowing that he cannot have been more loved. Slowly, I open the window and rip up the letter that he has given me, some of the pieces float back, landing soundlessly on the windowsill.