Taxi To Paris Part 17

I leaned against her and took in her scent, which was now mixed with so much else. But her own scent was always there. I'd know it anywhere. Regretfully, I stepped away from her.

"I'm going to my chaise lounge now," I told her as casually as possibly. "Please don't be mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you," she smiled. "I'm just sorry."

"Me too." I emphasized my regret with a slightly crooked grin. At that moment, I cursed my heroic streak, which d.a.m.ned me to keep all my promises and, in this case, restrain myself heavily. That was all well and good. But did it have to be right now?

We walked down the hall together, and I pa.s.sed her bed with deadly contempt. The room in which I slept didn't have its own door off the main hall.

She said, "Good night." I answered, "Sleep well," without turning around. When she turned out the light, I shut the door between the rooms. I could make no guarantees that I wouldn't sleepwalk tonight.

Chapter 22.

The next few days went by relatively quietly. I called my office and took the next week for vacation. I knew already that there would be no way I could claim she still needed me after that.

She already looked vibrant and lively. She went to the bistro everyday; sometimes she even went shopping on the Metro and came back happy and well-laden. She bought almost exclusively nonsense, but it was clear that she hadn't done that much before, either. She enjoyed it wholeheartedly. And every time I didn't go with her, she brought me back a little present. In this fashion, I'd already acquired a pair of silk pajamas, though I hadn't worn them except to try them on at her request.

Although I would have liked most not to let her out of my sight, I forced myself to let her go out alone more and more often. She didn't like that at all. But I had to get used to not seeing her all the time. Soon, I wouldn't be able to see her at all. I wanted to lessen the shock of that a little. She just a.s.sumed that I wanted to be alone now and then.

When we were both in the apartment, she was very tender and also very open to tenderness. She rarely left me sit someplace in peace without coming over and caressing me or snuggling with me. She reminded me of a big, cuddly cat. My argument appeared to have convinced her entirely. She no longer felt the need to invite me to sleep with or next to her.

Once, while I was sitting in the armchair and reading - I had, meanwhile, found some lighter reading material for myself as well - she came over and sat on my lap. I tensed all of my muscles to avoid grabbing her immediately and kissing her.

"Yes?" I smiled at her. She shouldn't feel my tension.

"Am I bothering you?" I wouldn't exactly put it that way! She was simply undescribably sweet. The longer she was in Paris, the more she relaxed. The daily humiliations that usually kept her down did not exist here. She was a completely different person.

"No," I said with a friendly smile. "Would you like something in particular?"

"Not really." She sighed and leaned against me. I was about to go back to my reading, but she started fidgeting back and forth. "Actually, yes, I do want something," she said, smiling with an enchanting sort of uncertainty.

I raised my eyebrows in a question. "What, then?"

"I don't know if you'll like it." She acted shy and embarra.s.sed.

"Is it that bad?" I asked teasingly.

"No, no." She shook her head energetically. "It's not at all... Do you like to go dancing?" It burst out of her as though she'd been holding it back for a long time. She looked at me uncertainly again.

I laughed with surprise. "Dancing? Is that all?"

"Yes," she said. It seemed to be very important to her.

"You'd like to go dancing?" I asked her once again.

"Yes," she said. "Very much. But only if you feel like it." She still couldn't get used to the idea of putting her own wishes first.

"Fine," I said. "When do you want to go?"

"This evening!" It came out like a gunshot. She'd been waiting for this. Her whole face beamed.

I gave her a kiss and pressed her to me. I was happy for her, but now she would have to get off of my lap, or else I wouldn't be able to guarantee anything.

There was no need for me to worry about that after all. She leapt up and suddenly began to concentrate. "What should I wear?"

This question was one that I'd only rarely considered in my life. It had always seemed trivial. So I asked her, "What kind of place is this, where we're going? As far as I'm concerned, you could go out just like you are."

She looked at me and laughed out loud. "Like I am?" In my eyes, she looked entirely pa.s.sable. But I didn't spend much time in discos, either. She laughed secretively. "I was actually thinking more along the lines of an evening gown."

I almost feel out of my chair. "You have an evening gown?"

"Not just one," she said. She reached out her hand. "Come on, I'll show you."

She led me to her bedroom and opened one of the huge, built-in closets. It was true. She didn't just have one evening gown.

I was completely knocked out by the billowing fabrics and colors. "Heavens!" I said. "When do you wear them?"

She sighed. "Unfortunately, much too seldom." She rifled through the rustling silk - what else? - and chose a dress. She held it up to herself. Instantly, I could barely recognize her. And she didn't even have it on yet!

"What do you think?" she asked doubtfully.

"It's gorgeous," I stuttered. I cleared my throat. "Just... I'm wondering what I should wear. I didn't expect we'd be going to a ball."

She sighed again. "You're right. We're not, either. I'm afraid the idea of the evening gown wasn't such a good one." She hung it back in the closet and ran her hand over it once more, regretfully. "I would've loved to put one of these on again."

"You must look fantastic." I was still wondering at the large selection. "I've never known a woman who wore evening gowns before."

She smiled. "It's an exciting feeling. Too bad that there aren't many occasions for it these days." She grinned a little. "Maybe you should try it once?"

"Me?" I protested ardently. "I don't think that's right for me. I'd feel like I was wearing a costume."

She laughed. "Perhaps you're right."

I looked at her lovingly. I was sure it suited her outstandingly. "I'm convinced that you look stunning in an evening gown. I hope very much that I get the chance to see that someday."

She looked at me and said nothing. Then she shut the closet and turned around. "That's all for that," she sighed. "And so now we're back to the same question we started with."

An hour later, she had managed to decide what to wear. As always, she looked quite impressive, but I gathered that her clothing was selected such that I wouldn't look too bad. I could still never compete with her. She had put on a little more makeup than usual, but that was nearly all. I was very curious to see what awaited me.

When we entered the place, I was still surprised. In contrast to all similar bars with which I was familiar, I got a sense of dealing with privilege. The Frenchwomen were very well-dressed, and the place had a distinctly feminine flavor. At the front of the room, there was a long bar at which a number of women sat on barstools. There were hardly any open seats. Beyond the bar, there was a deep s.p.a.ce set up with tables and small booths. Past that was the dance floor. The whole thing was quite grandiose, but somehow intimate at the same time. Outside the dance floor, the lighting was quite low.

As in practically every lesbian bar in the world, all eyes were on us when we first entered the establishment. Although most of the women here were expensively dressed and well- groomed, she stood out here as well. First it was through her height, which seemed even more unusual here in France, and then again through her beauty and her posture. I felt their eyes on my back as we walked past the bar and into the back half of the room.

I'd wondered on the way here whether she'd know many women here well, and if so, then how. I simply couldn't shake that thought. My knowledge of her life in Paris was still even more limited than of her "workplace."

She walked to the back, completely unaffected by the stares, and found a booth. "We're lucky tonight," she laughed. "I wouldn't have liked to stand all evening."

A waitress came over to our table to ask what we would like. She seemed rather scantily clad to me. We ordered something to drink. When the drinks came, I leaned back and watched the women on the dance floor.

The music seemed to fit the surroundings. At the moment, they were playing songs from the fifties - first some rock-'n'-roll, then a slow song. The women all appeared to be excellent dancers. That, too, was different from the places I knew.

I was so fascinated by the gliding and swinging, the movements of the dancers, that I almost didn't notice when another woman came up to our table and greeted her. It looked as though they knew each other. The other woman was obviously glad to see her. For a moment, the thought that this could be a client of hers flashed through my head, but her behavior indicated otherwise.

She shook her head, laughing, friendly, but firm. The other woman shrugged her shoulders regretfully, then caressed her cheek with the back of one hand. She turned and excused herself to me. Then she said goodbye and left.

I sat there, somewhat perplexed. She looked at me and began to laugh softly. "I know I probably look pretty stupid." That's exactly how I felt, anyhow. "But why did she ask for my pardon?"

She laughed, just as amused. "Because she touched me without your permission," she explained knowledgeably.

"Without my permission? What do I have the right to permit?" The connection was not at all clear to me.

"I'm obviously your companion," she stated, as if that would explain everything.

"Yes," I agreed, still irritated, "and I'm yours." I'd never seen anything like this before.

"No," she corrected. "That's not quite true. You take me out, not the other way around."

That didn't agree with the facts of the situation at all! I must've looked very confused.

She laughed, pleased. "You have the right to decide with which women your companion may dance, and who may touch her, as always."

"I have the right? You've got to be kidding! You're an adult." I was totally outraged.

She enjoyed my indignation visibly. "For some time now," she confirmed. "But that's the custom here."

"Custom!" This didn't bother her?! Just the opposite. "You seem to get a kick out of it, anyhow!" I scolded some more.

"More out of you," she replied. She had to try hard to keep from laughing. "Because you're so excited about it."

"Don't you find anything wrong with it?" I blazed.

She curbed her laughter a bit. "More than that," she whispered. "I think it's sweet." She gave me a long look. "I think you're sweet." My helpless embarra.s.sment was obviously amusing her royally. "She only touched me at all because she already knew me. Otherwise, she would've asked you first." With pretend innocence, she looked at me and awaited my reaction.

This was all too much for me. The fact that she was clearly having a good time and at the same time making a fool of me didn't seem funny to me at all. I was truly glad of her good mood, but I would rather have enjoyed it with her than had it come at my expense. I declined to answer. However, I would have liked to know how well she knew this woman. Quick as she was, she noticed this.

"I only danced with her," she explained, unsolicited. "Nothing else."

"I didn't want to know that," I replied in annoyance.

"Oh no?" she asked, giggling. She was in the best of moods.

Another woman came over to our table, and this time she held strictly the convention that ruled here. She asked me if she might dance with her.

I almost exploded, but I didn't want to start a fight. Certainly not in French. "Please tell her that she should ask you if she wants to dance with you," I hissed through gritted teeth. The woman looked irritated. She didn't know what my reaction was supposed to mean.

She leaned saucily over the table and asked, "Would you mind if I danced with her?"

"No," I hissed, dangerously quiet.

She laughed like satin. That melted me inside immediately, but I'd be d.a.m.ned if I was going to let her see that. "I was actually saving the first dance for you," she remarked lovingly.

"I can't dance anyway," I replied, somewhat calmer.

"I don't believe that." She smiled and stood up. The woman who wanted to dance with her was still standing next to us, looking irritated. "I don't want to be rude, so I'll dance with her now. But next dance, it's your turn."

"No," I contradicted.

"Yes," she said firmly. Then she offered the poor woman who'd been waiting so long for her an enchanting smile and said something to her. The woman went with her to the dance floor, pleased.

I observed her. I should've known already, but when I watched her now, I was completely bowled over. She danced outstandingly well. Since she was so tall, I would've thought that she would lead. She didn't, though. She followed her dance partner so well that the height difference was barely even noticeable. I asked myself how she did that. They looked like they were the same height.

Her movements were more graceful than ever. She must not have any more pain at all. When the dance ended, her partner wanted to talk her into another. At least that's how it looked. But she declined. Nevertheless, she didn't return to the table alone; instead, the woman who'd taken her out brought her back to me. That was the feeling I had, and it brought my indignation back to the surface.

"That's unbelievable!" I scolded after the woman left.

"She couldn't do otherwise," she explained, grinning conspicuously.

"Yeah, yeah, because that's the custom here," I snarled angrily.

"That too." She winked mischievously at me. "But I also told her you don't like to be crossed." Now she laughed out loud. "And what you'd do if she did."

"You...!" I really didn't know what to do with her. This could turn into an interesting evening!

"Come on," she requested, when the music started again. It was a slow song.

"I told you, I can't dance." I could see several women looking her direction already. She would have no shortage of dance partners. "There are enough women here who would just love to ask you to dance with them."

"I'm not particularly interested in that at the moment," she decided, refusing to indulge me. "I want to dance with you."

"But that won't get you anywhere," I argued with my most sensible voice. "Why do you want to spoil your fun? You're such an incredible dancer."

"Then you can try it for yourself." She tried to talk me into it gently. "I'll show you how it goes."

I raised my hands in defense. "I can't take a lead! I tried once and failed terribly."

"Then you can lead." She stood next to me and put her hands on my shoulders.

Just the touch by itself softened me, but I still didn't want to give in. "I -".

"Come," she ordered me with such a commanding tone of voice that my defenses collapsed. I stood up and followed her blindly.

On the dance floor, I felt completely lost. She took one of my arms and put it around her waist, then raised the other to the height of her shoulders. Then she put her free hand on my shoulder. This looked all right as a dance position, but what was I supposed to do with it now?