First tango in paris, p.20
First Tango in Paris, page 20
*
“Good morning,” Eva said as she flipped through the canvases that leaned against each other in one of the large boxes sitting in an old woman’s stall.
The woman was still arranging the boxes she’d just unloaded but paused long enough to respond. “Hello. If you find a masterpiece, just let me know.”
“I’m looking for an original Picasso at a cut-rate price.” Eva winked.
“But of course. I’m sure you’ll find a great variety to choose from.” The woman stopped and took a sip of coffee from a huge white cup.
After several minutes, Eva selected a small canvas and pulled it out to inspect more carefully. “It’s for my aunt, and it has to be just right.”
“Why a Picasso?”
“Just because I heard he used to wander through this place looking for things to inspire him.”
“That’s true. I remember my mother pointing him out when I was a girl. She said he stopped by her stall once and asked if he could sketch her for a painting he planned to do of two women running on the beach.” The woman smiled faintly at the memory. “He said he admired her large arms and legs, but she got mad and told him to leave her alone.” The vendor raised an eyebrow. “He’s a terrible womanizer—well, he was, back then. Evidently he found some models for his two running women, as you can see in this copy.”
Eva laughed but slid the painting back where she’d found it. “Thanks for reminding me about that. I think I’ll try to find my aunt something by a woman.”
“As you wish. That might be more appropriate.”
“See you later,” Eva said as she left the stall. “Thanks for your time. I may be back.” She’d bring Brigitte with her and see what she thought of the small painting.
*
“Over here,” Eva called as Brigitte strolled toward the overpass, looking as stunning as always.
“I thought I’d never get here. I didn’t realize this place was so far away from the city center.”
“Yes. It’s at one of the old gates. Feel like hearing a bit of historical trivia?”
Brigitte twisted her face into a wry expression, then smiled as she nodded. Her hair was as shiny as her white blouse. “Do I have a choice?”
“No. That’s one of the risks of dating a tour guide.”
“Is that what this is? A date?”
“Naturally. We’re finding out if we’re compatible. That’s how I define a date.”
“Okay. I suppose we’re off to a good start, don’t you? I’m only five minutes late.”
“Yes, but you brought a purse instead of doing what I suggested.”
Brigitte looked down at the black purse that hung by a slender strap around her neck. “But it’s so cute, and it sets off my outfit, don’t you think?”
“Surely you left your passport at the hotel?”
“Of course. It’s locked up in the safe there. At least I half listened.”
They began to walk toward the crowd. “And I expect you to listen to my trivia now.” Eva was thrilled to see Brigitte in such a playful mood. She seemed to have lightened up after the tour ended. “More than a hundred years ago,” she said, “people known as pickers or moon fishermen would scavenge through trash bins at night and sell their treasures at several places throughout Paris. The city fathers finally got tired of the mess and had all the trash cans within the city limits sealed, so the pickers had to gather their goods outside the city.”
“In turn, they brought their wares to the gate to sell, eh? Pretty smart.” Brigitte looked around as they walked. “This place is huge.”
“Yes, supposedly it’s the largest antiques market in the world, but you’ll find plenty of other things here. And two other markets are taking place in Paris right now, both located at old gates too.”
“What are we waiting for? I want to see what kind of unusual jewelry I can find.”
Brigitte’s eyes shone like sapphires as she picked up her pace, which helped make the flea market seem like a magical place to Eva.
*
“Since you’re my own private guide today, tell me why this is called a flea market,” Brigitte asked as they strolled past the stalls stacked high with antique furniture.
Eva glanced at her, delighted to show off her knowledge. “Gladly. Some people say the name originated in the Middle Ages, when the aristocrats sold their cast-off flea-infested clothes to the peasants.”
“Ugh. That makes me itch.”
Eva chuckled. “Others say it was named for the flea-infested furniture similar to all these pieces around here.”
“Double ugh. Remind me not to sit down or try anything on.” Brigitte glanced around with mock horror.
“I’m sure everything’s a lot more sanitary than it used to be.”
“Maybe, but I’m not taking any chances. I’ll stick to jewelry. That should be relatively safe, don’t you think?”
“Hmm. I suppose. You do know what the name Les Puces means, don’t you?”
“Of course. The fleas.”
Eva nodded.
“So nothing’s sacred, I assume. Well, I’ll just have to grin and bear it, as my grandmother used to say.”
Just then they heard music and soon passed an elderly blind man pounding on an ancient piano. Brigitte did a little dance step, then suddenly wrapped her arms around Eva. “Let’s dance.” She whirled Eva around a few turns. A few people stopped to watch them, and Eva loved the way Brigitte took charge and seemed as free and unashamed as a child. When they stopped, Brigitte panted for a few seconds, then said, “When I was very young, my little friend back in Louisiana and I used to dance like this. I haven’t thought about her in years.”
“Where is she now?” This was the first time Brigitte had mentioned any of her old friends, except the mysterious Rosa who’d taught her to tango. Eva was surprised she’d mentioned this one.
Brigitte’s joyous expression faded, and she looked sad and a bit angry as she released Eva and began walking again. “I have no idea. My grandmother made me stop associating with her, and her family moved away from our small town several years later.”
“Stop associating with her? Whatever for?”
Brigitte’s face flamed almost as red as her pants. “Oh, just a silly game she caught us playing. It still embarrasses me to talk about it. Isn’t that ridiculous? After all these years.”
“Nothing’s ridiculous, especially things that happen to us when we’re children. I’d like to hear about it, if you feel like sharing. Here, let me buy us a crepe, and we’ll sit over there on the grass.”
*
Brigitte couldn’t believe she was actually confiding in Eva about her early experiences of sexual discovery. As she described the game she and her friend had played, and how she’d felt when her grandmother had discovered them and then scolded them, she thought she’d die of embarrassment. She concentrated on her fruit crepe and watched the passing crowd when she finished, nervous about meeting Eva’s eyes.
“Thank you for telling me about that,” Eva said, as she took Brigitte’s now-empty hand. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy for you to be treated like that. To me it sounds like a small splinter, but it’s probably festered in you so long it’s as painful as a cancer.”
Brigitte finally got up enough courage to meet Eva’s level gaze. “You don’t think I’m just being silly?”
“Of course not. Your grandmother was totally wrong to react like that. What a stupid woman, to make you feel ashamed of something so natural. Did you ever have another friend like that little girl?”
A wave of sadness washed over Brigitte. “No. I was a loner all through school. Rosa was my only friend, and she had to leave town when I was about eight, so I didn’t have anyone to trust. Luckily, Rosa wrote me from time to time, and even though Grandmother didn’t like it when I got those letters, she did let me keep them. I guess she thought since Rosa was so far away in New Orleans it couldn’t hurt for me to hear from her once in a while.”
“Well, it evidently turned out for the best,” Eva said. “And now, if you’re ready, let’s go hunt you some flea-less jewelry, and you can help me find a present for Jeanne.”
And just like that, Brigitte felt…lighter, as overwhelming burdens from her past burned away like early morning fog on a sunny day. She hoped they were gone for good.
*
They were rummaging through a jumble of necklaces when suddenly Eva heard Brigitte catch her breath. Eva glanced at the necklace she was holding up like a spoil of war, and a shock of recognition almost knocked Eva off her feet.
“It’s not a priceless treasure, but somehow I’m sure this is exactly what I came here to find,” Brigitte said, apparently entranced with the piece of costume jewelry. Eva could understand why. Its cranberry-red centerpiece would nestle perfectly in the hollow at the base of Brigitte’s white throat, and the five teardrop stones hanging from the silver setting of the central stone would point toward her glorious breasts. Eva almost licked her lips. The chain that Brigitte was now holding around her neck, three large beads and three small ones linked by intricately fashioned silver strips, would support the pendant.
“Here, let me fasten it for you.” Standing behind her, Eva lifted the collar of Brigitte’s blouse and slid the clasp into place. Then an intuition so powerful it felt almost like a blow hit Eva out of nowhere.
She’d done this before, she knew, with such a strong certainty she couldn’t imagine where it came from. I bought this piece for her and gave it to her as an anniversary present. Eva had never had such a strange experience.
She shook her head and turned Brigitte slowly to face her. “Let me see how it looks,” she said. To her horror Brigitte wore the same vacant expression she had several times during the tour, the times she’d seemed almost to leave her body. What was happening? Eva couldn’t do anything but stare at this unusual, beautiful woman she was almost afraid to get to know any more fully.
*
A dark-haired man with blue-green eyes fastened the clasp of the beautiful red necklace he’d just surprised her with. “Happy fifth anniversary,” he said. “I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but I have to go out for an hour before our feast tonight. You know I’ll be counting each second I’m away, though. I’ll return soon, my one and only love.”
“I understand, dearest one. I’ll be ready when you come back to me. Godspeed.” Brigitte fingered the necklace, its red pendant warm to her touch. “You couldn’t have chosen a more beautiful gift, beloved. I’ll keep it forever. Hurry home.”
Standing in the tent at the flea market, surrounded by antique jewelry, Brigitte shook her head. “What the…”
“My words exactly,” Eva said. “Where did you go?”
“I don’t know. One minute I was here, and the next I was…somewhere else. Some time else—very long ago. And I think you were there too.”
“Me? I’ve been right here in Paris, in 1972. You’re the one who keeps disappearing on me.”
“You were fastening this very necklace around my neck. I’d know your touch anywhere. And this piece is one of a kind. It feels exactly the same as it did wherever, whenever I was.” Brigitte clutched its central stone as if it could solve the mystery of what had been happening here in Paris.
But Eva would think she was completely bonkers. She needed to snap out of it. Brigitte couldn’t keep from wondering, though, why she was so certain Eva had been the man who’d given her the necklace she was now holding.
“How much?” she asked the seller, whose smug expression indicated he’d overheard her conversation with Eva and knew she’d pay whatever he asked.
He named a price and she agreed.
After Brigitte paid the shopkeeper, Eva whispered, “You should have bargained. He’d have come down at least ten or fifteen percent.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’d have paid twice that much. I have to have this.”
*
It was half past one, and Eva was beginning to drag. She’d been up since five thirty and hadn’t slept well because she’d been excited about seeing Brigitte again. “I’ve looked everywhere for something for Jeanne’s birthday, but that painting I saw early this morning is still the best choice I’ve come across. If you’re ready to leave, I’d like to stop and buy it.”
“I’m ready, but first I’d like something cold to drink. What about you?”
Eva nodded her agreement.
Brigitte returned a few minutes later with two drinks. She handed one to Eva and stuffed her change carelessly into her small purse, which she wore slung over one shoulder and across her chest.
Eva shrugged in frustration at Brigitte’s careless invitation of pickpockets. Evidently Brigitte had so much money she didn’t have to worry about losing some of it. They’d almost reached the stall where she’d spotted the painting for Jeanne earlier when Brigitte shouted, “Son of a bitch. That kid grabbed my purse right off me,” her face red and her blond hair flying.
“Do you see him?” Eva yelled, then spotted a blue blur racing away from Brigitte. She darted behind the next stall and intercepted him, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back toward Brigitte.
When they all stood face to face, she said, “This pretty lady is a guest in Paris. What will she think about us if you act like that? Give her back her purse this minute.”
The kid scowled and slowly held out the black bag.
“Tell her you’re sorry and you won’t do it again.”
He spit on the ground, but Brigitte grabbed his other arm. “Why did you take my purse?”
“Maman is sick and needs some medicine. I have to have money for that.”
“And just how much would be enough?” She opened her purse and raised an eyebrow. “Tell me the truth.”
“A hundred francs.”
“That’s all?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” She held out a hundred-franc note to him, and he snatched it from her and stuffed it into his pocket. “And take good care of her. Do you understand?”
“Yes, pretty lady. Thanks. I won’t forget you.” He pulled off his cap in tribute, then ran away.
“You’ll make him think crime does pay,” Eva said, though she was touched by Brigitte’s generosity, howsoever misguided.
“Sometimes we all need a little help, and I believe this is that boy’s time. Besides, I can afford it, and, lucky for him, I’m feeling generous.”
Eva took Brigitte’s arm and squeezed it. “The people of Paris thank you, and for their sake, I hope you judged the boy correctly. I don’t want to see him in a court of law in the future.” She threaded her arm through Brigitte’s and guided her across the market to the art vendor’s stall.
“Ah, I thought you might be back,” the same woman from early morning said. “You’ve come for the painting for your aunt, eh?”
“Yes. I hope you haven’t sold it.” Eva glanced at the pile where she’d found the painting earlier.
“I put it in the back so no one else would discover it. It’s meant for you, I believe.” The woman pulled it from behind a jumble of old photo albums.
“What do you think, Brigitte? Do you think Jeanne will like it?”
“I’ve only met her twice and don’t know her taste. What do you say?”
“Blue’s her favorite color, and I think she’d like the carefree way the women are running along the beach. She also likes Picasso, though I can’t stand him. It’s a fairly good copy of the original.”
“Why don’t you like Picasso’s work?”
“He obviously painted this one during his neoclassical period of the 1920s, when Leigh and Emily were here in Paris. They might have seen the original hanging in an art shop somewhere. I do like the bright blues and oranges in it.”
“Yes, the colors are striking.”
“But I don’t like the way he shows the women’s legs, feet, and hands as huge in proportion to their bodies, and I don’t like how he paints the flopping bare breast on the woman in the front. I enjoy beautiful nudes, but his seem crude and vulgar.” Eva scowled. “He’s such a womanizer, yet he doesn’t seem to actually like women very much.”
“Why don’t you tell me what you really think?” Brigitte laughed. “I thought all Frenchmen were womanizers.”
Eva bristled. “First, Picasso isn’t French, as I’m sure you’re aware. He’s Spanish. Second, we French aren’t as puritanical about sexuality as you Americans, but many of us aren’t as dissipated as you imagine. In fact, we’re very capable of being faithful to our partner, if we’ve chosen wisely.”
Brigitte’s smile vanished. “Hmm. Obviously I’ve hit a nerve, and apparently you don’t know me very well if you consider me puritanical. I’d say it’s time to call it a day. We’ve been on our feet a long time and we’re both tired.” She put her hand on her purse in front of her. “I plan to remain in Paris at least through the month, and you know where to find me. Oh, and wish Jeanne a happy birthday for me. I hope she likes her Picasso.”
She turned and walked away, and Eva felt like kicking herself for ruining such a lovely day.
Chapter Twenty-four
Eva paced on the cobblestones of the medieval Court of Honor. Strange how she could barely hear the noise from the traffic in this busy area near Boulevard Saint-Michel. Here, behind the high wall that separated her from the street, and surrounded on the other three sides by the wings of the two-story Hôtel de Cluny, she felt confined yet safe, hearing only the murmurs of tourists and the coos of the pigeons that scurried beside her back and forth near an old well.
It hadn’t been easy to call Brigitte and apologize for losing her temper at the flea market this past weekend. Brigitte’s casual remark about all Frenchmen being womanizers had hit a sore spot and caught her off guard. Perhaps she was being unrealistic, expecting her parents to live up to her ideal of a perfect couple when they obviously weren’t a good match. But she could expect anyone with whom she became involved to live up to her standards. Brigitte was evidently capable of a loyal and lasting friendship, judging by what she said about her friend Rosa, and she’d clearly admired Emily and Leigh’s relationship. But what did Brigitte want for herself?
