Half-Blown Rose, page 28
“I…I don’t know what to say. He’s—”
“I know you’re leaving in July.”
“But I’m coming back! I’ll only be gone for a week!”
“Sure, but it’s a big leave, right? Seeing the ex and all?”
Vincent nods.
“That’s some rough shit for my man. I mean, you understand that,” Baptiste says.
They chat some more and smoke another cigarette. Vincent brings the conversation back around. “When it comes to Loup, I guess you would know all about complicated relationships, wouldn’t you, Baptiste? Do you want to give me your tips?”
“Oh merde, look at the time. I’ve got to run.” His class starts in fifteen minutes. He winks at her and reaches over to touch her hand. “I’m sorry about Mina. She’ll be fine, really, she will. She shouldn’t have said anything to you about it.”
“Did you tell her you were meeting me today?”
“No.”
“Can we not openly have coffee together anymore? You have to keep me a secret?” Vincent’s feelings—a garden of tromped-on flowers. This is all so weird and unnecessary.
“Obviously I can do what I want, right?” he says, stepping over to kiss her cheeks. “Anchois show on Friday and I’ll text you later, ça te dit?”
* * *
With the Go Wilde! shop open again, Vincent is busy-busy baking clay, making earrings, updating the website, and getting packages ready to send out. She sets aside a new pair especially for Loup’s mother’s birthday: big dangly teardrops the same blue as Loup’s cable-knit sweater she loves so much. She stole that sweater from him with his permission. It’s on her bed with her blankets and smells like him. She sleeps with it.
Tuesday night she calls Monet and tells her about Mina’s text, and they fuss and laugh about it. Monet is the best person to call when someone pisses Vincent off because no matter what, Monet is always on her side and, in sisterly solidarity, instantly hates the person who has bothered her. Vincent tells Monet about Cillian and Hannah kissing and Hannah stopping by her house too. She calls Theo and tells him the same things because they are secrets she is already tired of keeping.
She video chats with her children and later with Ramona and doesn’t tell them any of it. When she connects with her parents, she keeps it light. Tully emails about the gold-colored things he’s seen—an electric guitar at the shop and a spray-painted planter in front of a pub. He tells her he’s decided to name his first album with the major label Golden. Vincent tells him how much she loves it and writes him about her gold tiger necklace without revealing who gave it to her. She mentions the gold lid on her little jar of capers.
Vincent and Loup text and also talk on the phone, something they’ve never done often. She calls him and gives him a live play-by-play of the naked drumming guy the first time she spots him since being back. She wants Loup to come over, but she doesn’t want to have to ask him. He’s busy and she’ll see him soon. On Wednesday, he jokes he’s close to handstands again. On Thursday, he sends her a video of himself doing one in his bedroom.
Also on Thursday, even though she has another bouquet of flowers coming on Saturday, Cillian has an extra delivery of sunflowers sent to her door with a card that reads For Vincent Raphaela, my love and light. I’m so sorry for everything.
The wax-sealed, handwritten letters were classic Cillian—romantic and thoughtful. Desperately apologetic and tender. She’s really not trying to continuously punish him, and she’s never questioned whether he’s truly sorry.
She just can’t decide if it matters anymore.
* * *
On Friday, Agathe shows up at the apartment in ruffles and heels, bearing three kinds of homemade cookies—lemon shortbread, coconut chocolate chip, and butter. After setting them on the counter, she and Vincent have wine on the couch.
In about an hour they’ll walk to the club for the Anchois show. Vincent hasn’t seen Agathe since returning to Paris and they haven’t talked about Baptiste or Mina. Vincent had been anxiously anticipating a text from Agathe all week about everything, but it never came and Vincent didn’t want to bring it up.
“Okay. I’m so excited but I had to wait to tell you in person!” Agathe says, curling her feet underneath her.
“What?” Vincent takes a sip of wine.
“At midnight, Zillah’s new video premieres and she’s wearing like seven different pairs of your earrings. The song is called ‘Les couleurs de mon cœur.’ She’s going to link your shop and give all the details. It’ll be huge. Have you seen her last video? It has like twenty million views and only came out a few months ago. Her stylist told me all this and played the song for me. It’s so good. But I promise I haven’t seen the video yet. Her stylist wanted to talk to you about everything, but I kind of lied and told her you’d given me permission to move forward with everything and I told her you were on a romantic adventure with your young lover and the details would be an amazing surprise when you returned! Isn’t it an amazing surprise? I talked you up so much and told her she’d be crazy not to go with your jewelry since it’s so amazing. Basically I’m the very best friend you’ve ever had and it’s okay to admit it.”
Agathe leans back with a cute, smug look on her face.
“Uh…wow. All I can say is wow. All I can think is wow!” Vincent says. She’s smiling so hard it’s starting to make her face hurt. Seeing Zillah in her earrings will be such a fun and also anxious out-of-body thing, Vincent wishes she had a time-turner to get it over with already. Agathe talks and talks and it’s endearing how excited she is. Vincent asks questions about everything and Agathe is all too happy to spill.
Vincent waits until some of the excitement calms down to tell Agathe she knows about her and Baptiste, only because she can’t put it off any longer. She tells her that she and Baptiste have talked about it and what Baptiste said about a threesome with her.
“I knew you knew about us…Baptiste told me. I wasn’t going to say anything until you did. You don’t have a thing for Baptiste, do you? The Baptiste 7000?” Agathe says, smiling when she’s finished.
“I don’t have a thing for Baptiste, no. I mean, clearly he’s attractive…but, no. And…when we were at the Anchois show in December and you said ‘he could get it regularly, no questions—’”
“I was feeling you out, but you didn’t say anything!” Agathe says, laughing. “And well, the threesome thing…it’s only because I had a crush on you over the summer and I told Baptiste about it. I did the next best thing and gave you a vibrator for your birthday.”
She drinks her wine and looks into Vincent’s eyes without glancing away. Agathe reminds her of an old Hollywood actress—those long legs kicked out like a Swiss Army knife; the elegant fashion choices; her short, almost flapper-girl hairstyle with the slick Amélie-esque swoop right under her cheekbone. If Vincent were bisexual or a lesbian, she’d want to date a woman like Agathe, but outside of one drunken just to see kiss with Ramona in college, Vincent hasn’t ever done anything sapphic.
But she can imagine herself enjoying being in bed with Agathe since she’s already so affectionate and attentive anyway. Maybe that’s because it’s Agathe or maybe it’s Paris.
Everyone who says Paris is a woman is right.
Paris is la vie en rose. Paris is sexy. Paris is splendor. Paris is full of light. Paris is full of life. Paris is a new beginning. Paris, mon amour. Paris is the only city in the world.
Paris is Vincent. Paris is Loup. Paris is Vincent et Loup.
Paris feels like home now.
“I’m very flattered and I adore you. A threesome would be too much…too weird…too complicated and overstimulating for me, but I appreciate the sentiment. I’m floored by it, actually. And I didn’t think you had a crush-crush on me, I just thought it was how you were with everyone,” Vincent says, drinking her wine faster. She would like to be more buzzed for this conversation. She knows she’s blushing. She touches her cheek and Agathe leans forward and touches it too.
“Well, I adore you. I’m glad all this is out there. It feels better now, doesn’t it?”
“I think so,” Vincent says. She tells her about Mina’s texts too.
Agathe says a peck of French. “Look. Mina is just a bitch,” she translates. “One minute she is fine with it and the other, she’s the angry, jealous wife. She can’t have it both ways! Do you know she sleeps with another man too? A big bearded Englishman named Tom who whisks her away to the sea, where she lets him do anything he wants to her. And also, Loup is twenty-five! He isn’t some sort of virgin schoolboy,” Agathe says. She huffs and leans back again, circling the rim of her wineglass with her finger.
Vincent is laughing and shaking her head.
“C’est vrai!” Agathe is laughing too. “Eh, it’s not crazy you came here and fell in love without meaning to. There wasn’t much you could do about it. C’est Paris,” she says.
3
Anchois begins playing “Une tigresse.” Loup had called earlier in the day and asked if it was okay. Vincent loves having that secret with him and she’s floaty, hearing the song wrap around her in the crowd. She’d almost squealed seeing him for the first time since they got off the train from Auvers-sur-Oise. She didn’t get to talk to him because she and Agathe were running late, but they’d pushed to the front to wave to him. He spotted her and waved back before their set started.
Agathe looks over with wide eyes. “This is you,” she guesses, nodding and drinking from the little black straw shooting out of her cocktail. Her short fingernails are a matte mushroom brown; her height in that purple dress makes her look like an iris. “This is Vincent’s orgasm you’re listening to right now,” Agathe says to Baptiste after he turns and cocks his head at them. They’ve drifted toward the back, where it’s much easier to hold a conversation.
Vincent doesn’t say a word. She just smiles and drinks her gin and tonic.
“It’s my new favorite song,” Agathe says.
Baptiste smiles, throws his arm around Vincent.
“Damn. Well, now it’s mine, too,” he says.
* * *
At the back door after the show, Loup walks out with Noémie at his side. They are talking and laughing. Vincent imagines his stoned sex with Noémie as she leans against the building next to Agathe and Baptiste, who are only sometimes flirty with each other. Vincent has not seen them kiss again since that first time. Occasionally Baptiste will touch Agathe’s waist or Agathe will take his hand, but it’s very subtle and if Vincent weren’t looking for it, she would miss it entirely.
After loading his things into the van, Loup rushes at Vincent and hugs her. He pulls away to look at her and kisses her mouth softly, then harder.
“How long has it been, a year? Two years?” he asks, kissing her again.
“One hundred years,” Vincent says. She rubs her nose against his. That absurd wonder of a nose.
Noémie and the rest of the guys say salut to everyone and everyone says salut back. In French, Noémie asks if Loup is coming home tonight and Loup shakes his head. Hugs and kisses and goodbyes to Agathe and Baptiste, with Agathe congratulating Vincent again and reminding her that the Zillah video goes live in an hour.
Loup asks what she means and Vincent says she’ll tell him on their walk. She’s been so busy she hasn’t taken a proper long walk around Paris since they returned.
Like always—drunk on stars—they set off toward the Seine.
By the time they sit, Vincent has relayed all the Zillah info and Loup has made a fist and shaken it more than once in excitement.
“Congratulations again, Saint Vincent! This is brilliant,” he says, gently squeezing her thigh. She puts her hand on his and thanks him.
The banks are crowded with large and small groups of people walking by. A trumpet softly quacks in the distance.
“Why did Noémie ask if you were coming home?” Vincent had forgotten, then remembered.
“Yeah, I meant to tell you she’s staying with us for a bit. Well, with Apollos…she’s staying with Apollos until she finds another place,” Loup says.
“Gotcha” is all Vincent says.
“Does that make you feel a way you don’t want to feel? Do you think I’m interested in Noémie? Because I’m not and I never have been…not in any real way,” Loup says. He slips the cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, looking out at the water.
“I believe you. It makes me jealous, but I believe you. Baptiste said Noémie is interesting…what’s so interesting about her?”
Loup tells her that Noémie’s dad is from Sweden and Baptiste likes to joke that she comes from a long line of Nordic warrior princesses just because she reminds him of an actress on a Viking drama he used to watch. Loup says Baptiste and Noémie have a little inside joke about it, that in past lives he was an African king and she was a Viking queen. The night they’d talked about it, Noémie had told Baptiste he was interesting and he’d said it back to her.
“Have you talked to Cillian?” Loup asks, spinning the topic.
“Where is this coming from?” Vincent asks. She looks at her phone and sees it’s two minutes until the Zillah video. Her body feels funny; her limbs are light.
“You said you were jealous of Noémie and I’m jealous of Cillian, so I asked about him. Do you see how much more power you have here?” he asks, looking at her. “If you’re allowed a husband, I’m allowed a friend.”
“Power? Why are you obsessed with our relationship being unequal? Can’t you imagine just for one second that we have the same amount of responsibility? The same amount of investment? Of course you’re allowed a friend…whatever that means. Of course you are. Wow, this conversation is stupid!”
Loup shrugs.
“I’ve talked to Cillian and he told me the woman he works with kissed him. And you know what? I felt half of something…but I’m actually more jealous of you living with Noémie than I am of Cillian and Hannah kissing, so make that make sense for me,” Vincent spits out.
“Well, did you tell him about us to get him back? You know I don’t care, right? That I’m not scared of him?” Loup smokes. He’s a little edgy and she can feel it coming off him in invisible zigzags.
“No, I didn’t tell him about us. I told you I’m not doing this for revenge. We’ve had this conversation, Loup.”
He pulls out his phone and says it’s time to watch the video. He taps the app and types in Zillah’s name, finding her new upload. It feels like there’s a lit sparkler inside of Vincent when he pushes Play.
The video is an explosion of colors and every time there’s a new one, Zillah’s wearing another pair of Vincent’s earrings. Her hair changes color too. The song is sweeping, the chorus is big and loud, and when Zillah opens her red mouth wide, the camera goes inside, where there’s another Zillah in a new color and a new pair of earrings, singing harmony with herself. It’s flashy and overwhelming and by the end, not surprisingly, Vincent is in tears. Loup scrolls down to the video information and finds her name and the link to the Go Wilde! website. Her phone is vibrating already and she looks down to see it blipping with messages.
Agathe sends screencaps and Don’t you just love it? IT’S GORGEOUS. CONGRATULATIONS. Biz!
Baptiste texts Félicitations Veedubs! You are a STAR.
She texts them both a load of heart and star emojis, thanking them. She reminds Agathe to thank Gigi, Zillah, and her stylist for everything.
“Can we still hang out now that you’re famous?” Loup asks, smiling at her when she’s finished. That quick, his edginess is gone. Had she imagined it?
“Shut up. I’m going to be really busy tomorrow and may need your help. Do you have plans?”
“Football in the park, but that’s in the afternoon and I can skip it.”
“No, don’t do that. Just help me in the morning and maybe if you want to come back in the evening? I have a good stock of everything, but obviously not fully prepared for this. Also, I’ve got classes to teach. Agathe only told me about this tonight!” Vincent says.
“I’ll happily be your little helper.”
“Thank you.”
“I missed you so much this week. Kind of felt like I was going crazy,” he says.
“Do we need to finish our fight? I don’t want either of us to be in a bad mood. Look at the moon! It’s spring and it’s Paris! Who cares about anything else?” She puts her mouth on his.
“Yeah, I definitely don’t care about anything else—” Loup says in between kisses. “But, um, don’t look now, but your best mate, your real best mate, is walking behind you.”
Vincent ignores his command and looks behind her to see a man in a T-shirt and jeans whom she doesn’t recognize.
“What? Who?” Vincent looks around for someone else.
“It’s your naked drummer. It’s him. I’d know that hair anywhere,” Loup says.
Vincent tries not to be obvious but she looks at the man again and Loup is right. It is him. She waits until he’s walked past to cover her face with her hands and laugh.
“You were wildly rude. I can’t believe you didn’t say hi to him,” Loup says, laughing.
She kisses him again. “We’re equal. I’m not trying to get revenge on Cillian. You’ve said it more than once and it’s just not true, pas du tout.”
“Okay. I won’t say it again. And I believe you.”
Loup has his hands all over her on their walk to the apartment. He ties his hair in a little flipped twist, he pops up on the ledges and jumps down with both feet at once. He tugs her arm to pull her toward rue du Cloître Saint-Merri just because she loves the little street’s lights and prettiness, made even prettier under crescent moonlight.
When they get to la Fontaine Stravinsky they sit on a bench and listen to the ragtag band across the water playing cymbals, buckets, and guitars fashioned out of different-sized cardboard boxes and colored rubber bands.
