Child, Lee – The Enemy

‘I’ll come with you. Keep you company.’

‘Thanks.’

‘My pleasure,’ she said.

We stood there.

‘We’ll have to get up about four,’ she said.

‘I guess,’ I said. ‘About four.’

We stood there.

‘Good night then, I guess,’ she said.

‘Sleep well,’ I said.

I turned right. Didn’t look back. I heard her door open and

close a second after mine.

It was eleven o’clock. I went to bed but I didn’t sleep. I just

lay there and stared at the ceiling for an hour. There was city

light coming in the window. It was cold and yellow and hazy. I

could see the pulses from the Eiffel Tower’s party lights. They

flashed gold, on and off, somewhere between fast and slow and

relentless. They changed the pattern on the plaster above my

head, once a second. I heard the sound of brakes on a distant

street, and the yap of a small dog, and lonely footsteps far below

my window, and the beep of a faraway horn. Then the city went

quiet and silence crowded in on me. It howled all around me,

like a siren. I raised my wrist. Checked my watch. It was

midnight. I dropped my wrist back down on the bed and was hit

by a wave of loneliness so bad it left me breathless.

I put the light on and rolled over to the phone. There were

instructions printed on a little plate below the dial buttons. To

call another guest’s room, press three and enter the room number. I pressed three and entered the room number. She answered,

first ring.

‘You awake?’ I said.

‘Yes,’ she said.

3OO

‘Want company?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

I pulled my jeans and sweatshirt on and walked barefoot

down the corridor. Knocked at her door. She opened it and

reached out her hand and pulled me inside. She was still fully

dressed. Still in her skirt and sweater. She kissed me hard at

the door and I kissed her back, harder. The door swung shut

behind us. I heard the hiss of its closer and the click of its latch.

We headed for the bed.

She wore dark red underwear. It was made of silk, or satin. I

could smell her perfume everywhere. It was in the room and on

her body. She was tiny and delicate and quick and strong. The

same city light was coming in the window. Now it bathed me in

warmth. Gave me energy. I could see the Eiffel Tower’s lights

on her ceiling. We matched our rhythm to their rhythm, slow,

fast, relentless. Afterwards we turned away from them and lay

like spoons, burned out and breathing hard, close but not

speaking, like we weren’t sure exactly what we had done.

I slept an hour and woke up in the same position. I had a

strong sensation of something lost and something gained, but I

couldn’t explain either feeling. Summer stayed asleep. She was

nestled solidly into the curve of my body. She smelled good.

She felt warm. She felt lithe and strong and peaceful. She was

breathing slow. My left arm was under her shoulders and my

right arm was draped across her waist. Her hand was cupped in

mine, half open, half curled.

I turned my head and watched the play of light on the ceiling. I heard the faint noise of a motorbike maybe a mile away, on

the other side of the Arc de Triomphe. I heard a dog bark in

the distance. Other than that the city was silent. Two million

people were asleep. Joe was in the air, somewhere on the Great

Circle route, maybe closing in on Iceland. I couldn’t picture my

mother. I closed my eyes. Tried to sleep again.

The alarm clock in my head went off at four. Summer was still

asleep. I eased my arm out from under her and worked some

kind of circulation back into my shoulder and slid out of bed

and padded across the carpet to the bathroom. Then I put my

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pants on and shrugged into my sweatshirt and woke Summer

with a kiss.

‘Rise and shine, lieutenant,’ I said.

She stretched her arms up high and arched her back. The

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