‘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
301
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