Pearl Trilogy: Shimmers Of Pearl Part 18
"Ah, that would be telling. You'll have the rest of your life to find out."
"What? You have more secrets? I thought you'd told me everything!"
"It would be a bit dull if you knew everything about me, wouldn't it?"
"Something tells me, Alexandre Chevalier, that life with you will never be dull."
The sky is mostly blue and clear but the air crisp. I pull up the collar of my coat and link my arm tightly with Alexandre's. I don't say much as everywhere I turn there is some spectacular building saying look at me, how proud and stunning I am' and I amble along in a daze. Paris does not disappoint but it's hard to put it into words Alexandre is right, it's a feeling. A feeling of majesty, grandeur and pride.
We come across the Grand Palais, a magnificent Belle Epoque landmark and museum with Greek-style columns and a glimmering, gla.s.s domed roof supported by heavy cast iron beneath. It looms ahead of us. The Pet.i.t Palais is nearby, arranged around a courtyard and garden manicured and laid out symmetrically. I see that Paris is highly structured, nothing left to chance, nothing abandoned, at least, not here, where everything is neat and tended. The buildings face a beautiful arched bridge that crosses the Seine, the artery of Paris.
"That's my bridge," Alexandre tells me with a wink.
"Because it's so beautiful?"
"No, because it's named after me," he jokes. "It's called Alexandre III."
We cross the road and saunter towards it. At either end of the bridge are high stone columns topped with gilded, winged horses overlooking the river as if they are guarding the bridge. The whole way along the sides of the bridge, itself, are cherubs and ornate Art Deco lamps with globes of hand blown gla.s.s. Everything is in such tip-top condition, it feels like going back in time a hundred years ago. No filth or soot coats the surrounding buildings or bridge, despite the traffic. No, everything gleams and twinkles as if invisible hands were polishing the stone edifices and as if the horse statues had been gilded with gold-leaf, just last week. Alexandre tells me that it was all restored a few years ago, that the gold is real. I marvel, wondering if this would all still be in one piece if it were New York City. The Parisians must have real respect for their treasures, although he tells me the outskirts of the city are a different story with graffiti everywhere and tower blocks.
We make our way to the middle of the bridge. Behind, in the distance, is the Eiffel Tower and ahead the Seine meanders its way under more elegant bridges. There are some moored boats and barges below. The river swirls in little eddies and I instinctively clutch my belly knowing that there is life inside me; blood and fluids ebbing and flowing through my body just like the river, giving life to this newcomer our baby. I lean over the bridge and stare into the water below, wondering what our child will be like, and grateful that I have Alexandre back in my life - that I won't be venturing into parenthood alone.
He notices my hand spread across my stomach and asks me, "Was everything okay with your last check-up?"
"It all looked great; the ultrasound shows a tiny beating heart. Just over two more weeks until the trimester is done and then I'll feel completely safe."
He lays his large hand on top of mine."You'll be fine it's meant to be."
Paris is one big superlative. Everywhere are tree-lined avenues and stunning historic buildings. I can see that it would take years to do this city justice. We meander slowly back, past the Pet.i.t Palais towards the Place de la Concorde. What I had imagined to be a quaint square is ma.s.sive, boasting a towering obelisk in the middle, flanked by two grandiose fountains and more historic buildings at one end.
A frisson of excitement runs up my spine. The awesome beauty and wonder of the architecture against the icy blue of the sky, and the way the square is ideally situated so that you see the most magnificent monuments of the city, including the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs Elysees, the Alexandre III Bridge, the Grand Palais, the a.s.semblee Nationale, the Tuilleries Gardens, and the Eiffel Tower, all at once, is a testament to how clever the design is. Looking at my little map, my eyes scan all around to find my bearings, even though I don't need a map, having Alexandre by my side. I'm your archetypal American tourist with my sneakers and sensible clothes, clutching a map. Just to add to the look, I whip out my camera and take a few snaps. Alexandre stands there, amused and happy that his city is obviously giving me goose b.u.mps and spreading such a huge grin across my face.
A skinny man in gla.s.ses rushes up beside us - we look like sitting ducks; the quintessential sightseers, at least I do. He shuffles up next to me and gushes forth in a heavy accent at breakneck speed without stopping for breath: "It is in this place that was signed on sixth of February 1778 the Treaty of Friendships and Exchanges between King Louis Sixteenth and the thirteen States Independents of America. Benjamin Franklin counted among the signatories representing the United States... Today at the place even where the King Louis Sixteenth was guillotined, is an obelisk offered by the Egyptians. Where many people came to see falling down the heads formerly, come much there today to admire the view of the Champs-Elysees..."
We both laugh when he says, Falling down of heads,' and then Alexandre blurts out something in French. The poor man is mortified and scurries off to see if he can nab some other, more bona fide tourists.
"Poor thing wanted to be our guide for the day, I guess," I say. "I forgot that it was you guys who invented the guillotine. Nice touch. So who got beheaded here in this square? I didn't quite catch what that man said."
Alexandre c.o.c.ks a dark-winged eyebrow at me. "Everybody and his cousin, basically. Marie Antoinette, Louis XVI, Robespierre. They called it la Place de la Revolution' in those days. Just in one summer alone, I think it was in 1794, over a thousand people were beheaded here in this square, not to mention the bloodshed going on all over the rest of the country."
"All because of what Marie Antoinette said, Let them eat cake' when the people complained there was no bread?"
"Supposedly, she never said that, but that's right the people were starving and fed up with the unfair tax system and lavish lives of the royalty and aristocracy. Everyone always imagines it was only the peasants that started the Revolution but it was several groups; the intellectuals, the bourgeoisie even poorer members of the clergy."
I fix my gaze at one of the beautiful stone fountains with mythical bronze figures encircling the basin. In the water below, in the bigger basin, are more characters; their torsos dark bronze, almost black; their mermen and mermaid bottom-halves a beautiful green verdigris, and the fish they hold gilded with gold leaf. Water gushes from the fishs' mouths. Incredible.
Alexandre continues with his history lesson which is almost drowned out by the sound of gurgling water. "But before all that, things were just as gruesome. n.o.bility were sometimes entertained by watching convicted criminals being dismembered alive. La Place de la Revolution was payback time when the people punished the n.o.bility for their crimes - not the other way around, as it had always been before."
"My G.o.d, France has so much crazy history enough to make you dizzy," I say as I stare up at yet another sight - the Egyptian obelisk decorated with hieroglyphics - a giant red granite column pointing erect like a rocket to the sky. I smile to myself and think of Alexandre's Weapon of Ma.s.s Destruction.
"What are you smirking about?" he asks.
"Nothing, just thinking about what you've been saying."
He's oblivious to my naughty musings and continues with his spiel. "Funnily enough, you lot contributed in some ways to the French Revolution. French troops who served as anti-British mercenaries in America during the American Revolution helped spread revolutionary ideals to the French people."
I laugh. "So you blame us?"
"Didn't you know? The French blame the Americans for everything. I blame you, Pearl."
"For what?"
"For causing a revolution in my heart."
"To have a s.e.xy Frenchman telling me things like that in Paris, itself, is almost sinful."
"I can shut up if you like." He winks at me and a little tremor capsizes my insides. I think of my baby and wonder if he (or she) can feel what I feel; the thrill of absolute love.
I squeeze his hand, glove on glove. "Don't you dare. I want to hear sweet talk for the rest of my life."
Alexandre suddenly envelops his arms about my hips and lifts me into the air, the way my father sometimes did when I was a child. I wrap my legs about him and we kiss. When he sets me down he says, "It feels good, doesn't it, baby, knowing we're getting married? Knowing we share each other's secrets? I've carried such a burden all these years. What my mother did, my abusive past. Now Laura. Thank G.o.d it's all out in the open, finally."
I reply, "I know. What a relief."
As unexpected as the lift was, Alexandre's cell rings. It makes us both jump. He fishes it out of his coat pocket, looks at it and connects the call. "Hi Daisy, where are you all? We're kind of slowly making our way to Notre Dame very slowly, walking and talking about charming things like decapitated rolling heads and..." He pauses to listen. "You've done all that already? Jesus! Alright, we'll meet for ice cream. We probably won't have one as we're on our way to lunch well Pearl should, ice-cream is good for her but...perfect. See you there in an hour and a half." He looks at me. "I know it's winter but this ice cream place is very famous." Just as he's putting his phone back in his pocket, it rings again. "Daisy?" But his smile quickly vanishes - a dusky cloud sweeps across his face.
"Who is it?" I mouth, fearing I already know the answer.
Alexandre's lips twitch with a mixture of sadness and anger. "Look, Laura, just calm down." He says nothing, just rolls his eyes. I can hear her screaming through the line, although what she's saying isn't clear. "I can't alright, I have commitments," he says through gritted teeth, his jaw clenched.
I look up at him expectantly, terrified Laura's going to steal him from me steal our happiness away like the thief she is.
"I told you, I can't f.u.c.king well come right now. I have a meeting, I have-" he bites his lip, closes his lids and lets out a menaced groan. She has obviously slammed the receiver down on him. When he opens his eyes again, the green of his irises shine like wet moss. He shoots me an apologetic glance and says, "If I don't go now, she's going to do something crazy. She's going nuts."
"What about lunch with your mother?"
"You'll have to go on ahead without me."
"No way, Alexandre. No. I want to meet your mom with you there."
"Okay, I understand. Well, we'll just have to postpone it, then, and go when I return."
"When will you be back?"
He rakes his hands furiously through his hair. "As soon as I f.u.c.king can. Jesus, this b.i.t.c.h is ruining our lives - I could f.u.c.king kill her!"
"You mean, you're going to just leave, right now?"
"I have no choice. You could come with me if you like."
"Somehow, I think that might make things worse."
"You're right. If I can get back late tonight, I will. If not, I'll be back tomorrow by midday. I need to sort this s.h.i.t out, once and for all."
"What are you going to say? Tell her you'll go ahead with the IVF?"
He shakes his head solemnly. "I just don't know."
"Are you going to the airport, right now?"
"That, or the train, which actually might be faster; it's so quick these days - just over two hours. I need to go back to the hotel to get my pa.s.sport first, just in case I do end up flying. You can get some rest."
"If you're not going to be hanging out at the hotel with me, there's no point. I'll carry on with my walk and meet Daisy, as arranged."
"You're sure?"
"I'm a big girl. This is Paris not South Central L.A."
"Well, if you're sure. You can't go wrong and you've got your map." He points left. "Go through the park, Le Jardin des Tuileries you'll hit the Louvre then head across one of the bridges to Isle St-Louis. The ice cream place is famous, it's called Berthillon Glacier. The little island next to it, Ile de la Cite, is right where Notre Dame is. Here, take this." He stuffs a ma.s.sive wad of Euro notes in my hand and a credit card. "My code is 1492 Fourteen ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue. You can withdraw as much cash as you need or punch in that code when you buy things. Treat yourself to whatever you want; go on a spree."
"Don't be silly, Alexandre, I have money."
He widens his eyes as if to say, don't argue' and holds me tight against his chest. "I love you, Pearl. Have fun today. Don't exhaust yourself. Just jump in a cab if you get tired. I'll call you at the hotel later."
"I don't have a cell phone, remember."
"I know. But you can call me any time from the hotel and I think you should stay in tonight anyway, and take it easy."
"I will, I'll order room service. I mean, h.e.l.lo, how much punishment is it to slob out in one of the most beautiful hotels in the world?"
"Get Daisy and Amy over they can spend the night; we might as well make use of that big suite."
"Good idea." I look square into his eyes which are flickering with fear. I have never seen him look that way. Ever. "I love you, Alexandre. Good luck with you know who.' I'll support whatever you decide."
"Thanks. I needed to hear that. Although, what that decision will be, I haven't the faintest f.u.c.king idea." He gives me a weak smile then hugs me again. We kiss but the kiss isn't romantic. How can it be with Laura as good as standing, right there, between us? He turns on his heel to go and we both look back several times, hardly bearing to let go of each other, even for one second, let alone the whole night.
Chapter Thirteen.
Laura is infiltrating my mind, polluting the beauty I see about me like toxic waste in a meadow. Ten minutes ago, the world was awash with perfection but sank instantly with one jarring phone call.
The Tuileries Gardens are bleak in winter yet breathtakingly beautiful, but I walk along with misty eyes, wishing that Alexandre hadn't been s.n.a.t.c.hed away from me and wondering how in the world he's going to extricate himself from Laura's tangled web. Is it possible that he can convince her to drop this madness? I doubt it. I can't see a way out of this. One thing I have learned about him is his fierce loyalty to his loved ones he won't let his mother down, of that I'm sure. He feels responsible had he not gotten involved, those stupid, hip bits and teeth remnants would still be hidden in her attic. It's true; in a sense it is his fault that Laura got her bony hands on it all. But poor man, how could he have envisioned what could have ensued? How could anybody have imagined? Not even the script writers for CSI could come up with such an insane scenario.
The only good thing about having my eyes on the ground, as I scurry along through the park (to avoid people's stares I'm crying shamelessly now) is that I miss stepping in some dog p.o.o.p right in my path. Yes, I'd heard Paris was famous for that. Just like Laura, it is unexpected; a blight on perfection. The gardens have an air of formality with flower beds set out in a pattern; gravel paths lined with rows of trees, so the dog s.h.i.t seems incongruous here where everything is in such order. A mess left to be picked up by some innocent bystander, or for someone to tread in and have smeared all over their shoe. I think of Laura again it is as if the dog s.h.i.t is a symbol of everything that has gone wrong.
I sit down on a stone bench to pull myself together and get my breath back. Not from the walk, but the torrent of emotions churning around my body, draining me of oxygen. I want my baby to feel serene and peaceful inside me, not all riled up and bubbling with rage. Surely they can feel everything?
I raise my head up to the sky as a cloud lifts with the breeze and the blue is once again revealed. A warm sun is welcome with the biting chill and I let it caress my cold cheeks. That feels so good. I think of our baby, again, and take my iPod out of my Birkin and go through my playlist until I find what I'm looking for Here Comes the Sun by George Harrison. I mustn't dwell on Laura. Just a couple of months ago, I thought I had lost Alexandre for good but our bond is stronger than ever. I have him and his baby and that's what counts, no matter what happens with this IVF threat. Alexandre loves me, not Laura. That is what I am holding onto right now. And I need to trust him to make the right decision.
"This song's for you, little baby," I tell my belly, smoothing my gloved hand over myself. And it's true; the being inside me is the sun. Maybe even the son.' I don't care if it's a boy or a girl, I am just grateful, and pray that I'll make it to the first trimester, and there won't be any complications with the birth and that he, or she, will be healthy.
The song has lifted my spirits and I continue walking. I'm feeling positive and hopeful. If Alexandre can manage all the thousands of people who work for him in his multi-billion dollar empire, surely he can handle Laura. I have faith. It will work out.
As I wander through the park, I have the sensation that I'm meandering through an open-air museum, and I'm glad for the distraction. There are cla.s.sical marble sculptures dotted everywhere characters from Greek myths and some modern ones, too. A few people are sitting on metal garden chairs placed along the paths or about the octagonal pond. It seems that it is forbidden to sit on the gra.s.s in this park, even in summer. I watch water spurt out of the pond's fountain but my gaze gets distracted by a huge Ferris wheel in the distance with the Louvre in the background.
As I approach, I soak up the pure majesty of the Louvre set like a horseshoe in an expansive courtyard the s.p.a.ce in front giving the facade the added grandeur it merits. The modern gla.s.s pyramid (that caused such a stir when it was first erected) seems like a rebellious teenager in contrast to the cla.s.sical Renaissance of the Louvre - probably the most famous museum in the world, once a royal palace. The vast gla.s.s and metal pyramid is surrounded by three smaller ones. Being able to see through the pyramid is interesting because it doesn't block out the honey-colored stone of the old Louvre behind. But if I tilt my head, the reflection of clouds gives it a different feel. Do I like the Pyramid? I'm still not sure. There's no doubt in my mind that it's interesting and probably something that needs a lot of mulling over. I could stand here and pontificate all day long.
But I can't, and there's no chance of a visit or I'll be late meeting Daisy. So I continue on my merry way, still humming Here Comes the Sun and blanking out my thoughts from any word beginning with L.
I come across a little pedestrian bridge with wooden decking which I realize is the famous Pont des Arts. All over the sides are little padlocks clipped to the railings lovelocks' with names of lovers written or engraved on each one. One even says Bonnie and Clyde.' Another rusted one, has a pink lipstick mark with scratched-on hearts and the initials B and P at each end. Everlasting, locked love, left in Paris. I wonder how many of these couples are still together. As I am reading some of the messages, a man in a black wool hat tells me, "Zee Pont des Arts used to be one of my favorite bridges, now I can't stand to see it. I bet zaire is some jerk selling padlocks near ze bridge, with little hearts on them. He should be shot."
I turn around, surprised that he's talking to me in English. How does he know I'm not French? Do I look so obviously like a tourist? But then I realize I still have the map in my hand. "Oh, you don't like the padlocks?" I ask. "You don't think it's romantic?"
"Ze Pont des Arts used to be a beautiful, delicate bridge, now it looks like it's covered wiz some kind of metallic disease in zis mindless graffiti rusting on ze padlocks. Zis and ze dog c.r.a.p everywhere." He gesticulates with his arms in the air and blows out air through his lips.
"Yes, I noticed the dog p.o.o.p," I reply, and Laura shoots into my mind again. "Well bye, have a nice day. Au revoir," I say, and scurry off in the direction of Notre Dame.
I swing my Reverso watch around to Parisian time and see that I won't have a chance to go inside Notre Dame, itself, or I'll be late for Daisy and her gang. The cathedral looks majestic in its Gothic glory, commanding the ancient ile de la Cite with its flying b.u.t.tresses and extraordinary gargoyles. It's both a chilling and comforting thought to know that heads once rolled in Paris, yet this great stone building still remains through all that turmoil more real to us than what was once flesh and blood people that are now no more than words in a history book.
I know I'll need time to explore Notre Dame to do it justice. I shouldn't be worried I am marrying a Frenchman, for Pete's sake - Paris isn't going anywhere fast, so I shouldn't feel I need to do a whirlwind sightseeing trip all in one day. Chill out, Pearl. Take your time.
I pa.s.s a man playing Edith Piaff's Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien on an accordion, and I think back to the conversation I had with Alexandre in L.A. about regrets, life and external forces. The evidence he didn't destroy that's sure to be one of his regrets.
The smell of something deliciously sweet wafts before me, and when I turn the corner, there is a wheeled cart with a k.n.o.bbly-faced old man selling honeyed almonds. I buy a little bag the last thing I want is ice-cream right now; it's simply too cold. Honeyed almonds are far more tempting.
When I arrive at the ice cream parlor, I see the posse of exhausted twelve year-olds licking their cones with great concentration. Daisy is in a heated discussion with Mary, one of the teachers, and Amy is looking up adoringly at the eldest child in the group; a girl named Vanessa.
"Daisy!" I shout. Amy rushes over and flings her little arms about my legs.
"Auntie Pearl!" I have been promoted to auntie' since Christmas.
"Hi guys, hi Mary, hi Susan hey girls have you been having fun?" I ask the small crowd. They all start shouting at once, squealing about their adventures and discussing which of the outings has been their favorite, so far.
We chat about how beautiful Paris is, and they relay their activities which have been non-stop since dawn. A bus ride, the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame I'm exhausted just listening to it.
Then Daisy mouths to me silently, "Take me away from this, Pearl, I'm wiped out!"
I laugh and whisper, "Do you want to come and hang out in the lap of luxury?"
"Yes, I b.l.o.o.d.y well do! But just us, not the whole lot cause they're too wild and excitable." She turns to Susan and says, "Would you mind if Amy and I go off with Pearl for the rest of the day?"