A Paris Affair (3 page)

A police siren passing on a street snapped her out of her confused reverie. “Oh!” she said out loud to herself. She stood up straight and looked in the mirror. She glanced at the clock by the bed. She was meeting Oscar in just fifteen minutes. She fluffed out some of her curls, placing a thick mass just over one eyebrow. She tucked another clump behind one ear to reveal a dangly silver earring. She put on a bit of mascara and then sat back to look at her reflection.
Am I still pretty?
she wondered. She looked at the lines that had begun to appear around her dark, almond eyes, and at the circles underneath.
Just a coffee,
she repeated, dabbing on a bit more perfume and checking her lipstick in the mirror.

The café was half-filled. The right number of people: it was neither uncomfortably intimate, nor too busy and bustling. Oscar already had a table.

“Oscar!” She made her way through the tables. He stood.

“Valérie, my dear!” They brushed cheeks in a French greeting.

“Lovely to see you, my dear,” Oscar said.

“Wonderful to see you again,” Valérie said in return, instantly hoping that she wasn’t giving herself away.

Oscar was exactly as she had remembered him. In a split second she sensed the same magnetic pull between them. He wore another smart business suit and looked as dashing as she’d recalled. Her stomach leaped, but she tried to act casual.

“Have you seen Nathalie recently?” she asked, starting the conversation with a subject they shared.

“Yes, few months ago,” he answered, “and I called her for your new phone number. Are you close with your sister?”

“No, not so much,” Valérie admitted. “We’ve been in different places for so many years now.”

The conversation was casual, but the air between them was not. His eyes locked on hers. While they mouthed pleasantries, she gazed back into the green eyes she recalled from the first time they had met. She felt drawn to him.

“And is your family well?”

“Everyone is fine. Our kids are happy at their schools, and I hope they’re working hard. How is Philippe’s new post? You must all be happy to be back in France.”

“Yes, of course,” Valérie said. “It’s always easier in your own language. And the new posting is working well. It was a good move.” She lied, feeling that the truth of her life was too heavy a burden for this lighthearted meeting.

“Well then, everything fine for all of us!” Oscar said brightly. He caught the eye of the passing waiter and turned to Valérie. “Listen, how about a nice glass of wine instead of coffee? I know it’s a bit early, but it’s so nice to be here. I’d like to take advantage of my few days in Paris….”

“Yes, yes, why not?” Valérie answered. “A glass would be nice.” She knew that a glass of wine would loosen her up, but she felt as if every step forward led toward a precipice. The feeling both excited and scared her.

Oscar scanned the café blackboard menu and ordered wine for them both. His French was smooth and fluent. The waiter left.

“Your French is excellent, you know?” Valérie said, complimenting him.

“It’s easy to learn with a good teacher like Nathalie! But I didn’t have a choice—I had to learn for work. And you, are you working at all?”

“Me? Oh no, I’m too busy with the children. When they’re older I’ll go back, but they’re still small, you know.”

The wine arrived and Oscar toasted to reacquaintances. “
Santé!
” they said together, touching glasses lightly. They both smiled, and their eyes met again. He gave a sly smile, and she felt a rush of warmth throughout her body. She had a fleeting image of the slim hips and tight muscles under that suit. She wanted to run her hand over a curving biceps, and suddenly thought,
I know how people do this
. She had an image of a grassy plain and a cliff’s edge, and felt that a marriage was on that plain. At the cliff’s edge was Oscar, and leaping off it together wourld be a daring, heart-pounding adventure. Looking into his eyes made her move closer to the cliff’s edge.

“So,” Valérie said, trying to be a bit flirtatious. It was a long time since she’d flirted with anyone, and she felt as if she was treading uneasily on unfamiliar, uneven ground. “How do you have time away from your work here to drink in the afternoon?”

“Oh, I don’t have anything to do in Paris,” Oscar answered, draining his glass. He stretched out his legs, crossed his arms and looked at her with a half smile. “I was working in Madrid and asked the company travel agent to arrange a layover. Just to relax, really. My wife is busy with work. And why didn’t you go with Philippe and your children?”

Valérie rested her forearms on the table and leaned her chest toward Oscar provocatively. “Oh, Philippe had a chance to take the children to his parents’, and we both agreed that it would be nice if I had the week to myself at home. I don’t really get along with my in-laws, anyway.” She cocked her head and answered his gaze with her eyes.

“Mmm.” He nodded. “And me, I didn’t want to waste all those French lessons on work! The Americans say ‘All work makes Jack a dull boy.’” He laughed. Valérie laughed, too, and their smiles and their fast-disappearing wine both lightened and intensified the air between them. She felt as if a weight was lifting, and as if the cliff edge was fast approaching.

Oscar read her thoughts. “Listen, Valérie,” he said, and when he leaned over the table he took her hand. He did it so swiftly and smoothly, without skipping a beat or breaking eye contact, that it took her breath away. Valérie felt her heart start to pound.
What daring!
she thought, truly shocked.
He knows I’m married!

“Instead of another glass here, why don’t you be my Paris guide and we’ll have a walk along the Seine? I was going to ask you and Philippe for supper, but he’s away. Maybe you’ll join me for dinner tonight. Yes? No fun to eat alone, you know.”

Before she could answer or remove her hand, which buzzed from his electric touch, he released it and signaled to the waiter for the check.
He’s so cheeky,
she thought, attracted now not only to piercing green eyes, slim hips and strong hands, but by his daring.
He must want me, too,
she thought, feeling more confident than ever.

“I can’t think of a reason to say no….” Valérie said, cocking her head slightly and holding his gaze for a few seconds. She twirled a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled at him.

“Well, there you go, then. It’s decided,” answered Oscar.

As they left the café and walked into the sunshine he subtly took her arm. In return, she moved closer to his body, feeling his strong, slim thigh beside her hip. She felt him beside her as they walked, and her nerves tingled.
When
was
the last time the sun shone?
she wondered.

Dinner Out

Near evening, Oscar took Valérie to a restaurant he said he’d always wanted to try when in Paris, but hadn’t had the chance. He said it was written up in the American food magazines, and its chef-owner won accolades for his North African-French fusion dishes. They drank a deep, bold Bourgogne, and toasted to “a little holiday together,” as Oscar called it.

They tasted each other’s adventurous plates, and at the end traded bold desserts where sweet and spicy flavors danced together. Fresh figs were gently enrobed in French
pâte feuilletée
and flavored with orange-water and cardamom. Spanish peaches were embedded in couscous spiced with vanilla and cinnamon.

“May I?” asked Oscar quietly.

Valérie put down her fork and looked at him inquisitively. She didn’t know what he wanted. With his thumb and forefinger he picked up a warm, supple, deep amber fig, dripping with its honey-and-orange glaze, and lifted it to her mouth. She smiled and parted her lips. When he carefully slipped the slim brown tip inside, she closed her mouth around it and bit softly through it, its tiny seeds relenting to her teeth. Her cunt jumped with pleasure.

Oscar smiled with one corner of his mouth. He held the dripping fruit to his own lips, licked the part where her mouth had touched, and bit it off. Juice ran down his finger. They didn’t speak. The intensity of their exchange blurred everything around them.

Valérie wanted him. The wine was erasing the edginess in her nerves, and she felt less confined to the imposed rules of marriage. She felt that the universe would let her love her husband and
make love
to Oscar. She
had
to feel his body around hers, she thought. But she just couldn’t bring herself to tell him, to say it out loud. Would he say something? She fingered her long, silver chain and leaned toward him over the crisp linen tablecloth. She felt the wine in her body, felt her face flush and her vulva pulse.

Oscar’s eyes met hers, and he finally said, quietly, “You’re a beautiful woman, Valérie. You must know I think so. Is this a moment for us to share? If it isn’t, maybe we should stop right here.” He stroked her hand with the tips of his fingers and held her gaze. But before she could tell him how she felt, he said, “Don’t answer now. I’ve had a wonderful time with you, but I’m going to put you in a taxi.”

Valérie’s eyes widened.

“Let’s think about what we’re doing,” he added. “If we go any further, I’d like to feel that you’re sure. We’ve got lots to protect, both of us. Listen, I’m going to sneak in a business call to New York before bed. It’s still early there,” he said.

She didn’t know how to reply. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to feel his skin, to touch him, but she felt conflicted between desire and giving too much away.

“You’re sure I can’t offer you a cognac…?” she said, hoping it was the right thing to say in a situation where the lines between them were blurred. Now they were neither friends nor lovers.

He held her hand as they left the restaurant. The valet hailed a taxi, and before Valérie knew it, Oscar was holding the door open.

“I’ve had a wonderful afternoon with you, my dear,” he said softly. “What a nice surprise. Thank you for sharing your day. And what are you doing tomorrow?”

“I have no plans, and I’d love to make plans with you….” A mental picture flashed through her mind of an embrace with him, of them standing against a wall and him pumping his ass against her, between her legs. She snapped out of the reverie. “Uhh, I have
nothing
to do. You know, if my family’s away, then I’m on holiday, too. Why don’t you call me in the morning? I haven’t been to the Centre Pompidou in
years.
…”

“Let’s do it—let’s be real tourists,” Oscar said with a laugh. Then the mood shifted in an instant while they looked into each other’s eyes. Oscar’s hand swept into the back of her hair, and he leaned in and met her mouth with his with an urgency that sent a current of desire down her loins. The kiss was hot, deep and hungry. They both shuddered, and his hand palmed her body from between her legs, where he pressed against her, up to her breast, which he squeezed, kissing her even more passionately. Just as quickly, he let her go and held her by her shoulders, away from him. They looked at one another and breathed hard.

“I’ll call you in the morning,” Oscar said. He guided her into the taxi, announced Valérie’s address to the cabbie and handed him some folded euros, then gestured warmly to her as the taxi moved into traffic. With the wine in her head, and the sensation of their kiss, and of their shared dessert…she simply remained in those moments. She felt the breeze from the open windows of the speeding taxi, and watched the glow of passing lights and fluorescent signs. His touch was branded on her senses, and their sexual energy hummed through her body until the taxi stopped at her building.

Valérie turned the key in the lock and entered a quiet, dark apartment. She kicked off her shoes and dropped onto a chair at the small kitchen table. She realized that she had never been in the apartment when it was empty. The silence pressed on her; she was unaccustomed to it. No din of the children. Nothing.

She turned the handle to open the window and let in the sounds of the Paris night. She looked out at the night sky and neighboring apartments. Her head spun with the excitement of being with Oscar, and it spun with the wine. She was still slightly startled that he was…well…
gone
. Not that she had expected otherwise, she reminded herself….

She looked back into the dark apartment and noticed the red blinking light of the telephone answering machine. She sighed. She knew it was Philippe, but she wanted to remain in
this
moment.

Valérie got up, went to the bathroom, and then straight to bed. She couldn’t remember when she had last felt that rush of electricity and anticipation. It was exciting and exhausting.

Sightseeing

The morning was gray and rainy. She got up and showered, replaying the events of the evening with Oscar. She heaved a sigh out loud, knowing nobody could hear. After she dressed, Valérie dialed Philippe’s cell phone.

“Philippe! How was the trip? How are the children?”

“We called but you weren’t home! Where were you? Are you all right? Did you get the message?”

“Oh, I went out to a film and I had a sandwich in a café. I did a little shopping. And I didn’t want to call and wake anyone.” Her sense of guilt made her feel that even Oscar’s presence in Paris was contraband, and she quickly decided to avoid his name altogether. She knew that they had crossed lines, no matter what happened now.

“Understood. We’re all fine, and I think the sea air is good for the kids. After all the time at the beach and in the water, they slept like logs.”

They covered the news of the trip and of the children, chatted and soon had nothing more to say. “I love you, my darling,” Philippe said.

“I love you. Kisses to the kids,” she answered. And they hung up.

The buzzer rang. Their next-door neighbor, Therèse, came by most mornings to ask Valérie to watch her baby for a minute while she ran to the bakery for her morning baguette. “Yes, Therèse!” she called as she walked to the door and automatically opened it.

“Am I bothering you…?”