The nightmares started my first night alone in Paris.
I'd been fine the four days I'd spent with Malcolm, Becca, Darryl, and Ginger in London. But that was due in part to the fact that I'd had the girls in the room with me. I was forever in Becca's debt for suggesting the sleeping arrangements be changed so I didn't have to get a room by myself. I knew each couple would have rather stayed in their private rooms. To say they'd been kinky in Europe.
Malcolm had wagered us females would make the best of the situation. We'd probably stay up all night talking kinky, girly things without the men around. He hadn't been far off. We had done quite a bit of story swapping. And giggling.
Becca had revealed during our tête-à -tête with Darryl after Drake's passing that the original plan was for my husband and I to attend the convention with the other two couples. They just hadn't approached us yet for fear that we might not be ready. Especially to have our own room.
In hindsight, I don't think I would have been comfortable with those arrangements. Even prior to Drake's accident, I hadn't decided how much kink I wanted to embrace again...if at all. And if the first time we would be sleeping in the same bed was in Europe at a BDSM convention? That had disaster written all over it. The temptation would have been too great, probably for both of us. Maybe Drake would have declined the invitation. I wondered if I would have gone without him. But that no longer mattered.
I'd expected to feel left out being the fifth person and without a partner. But Darryl had his booth to man most of the time. And the same went for Becca, who'd been given the booth next to Darryl's to advertise and sell her latest books. I had attended a seminar on switching; viewed a couple of demonstrations with Malcolm and one with Ginger; and walked around the hall with the full group. But despite the allure of the convention as a whole, I'd chosen to spend most of my time by the indoor pool or in the hotel lounge.
It was hard not to think of Drake. Of what it would have been like if we'd been here together. Especially a year or two ago. Although I met up with the group for meals, it felt more like I was on a private vacation. Seeing all the kinky couples openly embracing their fetishes in the convention hall and the demonstrations rooms had been difficult, to say the least. The time on my own had allowed me to relax, as I knew I'd be on the run the moment I set foot in Paris.
It would be lying to say I was sad when we said our goodbyes. I was ready for the next chapter. Anxious, even. I knew I'd always have Malcolm and Becca. I no longer felt like I couldn't reach out if I needed them. But I also needed to be on my own for awhile. To become more independent.
I'd chosen to take the Eurostar instead of flying. While it was over an hour longer, I'd known the view would be worth it. Becca had shed quite a few tears when we hugged at the St Pancras International train station. Malcolm had held me extra long but hadn't offered any words of encouragement like he was prone to do. I'd been glad because if he'd tried to talk me into going back to the states with them, I'd feared I might have said yes. And I believe he had known that, too.
Darryl and Ginger had wished me luck and safe travels. There had been the reminder to let someone know when I'd safely reached Paris. Promises to keep in touch with E-mail and Skype, both of which I could do with my early Christmas present from my in-laws: a new laptop. And then I'd walked through the security checkpoint to enter the next phase of my life.
Muriel had met me at the Gare du Nord station in Paris. We'd hugged. We'd cried. After I'd sent a text to Malcolm and Becca, we grabbed a bite to eat and set out to meet the other girls who had arrived the night before.
There were six of us models from the United States on this excursion. We'd been assigned two to a flat, and each of us had our own bedroom. The flats were all in a building that housed other models, although all of us Americans weren't on the same floor. And while the accommodations last time had been like staying at the Hilton, I couldn't complain about the quaintness of my temporary home. Especially, since my room looked out over a garden area that I imagined would be very welcoming regardless of the season.
We'd been allowed to get settled before we had a meeting in our flat since we were on the first floor. Of all of the girls, I was the only one who'd been here before. I'd also learned that Scott—the man who had recruited me last time—and Jerome—Muriel's assistant—were also on the team that had come over from the US. The fact that I was familiar with some of the people and the area had erased any remaining doubt that I'd made the wrong choice.
During our drive, Muriel had elaborated on the purpose of the trip. She'd entered into a partnership with the Parisian agency that had sponsored the group I'd been with on my previous visit. The building where us six girls were staying was actually owned by Claudette, Muriel's business partner. And some of Claudette's girls were living there as well.
While Muriel had been involved with sending girls overseas for several years to get the international modeling experience, she'd merely offered up prospective candidates. And it was usually only for a few weeks at a time. Now, she was one of the two people holding the reins. Getting her hands dirty in the foreign market.
At our meeting, she'd revealed she had two ulterior motives with this trip. First, in addition to regular photo shoots and attending Fashion Week in March—which the sister agency had arranged for us American girls—we would be in a fashion show for a local up-and-coming designer who was launching her spring/summer collection. And second, a French magazine had contracted Muriel and her partner to use models from both agencies in their spread of hot new winter collections for the next year. The goal was two-fold: to give the six of us the desired experience abroad that Muriel wanted as well as build up the reputation for the two agencies.
After dinner, we'd retired as we had to be up at six o'clock in the morning to start the day. I'd been exhausted and assumed I'd clock out right away. But I'd lain there staring at a strange ceiling wondering what my family and friends were doing in Europe. I had known they would stay another night before heading home. Had they been glad they'd gotten a chance to finally sleep with their significant other? Had they missed me?
When dreamland had finally come, I'd found myself running down the street from a dark shadow. The shadow had split into two. I'd been in chased into an alley, and then I'd screamed. The brick walls on either side had chains draped and crisscrossed like an intricate spider web. Arranged amongst the chains were floggers and whips, as if caught up in the web. I'd heard someone calling my name. Before I could turn and run the other way, arms had wrapped around me, and I'd screamed again.
I'd woken to find my flatmate, Bridget, shaking me. She'd said I was yelling the word 'red.' That I'd been tossing and turning with the sheets wrapped around me.
Somehow, I'd made it through the rest of the night and gotten up on time to meet the personal trainer Muriel had arranged for me. I'd gotten out of the habit of working out these past few months. Once I'd married, I had worked out at a local gym. But after Drake made me quit my job, I'd lost the will to keep in shape. Even for him.
The morning session was brutal, to say the least. But I persevered until I was covered in sweat. My stomach had growled several times throughout. It had been too upset from my restless night, so I'd skipped breakfast. Now, I wished I hadn't.
I took a shower at the private gym—which was conveniently located above the sister agency—and made it downstairs in time for the required morning meeting. We broke for lunch, and then a couple of us were off to our first photoshoots. It was a privilege and a relief of being here on a mission. Of having our agent in charge with arrangements already made for where and when we needed to be. The one part of the profession I'd always hated was the casting calls...wondering if I'd get a job each day.
The evening of my first full day, I crashed and managed to get some sleep before the shadows invaded again. Bridget woke me some time in the night. The next week was exactly the same. Wake up at dawn, breakfast, workout, meeting, lunch, photoshoot, dinner, sleep, nightmare, midnight waking, back to sleep. Wash, rinse, repeat.
The following Saturday, I was given a respite with nothing on the agenda. But my body was already on the new schedule, so I was up at six with nothing to do and nowhere to go. After I showered at home, I decided to go down to a nearby café since the weather was nice. I would let the day play itself out.
I'd already eaten my scone and was finishing my cappuccino when Muriel walked up.
"Bonjour, Daphne!"
"Bonjour!" I rose and kissed each of her cheeks as she kissed mine then sat back down.
"I see you've settled in quite well." Muriel took the seat across from me and loosened the scarf she'd tied around her neck.
I pointed to my cup, and she nodded. A waiter approached, and I said, "Puissions-nous avoir deux de plus, s'il vous plaît?"
He nodded and turned away.
"My, my, you do impress. I didn't know you spoke French."
I smiled at her over the rim as I took my last sip. "This isn't my first Paris rodeo. How about you?"
She held up her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart. "Juste un peu. I took it in high school and college, but I've become rusty over the years. I've been blessed with a business partner who speaks fluent English. Although, she's been riding me quite a bit lately that I need to brush up on the language if I plan to spend more time over here."
"I think Paris fits us both well," I said with a laugh. "I'd forgotten how beautiful it is."
"Autumn on the Champs-Elyses is breathtaking. It was summer last time you were here, correct?"
I nodded. "I'll have to return in the fall since I'll see winter and spring this time."
"I'm really glad you were able to join us. You've always been on my mind since we parted ways."
"I've thought of you, too. I am so thankful for the opportunities you've given me. For this," I said, looking around. The outdoor tables were mostly full in the cool but unseasonably warm air. Holiday decorations were being placed on lampposts and in shop windows, reminding me that Christmas was only a few weeks away. Both locals and tourists walked past us to their destinations, chatting in various languages. Life here—at least near our flat—was unhurried. I took a deep breath. "I've missed it."
Muriel reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Bridget spoke to me."
