The Parisian Way

Michael is a good friend of nearly 20 years. We grew up together, and have stayed in touch over the years. Michael is a driven professional, working hard, playing hard, and not knowing much in between. This is based on a story he told me, told here in first person, about a crazy experience he had on a recent trip. The names have been changed, but gist of the story remains true to the telling.

*****

We met at Kozy, a nice little breakfast spot in Paris. We were on the early side, but before long the place was hopping. It looked like a combination of locals and tourists. I noticed the locals just grabbed coffees or smoothies and ran, while the tourists grabbed seats to eat their croissants and avocado toast.

I was with my sister, Eve. She had divorced several years back, and it took the last few years to really get her footing back. Her husband, a generally nice guy, turned dick during the divorce. Eve held her ground, and while it was an expensive process, it was worth it. Eve was able to see her teenage daughter graduate high school and head off to college.

Eve was making a good living, and decided it was time to get out a bit. While she wasn't ready for much romance, she was ready for some adventure. She decided that Paris was just the ticket. That said, Eve didn't want to make the trip alone.

Simply put, I was available. My twenties were filled with multi-year relationships that amounted to nothing. Typical millennial issues really, we wanted the most of everything, and found we ended up with the least of most things.

So I had poured myself into work. I had a knack for dealing with people, and parleyed that into a sales position at a startup tech company. We did well, not Facebook or Google or Apple well, but we all rode a nice wave. As I reached my mid-thirties, the wave crested, and the owners sold to a big dinosaur of a company that wanted to be hip.

The result was I given a nice "package" to stay on. The buying company was smart and kept the key salespeople, which kept the pipeline of revenue coming in. The money was good, enough for me to put a down on a condo. But I was pretty burnt out, having put my all into work the past few years. So I negotiated a leave of absence, two months, to just chill.

I'd never taken more than a week off, so when sis asked if I'd like to come with them on the trip, I thought, what the heck. Eve and I had always been close, much closer with each other than with our oldest sibling, Frank. He was cordial, but distant. He lived a simple life in the Midwest somewhere, and we got nice holiday cards from him and his family once a year.

But Eve and I were closer in age, and she was a few years ahead of me. She helped me get through puberty and high school, and I helped her get through the rough years of divorce.

Eve booked us a private tour guide for this first day in Paris, and we'd agreed to meet her at Kozy that morning. To be honest, I could have stayed at the café and watched Paris go by, while drinking my 4 Euro coffees. Sometime near noon I could have just switched to wine, but no, Eve was ready to take in the sights and sounds and smells of Paris.

My ambivalence to getting up changed when Marie walked through the door. Marie was our appointed tour guide. We had no idea it was her, but somehow she knew we were the clients, and she came right over to our table.

"Hello, I'm Marie," she said, in just enough French accent to seem real, but not hiding the fact that she spoke perfect English. "I believe you are Eve?"

I know there was some conversation and small talk. I couldn't tell you a thing that was said. I am pretty sure we all introduced ourselves, offered her a coffee, and what not. But I didn't hear a thing.

It's not that Marie was such a beauty. She was very attractive, but not in a model or celebrity way. In fact she was kind of plain by our jaded American standards. She wore a simple short-sleeved blouse, and a long flowing skirt. It was quite bohemian, but in a way that wasn't forced. Her hair was long and dirty blonde, and blew in the wind just like her skirt. Not really sure there was any wind in the café, but in my mind there sure was.

Marie didn't appear to wear any makeup, which added to this laissez faire appearance. Maybe she did, but if she did it was minimal. Her skin looked as though she spent time outside, but not enough to do damage. She had a beautiful color that indicated time in the sun, or possibly some Mediterranean blood in her ancestry.

The attraction was more with the way she carried herself. There was a confidence about her, but not arrogance. She seemed very comfortable with who she was.

After the pleasantries of early conversation, she suggested that when we were done with breakfast we would take on the city.

"We want the hors d'oeuvres version of Paris, today," I told Marie, to which she laughed, understanding exactly what we wanted. She checked her notes from our online booking, and gave us her thoughts on an itinerary for the day.

"Entrees later, good plan," she said.

I paid the bill and we gathered our stuff-purses, backpacks, and hats.

We walked a few short blocks to the Champ de Mar, the park just southeast of the Eiffel Tower. It offers a fantastic view of the Tower, which Marie told us was our focal point for the day. Whenever we felt lost or unsure of where we were, she would either point to or reference the Tower, and we'd know where we were.

We purchased Metro day passes at the nearby station, and began a whirlwind tour of the city. Eve wanted to see the sights, but was not particularly interested in staying anywhere long, and neither was I. We were there for the week, so we wanted to use the day to get into the vibe, learn our way around, and use that to decide where to go later in the week. We opted not going up the Tower in the morning, figuring we'd do that later or another day. Instead, we wanted to get the lay of the land.

We bused over to the Arc de Triomphe and did the obligatory walk around. From there we headed down the Champs-Élysées. Marie was quick to point out not only the expensive shops, but the nouveau riche racing their Ferraris and Maserati's up and down the boulevard.

Marie quickly bonded with Eve, as if they were longtime friends. Marie was great at showing us the cool flower markets hidden on the side streets, as well as the crazy expensive shops in the Golden Triangle.

Eve had mentioned feeling a bit American, which Marie assured her was a good thing, but suggested a trip to this tiny shop a few blocks from the end of the Champs could change her feelings. The shop, Vintage Madelaine, was a second hand women's clothing shop adored by locals and tourists alike.

Marie let Eve go on for a bit, then finally stepped in.

Turning to Eve, in almost a whisper, "Do you want to look French?"

Eve blushed, but shook her head 'yes'.

"Eve, I think you should try one of those scarves," said Marie in an inviting way. "On warm days we don't think of scarves, but on cool evenings a Parisian woman would not be caught without one."

"Then, my dear, you need shop for something that you love, something to make you happy, and worry about no one else. That is the French way." And with that, she quickly whipped through a couple of racks, grabbing a handful of things.

"A dress maybe, or possibly a skirt and a cute top," said Marie.

"Like yours!" yelped Eve, giggling.

Marie ruffled through the clothes once again, and pulled a few things.

"Go try these, and don't show us unless you love what you have on!"

Eve retreated to the dressing room. Eve was deep into the rack of scarves. They might as well have been in heaven.

"Michael, you like your wife to wear scarves?" asked Marie.

'"Ah, wife, no, ah, I mean she's not my wife," I said, fumbling for my words. "She's, ah...she's my sister."

Surprised, "Oh, my goodness, I had that all wrong," said Marie "I am so sorry!"

We both laughed, a most relieving laugh.

"Eve is divorced, and she asked if I would come to escort her on this trip."

"That was very nice of you," said Marie. Pausing, then continuing, "And your wife didn't want to come, too?"

"No wife," I countered. "Not yet, anyways."

With that Eve came out of the dressing room, wearing a black floral skirt, just above her knee, and a white cotton top, collared, with the sleeves rolled up.

"In that you don't just look French, I think you have become French," said Marie, much to the smiles of Eve. Success in shopping...this would be a good day.

Eve made her purchases and we headed out. Marie took us across the river to the Left Bank area, and we found a wonderful outside café called the Café Rue de Lille. We ate, drank, and laughed as Marie shared stories of Paris: the great masters of centuries gone by, Paris during the occupation, and secrets of Paris today. It's that something extra you get with a private tour guide. Like a good masseuse, she listened to what we said, but she let her senses of our needs guide the way. The late afternoon was a whirlwind of walking and seeing...Notre Dame, Pont Neuf, Shakespeare and Company Bookstore...and then some.

The afternoon turned to evening, and we ended out tour as we walked across Pont Arts. We reached our Air BNB, and began to say our goodbyes. Everyone hugged, and we felt as though we were leaving a dear friend.

"Do you have any recommendations for someplace for dinner nearby?" I asked.

"Oh, I'm beat," said Eve. "I think I'll have a glass of wine, and hot bath, and put my feet up for the night but you should go."

"Spoken like a true Parisian!" said Marie.

"I'm a bit hungry, so maybe is there just a small bistro nearby I can grab a bite in?" I said. "I'm too wired to hit the hay."

"There is a great little place just up the way, the locals love it," said Marie.

"Can you point the way, it sounds great."

"I can do better, it's on my way home, I'll walk you there."

We made sure Eve made it into the building okay, and then headed north. Marie seemed, well, a bit more friendly now, not that she wasn't friendly, but she was 'off the clock'.

"Do you get tired of Paris?" I asked as we walked.

"No, never. I have been a tour guide for more than 7 years, and done more than 1000 tours, and I still love sharing my city with people, like you."

It was well into the evening, as Paris is in the summer, yet the dark of night was still not upon us. In Paris during the summer, late afternoon/early evening seems to last forever.

"Here we go, Au Petit Fer à Cheval."

Just then a voice called out, "Marie!" A young Frenchman came over and kissed her cheeks, saying something in French I couldn't catch. She responded in equally unintelligible French.

"He says, he can give you a table right over here, in the best spot"

"Marie, would you care to stay for a glass of wine, or maybe dinner, with me?" Wow, where did that come from? I mean, I know I was thinking it, but I thought I was too scared to say it, but out it just came out.

"Oh, I don't want to intrude."

"You can tell me more about your Paris...or not...I mean, the tour is over an all...and, ah..." I fumbled my words as they came out. "I mean, I would like if you would join me."

"Maybe a glass of wine," she said as she moved to the prime table. The young man helped her with her chair, and I sat as well.

As you do in Paris, you sit next to each other in outdoor cafes, both facing the street. Another difference, in the U.S. it's get you in, pay your bill, and get you out, but in Paris, they expect you to stay and enjoy.

Marie introduced me to Paul, the young man who had greeted her. He asked what we would like to start with.

"Paul, I know little more about Paris and France than what this nice woman has taught me today," I said. "Would you please bring her whatever she would like to eat and drink, and whatever she wants is perfect for me, too."

Paul smiled a slight smile, glanced at Marie, then back at me, and said, "A very good choice monsieur."

The next while goes back to a blur, for I was in heaven. We drank, laughed, told stories, ate, and drank more. The evening light finally turned darker, and the lights of Paris slowly turned on. It was easily two hours, maybe three.

I could have stayed forever, there, with this beautiful woman, in a wonderful café, and arguably one of the most amazing cities on earth, but I knew it was getting late. I glanced at my watch, and was shocked to see it was nearly approaching 11pm.

"If you are not too tired, I would like to show you something on our way back," said Marie as we got up. "Not on the usual tour."

I motioned my hand, as if to say 'after you', and left a stack of Euros for the bill.

We walked back to what best I could say was the near the Seine. We stepped in and out of alleys, dark walkways, and what seemed almost like secret passages. Just as I was thoroughly confused as to our direction, we emerged along the river's banks. In front of us was Pont Neuf, and behind the bridge in the distance was the Eiffel Tower.

"This is my favorite view of Paris," said Marie.

"I can see why," I said quietly. "It is spectacular."

I looked at the wonderful scene, and realized why this area has spurred on so many painters over the centuries. I noticed Marie glancing at her watch.

"I am so sorry, I have kept you out, haven't I?"

"Don't be silly. Watch," she said, pointing to the Eiffel Tower. And as if on cue, the lights began to twinkle. And for five minutes, we were treated to a wonderful lighting display, off in the distance, lights blinking and twinkling up and down the Eiffel Tower. It was as if everyone along the river walk stopped in unison to take in the show.

Part way through, as we leaned against the railing of the Seine, I could feel Marie lean into my side. I dared not look toward her, in case it was by accident, I didn't want to make a scene.

But she stayed there, up against my side. I began to think this was not an accident.

And then I felt it. Her hand. It reached for mine, intertwining her fingers in mine. I froze, momentarily, running crazy scenarios through my head, but forced myself to turn to her. Summoning all my strength, I turned as slowly as I could, to retain what little cool I had left.

She looked up at me, smiled an innocent smile, and said, "You are a very handsome man. And this is one of the most beautiful sights in the world. I feel as though this is an opportunity for a kiss."

My heart stopped. I literally think it skipped a beat.

"Well, would wouldn't want to miss such an opportunity, would we?"

I turned to her, and she reached her arms up to my shoulders. I let mine reach behind the small of her back, and lowered my mouth slowly to hers. She closed her eyes, though I kept my open a few beats more, then we kissed. I was a long, slow, passionate kiss. I felt her tongue slowly move from her side of the kiss to mine. It was silky smooth, and we seemed to melt into our embrace.

I'm not really sure how long we kissed, but it was long. And wonderful.

"Ah, for an American you are a pretty good kisser," she said.

"And you've kissed a lot of Americans?"

"No, just one, during college. He wasn't very interested, or good, at kissing."

"What a shame."

"Yes, a missed opportunity."

We kissed again, and it was just as good as the first one. My heart still racing.

"A day in Paris. A dinner to remember. The lights of the night. And a kiss from the most beautiful woman in Paris. I don't think this night could get any better."

"No?" she said.

From the Seine Marie once again took my hand and started walking. We took a different route, but ended up on the same street as the restaurant. We spoke a bit, though as usual, I don't remember a thing we spoke of. My head was in the clouds. My ears were not functioning. And my heart was, well, lost somewhere in this, Marais neighborhood of Paris. We walked right by the restaurant, and I thought we were maybe stopping back there, but we strolled on by, and on another two blocks.

Holding her hand was, different. I had known this woman for less than 24 hours, had kissed her but once, but somehow felt very comfortable with her. Vulnerable, but comfortable.

Under the porch light at the small entrance to a courtyard, she let go of my hand, and grabbed a wrought iron latch with both hands. She lifted the lever, and the old and rusty gate creaked loudly as it opened. She glanced at me, as if saying, 'follow me'. Like I had done anything but follow her for the past few hours. Across the garden and into her apartment we went, and now we sat on her couch.

Marie grabbed a bottle of wine of her counter, and yanked the cork out. She handed me a large wine glass, full of a deep red wine. She plopped herself on the sofa with a certain comfort and confidence. She took a sip of her wine, and looked at me.

"You know when we first met, I thought you were one of the most attractive men I had ever seen."

"Me, the most attractive?"

"Here's a suggestion, when a French woman pays you a compliment, take it...gracefully."

"You're right. Thank you, I am flattered that you thought so."

"Better."

"Especially from such a beautiful woman," I countered.

"Better yet. You are a quick learner." She smiled, and took another sip. "I have never been out with a customer, let alone kissed one," she revealed.

"Neither have I," I said jokingly. She smiled again, and realized her smile was even more intoxicating than the wine..

"I was so surprised, but happy, to hear that you and Eve were not husband and wife."

I sipped my wine, not knowing what to say.

"I have loved a few men. Lived with one. But I never felt the same way as I do when I look in your eyes. It's as if I know you from a different time, or different life."

She leaned forward, making yet another 'first move', and kissed me. And again, our mouths met in a warm, sensual kiss, this one not quite as long as the last.

"Mmm, just as nice as before." She looked up at me and smiled. "That's a good thing."

"You know I came to Paris to be nice to my sister. I've been working hard and just wanted to chill. I never expected...this."

"Me, neither," said Marie. She paused, then said, "I suppose we could talk about it some more, but I that would be dishonest of me. I really would just like to know if you would like to make love to me?"

"I can think of nothing I would rather do." And with that she stood up, held out her hand for mine, and led me across the small living room to her bedroom.

She dropped my hand as we entered, leaving me by the bed as stepped into the open door of the bathroom.

"Have you ever made love to a French woman?" she called out.

"No, have you?" I said, thinking I was funny.

"Yes, I have," she said nonchalantly. "And I don't know what you've heard about French women, but it's all true!" She laughed out loud.

I was beginning to believe that it was true.

"I think French women have quite a reputation, no?" she said through the open door. "But women are women, no matter where they are from, would you agree?"

"I am not sure how to answer that question, other than to say, based on the evening so far, French women are ranking very highly in my experience."

And with that, Marie walked out of the bathroom. Gone was her blouse and skirt. She wore only a simple camisole and a scant, lacey thong. She walked out and directly toward me, throwing her arms around me and kissing me once again.

My hands found their way around her back, and as we kissed I ran one hand up higher on her back, and the other lower. As we came up for air, I reached my higher hand up and cupped her cheek, pulling her gently closer to me to kiss once again.

"I can honestly say I have never enjoyed kissing a woman as much as I enjoy kissing you."