Drunk in Paris

To build on hearts is a foolish thing, for all things break, love and beauty vanish into the oblivion of eternity…

“Charles this is the last time I will ever see you”
The man across the table jumped at my words, he stared at me from over his menu.
“Pardon?”
“This is it Charles, I’m leaving, I’m taking my savings and starting again.”
He frowned, placing down the menu, “Ava, please explain yourself before I have a heart attack. This isn’t a poor attempt at comedy is it?”
I shook my head, my hair falling with the force of my answer. I had been home two days, I hadn’t said goodbye to him nor even seen Billie Joe since that night of the party. As soon as I got home however, my mind was made up and here I was, having my final dinner with Charles.
“No Charles. I’m not happy, I’m not a good person, I need to change…”
He made a ‘pfft’ noise as he pulled out a cigar from the inner pocket of his jacket, biting off the end manically and lighting it,
“What do I care if you are good? Be beautiful! and be sad!” He grunted exhaling a billowing cloud of tobacco.
I frowned at him, “I mean it, I’m moving next week.”
“Ava dearest, what’s brought this on? The yank? Don’t be so silly”
I coughed in annoyance, “Yes…the yank…” I answered through gritted teeth.
“Ava, take no notice of him, he’s obviously a complete and utter fool and plus you shouldn’t care what other people think.”
I slammed my own menu down on the table, causing Charles to jump and the couples on the table next to us turn around in horror,
“I care what HE thinks” I snapped.
Charles looked up at me in shock; I had never spoken to him like this before. I had become so furious with him all of a sudden, I found myself blaming him as the reason why I wasn’t still in California. His cocky pretentious attitude, the man who I once thought cared about me and my feelings obviously didn’t.
“Ava, keep your voice down” he hissed, inhaling at his putrid cigar.
I swallowed, my mouth running dry, “I’ve had it Charles, I’ve had it as your play thing, you sit high and mighty in your Saville suit believing you saved my life and yet you destroyed it Charles! I hate you for it! You turned me into something I never wanted to be and now because of you, the only man who I have ever loved hates me…”

I stood up, my cheeks flushing, the whole restaurant turning to witness the scene. Charles frowned at me in disbelief, cold, grey eyes, eyes that didn’t understand me after all…
I pictured Billie’s eyes, his sad green amazing eyes that could read me so perfectly and I finally lost it.
“I NEVER, EVER WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN CHARLES!” I screamed at him, turning on my heel and dashing from the restaurant.

So it was a little dramatic but the more I thought about it the more I wanted to hit Charles, my heels pounded threw the crowded cobbled street ahead of me. I could have sworn people were actually dodging out from under my path of fury.
My phone suddenly buzzed and I whipped it from my purse, each phone call I received I would pray was Billie Joe, but as usual, this hope was to no avail.
“What?” I snapped down the receiving end.
“Thank you for delightfully embarrassing me there Ava…”
“You deserve it”
“Your right I do” The old man sighed down the phone and I felt myself begin to slowly calm down with his apologetic tone.
“I’m sorry Ava”
I huffed, was that supposed to make up for everything? He continued despite my awkward silence.
“You’re completely right as normal, I guess I have just been so selfish, but god I love you. You do know that don’t you?”
I swallowed, as he spoke, “I mean come on Ava, you’re everything to me and if you left…”
“I’m still leaving, you can’t change my mind, it’s not about money, I don’t want anymore money off you, off Thomas, off poor Merv or off that bastard Richard.”
Charles chuckled down the phone, “You would have been the perfect person for me to divorce from…”
“Well think of it as your 6th divorce…”
“You’re the best person that I’ve divorced from Ava; I knew you would be…”
I sighed, “Look Charles, I’ll miss you, but I won’t miss the effect you had on my life…”
He grunted, I pictured him exhaling his cigar smoke.
“I will miss you; I will always be here darling. I can’t let you go that easily…as a matter of fact…where are you going to go?”
“Where do you think?” I snapped.
He chuckled down the phone, “Ah. You’re favorite place in the world…”
“Of course” I smirked, “Where else would I go?”
“So you intend to up and leave me for Paris, at least I’ve lost my love to an admirable opponent.”
I smiled, “Why are you being so good about this? After me causing a scene in the restaurant? After well…”
“After everything?” he asked sighing once more, “Well, because as soon as you sat down to dinner with me after coming back from Paris, after meeting…him…there was something in your eyes that told me…you had changed.”

Steve Job said, “Your time is limited, don’t waste it living someone else’s life.”
For the past eight years I had done nothing but that. I was living Charles’ life, not my own. But now here I was, lost in a whirlwind of new found freedom.
Of course I moved to Paris, I couldn’t picture myself being happy anywhere else. And here I felt closer to him. The cobbled streets, the lush green parks and the busy crowds were a reminder of the good times that we had together.

It was surprisingly easy, packing up my things, throwing away my phone and settling out here, Paris had always felt like home anyway. I had bought a small apartment in The Rivoli, overlooking the Louvre. It was unadorned but I loved it nonetheless. I found myself working in a small Vintage clothes shop which was situated at just a twenty minute walk away from my apartment. I had visited there a couple of times before, the woman who owned it. Mme Vale was in her late 50s and wore beautiful vintage hats, thus to say we immediately bonded, that’s when I began working there.
Life was simple, I felt like a new person and I loved every second of it.

Of course not a moment would pass by without me thinking about him.
I would lazily dream across the counter of the shop, hoping one day that maybe he would happen to wander through the door and begin browsing through the 1970s chords, but I could have bet that Baudelaire himself would walk through the door before Billie Joe did.

The shop was never really busy, the few regular customers would come and browse, and they were mostly art students and antique dealers who would gaze over the jewelry with magnifying glasses. Mme Vale was a good boss; she was hardly here most of the time as she was out browsing for vintage clothing all over Europe.
Sometimes the odd teenage girl would waltz in the store after discovering Cyndi Lauper or Bettie Page and begin rummaging through the clothes to transform herself into her new found idol. They would chat to me in French, talking ten to the dozen, asking questions about how I did my hair or where I bought my seamed stockings.
I thoroughly enjoyed it; at least talking about the clothes gave my brain a release from the aching of his memory.