Sleeping with Paris Read online

  “I’m terribly sorry about last week. My plane—”

  “I do not have time for this, Mademoiselle Summers. Let us discuss the program and what will be expected of you. As you know, I am the professor appointed to help you find a teaching position after you complete your year of study at la Sorbonne. But, this is not to say that it will be so easy. You must prove yourself this year. Not only academically, but you must show yourself to be of good character and of sound judgment. I work with some of the most prestigious, elite private schools in Paris, and it is my responsibility to make sure that the teachers I place in these schools are not stupide, but rather outstanding, brilliant role models for these young children. Vous comprenez?”

  “Yes, I totally understand.”

  “You will meet with me two or three times each semester to go over your progress, and you will turn in copies of your final papers to me, as well as to your professors. I will personally monitor your work, and if I see fit, I will recommend you to one of the private schools in Paris. And trust me, Mademoiselle Summers, the schools look very highly on my recommendation. Without it, well . . . bonne chance.”

  Madame Rousseau stood abruptly, opened her door and gestured for me to leave. “I have class in twenty minutes. We will meet in December, at which time I expect you to turn in your final papers. You must contact me by email to schedule the meeting.”

  “Thank you so much for meeting with me today,” I said as she ushered me out of her office.

  Just as she was about to close the door, she peeked her tight little face out and shot me her sternest look yet. “And Mademoiselle Summers, when we meet in December, I expect you to be here fifteen minutes early.” With that, she closed the door in my face, and I stood there wondering how in the hell I was ever going to make this woman like me.

  ***

  During my first week of classes, Frédéric sent me three more hilarious text messages, but I didn’t hear a word from Luc, nor did I hear from Jeff after the ruthless email I had sent him. While I couldn’t help but admit that I was disappointed Luc hadn’t called or stopped by after our great night of sex, it was Jeff who I couldn’t get off my mind.

  I had so many mixed emotions swimming around in my head. I wanted to see his reaction when he read my email. I wanted to see the pain on his face. I wanted to know that I had hurt him as badly as he had hurt me. Then I wondered if I had even hurt him? If he was able to run around on me so easily, did he even care what I was doing now?

  On the other hand, I did think there was a slight chance that Jeff still cared for me or he wouldn’t have written that email begging to talk to me. Maybe I should’ve agreed to talk to him. Maybe he could’ve explained things so that we could at least be friends.

  I tried to envision Jeff and myself as friends. We weren’t the kind of couple who had, in addition to being lovers, become best friends over the course of our relationship. I always assumed that would happen later on as we matured as a couple. After all, we hadn't even been together a full year, and for most of that time, we were still in that lovey-dovey, sickening stage that made our friends want to vomit. But, as I imagined what it would be like to be friends with Jeff now, in the aftermath of our break-up, only a few key images came to mind: Jeff telling me over the phone what a phenomenal lover Brooke is, then me screaming “Bastard!” into the phone and throwing it across the room . . . or even better, Jeff introducing me to Brooke, and me pulling her hair out while kicking Jeff in the balls.

  No, it didn’t look like the whole “friend” thing would work out after all.

  I wasn’t capable of being friends with him at this point, and I probably never would be. The hurt was too deep. At times, I felt like I couldn’t breathe without him. The only thing that made me feel better was to keep busy and to not think about the whole disaster.

  ***

  Late Thursday night, while I was sitting alone in my room, wishing I could be with Jeff at that very moment, the phone rang. It was Katie.

  “Hey lady!”

  “Hey Katie, what’s up?”

  “I don’t have long to talk because I’m on my way to the hospital for my super depressing ICU rotation, but I just wanted to tell you my news.”

  “Good news I hope?”

  “Yes, very good.” She took a long pause. “I met a guy.”

  “You met someone? Where? When? Give me the details.”

  “Well, I met him during my ob/gyn rotation of all things.”

  “Oh my gosh, don’t even tell me he’s a gynecologist.”

  “Yep, you got it.”

  “That’s hilarious . . . I mean, not to be immature about it, but doesn’t it bother you that he’s staring at other women’s judies all day?” Back in high school, Katie and I had coined the term “Judy” as an alternative to all the other vulgar expressions referring to the female anatomy. However immature, the name stuck throughout the years . . . until I met Jeff’s mom, who, as it would happen, was named Judy.

  I got a hard laugh out of Katie for that one. “After doing that rotation, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing sexy about it, so I’m not too worried.”

  “Hmm . . . I’m surprised,” I said sarcastically. “I thought you’d fall in love with it and want to become a gyno yourself.”

  “Ha! Yeah, right,” she said. “It’s definitely not my thing. I’m not even going to go into all the stories I have from that one.” Katie was known to have extraordinarily gross stories from all of her medical experiences; I was too queasy to handle most of them.

  “Mmm . . . I can only imagine.”

  “Anyway, his name is Joe, and you’re going to love him. He took me out on our first date last weekend, and . . . I just have a good feeling about this one.”

  The thought that Katie may have found the love of her life just one week after I had lost mine made me feel just the slightest twinge of jealousy. Okay, it was a pretty large twinge. I knew I should’ve been happy for her, and it was only their first date, but Katie didn’t really date as much as I did, so when she found someone she liked, they usually stuck around for a while. Which meant that if all went well, Katie would be experiencing that perfect, blissful (sickening) beginning of a relationship where you love absolutely everything about the other person. And after my love life had taken a plunge down the gutter, the last thing I could handle was listening to all of the wonderful things this new guy would surely do for her.

  But Katie was my best friend. I needed to be happy for her, no matter how shitty I was feeling.

  “That’s awesome, I’m so happy for you. Any more dates on the horizon?”

  “Yeah, he’s taking me out in the city again this weekend, so we’ll see . . .” she trailed off, sounding dreamy and hopeful.

  I remembered when I first felt that way about Jeff. Those early butterflies and the hope that this is really it. That you’ve finally found the guy you’re going to spend your life with. I hoped that this was it for Katie, but my loss made me feel bitter at the same time. Along with losing Jeff, I had lost my faith in love, in marriage, and in relationships in general. I wasn’t going to be heading back down that road for a long time. But Katie hadn’t been burned like I had, so she was allowed to be hopeful and excited.

  “Keep me posted on how it goes. I can’t wait to meet him.”

  “I’ll try to give you a call next week so we can catch up again. I just got to the hospital, so I have to run. I want to hear all about how you’re doing though, so let’s talk soon.”

  “Definitely. Good luck in the ICU.”

  “Yeah, I’ll need it. Bye!”

  In an effort to distract myself from the feelings of loneliness that had been creeping up on me every night this week, I logged into my blog. Since my last post on Monday night, I had tons more hits and several enthusiastic comments. This gave me hope. At least we were all in this mess together. A lot of the comments were from women asking what was going on with Half-Naked French Hottie. I hadn’t seen him around in the dorm (or the showers), and I h
adn’t heard from him at all since we’d first slept together on Monday night. The old, desperate me was threatening to scratch her way to the surface and ask all of those scary questions, like why hasn’t he called? Wasn’t the sex good for him too? It was definitely some of the best I’d ever had—I mean what man feeds you chocolate in bed after giving you two orgasms? But, maybe I didn’t do enough to reciprocate. Was he angry about the text message from Frédéric?

  But, then I remembered my purpose here in France. To have fun. To like being single. To not care if I ever heard from him again. As I sat alone in my room that night though, it seemed like this whole not caring thing may end up being more difficult than I’d expected.

  Eleven

  vendredi, le 8 octobre

  Dating multiple men at once keeps life interesting.

  The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and alive again. Yes, lonely nights in my little dorm room weren’t the most fun, (especially when I knew there was a gorgeous man just two doors down who wasn’t calling me!), but I had class at the Sorbonne in less than an hour, plus a busy weekend ahead of me, so all was not lost.

  As I exited the train at the Luxembourg stop, my stomach growled at the tempting aroma of croissants and coffee emanating from the Brioche Dorée café across the street. The Brioche Dorée is one of the closest things the French have to a fast food restaurant, except instead of hamburgers and fries, they carry tasty pastries, sandwiches and salads. I couldn’t resist as I walked past, so I stopped and grabbed a croissant to go. I smiled as I took my first scrumptious bite. How did the French stay so thin? I could easily eat ten of these a day.

  As I approached the Sorbonne, I took the last bite of my buttery pastry before grabbing my new student ID and presenting it to the gun-wielding French police officers. I expected them to at least show some appreciation that I’d finally obtained the proper identification to enter the building, but the corners of their mouths didn’t so much as move an inch. After I passed through the giant doors, I gazed down and noticed a pool of croissant flakes covering my chest. I laughed to myself as I realized that even that hadn’t made them smile.

  I spotted Fiona immediately upon entering the large classroom. No more than a minute after I’d sat down, our tiny professor began her lecture on French teaching methodology. As I scribbled down notes, I thought about the glorious fact that we’d had an entire week of class, but not one single assignment. Instead of assigning weekly homework like the professors did back in the States, our Sorbonne instructors required us to complete one final paper, presentation, or exam, which constituted our entire grade. Granted, I had to make sure to perform well on my finals since those were my only grades for each class—and especially since I would be handing them in to Madame Rousseau—but it was so nice not to have much work to do during the semester. More time for going out and doing research for my blog!

  After class, Fiona and I peeked into all of the colorful boutique windows as we walked up to boulevard St. Germain and took a seat outside at a brasserie. I ordered my first croque-monsieur since I’d been in Paris and a glass of vin rosé while Fiona ordered a bowl of soupe à l’oignon and a glass of vin rouge.

  “So, have you heard from Jeff at all this week?” Fiona asked while she struggled to bite the long strings of cheese dangling from her spoon.

  “No, I haven’t heard from him . . .” I hesitated as I took my first bite of the soft, fluffy bread and melted emmental cheese.

  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell Fiona about the callous email I had sent on Monday night. She didn’t seem to be the kind of person who would do something like that. Then again, she had gone through a tough break-up, so what the hell. “But, I did get in touch with him actually.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, I sent him an email on Monday night . . . a nasty email,” I snickered.

  “Really? What did you say?”

  I hadn’t told Fiona about Luc yet because I was worried about her reaction, but I figured if we were going to be friends, now was as good a time as any.

  “I told him that I had another guy in my bed who was better than he ever was. Basically I wanted to make him feel as awful as he made me feel.”

  “So you just made up a story to get him back?” she asked innocently.

  “Well . . . not exactly. There really was a guy in my bed.” I held my breath in anticipation of her response.

  Fiona’s eyes widened. “Whoa, seriously? Who? Are you seeing someone here?” Fiona was clearly surprised at this revelation, but she seemed interested, so I kept talking.

  “His name is Luc, and he lives in my dorm—on my floor actually. I met him my first night here, and he’s so cute. But, we’re not dating. He just spent the night that one time. And I have to admit, it felt really good to throw it back in Jeff’s face.”

  “I bet. Did he write you back?”

  “Nope, nothing. But I can’t really expect him to want to talk to me after that, I guess. It was a tad bit immature.”

  “Maybe . . . but he started it in the first place—not you.” Fiona seemed to identify with the situation and wasn’t judgmental at all. I was relieved.

  “You’re right, he did. He deserves it then.”

  “That’s right.” Fiona grinned in agreement.

  We clinked our wine glasses to that and kept on chatting.

  “Do you have any plans tonight?” Fiona asked, still struggling to eat the massive amount of melted cheese topping her French onion soup.

  “Yeah, actually I do. I’m going on a date.”

  “With Luc?”

  “No, Frédéric. I met him out at a bar last weekend with Lexi.”

  “You’re not wasting any time here, are you? I guess I need to start going out with you!” She giggled and took a sip of her wine.

  “I know, I just need things, or guys really, to take my mind off of Jeff, you know?”

  “Oh, I completely understand. School has been my main distraction, not that it’s the most fun distraction, but it’s something.” She paused to take another bite. “Well, you’ll have to let me know how your date goes tonight.”

  “Definitely. Oh, I wanted to ask if you’d be up for going out with me and Lexi tomorrow night?”

  “What do you have in mind?” she asked, shooting me an apprehensive glance.

  “We’ll probably just go to a bar, have some drinks, and meet some boys. You know, the usual.”

  Fiona’s wavering smile told me she was unsure.

  “Come on, you were just saying that you needed to get out more. We’re going to have so much fun.” I wasn’t sure how Lexi and Fiona would get along, but if they were both going to be my friends, then I figured there was no harm in giving it a shot.

  “I know, you’re right. Okay, I’m in. Where do you think we’ll go?”

  “I don’t know all of the good bars around here yet, but I’m sure Lexi will have something fabulous in mind. She’s lived here a little while, and she goes out a lot. I’ll call you tomorrow with the details. Sound good?”

  “Sounds good,” she said, sounding only a tad more convinced.

  After Fiona and I took off in separate directions to go home, a wave of fatigue hit me. I hadn’t really slept that well the night before, so I headed home, changed into a pair of comfy shorts and a loose t-shirt and laid down for a nice afternoon nap. That was one good thing about being single—I could do whatever I wanted when I wanted. Not too shabby.

  I jolted awake to the sound of techno music blaring from the room next to me. The walls here were a little too thin. I rubbed my eyes and peered over at the clock—it was already six p.m. Whoa, I’d slept for a whopping three hours. I needed to get a move on it if I wanted to be ready in time for my date with Frédéric.

  I rinsed my face off in my mini-sink, brushed a bit of powder and blush onto my cheeks, then peeked inside my little closet to pick out an outfit. It was still nice and warm outside, so I threw on a denim skirt, a dark violet tank top and a pair of flip-flops before h
eading out the door.

  As I was crossing the street to go to the RER stop, I spotted Luc walking a few steps ahead of me on his cell phone. Of course I hadn’t heard from him all week, and then he would magically appear while I was on my way to a date. It figured. I trailed close enough behind him so I could catch part of his conversation without him seeing me. Yes, I was being nosy.

  “Je t’aime, Adeline. À demain,” he said sweetly into his phone.

  I knew there was another woman. After telling this Adeline girl that he loved her and would see her tomorrow, he snapped his phone shut. I slowed my pace, hoping he wouldn’t see me, but no such luck.

  “Charlotte,” he called, flashing his charming smile in my direction.

  “Salut, Luc,” I said, not sure how I felt about this little run in. I had just confirmed my suspicion that not only was he seeing at least one other woman, but he was in love with her. At least I didn’t need to feel bad about being on my way to a date.

  Luc leaned in to give me bisous, and we continued walking toward the metro together.

  “So, where are you going tonight?” he asked.

  None of your business, dude with a girlfriend who just slept with me on Monday night.

  “Oh, just meeting up with a friend at Odéon. You?”

  “Me too. I’m meeting Benoît there for a drink. C’est parfait. We can take the train together.”

  Damn. Why did I have to tell him where I was going?

  A few minutes later, we squeezed onto the packed, smelly train. Apparently the entire world had decided to travel into the city that night. Luc’s body was smashed up against mine, which, despite the fact that I had just heard him tell another woman that he loved her over the phone, wasn’t all that uncomfortable.

  With his face about an inch from mine, Luc said, “You and your friend can come for a drink with us if you want.”

  “Um, well, thanks for the invite, but I’m not really sure.”

  “Why not? It will be fun.”