The Paris Secret an uncommon love story

The re-union

Bursting through the last golden rays of the day, a beautiful raven-haired woman stops abruptly. She focuses on the familiar Mason on the far side of the Rue de Blanc Monteaux. A veil of contrasting emotions of excitement and anxiety envelops her as she approaches the ancient front door. Doubt stops her hand mid-air. Frozen, she stands perfectly still and thinks. I know why I’m in Paris. But, why am I doing this – again? She raises her delicate hand, grips
the brass fleur-de-lis door knocker and raps twice.

As she waits, she leans against the massive wooden door. Her eyes roaming the familiar Paris street of her childhood. Even as a young girl, she was fascinated by the medieval district of Le Marais. The ancient buildings were renewed daily by the evening twilight as her stepfather told stories of the Knights Templar, her fascination mounting as the two of them walked along with her mother.

She quickly returns to the present and gathers her thoughts as the massive wooden door begins to open.

Slowly a single ray of dusted sunlight appears as the door opens fully, and a man with dark hair and piercing blue eyes steps out. She lowers her eyes and murmurs, “I was hoping you would have called.” He gently reaches out to her and, like a seductive step in a tango, slips his arm around her waist and moves her through the open door.

Gerard closes the door realizing the decision to come to the Mason was not easy for Veronica. This has been his family home for generations. But for Veronica, it was always the transit home, growing up between six months in New York and six months in Paris. Gerard closes the door as the last rays of the afternoon settle into the horizon, and the City of Light greets the night.

Gerard’s travel schedule has been grueling, returning only two days ago to Paris. Where he was immediately reminded, it was Fashion Week. And immediately reminded of Veronica. He knew there was more to say than their final words last night.

Inside the large vestibule, the black and white marble floor adds to the chill she feels overtaking her. As they embrace, her half-closed eyes follow the curvaceous staircase up to the small window on the first landing. It’s ablaze with the last rays of the sun. It makes her smile as she thinks of the old tune – Stair Way to Heaven. In this case, it could be heaven, or it could be hell.

“You’re trembling, are you cold?” Gerard asks.

“No. I’m a little breathless from the walk. I had the driver drop me a few blocks away. I wanted to take in La Marais. It’s been a while since I’ve been here. And, these are not
the best walking shoes.” Actually, she is not out of shape but anxious. Gerard has always made me nervous; she thinks. He leaves me breathless, even if I am standing still. Gerard takes both her hands in his and says. “You are here now, and I am pleased to see you.” The sincerity of his words makes her blush. “I do have to admit, Veronica, I was taken by surprise last night. I knew you would be in Paris for Fashion Week, but I never thought our paths would cross, especially in the Buddha Bar.”

“I know, she says. I was stunned when I finally saw you at the table. And that’s why I am here, instead of the Versace reception. Please let me explain what happened last night. Can we sit?”

They move across the marble floor and step down into the living room salon.

The salon is large and inviting with a combination of California Chic and Parisian Style. There is an expansive view of an enclosed garden at one end and multiple French windows lining the opposite wall. They settle into a comfortable couch. “Merci beaucoup,” she says. French is not her first language, but she feels she speaks well from her years living in Paris, and it is Gerard’s first language.

She begins the conversation in French, but Gerard raises his index finger to her lips and says – “English. It will be easier for you to express what it is you desire to say. Your French is excellent, but you mumble when you are excited or nervous, and your mumble is more captivating in English.” Veronica laughs softly at this shared intimacy.

She’s thinking. It is desire, no matter the language that has me in this situation, into this grand Paris Maison, and into this man’s orbit? Now, sitting beside him, she feels a little off balance. Why am I really here? Most of what she wants to say has been said multiple times before between the two of them.

Gerard sits quietly beside her. He can see she’s nervous. Knowing her as well as he does, he knows she is weighing her words, mentally editing her thoughts. His thoughts are returning, once again, to their chance meeting the night before. After a few moments, Veronica looks up at him and says…

“I think I had a little too much champagne last night, which always makes me talk too much. I know I said things to you that are better left buried in the past.”

Before she continues, her mind drifts back to the night before.

As the car rounds the corner, Veronica tells the driver in French where to drop her. She has a private laugh to herself, as she looks at the dense crowd waiting to enter The Buddha Bar. The crowd looks like a combined photoshoot for Chanel and Dior. The tall doorman surveying the crowd notices her and motions for her to come toward the entrance. She never assumes he will recognize her. She is relieved he has. He is more formal with her than with the other guests “Bonsoir, Mademoiselle.” Followed by, in English, “we are pleased to have you with us again.” With his hand on the small of her back, he gently guides her through the entrance.

How can you not fall in love in Paris, she thinks?

The Buddha Bar, after twenty-plus years, remains an exclusive destination. As Veronica enters, the lounge music pulsates through the air like a throbbing heartbeat. She walks down the few steps leading into an open lobby which also serves as a boutique for The Buddha Bar. She is immediately greeted by the stunning hostess, Sophia. Breathtaking in her six-foot height and her long black hair hanging straight as if freshly washed and ironed, which it probably was. With her fashion editor’s eye, Veronica compliments Sophia’s pure French style. The high wing-tipped collar of her white blouse is held tightly closed with a magnificent vintage, jeweled pin—her grey pleated skirt flirting with her long legs and her manic high heels.

“Veronica, mon Cherie, I am so happy to see you again,” Sophia says as she quickly brushes Veronica’s cheeks with kisses. “I thought you might be too exhausted from your busy days of shows to join us.” The comment reminded Veronica of exactly how tired she is. The 2019 Fashion Week in Paris is nonstop. Even with a driver and two assistants, it’s a mad dash from one venue to another throughout the day.

Fortunately, her scheduled dinner for tonight was canceled. Veronica, selfishly, taking the cancelation as an opportunity to rest and enjoy room service. But shortly after she arrived at the hotel, Nickolas, her good friend and Fashion Director for the magazine, called, begging her to meet him and mutual friends at The Buddha Bar.

So, here she is, well past 11:00, following the rhythmic music as Sophia leads the way through the immense open room, past crowded tables filled with handsome men and beautiful women all vying for the spotlight. The waves of bonjour and duel kisses, both real and those sent through the air, race over Veronica and make her smile all the more luminous to those greeting her.

Suddenly an arm circles her shoulders as Nickolas catches up with them. “Merci, Sophia, I’ll take her from here.”

Veronica is happy to see her friend and pleased with herself that she decided to meet him.

The banquette is crowded with new and familiar faces, along with multiple bottles of champagne and platters of food spread across the table. Laughter and chatter override the music as friends vie for Veronica and each other’s attention. Nicolas settles her into a chair with a bubbling glass of Champagne. And proceeds to relate his hectic day and the latest run-way gossip.

Gerard is caught off guard and in mid-sentence as Nickolas is settling Veronica in at the other side of the massive table. The flirtation’s beauty sitting next to him follows his stare and asks, “who is that?” Pulled back from his gaze, he replies, “a New York editor.” As the beauty’s attention floats away, he turns and tries to catch Veronica’s eye, to no avail. A slight smile crosses his face as he recalls her level of intensity when in a conversation. He thinks to himself to call out her name. He reframes, knowing he would catch her off guard and spark her instinct to flee. Instead, he pulls a small notepad from his inside jacket pocket and scribbles a message, asking that it be passed down to Veronica.

The handsome Frenchman sitting next to Veronica leans in and whispers, “I have a note for you.” She turns to see this perfect smile and romantic dark eyes. From you? She asks, with a mischievous look. “I wish I had thought of it, but I did not.” Veronica unfolds the small piece of paper. “I’ve missed you!” She knows the writing and is stunned to see Gerard across the table from her. Her heart is pounding. She forces herself to hold his gaze.

She knows this gaze and this face so well. As she should. They grew up together.

Now, sitting in the salon in Le Marias, next to Gerard, Veronica recalls, with total clarity, the mixture of excitement and caution that ran through her last night in The Buddha Bar. Today, sitting next to him, without the glow of last night’s champagne, she can still feel that
familiar intensity overtaking her and melting her resolve not to follow her emotions, which always lead back to Gerard.

We rented an apartment for a week in the Le Marais, the 4th arrondissement of Paris, before heading south, and I fell in love with the neighborhood. And, I have been carrying this story idea with me for a long time. I would appreciate any feedback you might have – continue – put it in the memory box – find a different creative outlet! … All comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks so much for stopping by Platinum Boomer. xok