Reprise: A Story of Reincarnated Love

*** 6 May 2007 11am – Paris, France - Market in the Place de Clichy ***

The leathery red fruit in her hand was expensive. She could have six oranges for the cost of this pomegranate, yet she had been drawn to it by the vague memory of having dreamt of eating one.

“I’ve never liked pomegranates,” Labette smacked her chewing gum in a series of sharp loud pops, earning her a nasty look for the older woman who was putting radishes in a bag on Dominique’s other side. Pulling a face, Labette did it again intentionally, adding, “The seeds hurt my teeth.”

“I have not had one since I was a child,” Dominique mused very softly, putting the fruit back on the pile. “I remember them being very tart, and fun to pick apart.” She shrugged, the sensation of being pulled along by a memory gone with the hard reality of the weekly shopping trip. A few doors d! own thei r laundry was swishing away in the industrial capacity machines, which they would set to dry before they hauled the shopping home.

Labette snorted, “I remember being in pain for nearly a month before my mother would take me to a dentist!” Labette’s mother had been a burlesque dancer in a small club, and claimed that her father could be any one of nearly a dozen men – none of whom apparently had any inclination to acknowledge their association with Labette’s mama. The woman was long dead of an overdose, abandoning Labette to the streets when she was barely fifteen, and was the reason that Labette did not sleep with men for money. She made love out of ‘desire’ and if they chose to help take care of her, then all the better.

“Ugh,” Dominique murmured in sympathy, changing the subject. “Tooth pain is the worse… other than maybe an earache.” She grimaced in memory and pressed her fingers against her right ear, though it had been two years since she had gotten so sick that she had barely been able to move, and even once the fever had passed the cough, earache, and miserable exhaustion had lingered for well over a month. She had trudged to work as best she could, but many nights Gabby had sent her home, or told her to go lay down in his office. They had needed the money and yet for the first time, Domi had truly been too sick to care. For the first two weeks she had vacillated between being unconscious and wishing for death; and it had taken over a month for her to regain any kind of strength.

However, she was feeling particularly well today, she realized as she followed Labette, carrying a nearly empty basket. She had managed to stop ruminating on her encounter outside the bank during work – Gus’ band had played and the place had been crushed with fans – but on the walk home, Labette had noticed her distraction and commented on it. After Domi had shaken her head and told her friend she was just tired, Labette had let it go; but today she was still clearly mentally someplace else.

“Worried about that job?” Labette tried again when Domi had not even blinked at her last joke. “The school has to place you, right?”

Blinking, Domi nodded, grateful for the out. After all, how could she admit the truth? She could just imagine the blonde’s face if she said she had embarrassed herself in front of a perfect – and she did mean perfect – stranger on the way home. Though if she were honest, it was not the humiliation of having been caught looking him over like a half-starved dog drooling over a juicy turkey leg that her mind kept returning to the incident, but to the man himself.. “Mon Dieu,’ she whispered in a small forlorn voice, the basket handles looped around her arms as she held her elbows in her palms. She had barely chosen anything to put in it yet.

“Mission control to Major Domi…” Labette nudged with pout. “Judging by your face the weather’s foul where you are, so why don’t you come on back?” Normally this was their time to be together. With Dominique gone to school during the days and them working at night, the girls could go days without spending much more time together than the walk home from Gabby’s.

Dominique shook her head hard, and then wrapped one hand around her taller friend’s waist with a smile. “Sorry…. You know, I think I’m going to buy that pomegranate.” Giving Labette a little squeeze, she started back towards the produce.


*** 10 May 2007 1pm – Paris , France - Campus of École Polytechnique ***

It was a beautiful day: the crystal blue sky was decorated with thin white clouds perfect for daydreaming. She had just spoken to her advisor, who was pleased to inform her that she had been accepted at the Banque Populaire. Somehow the news had not brought the thrill of joy she had thought she would! feel at learning she had earned the coveted internship. Instead, she had found herself thinking of Him – she had no name for Him, so had come to just capitalize the pronoun in her mind. Did He work at the bank or nearby? Certainly He could have, though perhaps He had just happened to be on the street.

Feet folded to the right, she slumped against the tree and dug around in her bag, finding her half-empty bottle of water and the pomegranate she had bought the weekend before. It seemed a shame to eat it, though she could not say why. Perhaps she because she had been savoring the idea of owning it at the same time she had been thinking of Him. With a frown she wondered then if she really associated eating it with destroying her little fantasy…

‘That psych class really did you no good at all, chica,’ her mocking inner voice sounded a lot like Seetha’s as her nails dug into the red flesh and tore away a bit of the thin peel to reveal a cluster of tiny red, juicy arils. She wondered briefly if there was a lady-like way to eat them, short of maybe spooning them all into a bowl, and decided it mattered not at all at the moment. Armed with a pile of paper napkins, she proceeded to pick them one at a time with her nails, dabbing her fingers on the top napkin after sucking each kernel off.

One could die of hunger eating a pomegranate in this fashion, but she thought it made a terrific food to eat when waiting around watching the clouds – though she really should be studying.

After this afternoon’s test she would never have to return to campus – unless she really did decide to begin studying for her Master’s degree in the fall. While she had filled out the paperwork and been accepted, somehow another year of this was so daunting that she was not sure she could stand it. Who knew? Maybe the internship would be a good break and she would feel refreshed. For while it meant she would basically be working two jobs – at the bank during the day and at Gabby’s at night; at least she would not have the projects, homework, and research to do.

The click-click of footsteps broke her dour musings, and she raised her eyes – fingertips between her teeth as she captured another seed – to find an oblivious couple strolling by, her lon! g blonde hair streaming behind his shoulder as they sauntered along, arms around each other. As the seed burst between her palette and tongue, the lanky young man dipped his head to kiss his girl gently on the temple, prompting her to tighten her hold briefly and sigh in contentment.

How different that relationship seemed from what she had come to see as normal in her time in Paris. Perhaps it was because they were young? Perhaps it was that most of these students seemed to have little concern for where their next meal would come from? Whatever the case, her classmates by and large seemed to take relationships with a measure of innocence and trust that she never saw at Gabby’s or in the whole of the Quartier Pigalle. There, love was often scoffed on as something for children and fools, some happy fantasy that only happened in fairy tales. Certainly in her years as Labette’s friend she had not seen any of the sweet, tender, seemingly unselfish affection of this young couple. And yet, didn’t everyone wish for that? Well, didn’t at least most women?

Some people, especially men, she supposed, valued independence more. Gus struck her as that sort. Now that she was on the subject, she thought Gabby would love to have a woman to hug and cuddle. And certainly Luc wanted Gus to be his and his alone – and was fond of trying to sneak public displays of affection in, especially when a potential competitor for Gus’ affections was around. But most men, it seemed, were more like Gus. Or more like the guy that had groped her Friday night – happy to rub against just about any warm body.

He was probably in the later category, she told herself. Though He was so beautiful that it was likely He was either already married or gay. And it didn’t really matter anyway. While she was very embarrassed at her behavior, she also wished she had gotten a better look. No, she wished she had a picture of Him. He made a great daydream.

As she sat rolling a pomegranate seed over her tongue, she tried to imagine what it would be like to have such a man as a lover. She had not gotten close enough to smell Him, but He looked like He would smell warm and spicy. Standing in her heels she would probably come almost to His chin, and so could listen to His heartbeat as she laid her head against His shoulder, face nuzzled against His neck, hands idly stroking the lines of His lower back beneath His jacket.

She bet His skin would be hot to the touch, especially when He was asleep. The brief imagine of them laying on her mattress on the floor brought rosy color to her cheeks. She bet that even during the worse winter storm she would be warm enough to sleep if she had His arms around her and His hot breath caressing her face.

The lovely image was only that though. Even if such a gorgeous man were both straight and single and had a tolerable personality, the only way they could ever be together was if she were either His whore or His mistress – and in reality, Dominique could not allow anyone to have the control over her that a husband would. Besides, He probably would be a tyrant… or unfaithful… or was so vain He could not be borne.

With a start, she realized she was ruining her perfectly good fantasy by overanalyzing it like it was bit of research she had to dissect and rearrange until she knew the secret hidden behind the numbers. The truth of the matter was that she was not in any position to date even if she met a perfectly wonderful fellow student. She had tried before, but she really had no idea how to tell the pretty, privileged students that she lived in a leaky flat with a deluded prostitute, and spent her nights and weekends serving cheap alcohol to Paris’ lower working class. So many of her peers had never worked at any sort of paying job - most even still got an allowance from their parents! - and yet seemed very put out by any restrictions put on them. Dominique did not know how to relate. She thought she would have gladly respected any boundaries to be able to give her full focus to her studies and not have to worry about her things being stolen, or being mugged, or raped, or even just felt up by any and every drunk male that got in arm’s reach.

‘Now that’s a bit of an exaggeration,’ she chastised herself on a long sigh. She was just making excuses. The truth was that she was too ashamed to let anyone get close. She was afraid that sooner or later they would want to see where she lived, and then how could she possibly show any of them? But still, Labette and Gabby were all the family she had. Whenever she thought of it, she was sick with the shame of her disloyalty. Moving away from them - even now that she had her undergrad degree - seemed like a defection. Yet she had not worked so hard to live in a slum for the rest of her life.

She often wondered if Labette would continue to live with her if she suggested that they rent a flat where Dominique had to pay for three-quarters of the expenses. Would it change their relationship if they did? Would she be okay with Labette parading men in and out, for it would not be right for her to put restrictions on her friend’s behavior? If she were honest, she did not think so for she would want to be able to feel secure in her own home. But if she left and got her own place - which she would easily be able to afford a small flat for one in a modest area once she was out of school and got a real job - what would Labette do?

And wouldn’t she, Dominique, be lonely too? Without question. No matter how much thought she gave the matter, there seemed to be no solution but to stay.

Her finger tips were stained red, and though she had eaten less than half the pomegranate, she knew she was finished with it and so began wrapping it up in several of the napkins to throw away. She was not quite to the rubbish bin when her eyes happened on a man walking away from her toward the administration building.

She had no idea later if she dropped the half-eaten fruit on the ground or in the bin as she just stood staring at his retreating back. Her first instinct told her it was Him; but what were the chances? She was certain He was not a student here - after the entire year she would have seen Him.

‘It is not him,’ she told herself, frowning as her gaze moved from his silky, shiny hair, to his broad shoulders beneath the knit shirt - which was banded over his biceps. Later, she would wish her blatant perusal had stopped there, for she discovered he had yet another asset, displayed to perfection beneath well-tailored chinos.

Imagine going boy-crazy at her age!

“Maybe Labette is right,” she muttered to herself, heading to her last exam as an undergrad. She just needed to pick a lover - or a good vibrator - and get it out of her system.