Читать книгу Love Locks - Cory Martin - Страница 7

Chapter Three

Paris

From ten thousand feet, Lindsey could almost smell the fresh croissants of her favorite bakery near the Sorbonne. Even two decades later, her mouth still watered at the memory. She made a mental note to stop for one when she took Alexa to sign up for classes. She hoped they’d still be around, but then she remembered that the establishments of Paris, unlike the relationships formed there, lasted forever—or so it seemed—and she probably had nothing to worry about.

“Are we there yet?” Alexa asked groggily as she woke and stretched in her seat.

“Twenty minutes,” Lindsey replied. “Are you ready?”

“I will be once I have a coffee. Speaking of, how many have you had? Did you not sleep at all?”

Lindsey had spent the entire eight-hour flight online, researching Trent Greer and his company. To sell or not to sell? That was the question. “I slept,” she said, completely lying.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Hey,” Lindsey said. “Give me a toothbrush, some eyeliner, and a fresh coat of lip gloss, and I’ll be looking just fine in five minutes.”

“You do know it’s ten in the morning here, right? You probably should’ve slept.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lindsey said with a yawn. “I promise.”

She took a deep breath to wake herself. This was Paris, and Alexa didn’t want to spend the whole time in the hotel room. But Lindsey would be fine. At work, she’d been known to pull all-nighters, and she functioned well on little sleep.

Alexa looked out the window as they approached the City of Lights. She squeezed her mom’s hand. “We’re almost there!”

Lindsey smiled. It was good to see Alexa so happy.

The plane began its descent, and twenty minutes later, it landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport. Soon after, they had their bags and were seated in the back of a Mercedes-Benz taxi headed straight for the city.

Alexa stared out the window, bright-eyed. Lindsey watched the way her face lit up. It reminded her of when Alexa was young. Every time she passed by her painting in their Queens apartment, she’d ask Lindsey about the Sorbonne and Paris. Lindsey would have to regale Alexa with another tale, another memory, a description of the famous sights. Now that they were heading to Paris for Alexa, the tables had turned. Alexa was the one spouting everything she knew about the city. When they were in flight, Alexa had showed Lindsey a notebook full of research. She had a list of the quaint cafés they had to go to, and notes of the best walks to take. Alexa had explained that she’d read article after article and scoured social media to learn the best times to visit the most popular and iconic sights. She had everything planned.

Alexa pointed over her mother’s shoulder. “Mom, look. It’s the Eiffel Tower. We need to go!”

Well, that one was on every visitor’s list. Lindsey smiled. Alexa’s enthusiasm was contagious.

“We’ll go,” Lindsey said as she took in the massive metal structure. It was every bit the same as she’d remembered—spectacular, full of promise, and daunting all at once.

“Have you been to the top?” Alexa asked.

“Only once.” Jack had planned an entire day for them around the tower. First, there was a picnic in the park, then there were cappuccinos from the barista with the white-and-black striped shirt, and finally, at sunset, there was the ride to the top. At the pinnacle of the landmark, they’d shared their first kiss… the gentlest, most skin-tingling kiss she’d ever experienced. Lindsey could still remember the blood-orange color of the sky that night. She’d spent weeks afterward trying to replicate the exact shade for her final painting, but never could get it right. Then the lock had dropped into the Seine, and Lindsey had returned to New York City. The painting remained unfinished.

“I can’t believe you never came back,” Alexa mused. Her gaze was still focused on the world outside her window.

“Well, now I’m back. This time with my girl.” Lindsey grabbed Alexa’s hand and squeezed it tight. The cabdriver merged into the traffic flowing past the Eiffel Tower, and the sight slowly disappeared behind them.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the Hôtel Pierre Du Calvet. It was a small hotel, quaint yet luxurious, located on a side street paved in cobblestones. The exterior was covered in a rich, dark wood with burgundy awnings above the entrance.

“I guess this is us,” Lindsey said as they emerged from the cab, taking it all in.

“It is us. It’s perfect,” Alexa said, and Lindsey agreed. The hotel looked like the kind of place you read about in novels where luminaries of years past met for drinks to discuss grand ideas.

“Of course it’s perfect. Hugo recommended it,” Lindsey said with a smile. Even though she hadn’t yet seen him, she could already feel Hugo’s presence.

“I like him already,” Alexa said as she walked around the car to the hotel. She looked ready to say more when she looked up and found herself face-to-face with the bellhop, a French boy about her own age. She froze.

“Welcome to Paris,” he said with a wink.

“Merci,” Alexa said in her best French accent, then lingered for a second longer.

Lindsey noticed the way Alexa couldn’t stop staring at the Frenchman’s chiseled chin and light brown hair. The expression on her daughter’s face was probably the same one she’d had when she first met Jack. Lindsey sighed. How could this be happening so soon?

Alexa walked toward her with a smile that wouldn’t stop. “I mean, really? Already? We just landed,” Lindsey whispered.

As they entered the hotel, Lindsey watched Alexa turn around to find that the bellhop had not taken his eyes off her. Her grin got even bigger. She gave him one last look, then followed Lindsey inside.

The interior of the hotel was even more charming than the exterior. Ornate wood moldings framed the wallpapered walls. Velvet drapes hung from the windows and gold frames held oil paintings that looked to be well over several hundred years old. Large leather chairs sat across from the front desk, and the small entrance opened into an ivy-laced courtyard in the center of the hotel.

“Bonjour. Bienvenue a’ L’hôtel,” the desk clerk said.

Alexa opened her mouth to respond, but Lindsey beat her to it. In perfect French, she said, “Thank you, what a beautiful place. We have a reservation for Wilson, please.”

“Impressive. And why is your French better than mine?” Alexa asked.

“Because you stopped in twelfth grade?”

Alexa looked perplexed. “Not to worry,” the desk clerk said. “Our staff speaks English.”

“Good to know,” Alexa said.

The clerk searched for the reservation, then turned to Lindsey. “Ah, yes. Your friend Monsieur Hugo had you upgraded to a suite.”

“That’s so nice,” Lindsey said. His thoughtfulness didn’t really surprise her. Many times, Hugo had brought her dinner at the studio so that she could paint well into the night with no interruptions.

“Unfortunately, your room won’t be ready for a few hours.”

“That’s okay,” Alexa said. “We don’t need a room. We’re in Paris!”

Lindsey gave a knowing look to the desk clerk. “She’s never been here before.”

“It’s okay. I love when people love my city as much as I do,” the clerk said. Alexa shot her mom an I-told-you-so look. “Go. Explore. Enjoy the city. I’ll call you when your room’s ready. Do you need a map?”

“No. She used to live here,” Alexa told the clerk.

“Ah, then you understand your daughter’s enthusiasm. No?”

Lindsey smiled. “I guess I do.” She recalled her first day in the city, when she’d arrived alone with two suitcases and enough francs to get her to her dorm. Once she’d settled in, she knew she’d be able to access the bank account her parents had set up for her, but until then, she remembered feeling like she was finally on her own. That there was a certain type of magic in the air that would change her life forever.

Today she felt that, too, but the change that was coming scared her. She wasn’t ready to have her daughter so far away. She wasn’t ready to give up POV. What would she do alone in her Brooklyn tower? And what would she do with her life without the magazine?

“Is there somewhere we can get a coffee?” Alexa asked the desk clerk, then pointed to her mom. “This one didn’t sleep much.”

“Of course. Go out the door, turn left. Three doors down, there’s a little café. Ask for Max and tell him you’re a guest of the hotel. He’ll give you a discount.”

“Thank you,” Lindsey said. “We’ll see you in a little bit.”

Alexa bounded out the door of the hotel with Lindsey in tow. After they got their coffees, they started walking down the street outside the café. Lindsey wrapped her hands around the coffee cup, appreciating its warmth, but the day wasn’t really that cold for January. They’d gotten lucky with the mild weather and the bright winter sunshine.

“You know, I have no clue where we are. You have to lead us,” Alexa said as she stepped to the side and gestured for Lindsey to walk ahead.

“It would be my pleasure. Where do you want to go?”

“I don’t know. Maybe the Arc de Triomphe? I mean, I know we passed it on the ride in, but I want to see it up close. Or the Place de la Concorde.” Alexa paused, then pulled out her notebook with the to-see list.

“What about the Louvre?” Lindsey asked. The museum was still one of her favorite places in the entire city.

“I don’t know. Do we want to save the Louvre till our last day together?”

Lindsey stopped in her tracks, wilting inside. “Can we not use the phrase, ‘last day together?’”

It must have shown on the outside, too, because Alexa said, “You’re not allowed to get sad yet. We have almost a week.”

“It’s only four days,” Lindsey said matter-of-factly.

“A lot can happen in four days,” Alexa said as they crossed the street to have a perfect view of the Seine. The tableau in front of them was similar to the one depicted in the painting that had hung in their place all those years. Both mother and daughter took it all in.

“I know what we should do. We should go to that ‘love locks’ bridge. Do you know where it is?” Alexa asked.

Lindsey stiffened and turned to her. Does she know something?

Alexa frowned. “Don’t give me that look, like I just asked you to visit someone in prison. I asked to visit a place of love. Doesn’t it sound romantic?”

“It’s a bridge. With locks,” Lindsey said. The image of her and Jack staring over the railing as their lock fell to the bottom of the river flashed through her mind. A heavy feeling pressed on her chest. “There’s nothing special about it.”

“But those locks are symbols of people pledging their love to each other,” Alexa said wistfully.

Lindsey couldn’t deny that fact, but she couldn’t face the bridge. At least not today, and certainly not before three more cups of coffee… or maybe two glasses of wine. Even then, she’d probably prefer to go anywhere else. “That’s true, but…”

“But what?”

“How many of those people are still together today?” Lindsey asked.

“All of them. In some way,” Alexa said.

Lindsey smiled at her daughter’s hopeful thought. When Lindsey and Dane had divorced, she’d done her best to shield Alexa from the truth about their love—that it had one day fizzled up and died. For Alexa, love was still special. “I probably said that very thing once,” Lindsey said.

“Well, everyone’s supposed to fall in love in Paris, aren’t they?” Alexa asked.

“Yeah, until they go back to their real lives.”

“Wait.” Alexa gave her a keen look. “Did you ever fall in love here?”

Lindsey paused. She’d revealed too much.

Should she go ahead and tell Alexa about Jack? No. There was no real reason for her to explain their relationship. It was so far in the past that it no longer mattered.

“You know what we should do? We should surprise Hugo,” Lindsey said, quickly changing the subject.

“Okay, but I know what you did there. You changed the subject. I sense a story.”

“There’s no story. I was young. I lived in Paris. I painted. I came home. Not too long after that, I had you.”

“Sure, Mom. I believe you. So, which way is Hugo’s?” Alexa asked.

“East. We need to head east.” Lindsey pointed over Alexa’s shoulder.

“Great,” Alexa did an about-face and followed Lindsey toward the studio.

Hugo’s studio was housed in a large Renaissance building with a beige cement façade, blessed with large windows. Inside, Alexa and Lindsey boarded an old elevator, the kind with a metal sliding gate that had to be closed manually. Alexa closed it for them. “Remember when I was a kid and I wanted to be an elevator man who took people to the correct floors?”

“You did love pushing buttons.”

“Was that supposed to mean something else?” Alexa asked, sounding slightly offended.

Oh, dear. That had come out wrong. “Oh my gosh, no. Not at all. You literally loved to push buttons. When you were three, we went to Macy’s, and you pushed the button for every single floor. People were so mad.” The memory lightened her mood. “But you were so cute. We rode that thing for an hour.”

“I was cute, wasn’t I?”

Lindsey leaned over and gave Alexa a playful kiss on the forehead as the elevator came to a stop. “You still are. Now let’s go meet Hugo.”

Lindsey knocked on the door and heard a voice call out from inside, “C’est ouvert!”

Alexa looked to her mom and whispered, “He said it’s open. See, my French isn’t terrible.”

Lindsey opened the door and Alexa followed her into Hugo’s studio, an industrial-looking space with high ceilings, flooded with sunshine from the skylights. There were canvases everywhere, some on easels, some leaning against the walls. The wood floor was covered in spattered paint. It was the place of real artists. Alexa’s mouth hung open.

Hugo stood at an easel with his back to them. “Bonjour, Ricardo. Put the paints down, and don’t make a mess this time!”

Lindsey chuckled. “Charming as ever.” Hugo whirled around, his mouth open with surprise.

He looked much the same as Lindsey remembered him. He still had a full head of hair and a slight moustache and beard, although they were completely white now. As he rushed to greet them, he moved with the lightness of a much younger man. Apparently, the life of an artist continued to agree with him. “My dear Lindsey! And Alexa—my new protégé.” He opened his arms and embraced them both.

“Protégé? Well, now I can only disappoint you,” Alexa said as they pulled apart.

Hugo took Alexa by the shoulders like a father would and said, “You’ll only disappoint me if you stop painting, like your mother did.”

“I took some time off, that’s all,” Lindsey protested.

“Twenty years?” Hugo shook his head.

“I painted my apartment. Navajo white with ecru trim.” Okay, that didn’t exactly count as artwork, but she was proud of the fact that she didn’t have to hire someone to paint her place like everyone else in New York.

Hugo shook his head again. “White, ecru? Have I taught you nothing?”

“It’s very livable. And neutral.” Lindsey liked the way her home looked. It was inviting and sophisticated all at once.

“Neutral? That’s the color of canvas before you paint it,” Hugo pointed out.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Alexa said. “Why use neutrals when you have a whole palette of color?”

Hugo patted Alexa on the back. “A genius already. This is going to be fun working together.”

“Thank you so much for recommending me to the program,” Alexa said. “It’s so great to finally meet you in person.”

“I promise you will love the university. And your favorite class will be mine.” Lindsey and Alexa laughed with him. “And until you move into the dorms, I hope you like my hotel recommendation.”

“We love it,” Lindsey said as Alexa nodded her head in agreement. “And thank you for the upgrade. Who did you bribe?”

Hugo flashed a smile that made his silver beard twitch. “Turns out I know the manager.”

Lindsey laughed again. “Same old Hugo. Friends with half of Paris.”

“How else am I going to sell my art?” he exclaimed as he pointed to the various canvases around the room.

Well, he had a point there. Lindsey walked over to one of the landscapes and inspected it more closely. The brushstrokes, the sense of color… “Is it possible you’ve gotten even better?”

“Of course it is. I’m like a fine wine,” Hugo said. He walked them around the studio, showing them some of his favorite recent works. As they rounded a corner, Hugo stopped and pointed to an unfinished painting. It was a landscape of the Pont des Arts bridge with love locks affixed to the rail.

“What do you think of this one?” Hugo asked Alexa.

“The love locks!” she exclaimed. “It’s beautiful. Why isn’t it finished?”

“Ask your mother,” Hugo said.

Alexa looked to her mom, her eyes wide. “That’s yours? So, you do know where the locks are.”

Lindsey nodded as she scanned her old painting. It had been a long time since she’d seen it last, yet it remained familiar. The orange sky was better than she’d remembered, but it still wasn’t that perfect blood orange she’d seen on that long-ago afternoon at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

“I can’t believe you kept that,” Lindsey said as she turned to Hugo.

“Why wouldn’t I? It might be your best work. If you ever finished it.”

No way. She couldn’t finish it back then, so how would she finish it now? It was missing that element she’d lost her chance at, years ago: the presence and the experience of someone who had sealed her lock on the bridge.

“Some things are better off left unfinished,” she said. When she’d returned to New York, she’d left the painting behind on purpose. She didn’t want the memory, yet she couldn’t bear to destroy her own work. She’d hid it in the back of Hugo’s studio, hoping that he’d find it years after she was gone and forget it was hers. Like most painters she’d known, he often re-used canvases to save money. She’d thought that maybe he’d do that with her painting, using it to create something beautiful and new, and she’d never have to see it again. But now, here it was—staring her in the face, reminding her of her time with Jack.

“Maybe you’ll change your mind while you’re here,” Hugo said, interrupting her train of thought. “And finish it.”

“I wouldn’t count on that.” She had no intention of picking up a paintbrush while she was in Paris. She was strictly there to ensure her daughter felt settled and ready for the semester, and she had no interest in a trip down memory lane.

“We’ll see,” Hugo said with a smile.

“No. Really. I’m not painting.” Lindsey placed a hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Alexa’s here to paint.”

“Fine. Well, at least you’ll be here for my show,” Hugo said.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Lindsey said.

A few minutes later, her phone buzzed with a message from the hotel. “Our suite’s ready,” she told Alexa, then turned to Hugo. “We’ll see you soon?”

“Of course. Stop by anytime. And seriously, this canvas is yours to finish if you want. You can use all of my supplies.”

Lindsey shook her head. “Thanks, Hugo, but I’ve moved on.” As she and Alexa left, she felt grateful that Hugo hadn’t brought up the story of Jack and the love locks bridge.

“Hugo’s nice, isn’t he?” Lindsey asked her as they left the studio.

“Are you kidding? He’s more than nice. He’s inspiring. I can’t wait to start painting.”

“And I can’t wait to see what you paint.” Lindsey would enjoy seeing scenes of Paris through the eyes of her daughter, who had yet to be jaded by love and life.