The Glass Secret (Chain of Secrets), page 27
I also gave up on all temptations of spying on my neighbors, for now. As for the man that hid in the shadow of the balcony, perhaps, he was as I told Dr. Piccart, an overactive figment of my imagination due to all of the consumption that night…and wishful thinking.
Though time after time, and after that, I felt his presence, especially in the building and in my apartment, and once, when I bought daffodils for myself. I felt him with me that day as if he were beside me when I walked home from the flower market. Feeling his presence near me made smile, but perhaps, it was the armful of daffodils that lifted my spirit.
Thereafter, I bought flowers for myself once a week, and I believed that he was with me, every time. The feeling of this imaginary friend, as crazy as it was, felt comforting to me. I began to feel not so alone in Paris. The city was growing on me as if I had surely been meant to live here. Perhaps I had.
-45-
Charades of Rain
I exited through the main entrance of the old brownstone, sauntering along the rocky path through the courtyard that would eventually convene with the street to the city.
Throughout the garden, roses were in first bloom. I peeled off my gloves. I love wearing anything vintage, especially from the nineteen forties. Carefully, I plucked several open blossoms from the rose bush. I cradled the small cluster of beauty in the palms of my hands, inhaling its intoxicating fragrance.
“Ah-choo!” I sneezed, dropping the flowers to the ground.
I gingerly knelt down, balancing my weight on my four-inch stilettos and picked up the scattered roses. I ran my fingers across their velvety textured petals. They felt as soft as baby powder. Tiny dewdrops still clung to each petal.
I once believed that dewdrops were tears left by sad little fairies that desired to be mortal. How I’d still like to believe in this romantic fantasy. As I touched the fragile dewdrops, they disappeared, melting like sugar onto my warm fingertips.
As I flitted down the hillside cobblestone road, I heard in the near distance the low rumbling sound of a lawn mower. I stopped and stretched out my arms into the cool breeze and drew into my nostrils the crisp scent of the fresh-cut grass that emanated through the air.
The scent of fresh-cut grass unraveled a quintessential memory in my mind, the same way a magician uncoils his handkerchief from his hat. It just happens, like magic and takes me back to a time long ago:
I’m a child again, visiting my grandparents in upstate New York, and waking up at dawn to the imperceptible sound of a lawn mower’s motor. I can see from my open bedroom window my great-grandfather riding around on his big red mower. The monster mower seemed to come alive to me as it chomped into the dense green blades of grass. As it spit from the sides of its mechanical mouth the fresh cut grass, it emitted into the air the scent of watermelon rind. I almost could smell the sweet mixture as if I were still there...
A few bike riders swiftly passed me by, startling me back to reality, so I continued to walk on toward the city while observing the budding of spring, awakening after a long winter of hibernation.
When I turned the corner into town, I could see that overnight the tourists had returned in handfuls. Nearly all seats in the outside cafés were occupied with beautiful people. They bask in a nonverbal state of mind, like that of a cactus that never moves. They nibble buttery croissants, sip lattes, drink vino and chain-smoke cigarettes, watching the day go by.
If you don’t have the habit of smoking upon arriving in Paris, you will before leaving. Parisians certainly have a way of making the habit seem very vogue and quite sexy.
I took a detour through the park; it was stocked with lazy lovers stretched out on blankets and snuggling. Spring had definitely arrived with a bang. I hoped it would bring new love to those that yearned for it, and that included me.
I crossed the bridge near Champ de Mars, the gateway that led to the upscale avenue of Champs-Élysées. Through the waving branches of the trees, I could see in the distance the tip of the iconic Eiffel tower.
This clued me in that I was reaching my destination. Suddenly, my adrenaline kicked up a notch. My palms were moist and my heart was pounding fast with the sweet anticipation of spending the huge amount of money I’d been saving.
Nearly ten hours later and arms chock-full of packages stuffed with new goodies—my feet were beginning to hurt, appearing as if I were walking on a tightrope.
I fortuitously clambered down a narrow alley, discovering the sweetest little boutique; when out of nowhere, an unnatural strong wind coiled around my petite frame, almost sweeping me off my feet.
The wind gust was trapped beneath my skirt, swirling it up and down like a parachute, similar to the famous pose of Marilyn Monroe. I laughed out loud, trying to hold it down, but the wind was determined to sneak glimpses of my favorite, barely there, pink-laced panties.
I was defenseless against this powerful force. Finally, after a struggle, my skirt slowly settled back into place down around my legs. As the air stream flowed past my ears, I clearly heard a man’s voice.
“Brielle,” a haunting whisper filled my ears.
I stopped dead in my tracks, inhaled deeply then slowly peered over my left shoulder to see the source of this mysterious voice. There was no one in sight. I felt a bit spooked and scurried towards the door of the store with my packages in hand.
I clumsily pulled the large scrolled brass handle of the door toward my direction. It opened slightly then slammed shut hard against the thrust of the wind. I tugged the handle again, but the wind pushed even harder against the door, preventing me from entering.
Another stream of wind whipped around the hemline of my dress. I suddenly felt the oddest sensation, as if cold fingers were crawling up my legs, sending mind-numbing goose bumps from my head to my toes.
My instantaneous thought was that a huge critter was seconds away from baring his teeth into my flesh. I leaped into the air like a crazy bird that flew over the cuckoo’s nest, flapping and waving my arms like wings against my skirt. I could only imagine how ridiculous I must have looked to passersby.
When I landed, to my horror, the hemline of my skirt was flipped up around my hips and lying flat up against my back. I swiftly pulled it down around my slender hips, but not before exposing my lace panties and ivory ass cheeks to the two gentlemen who approached me from behind. Behind—there’s a word. Em-bare-assed is another word to describe the total scene.
I just wanted to get inside quickly before another wind gust violated me again. I paid no attention to the two men that had gotten a flash of my GQ buns.
As I gathered up my packages, I heard a man whistle at me. How rude, I thought, wasn’t catching a glimpse of my bare ass enough entertainment? Couldn’t he tell I was a damsel in distress and didn’t need to hear his catcalls? Another annoying whistle rang out in my direction. I abruptly swiveled around to see who found me so amusing. The two same gentlemen were now a few feet away. They seemed deeply engaged in their conversation and not paying a whole lot of attention to me. I didn’t see anyone else nearby, so I quickly shifted my weight around and reached for the handle.
Out of nowhere, I saw a white tunnel of air gradually entering into the keyhole; similar to the same way Jeanie, in the series I Dream of Jeanie entered her bottle. I loved those old reruns. I rubbed my eyes and wondered if I had been roofied by the cute waiter at Café Le Mar. The thought of this caused me to hyperventilate. I felt as if I was going to have a full-on panic attack. I quickly reasoned with myself that I had way too much caffeine earlier that day.
To my surprise, the gilded door mysteriously opened on its own as if commanding me to enter. I was feeling very out of breath. I gingerly stumbled with my packages in hand into the corner of the foyer. The same two gentlemen entered within seconds behind me. I felt my face turn red and couldn’t make eye contact with them; instead, I peered through the strands of my hair that had fallen into my eyes, watching them pass me by. One of them stopped in his tracks and turned directly toward me.
He gawked at me then flashed a huge toothsome grin that was covered in dark coffee stains and in dire need of dental work. I quickly pretended not to notice him as I fiddled with my packages. I felt my eyes zoom in on his teeth. I know the look on my face was none other than that of utter disgust, screaming silently: how could anyone let their teeth get so bad, and then use them to smile? He apparently got my message, by the expression on my face, and turned away quickly.
I was somewhat feeling embarrassed, still, but mostly, I wanted to laugh out loud. It appalled me that he believed he stood a chance with any woman. Ewww! His teeth looked like wood chips. The wind must have made me look like a mad, desperate woman in need of any man’s attention.
Well, at least, I knew it was “old yellow” that whistled at me. For a minute, I thought I was losing my mind. I guess he liked the view from behind me—Or should I say, the view of my behind...
Before I pulled out a small compact from my purse, I waited for the two men to disappear behind the curtains that led into the store. I then quickly reapplied some fresh lipstick. In the larger reflection of the store’s window, I could see random strands of my hair had taken flight from the nimbus crown of locks arranged high on my head.
Cumbersomely, I pulled all the bobby pins from my hair and tossed them into one of my bags. I shook my head slightly and ran my fingers through my hair. It cascaded to my waist like a waterfall of smooth waves and then I did a once over of my reflection in the glass window, for double measure, and retreated inside.
-46-
Echoes
When I crossed the threshold, beyond the dark velvet drapes that hung between two large columns, a cool breeze swirled around my legs. My high-heels echoed up against the marbled floor, announcing my arrival to several smiling salespeople that were waiting to lunge at me. I acknowledged their presence with a half-assed smile, and I followed up with an imperial wave that implied: I don’t want to be bothered.
I so needed to unwind and digest the gorgeous surroundings before getting cornered by some quick-talking sales guru. After all, I was only just beginning to feel like myself again, after having been accosted by the wind.
My eyes immediately darted to the center of the store. Hovering high on a marble pedestal was a young lady dressed in a Grecian diaphanous robe; she softly strummed subtle tunes on a golden harp. The harmonious music blended with the gentle swishing sounds of the water that swirled in the plethora of bathing spas below.
I stood still in awe over the aesthetics of the store. Who would go through such effort just to market bathing spas? I wondered if I would get the opportunity to meet the eccentric person that owned the boutique? I figured he, or she would be a hopeless romantic, much like myself. The assembly was dimly lit with an array of candelabras strategically scattered about the area.
There were cloudlike chandeliers that softly illuminated the celestial bonnet of spas. Some spas were running over with frothy bubbles, and others had rose petals floating in a gentle stream of water.
Arranged beautifully, on tables dressed in gorgeous ivory linens were glasses of poured champagne and chocolate strawberries for the taking. I helped myself to a few strawberries, and a glass of the sparkling aged wine, it was delicious, and burst with flavors of honey in my mouth and had an ultra rich fragrance; it had to be extremely expensive.
A gentle mix of rose, spearmint and eucalyptus soothed my senses. It was a very intoxicating, yet witty sales technique. I felt sure it was their fragrance-marketing tool that was working on me!
The further I entered into the gallery of spas, my battle with the wind had diminished and my spirit lifted, feeling enlightened by the loveliness of the place. I felt as if I had just passed through the gates of Heaven...or at least my interpretation of what Heaven would be like.
I wandered through the gallery, after several minutes of exploring I sensed an audience, curious eyes gazing upon me. My body stiffened, spilling a bit of my champagne, when in the dark my eyes caught an image of a god, and in the least that was what he looked like to me.
Was he perfect? Okay, maybe he was not perfect in terms of without a single flaw, but since there were none that the naked eye could see, to me, he was flawless. Certainly, I wasn’t the first woman whose breath caught upon seeing him. He was breathtaking, literally!
His eyes burned into me from across the room. The urge to flee shifted into gear, immediately. It was either depart now, or bow at his feet!
After I had shopped all day, I didn’t feel as if I could run in heels, nor did I look presentable enough to attract the likes of him. He can’t be staring at me, I thought, impossible!
I glanced over my shoulder behind me, convinced that I would find a long-legged gorgeous honey-haired gazelle approaching him. His wife perhaps. I suspected that they both were staring at each other and through me as if I was invisible. To my surprise, there wasn’t anyone in ten feet of me. Was it my lucky day?
My plan was to turn back around, drop my chin to the floor and secretly peer at him from beneath my lashes as I browsed around. With my plan in motion, I turned back around, dropped my chin, and cast my eyes downward. So far so good.
Without sense of sight, I reached into my bag and pulled out my dark Ray-Bans and put them on. Incognito I could get a better look at him behind my glasses, without him noticing.
Nothing ever goes off without a hitch. My damn sunglasses fell off my face. When I swiftly bent over to retrieve them, my eyes came face to toe with a man’s pair of shoes standing inches from mine. I grasped my glasses and slowly pushed up. My eyes traveled upward, ever so gradually, without looking perverse, examining his long strong legs, narrow hips, trim waistline, broad chest, and then a little higher, stopping on his gorgeous face.
Oh God...it’s you!
He was definitely a god, or someone that looked like one.
So much for my plan, it was an epic failure. I stood there like an idiot that couldn’t speak, breathlessly, dazzled by his face.
Up close, I retracted any thoughts that he may possess a single flaw. I froze in my footsteps as his eyes drew me in.
“Can I help you? You seem lost.” His deep voice penetrated my eardrums.
“Uh. No.” I shook my head, smiling yet trembling inside. “I mean yes,” I said, gushing nervously. What did I mean? “I mean no, I’m not lost. But yes, I could use some help.” It was obvious at that point I needed more than just help. I was mentally impaired and needed my brain to kick into gear. He appeared amused.
I soon found myself engaged in an actual two-way, sensible conversation with him. Well, sort of sensible.
He shifted his weight closer to me and extended his hand. “Greyson Rain de’ Bluche.” Our eyes locked into a stare, a lingering stare. What an interesting name. Very regal and cosmic. I wondered if his lineage was noble; perhaps, he was an aristocrat. I would’ve allowed him to reign over me any day.
Time seemed to stand still. I glanced at his hand, a gold ring, sexy buffed nails and intimidating long masculine fingers that were rather thick, reaching toward me. My eyes traveled upward to his white cuffs that framed the sleeve of his black designer jacket. Pure elegance. Manly elegance.
Things were going well, until it was my turn to react.
He asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes, hello...nice to meet you too,” I said, flustered, feeling my cheeks turning red. It was embarrassingly obvious that I’d paused to check him out. I reached out to take his hand, realizing my sunglasses were in the way. Dumb ass! I inwardly scolded myself, shifting my sunglasses and shopping bags around.
“Here let me help you, Miss Eden.” He reached toward my packages. Within a fraction of a few seconds, I blew my chance to touch him or to be touched by the likes of him. Our handshake moment had passed.
My blood rushed back to my brain cells, kicking in my ability to separate fact from fiction. God himself, or merely just a god, did he just call me by name?
“Wait. How do you know my name?” I blanched, stepping back, feeling slightly anxious.
“It’s written on this. I believe it belongs to you.” He held out a white slip of paper.
“Is that mine?” I asked, batting my lashes. It looked like a receipt. I didn’t buy anything from here. I lowered my head, focusing on the letterhead. It was my receipt from Chanel; there was no doubt about it.
“I noticed it on the floor after you had stepped inside. The wind must have blown it out of your shopping bag. It’s really kicking up today. Looks like a storms moving in,” he said pointedly.
I shifted my eyes from his perfect features towards a small window. “Yes it does,” I responded without a thought and paused, processing how my misplaced receipt landed in his hands from my wallet. I could have sworn it was in the pocket of my wallet. I had always diligently put things away. There was a proper place for everything.
I set one of my packages down on the floor and reached toward the receipt.
“I assumed it might be of importance. That is why I’m hand delivering it to you.” He refolded it in half and handed the slip to me.
“Thank you,” I said, retrieving it from his hand. I exhaled and half-laughed at his double entendre. The sound of my laughter made him smile, although I wasn’t sure if he realized why I had giggled. I blushed, rolled my eyes, waved the slip into the air, and then stuffed it into my purse. “Yes, it’s kind of important...shoe receipt.”
Well, so much for any covert reason why he stared at me earlier. It was now clear. All he wanted was to give me the damn receipt. I tossed my glasses in my bag, picked up my packages and clumsily turned to get on with my shopping.
“Hey, when I said your name, you looked at me as if you had seen a ghost.”
“I did?” I winced. “Sorry you just knocked me off guard, for a second.”
“Please, you don’t have to apologize,” he said, then paused. The cadence of his voice washed over me. “You should never have to say you’re sorry for anything you haven’t done wrong.”
