Train Ride
Petr looked out his hotel room window and saw the sun slowly rising over the Arc de Triomphe and life returning to the Champs-Élysées. With one eye in the mirror shaving, and the other on his ecator, Vanessa asked, “Do you miss me?”
“Of course, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Don’t you get tired of me telling you that?”
“When I do, I will let you know.” He told Vanessa he leaving for Holland soon and was meeting Hassan for dinner. Vanessa replied she was having dinner with Mia. “You remember, my college roommate?”
“Of course, who can forget a gorgeous red head with big freckles? You are like two peas in a pod.”
“Are you wearing that suit and tie that I don’t like?” Vanessa saw the clothes that he had laid out to wear behind him.
“You’re almost half a world away. I didn’t think you would see it.” He continued, “Do you want to go to a football game with me next week?”
“You know I don’t like watching sports.”
“We would be in the owner’s suite. You don’t have to watch the game, you could just socialize.”
“No. You go. Why did you ask me?”
“It’s only a preseason game. I don’t have any interest—I just want to spend some time together.” Petr nicked himself shaving and shook his head in disappointment as the call ended.
* * *
The limousine picked up Manon, then Petr, bringing them to the Gare du Nord train station. As Manon was getting into her plush mauve seat next to the window Petr feasted his eyes on her. She was poured into a pair of tight sienna leather pants. They hugged her hips and ran down to her high-heeled matching boots highlighting her well-proportioned frame. He let his imagination run wild. The pants were tight enough, he thought, if she had a coin into her back pocket he could tell if it was heads or tails facing out. He sensed her delight. With her expressive smile, she showed the enthusiasm and vulnerability of a puppy dog. Petr was enjoying the moment.
A trio of Australian backpackers sat across the aisle from them. The teenagers sunk into their seats with that over-partied morning look to them. The hi-speed train started moving out of the station.
Manon began, “My mother is a part-time art curator and a sculptor of some renown. My father has worked in arts management for many years. Our family moved around Europe and we travelled around the world because of his work. He is the Managing Director at L’Opera in Paris.”
“So you’ve been to the Bolshoi in Moscow and the Sydney Opera House?”
“Yes, and everywhere in between. But he’s retiring next month. They’re having a huge party for him. He’s charming and witty—like you.”
Petr grinned.
“Would you want to go?”
“Is that an invite?”
“Yes. It’s a big fête. A lot of A list people will be there. I would love to get you a ticket. You could meet my family and some friends.”
“My apologies. I’m scheduled to be in Mexico at that time.”
“If anything changes, let me know. It will be a full house so tickets are difficult to get.” She patted his hand affectionately. She described how she took up ballet at an early age. She said she enjoyed it for many years and thought about making a career of it. She said she was agile, had the body type for it, and was making a name for herself.
