You'll come back to me

CHAPTER 1

Juliette POV:

     "Okay, I think I know where it is. "Paul says to me beside me.
It's been an hour and a half that we turn in the streets of Italy. We have just landed, but contrary to what our boss told us, no cab was waiting for us at the entrance of the airport.
"This is the sixth time we've been there, Paul, I don't think it's that way. "
He stops in the middle of the street and looks around us. Our suitcases are cluttering up the passage, and even if I don't understand Italian very well, I'm sure we're being insulted from all sides.
"Are you sure you typed the name of the hotel correctly? "I ask him again for I don't know how many times.
"Yes, I'm almost sure. "
We stand out in the scenery, it's sunny in Rome, whereas when we left Paris, it was less than fifteen degrees. I take off the light brown vest I'm wearing and reveal my skin in the sun.
"Let me see your phone. "I say to Paul.
He hands me the object, and I take it from his hands. Indeed, the GPS is activated correctly and the right address appears. It is impossible, every time we follow the path, we land at the starting point. That is to say that we turn constantly in circle.
I give him back his cell phone. We need another solution. We have our first press conference in just two hours. The problem is that neither Paul nor I speak Italian. There's always the option of speaking English, but the times I've tried to accost passersby, they haven't even stopped.
"We should try again to follow Google Map. "I advise.
Paul shakes his head in disappointment.
"I'm tired of going in circles.''
He sits down on top of his suitcase. I do the same and try to find a solution as quickly as possible.
"We can always try to go directly to the press conference. "Try Paul.
" Impossible, we are not talking about a small contest here, it is the Eurovision. "
Paul stares at me for a long time and blows his nose.
"That's true, but we have our press passes in our bags, maybe it can pass? "He adds.
"I don't think so. Mr. Benoit did say that our authorization to enter and provide would be in our hotel room. "I answer.
"Except we can't find the damn hotel! "Paul exclaims.
The people who pass by us turn around and stare at us. I smile warmly at them, and glare at my friend.
"What?" He is indignant.
"Calm down, you're embarrassing us, we're already in a delicate situation. "I scold him.
He blows, desperate, just like me. Between Paul and me, I'm the one who keeps calm the easiest, although I'm two years younger.
I've been working with him for a year now, so I'm starting to get used to his shitty temper.
"Well, I'll try to call Marie, maybe she can give us some more information. " I say to Paul's attention.
He nods at me, and I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans.
I scroll through my contact list, which isn't huge though, and find the number I'm looking for.
I press the phone icon, and wait for Marie to pick up.
After two rings, I finally hear a sound at the end of the line.
"Hello? How are you? "asks my boss's assistant.
"Not very well, we are stuck in the streets of Rome. "I answer wearily.
I can hear her busy with her own work.
"Why are you stuck in traffic?"
I shake my head, but I realize that she can't see me.
"Our cab never showed up, and we've been driving in circles for an hour and a half now because the GPS can't find our hotel. "
She hiccups with surprise.
"My poor children, I am going to speak about it with Mr. Benoit. I'll put you on hold. "
Indeed, I hear regular beeps in my phone.
"Well?" Presses Paul.
"She put me on hold, she's going to talk to Mr. Benoit about it. "
My colleague gasps in displeasure, and glances around us.
"It's okay, he's sending a car to pick you up where you are, you're going straight to the conference room. "
I smile, and give Paul a thumbs up.
"Thank you, thank you Marie. "I thank her.
She clears her throat.
"We just have a problem with your hotel, it just closed, and uh how do I put this, we don't have another place for you to stay right now. " She continues.
I must have changed my face, because Paul is staring at me. I try to smile at him to hide what Mary just told me, but I think it looks more like a grimace, because my friend is frowning even more.
"But don't worry, Mr. Benoit is already seeing what he can do, in the meantime the Eurovision organizers suggest that you stay in the premises. However, they don't have any beds, just big poufs. "
"Great!" I exclaim hypocritically.
"I'm so sorry Juliette, sweetie. I have to go, someone else is calling me. Enjoy with Paul. "
And she hangs up, right now I think the verb enjoy is not conducive to our situation.
I rub my face with my hands, and try to think of an approach to tell Paul all this. It's not cheap.
Speaking of the wolf, as soon as I put my phone back in my pocket, he is quick to question me.
"So?"
I might as well tell him everything without taking any guff, it's no use.
"We don't have a place to stay, and while Mr. Benoit finds us one, we'll have to sleep on beanbags in the Eurovision premises. But a car is on its way to take us to our press conference. "I rant.
His face closes instantly. Maybe I've been too direct.
"What?" His voice is curt.
I feel like he's going to explode any minute.
"We don't have any-" I start but he cuts me off.
"I got it, thanks. "
He gets up and walks over to me. He grabs my hands and states softly.
"I'm sorry I get carried away every time. I know you hate it. "
I smile gently at him, and rub his shoulder in a friendly way.
"It's okay, it's nothing. I'm just as on edge as you are, I assure you. "
He nods, and walks back to his suitcase. Neither of us speaks during the time we wait for our cab, which arrives ten minutes later.
It pulls up in front of us, we put our luggage in the trunk and get into the vehicle.
The driver tries to make conversation, but stops when he notices that neither of us speaks Italian.
The traffic is quite fluid for a Saturday afternoon, which surprises me.
I'm used to the Parisian ring road, and to the difficulty of driving in the city streets.
I am therefore surprised to see that Rome has more pedestrians than cars.
I watch the landscape go by through the window, unlike Paul, who doesn't let go of his cell phone.
I give him a tap on the shoulder, and tell him to look around.
"I've been here before, a while ago. I never understood why people love this town so much. " He tells me.
I have never set foot in Italy, so I prefer to form my own impression of the city, rather than follow my colleague's sullen words.
I can't focus on just one thing, the architecture is beautiful and just like the pictures I looked at before leaving.
We pass several monuments, but I have no idea what their names are. I never really get interested in this city and yet I might have. That would have avoided us to be lost.
From far away, I finally see the room that hosts the contest this year.
I take out of my backpack, my press pass, as well as my cards where I took some notes on the singers who will pass during our conference.
I reread them several times, to make sure I don't get the questions wrong.
Normally, we will insist on the conference of Sweden and Finland.
The cab stops in front of the huge building. I take out of my purse a twenty dollars, and tell him in English, that he can keep the change.
I get out of the car and get my suitcase. Paul imitates me, and once all our stuff is out of the trunk, the driver starts again instantly.
We stand on the sidewalk, and I take the time to admire what surrounds us. Except that Paul comes to spoil my contemplation by grabbing my elbow with his hand to make me move.
Of all the employees of French magazine, he was the one who didn't want to be part of the trip, but Paul is one of the best journalists of our company.
I just replaced Camille who got sick just before the ceremony.
Too bad for her, good for me.
We head for the doors, and once at the entrance, we give our names and show our press card.
The security guards look at the list, then check something off and allow us to pass. I thanked them, hoping they knew how to speak English, and went through the doors.
We land in a big hall, separated in several small stands.
All the flags of the countries present at the Eurovision are hung on the walls.
There is a corner with a table tennis table, and like a casino machine. On my right, I see some big poufs, a mini coffee table in the middle. Probably the relaxation corner, and maybe the one in which I will spend my next nights.
At my side, Paul is busy finding the location of our press conference that starts in fifteen minutes.
I look down at my notes, which I still have in my hands.
"Normally, this should be room nine. "I tell Paul, pointing to the sign on the wall that points to rooms five through ten.
He moves forward to where the arrow points, and I follow him a little further back.
I wave at the people we pass.
When we arrive in front of the room where the conference is taking place, several journalists are already present.
Some are standing slumped against the wall, others are sitting on the floor.
We get a little closer, some stare at us. At the same time, we drag two big suitcases, and backpacks on our shoulders. Our outfits are a bit of a stain compared to them.
I address them a small nod and smile with all my teeth.
Come on Juliette, be a nice girl, and calm, you will win points with them.
Paul sits with his back to the wall right next to me, and I do the same.
I try to move my suitcase next to me, but I meet, unluckily, the leg of a journalist on my right.
He glares at me, I apologize trying to look as nice as possible.
"You can see why, I refused to make this trip. "Paul says as he looks at the reporter I just hit.
Indeed, I understand. It's been barely two hours since we arrived and nothing is going as planned. I would almost dare to say that I miss the locals in Paris, and God knows I hate them.
News arrive by small groups. Most of them look at our big suitcases with a bad look. I wonder why no one has come to pick them up.
Maybe I will have to deal with them until the end.
Suddenly, the doors of the room where the conference is taking place, open on a blonde woman.
She tells the journalists to follow her. Everyone gets up, and heads to where the woman has disappeared.
Paul and I drag our suitcases behind, but she stops us by calling us.
We turn around dumbfounded.
"You must be Juliette and Paul" She has a strong Italian accent.
We nod at the same time.
She smiles affectionately at us, she cannot be more than fifty years old.
"I am Simona, I was told about your problems with your hotel. I can drop your bags in the rooms next to room nine, and you can come and pick them up afterwards. "
"That would be very kind of you," Paul replies in perfect English.
One of the reasons why he was forced to do these press conferences for our magazine.
"Good."
She takes our suitcases from our hands and gently pushes us towards the press room.
We say our names and the name of our magazine, and the security guard guides us to our seats.
We settle in, and I drop my backpack at my feet.
With my notes on my lap and Paul at my side, this press conference can finally begin.