24 Hours in Paris Page 3

  “Why are you nodding to yourself?” Jake asked.

  “I wasn’t.”

  “You definitely were. That must’ve been some conversation you were having in your head.”

  “You’re not as tall when your hair is messy,” she said, while secretly deciding his bedhead looked good.

  Mira’s comment threw him off, just as she’d intended. He ran his fingers through the mess atop his head. “It’s not that bad.”

  The train braked suddenly, propelling Jake’s body toward Mira. The last time she’d been that close to a man was two weeks earlier, when a rollerblader in Riverside Park had stumbled over a rock and crashed into her. In this case, Jake’s hovering presence made her heart rate immediately quicken.

  “Sorry,” he said, backing up, but studying her face like he was looking for an opening to flirt.

  Unfortunately for Jake, flirting was not on Mira’s agenda. It was getting to the airport that mattered. “I guess you didn’t have time to shower this morning, huh?”

  He flushed. “I mean . . . you know how it is.”

  “How what is?”

  The train resumed its rumbling journey, and in those few seconds, his embarrassment gave way to his usual smarmy vibe. “I didn’t make it back to the hotel until morning, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I’m familiar with the construct of time.”

  He seemed annoyed that she wasn’t dishing out high fives for his conquest with the waitress, but was he really surprised? Mira was hardly one of his pals. “It’s good that you’re wearing cologne,” she added. “It pairs well with the vodka sweat seeping out of your pores.”

  Before he could register the weight of her insult, the train screeched into the station.

  As they exited, Mira switched gears to navigation mode, carefully reading every overhead sign so she wouldn’t make a wrong turn. Jake followed with a level of commitment on par with a boy who was afraid of losing his mother in the mall. She wondered if he was always like this, or if it was simply a result of being in a foreign city. Either way, she didn’t mind, as having control of a situation was something she needed in her life.

  After purchasing tickets and following the signs for the escalator, Mira noticed how packed it was. There was no choice but to merge into the crush of bodies, and right away Mira lost her bearings. Luckily, Jake stepped in and switched from follower to leader, using his stature and long arms to clear a small path for Mira. He even glanced back every few seconds to make sure he hadn’t lost track of her. It was a small gesture, but a thoughtful one.

  They boarded the escalator without any trouble, but once they got to the platform, everything changed for the worse.

  The concierge had mentioned how Friday was busy for holiday goers, but in all the blogs she’d read about planning for a trip to Paris, she’d missed the advice on the best way to handle the hordes of frustrated people in her midst. Sweaty foreheads, aggressive elbows, bad breath . . . they were everywhere, and it felt like there was no escape.

  Trying to keep her wits about her, Mira glanced up at the digital information board. The next train would be arriving in four minutes, and the following one eleven minutes after that.

  “Okay,” she said, her body now sandwiched between two

  middle-aged women. “That seems normal.”

  A second later she heard a collective groan.

  “Why are they doing that?” Jake asked, standing a few feet away, and somehow unfazed by the elderly man leaning into his body for support.

  It took a few seconds for Mira to find the source of everyone’s frustration; the next train would now be arriving in seventeen goddamn minutes.

  “No!” she cried.

  Second by second, the crowd started thinning out.

  “Let’s take a car,” Jake suggested.

  “But the surge pricing.”

  “We’ll split it.” His voice was a sea of calm in the increasingly stressful situation.

  The information board soon provided another update; the next train would now be arriving in a mere eight minutes.

  “Look,” she said, “it’ll be here soon. Let’s just wait.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The platform filled back up again, the presence of fellow travelers giving Mira comfort. “I’m sure; this many people can’t be wrong, right?”

  Eight minutes later, there was no train in sight, and the board now offered an entirely different update:

  Annulé

  The collective groan was even louder than the previous one, and even though Mira wasn’t an expert in French, she could translate the word that spelled the kiss of death.

  “How could they just cancel it?” She inadvertently locked eyes with a balding man in glasses. “Do you know why they would cancel it?”

  “It’s a strike,” he explained, in a nonchalant tone that was deeply disturbing.

  She scoffed. “You can’t just go on strike without telling anyone.”

  The bespectacled man considered her argument. “There was some discussion on the news last week; we were wondering if it might happen soon.”

  “Some? Might?” Mira crossed her arms. “That’s not how it works. You need to officially announce that there will be a strike, and then you need to schedule it for one minute after midnight.”

  “This is France,” he said simply, before leaving her there in a stunned silence.

  Jake came forward and steered her away from the platform. “My internet isn’t good here; we need to get back upstairs to call the car.”

  Mira glanced at the clock on the train board. With a quick calculation, the panic set in. “Oh my God, we could actually miss this flight.”

  *

  As the traffic crawled to a stop for the fifth time on Jake and Mira’s way out of Paris, she felt the cold grip of reality.

  If Mira missed her flight, she would need to book another one for later in the day at a price that was sure to be unsettling. She also knew that despite the strike being out of her control, there was every chance Shirley would reject the surge pricing if she felt like being evil, which, she usually did. Whether or not she’d support the overpriced flight cost was a whole other matter.

  Normally, Mira wouldn’t have been too stressed by unexpected costs, but after losing the deposit amounts on the banquet hall, the decor, and the catering after canceling the wedding, she wasn’t exactly in a good financial situation.

  “We’re going to make it,” Jake said, as if he’d somehow managed to read all her worried thoughts.

  She gave him a long look. “Time is not a flat circle; you know that, right?”

  His smile exuded a level of confidence that was somehow compelling. “We’ve got this.”

  *

  When Mira and Jake finally arrived at the airport, she headed for the self-serve check-in kiosks, her mind flashing back to the night before when the online process hadn’t worked. But the kiosks weren’t working either.

  “Goddammit.”

  Somehow, though, that wasn’t even the worst of it.

  “The check-in counter’s closed,” Jake said, all that earlier confidence now drained from his voice.

  They were up against it, but Mira wasn’t ready to give in.

  She rushed over to the first uniformed human she could find. She fought. She pleaded. She insulted the entire country of France. But to no avail. Apparently, it wasn’t possible to check in new passengers when the flight in question had already begun boarding.

  “What do you mean it isn’t possible? What about all those last-minute losers whose names get announced over the intercom like they’re so important and ultraspecial and basically Brad Pitt?” She turned to Jake. “Right?”

  “Totally . . .” he said, doing his best to support her sudden outburst.

  The clerk at the check-in counter remained calm. “As you did not show up on time, your seats were given to passengers on the standby list. Therefore, it is, as I said, not possible.”

  She stumbled away from the counter. “Fuuucckkk.”

  “It’s going to be fine,” Jake whispered.

  “Let me search for another flight,” the clerk offered, still unfazed by Mira’s breakdown.

  She felt a sudden headache coming on. “Yeah. Sure. Why not.”

  A minute later, the clerk seemed rather pleased with himself. “All right, mademoiselle, I have found two seats on the next available flight. It will be tomorrow at three p.m.”

  Mira burst into laughter. Once she’d recovered, she smiled like a woman on the edge. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

  The clerk was deeply unimpressed. “Do you want the flight or not?”

  Her intense vibe switched to utter panic. “How is there nothing for today? There should be tons of flights that go to New York!”

  The clerk made no effort to hide his disdain for the fact that Mira continued to exist. “There are not tons, there are several. But with so many Americans who are coming back and forth during Haute Couture Week, and with it being the high season of tourism, this is the flight we have.”

  “What about one seat?” she asked. “Like forget about him,” she added in a whisper, “just find one for me.”

  “Not cool,” Jake said, his wounded eyes of little consequence to Mira.

  “This is the only flight,” the clerk repeated.

  “What about a stopover?” she pressed.

  The clerk started typing. “Let me see . . . ah yes, you can leave today and have a thirteen-hour overnight stopover in Iceland.”

  “Fuck that,” Jake grumbled. He elbowed M
ira. “Let’s just go for tomorrow’s flight.”

  She lowered her head in resignation.

  Surge pricing . . . the potential cost of another flight . . . a hotel stay—the unexpected expenses were adding up in a major way. “Okay. Book it.”

  Jake nodded to the clerk. “Two tickets for tomorrow’s flight, please.” He turned to Mira and grinned. “Ready for another twenty-four hours in Paris?”

  CHAPTER

  three

  M

  Twelve p.m.

  “Watch out for that pile of garbage,” Mira cautioned.

  Her words of warning to Jake said it all, as they dragged their luggage up a sketchy street in the 18th arrondissement. Their flight had now been officially booked, and they were freshly back in Paris for another twenty-four hours.

  “Is that a used diaper?” Jake wondered aloud as they passed by the trash.

  “Why are there half-eaten chicken bones in the street? And why doesn’t this feel like Montmartre? I thought the 18th arrondissement and Montmartre were one and the same.” She wiped the sweat that was pooling at the edge of her forehead. “This is not what Amélie promised me!”

  There was indeed no sign of whimsical charm anywhere in the vicinity, in this neighborhood east of the Sacré-Coeur Basilica. Somewhere in the back of Mira’s mind, she knew it was silly to base expectations off a film that contained literal elements of fantasy. When it came to it though, she was a Paris-bucket-list dreamer on a mission, and that was the side of her that would rule the day. She even had an intricate knowledge of the city’s map, cultivated over years of imagining being in Paris. The trouble was, it only extended to the places she cared about, and it certainly didn’t include this rough-and-tumble area with its train tracks, used electronic stores, rundown laundromat, and shattered dreams.

  While sharing an airport taxi on their journey back to Paris—which had thankfully been reasonably priced—Mira had focused her energy on booking a hotel room online. Jake had simply watched without a care in the world, after informing Mira that Colette, his one-night stand, had been more than happy to make it a two-night affair. He’d even offered to ask Colette if Mira could crash on the floor of her studio apartment. As gallant as that was, Mira would’ve rather jumped into the Seine, and she didn’t even know how to swim.

  As for available hotel rooms, tourist season plus Haute Couture Fashion Week had made it nearly impossible to find a hotel that Mira could remotely afford. She’d eventually managed to find a place with one last twin room available, and while the reviews were sparse and the photos uninspiring, she was hardly in a position to complain.

  “Is this the place?” Jake asked as they rounded the corner.

  With squinted eyes, Mira managed to read the lettering on the faded, potentially pigeon shit–stained sign that read HÔTEL.

  “This must be it.” She stopped a few feet from the entrance and glanced back at Jake. “Thanks. You can go now.”

  He seemed surprised. “What do you mean?”

  “You said you wanted to make sure this wasn’t a human-trafficking trap, and . . .” she gestured to the sign, “. . . since it’s clearly a hotel, and this clearly isn’t the plot from the movie Taken, you can go.” She cleared her throat. “But seriously, thank you; I appreciate the protective Liam Neeson vibes.”

  His look of surprise shifted to a salesman swagger. “Are you sure you don’t need me? You don’t even know what’s in there.” He approached the wooden door that was rotting at the edges. “Hmm . . .” He peered inside the dirty window and frowned. “It could still be a human-trafficking ring disguised as a hotel.” He held open the door for Mira. “Once I know it’s safe, I’ll leave.”

  Mira stepped inside, and much to her relief it was a real hotel, despite the sorry state of the check-in desk.

  “See?” she said assuredly. “You may go now.”

  “I’ll leave once I know the room is safe.”

  Mira had trouble reconciling his chivalry with the extroverted salesman who only seemed to care about having fun. Except she didn’t know him well enough to assess which version was true. “Okay,”—she decided— “you can quickly look at the room.”

  Instead of the clerk simply giving Mira the key, he led them to the room and even opened the door. “C’est bon?” he asked.

  Mira struggled to restrain her disgust. “It’s fine,” she said, convincing no one. She turned to the clerk. “Merci.” He handed her the key and scurried away, not unlike one of the rodents that was probably lurking in the room.

  Jake was the first one to step inside, and a few paces later, he was already on the other end of the tiny room. He studied the faded floral blanket that was draped across the small twin bed. “Sixty percent chance of bedbugs.”

  “Shut up!” She grudgingly made her way in, forcing herself to get used to her temporary home. “And it’s just for one night.”

  “Even so . . .”

  “We can’t all have booty calls to give us shelter, okay?” She dropped her carry-on onto the floor. “Anyway, I’ll be fine. You can go.”

  Jake examined the dusty window, taking in the view of the adjacent building’s wall. “Huh.” He spun around. “Do you think we could’ve made the flight if we’d taken the car? Like I’d suggested?”

  “I told you to take the car,” she reminded him. “And you followed me to the métro anyway.”

  “Really? I think it went a little differently.”

  “No. Nuh-uh.” Mira crossed her arms. “Your revisionist history bullshit won’t work here.” She gestured to the door. “You can go now.” To her surprise, his expression transformed into the faux innocent look of someone who’d been holding back. “What’s with the face?”

  “The thing is . . .” he started, as he retrieved his luggage and rolled it to an empty corner of the room, “Colette has a couple of appointments this afternoon, and she won’t be free for another few hours, so . . .”

  She rolled her eyes. “Spare me the life story of your one-night stand.”

  “Two-night stand.”

  “Sure,” she said. “Great. Now what was your point again?”

  He folded his hands together like a boy in the Sunday school choir. “I was hoping I could kill some time with you until she’s free.”

  “What do you need me for?” she asked. “You’re not exactly lacking in the outgoing department.”

  He glanced back at the window. “True. But meeting people in broad daylight isn’t as easy as meeting people in a bar.”

  She snorted. “Then go to a café and read a book or something.”

  “I didn’t bring any books,” he explained. “And sitting in a café for three whole hours might be lonely.” He ran his fingers through his hair, a move that was breaking her down. “What do you say?”

  Mira bit her lip. She wasn’t convinced about Jake’s fear of loneliness, nor was spending time with him any part of her Paris bucket list. Still, she liked the idea of having the upper hand and potentially making him beg, an unhealthy urge she would have to examine later. “You need some company, eh? I see, I see.”

  The innocent boyish expression returned. “And maybe after, you wouldn’t mind coming back with me to open up the room so I can get all my stuff?” He gestured to his bags. “If it wouldn’t be too inconvenient?”

  She frowned. “Why don’t you just leave your stuff with the concierge?”

  “That guy? I’m not trusting him with my laptop.”

  She considered his plight. “You’re right; Shirley would kill you if you lost it.”

  “Are we good then?” He conjured up a dazzling smile. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  She sneered. “Gross.”

  “I meant with my charm.”

  She sighed. “I don’t know . . .”

  “Please?”

  Maybe she’d tortured him enough. “Sure, fine.”

  “Thank you!” He held out his arms. “Hug?”

  Her eyes zeroed in on the sweat stains clearly visible through his shirt. “Nah, I’m good.” She grabbed her carry-on and dragged it to the bathroom. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need a quick shower.”