And so.
And so.
And so.
I drink.
Halfway to Philippe’s and half the bottle is gone. I’m dead fucking drunk I throw up on the sidewalk at place de la Concorde. When I’m done heaving I sit down there are cars moving around the circle, the obelisk and the fountain are both lit, there is a small amount of water on the road everything is shimmering and beautiful and there are people in the cars going somewhere in Paris, I imagine they’re happy or at least not in pain. I take a long draw from the bottle. The whiskey burns my mouth, throat, and stomach, I lean over and throw up again throw up on the ground between my legs I don’t give a fuck. I take another long draw this time it stays down. I take another stays down. I light a cigarette the vomit smells I don’t give a fuck everything hurts I’m in pain. I take another draw. I stare at the obelisk and the fountain. At shimmering lights. At the cars full of happy people or at least not me pain. I take another draw.
I stay until the bottle is gone. When I stand I vomit again I can hardly walk I’m on the edge of the blackness the edge of oblivion, but my mind won’t let me go there. The images flashing endlessly flashing images of her and of him and of the two of them together the images keep me conscious, or some version of conscious. I know Philippe’s address know where the apartment is but I stumble around lost, I stumble around I can’t find it, it should take fifteen minutes it takes ninety. When I do find it I press the buzzer wait, press it again wait, press it again. The door opens Philippe is in his garbageman uniform he’s getting ready for work he looks at me speaks.
What the fuck, Jay?
Hi, Philippe.
What happened to you?
Can I stay here?
What happened?
I just need somewhere to stay.
You okay?
No.
What happened?
I just…
I start to cry.
I just need…
I cry.
Somewhere to stay.
Cry.
Philippe puts his arm around me leads me into the building I can hardly walk through the small courtyard I’m crying and I can’t walk up a flight of stairs to his family’s apartment. Philippe asks me what happened asks me what’s wrong I’m crying and I can’t tell him, I ask him if he has anything to drink and somewhere I can sleep, he gets me a bottle of vodka and leads me to the guest room. He knows I’m fucked-up and in pain he helps me take off my combat boots and my jacket, he helps me get into bed I start drinking the vodka I’m still crying. He gets a glass of water and sets it on the nightstand I can’t stop fucking crying. He leaves and softly closes the door the images are flashing in my mind there is pain in my blood I can’t stop crying.
When I hurt.
I drink.
I drink to make the hurt go away.
Though I know when I wake it will only hurt more.
I don’t give a fuck.
I can’t stop crying.
I want blackness.
Oblivion.
I drink.
I find it.
*
I wake up in the middle of the afternoon and for a second or two I don’t know where I am I don’t remember.
And then.
It all comes back. Like a fucking hammer to my soul. Like a fucking building dropped on top of me. It all comes back and I can’t actually believe any of it even though I know it happened and it’s true I saw her and I saw him and I saw the two of them together. I sit up and I take a sip from the glass of water, the bottle of vodka is empty. My mouth is dry the water feels good moving down my throat I can feel it in my stomach. I don’t remember the last time I ate and I’m not hungry. I just hurt. Everything hurts. And I want it to go away. I stand and walk into the living room Philippe is reading the paper and drinking coffee. He says hello I nod, he asks me if I’m okay I say no. I ask him if he’ll go to the liquor store with me he asks me what happened I ask him for a drink he gets a bottle of wine and opens it and hands it to me. I drink the bottle and I tell him what happened and even though I want to cry and I almost cry, I don’t. When I’m done he stands and gives me a hug and tells me he’s sorry. I ask him if he’ll go to the liquor store with me and he says yes and we go to the nearest one and I spend every cent I have on bottles of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. We walk back to his house and I ask him if I can stay for a couple days I tell him I probably won’t leave the guest room and he says yes, you can have anything you want, you can stay as long as you need. I go back to the guest room and I drink until the blackness comes, I drink until oblivion takes me.
*
I stay at Philippe’s for four days I’m either dead fucking drunk or asleep the entire time on the fifth day I sleep for twenty-four hours. I wake up and though my mind isn’t clear, it is clear enough to know what I’m going to do. I take a shower go back to the apartment Louis and I share, I pack my shit, I leave Louis a note thanking him for his love and for his friendship and for his generosity, I leave him a thousand dollars in an envelope to cover rent and bills for a couple months, I want to give him time to find a new roommate, I love Louis and I hope our paths cross again someday, I hope our paths cross again.
*
I stop by the boulangerie the Baker smiles and asks me where I’ve been he says he’s happy to see me his wife waves to me says bonjour tells me the pain au chocolat is delicious today. I thank her ask for one, tell him I’ve been busy staying at a friend’s place, that I might not be around for a while he asks me why and I tell him I think it’s time for me to go. He walks around the counter gives me a big long hearty hug I slip $100 into his apron pocket I thank him for all the tasty treats he laughs I wave to his wife as I leave I eat the pain au chocolat it is indeed delicious thank you old French baker people, thank you.
*
I take all my books to Shakespeare and Company. They offer to buy them I don’t want money I want them to sell them to people who will love them I want whoever reads them to love them as much as I do. As I walk away I smile at the sign and say thank you Shakespeare and Company, thank you.
*
One last sandwich at Maison de Gyros I’m more or less sober this time the crispy bread the spicy lamb meat the fresh lettuce and tomato hot fries spicy red sauce tangy white sauce it is the most delicious combination of edible delights in the entire world thank you Maison D, thank you.
*
Sitting in front of The Gates of Hell. Torture and ecstasy. Writhing bodies. Beauty and love and terror and eternity, men and women screaming, reaching, kissing, begging, crying, being tortured by love and pain, being tortured by regret and sorrow. I sit on the bench where I was sitting when Katerina and I met. It’s cold and gray and raining the Musée Rodin is empty there are no tourists in Paris at the beginning of March. I have been here for almost a year. I came seeking and searching, lost and hungry, desirous of and desperate for books and art and madness and love, desperate for life for life for life desperate. Money didn’t matter to me still doesn’t, achievement didn’t matter to me still doesn’t, success didn’t matter to me still fucking doesn’t. I didn’t want to be part of that machine, another cog in that machine still don’t. And though I’m leaving Paris and leaving France what I have seen and felt and read and written, the art and books and buildings, the sidewalks and streets and parks and bridges, they will never leave me. Won’t matter where or how old I am or what I end up doing, what I learned here what I came here to learn is that it’s possible, to say fuck that machine, to live as you please, to love as you please, to believe as you please, to eat drink sleep think fuck as you fucking please. To say fuck you to that big dumb soul-destroying machine. To defy it. To have a dream and chase it. To not give a fuck what people think of you and what you have in your heart and your mind and your soul and what you dream about to absolutely not give a fuck. To do everything feel everything experience everything. What I learned here in the most beautiful, most civilized city on earth is that I don’t have to work
vote save obey pay my taxes join the homeowners’ association smile at Christmas parties kiss my boss’s ass get sick die and rot. I don’t have to do any of that bullshit and I won’t do it, I fucking won’t.
I don’t know how many times I have sat here in front of The Gates of Hell. Staring thinking feeling dreaming I don’t know how many times. I didn’t understand what I was looking at until now. That for me and for all who came before me every writer and every artist, The Gates aren’t to Hell, The Gates are to Freedom, that the torture and ecstasy, the beauty and love and terror, the addiction and disaster and exuberance, are the price we pay to find it. I’m happy to pay. Whatever the cost, I don’t care. Take everything I’ve got none of it fucking matters. All that matters is that I was here, and I saw, and I felt, and I loved, and I believed, and I lived.
I lived.
I lived.
*
I call two friends who are living in London ask them if they need a roommate. London’s expensive they say they’d be happy to have me I get their address and tell them I’ll see them soon. I call the airline there are flights every hour tickets are cheap I can buy one at the airport.
*
Philippe comes home I tell him my plan he laughs and says he’ll miss me but thinks it might be a good idea, a good idea for both of us. We decide to have a night. A final night. He takes a shower rids himself of his occupational smell puts on some decent clothes, I wear my uniform khakis long underwear shirt white T-shirt we go out. A drink at Flore. Dinner at Lipp. Sangria at Bar Dix. Absinthe at Polly Omer isn’t there I leave him a note of thanks, tell him I love him, a note of thanks. Vodka on ice at Stolly’s, walk past La Comédie without stopping. Philippe has given me so much, paid for so much, I take care of everything this time. And everywhere I go I think of Katerina. I see her even though she isn’t there. I hear her. I feel her. I remember times we had things we did conversations laughs and smiles, a kiss. Every woman I see reminds me that they aren’t her and that she’s somewhere in Paris and that I’m never going to see her again. Every woman I see makes me hope that I feel about someone else the way I feel about her it will take time if it happens at all, so much time. I see hair reminded freckles reminded little black dress reminded Adidas sneakers reminded a smile reminded, I hear a laugh or a funny word or a smartass remark reminded. And so with every drink Philippe has I have two or three, and as the night goes on I move closer to darkness and closer to oblivion I don’t want to be fucking reminded.
Philippe wants to go to Les Bains Douches. He says it’s my last night we should do it right, I’m happy to go along. It’s a short walk to rue Sainte-Avoye to rue du Bourg l’Abbe to the old bathhouse turned into the fanciest nightclub in the world. There’s a large door like a hotel entrance, a carved marble Bacchus above it, spotlights illuminating red carpet the thumping beat of dance music filling the air. There’s a line at the door menacing doormen standing guard. Philippe walks up to them says hello they smile and shake his hand pat him on the back they shake my hand and usher us into the club. I ask Philippe how he knows them he tells me he picks up their garbage every morning the doormen are usually still there. We walk inside labyrinthine rooms, all former baths, a large pool still filled, a black-and-white-checked dance floor, couches bars waitresses a huge crowd of beautiful people, men women gay straight French Italian English American German nationality doesn’t matter, style does I have very little of it. Philippe finds the manager who gives him a hug and takes us to a velvet sofa, a small table in front of it, the room is dark and loud and crowded, lights flashing and moving, people talking drinking dancing.
I look at the menu figure fuck it it’s my last night, I order a bottle of champagne Philippe laughs. We watch the crowd Philippe gets up and dances with a group of three girls all tall thin and beautiful, he’s a great dancer unselfconscious and uninhibited, a surprising amount of rhythm, a huge amount of enthusiasm and gusto. I finish the champagne order another bottle, ask for a bottle of vodka as well. Philippe comes over to our sofa with the girls they sit with us, drink with us, talk with us, laugh with us, flirt with us. They’re all models in their late teens or early twenties, two American one French. They’re cool, smart, funny, gorgeous they simultaneously make me remember and make me forget. We go through three more bottles of champagne and the vodka one of the Americans looks like the most beautiful California surfgirl in the world she has a vial of cocaine asks if we’re interested. I say yes we go to one of the bathrooms close the door cut lines on the lid of the toilet with a credit card get wired, it feels good so good, the first stimulant since, the first thing I’ve done to bring myself up since it feels good so good.
We open the door step out Katerina is standing in front of me. I’m too surprised to speak or move my heart was already pounding from the blow, it immediately feels like it’s going to explode. Surfgirl walks away I stand in front of Katerina she’s wearing a pink dress, a black sweater, hair pulled back in a ponytail, the necklace I gave her glittering and shining around her neck it hurts me to see it she stares at me speaks.
That was quick.
What?
Over me already.
Fuck off.
You fuck her in there?
No.
You sure?
Here with Philippe, just met her, she had some blow.
I wouldn’t blame you if you did.
Heart pounding I feel like I’m going to throw up, I still love her even though she makes me fucking sick, the glittering and shining heart around her neck makes me fucking sick. I start to step around her, I want to walk away. She reaches for my arm.
Please.
What?
I’m sorry.
Doesn’t matter.
I’m so sorry.
Doesn’t matter, Katerina.
It does.
Fuck off.
I step around her start to walk away, she steps in front of me.
Please, please talk to me, for five minutes, please.
Why?
I need to explain.
There is really no fucking need to explain anything.
I step around again, she reaches for my arm.
Please.
I turn to her she looks like she’s going to cry. Her brown eyes wet, lower lip quivering.
Please.
She motions to the bathroom the door is open she steps in I follow, she closes the door it’s small and we’re close, she locks the door.
I’m sorry, Jay.
Stop saying it.
I was drunk and high and he and I have a history and I’m up for a job with his company and…
Who you here with tonight?
Why does that matter?
Him?
No.
Who?
Some girlfriends.
He’s here.
He was, I don’t know if he still is.
You meeting him later?
No. No. Never again. No.
I don’t have anything to say to you, Katerina.
Please accept my apology.
I loved you. I still love you. I thought you loved me.
I do.
Yeah?
Yes.
That’s why I saw you with another man’s cock in your mouth and his tongue in your pussy.
I’m sorry.
You want to apologize, cool. Can you erase my fucking memory too?
She puts her hands on my chest.
I’m sorry.
She starts to cry.
I’m so fucking sorry.
She cries I let her, she puts her head on my chest keeps saying
I’m sorry.
Over and over I know she’s being genuine and true, I know she’s sorry. I still love her and hate to see her hurt or cry I hate that she keeps saying
I’m sorry.
And as much as I hate her hurting and crying, it doesn’t make me hurt any less or make me forget or make me anything other than feel fucking awful. I hate this bathroom hate this club hate this night I
just want to fucking leave. I start to move Katerina off of me gently push her away, she lifts her head, looks up at me, her eyes into mine light brown and pale green it breaks my heart, it breaks my fucking heart, she looks into my eyes. I push her away she says
No.
Pushes me back against the wall.
No.
Her eyes into mine light brown pale green what was once intimacy is sadness pain and regret, she moves her hands behind my head pulls me toward her kisses me. And I taste her. Her lips her tongue her breath. And I kiss her back. And it is fast and immediate and passionate, the taste the desire the longing the loss our lips and tongues and hands fast immediate passionate. My hands move up her dress pull off her thong her hands in my pants take me out we’re kissing breathing she pushes toward the toilet the seat is down I sit on top of it she sits on top of me. I’m inside her I feel joy and pain extreme pleasure and extreme sadness, there is nowhere I want to be more and there is nowhere I want to be less, I never want to leave I want to get the fuck away. Her hips move slowly and deeply I pull her against me I don’t want to look in her eyes for the first time since I’ve known her I don’t want to look into her eyes. I don’t want to see love and I don’t want to see pain and I don’t want to see hope I don’t want to see regret. I close my eyes to her to myself to the world I hold her against me she moves her hips slowly, deeply. We cum quickly, powerfully, I feel her body shake I hear her moan, I pull her tighter against me I throb inside her throb. We stay for a moment two, don’t move don’t speak I’m inside her she’s sitting on my lap I’m holding her. Her head is on my shoulder my face buried in her hair it smells clean fresh and beautiful. She starts to cry. To cry on my shoulder sob on my shoulder I pull her tighter she’s so thin and frail in my arms, I don’t want her to cry it hurts me more to hear her cry, to feel her cry, to know she’s hurting, it hurts me more.
I’m sorry, Jay. I’m sorry.
It’s okay.
It’s not.