I say to myself, "Fuck," in my head, hanging onto the 'u' for a few seconds. When I finally rise, it's slow and I pull my head from side to side and around in a circle to try and force the rigidity out. It works, kind of, but a lot of pain never leaves. Lili's still in bed, but she's awake and she sees me stirring.
"I'm closing that stupid window," I say as I beeline to the love-seat.
She's still under the covers up to her neck, buried under a thick down comforter with just her hair and her cozy head poking out. "Is somebody a little chilly?" she asks smiling.
I shoot her a mean stare over my shoulder as I fasten the window latch, and she squirms and smiles some more and pulls the sheets in closer. What a goof, I love her. I shake my head and forget the ache in my hips and everywhere it's stiff, and I put some coffee in the Italian press. "Coffee?"
"Yes, please."
[stop]
She sucks down her coffee with a cigarette. And opens the other window to blow smoke out. I've got a jacket on now and plus the sunlight's in full swing. "Play the song," she commands with conviction.
"Oh, god."
"Please?" The song is "Coffee and Cigarettes by Angus and Julia Stone. She loves this song. She's listened to it on repeat in the morning most every day she has class and today is no different.
"Don't you ever get tired a listening to the same old song each morning?" I ask.
"Nope." She's quite certain of herself. "It only just gets better."
"Right..." I'll never really really understand this girl, I don't think. Which is probably why she's always so interesting to me. Probably why I love her too, so I play her song. And I put it on repeat. "Let me get a drag a that at least," I say.
She rolls her eyes, but she hands me her cigarette smoothly, and I stand to stick my head out the window. The cigarette's dancing between my fingers and the air outside is cold and nips at my face with a quick shiver. Lili sees. "A bit cold, eh?" she scoffs.
I blow a puff out fast and hand the stick back. "This weather's nonsense. I can't believe you live out here." Both hands hold my tiny tea cup with coffee in it, both clasping like a vice-grip trying to squeeze the head out. "I'm gonna stay in today, I think."
"And do what?"
"Write my balls off."
She looks at me like I'm pretentious. "Uh-huh." I'm beginning to get the feeling that Lili's much more sarcastic in the mornings. Maybe it's a coffee thing. Maybe it's a morning thing. Whatever it is, I snap back, "Well what are you going to do smarty pants?" I'm snappy in the mornings.
"I got class dummy pants."
[stop]
"Free wine and num-nums at the Colombian Embassy tonight. You in?"
"What's that now?" I love free wine and num-nums. And I hear Colombia's a lovely country.
"It's an AUP thing, it'll be cool. Like a little grad-student mixer," Lili looks at me and after a breath of a pause and a sip of red wine, "Maybe put your nice shirt on though." Good thing I brought one of those.
"Who's all going to this shin-dig?" I ask as I dig through my bag for my grey button-down.
"Oh, you know, a bunch of grad-school types. Lindsay's going to meet us downstairs."
"Hmm, who's Lindsay?" There's always a tone of intrigue in my voice, I've come to realize, when questions circle around a woman's name. Especially with a glass of wine in my hand.
"A friend," she says, then she eyes me suspiciously. "She has a boyfriend."
"Whatever, hussy," says I.
"You're the hussy!"
"I know." But in truth, the boyfriend thing's a turn-off. Not my cup of tea really. It's more like a cup of coffee, and I hate coffee. It's bitter and sharp and only tastes good as espresso with vanilla and creme. For me anyways. So I put on my one nice button-down and my one pair of nice loafers while Lili finishes with her make-up. "Is it going to be cold?" I ask. I already have on two undershirts, but the nights in Paris can be a bitch sometimes, especially when one's so used to California winters.
"It's eh. Your sweater should do. I'd bring a scarf though. We got a little bit of walking to do," she says, so I grab my sweater and fold my scarf in half before wrapping it around my neck and pulling the loose ends through the loop. Not tight. Just close enough to keep the cold out.
[stop]
Then we slake down the rest of wine in our glasses, and we're off. The six flights of servants' quarter stairs that wrap steeply around a tiny stairwell so we're never walking straight, just spiraling ever downward to the ground floor. Then it's through the tiny courtyard and the building lobby and we're out in that orange glow of Parisian street lights. Lindsay's just around the corner, waiting, on Rue de Grenelle. She greets Lili like close friends do in Paris, with a smile and a hug and a kiss on each cheek. Always the gentleman, or trying to be anyways, I stand politely by looking smugly at my feet, thumbing my ring around on its middle finger roost. "And you must be Brian," I hear, and when I look up I meet Lindsay's eyes. They're bubbly, and they squint cutely went she smiles.
"Must I?" I say with a tilt of my head.
"Yes, you must," says Lili.
"Well, if I must, then why not. Hello, it's a pleasure to meet you Lindsay," I say with my hand out.
"And you as well," she says. "I've heard so much about you."
"Ha! Have you now?" I tut-tut, looking at Lili. "Good things I hope."
"Oh, only the best. Don't worry." She's a little spark-plug, this one. Well, a tall slender spark-plug actually. What I mean is she's a riot. An aloof redhead from the just north of the Valley back in LA. She'd met Lili on the bus from the airport when they both first moved out, and they just so happened to both be going to the same grad school, so they'd been the best of friends ever since. In that light, as the whole thing unfolds while we're walking , the relationship between them seems pleasantly coincidental. Those are always the best kinds of coincidences, the pleasant ones, and we're immediately three peas in a pod.
We walk, the three peas of us, and we walk briskly because the late autumn air in Paris isn't exactly embalming. There's a bite to it, and it nips at the fingers so I dig my hands deep in my pant pockets. I take long strides to keep up with the girls. They've been here, in Paris, for two years and for them night-walking through the city at this time, in this season, isn't something to be taken at a stroll. It's a quick-footed bee-line to the embassy.
[stop]
The Colombian embassy is quite stately. We walk up two flights of marble stairs with a stretch of red carpet trailing down the middle. I follow the girls off at the landing and through a pair of heavy wood doors and a short hallway of white-framed mirrored walls that takes us to a small ballroom packed with young, well-dressed intellectual types. From just stepping in, I feel a bit out of sorts. It looks like half a suit-and-tie affair and half some doldrums of an office supplies convention, and a strange solidarity from being the only one in jeans begins to creep up and I need a drink immediately. Luckily, Lili and Lindsay are on the same page. Drink-wise anyways. They're dressed to kill in smart business attire. They look how grad students in Paris ought to look, and they wear it fine.
[stop]
