“ÇA, C’EST PARIS!”
Or, in English, “This is Paris.” The stock phrase from the old-timey chanson made Jeffrey voice his displeasure.
“I can’t help but notice your ‘r’ is wrong. Try saying it again without using your tongue. It’s more like an ‘h.’”
“Your inner linguistic geek is showing, hon. La, la, la, not listening.”
“Linguistics geek? That’s my cousin’s nickname.”
“You and he both. Aah, ça, c’est Paris! Paris, and I get to see it in person!”
“Yes, you do.”
Under the gaze of Napoleon atop his column, Joachim danced through the Place Vendôme in the western end of Paris’s first arrondissement like a girl in love. Paris! Jeffrey, grown tired of his hotel in London, had seized upon the idea of Paris, called the manager of the Ritz to check if the penthouse apartment was free, and booked it for a month. Then, feigning insouciance, he invited Joachim to join him for a casual get-together only to reveal their exciting new lodgings. Joachim was overjoyed, squealing in delight and pretending to faint. It started to worry Jeffrey once it reached the point where Joachim insisted he really just might up and die of happiness. Regardless, Joachim was fun to have around, Jeffrey reflected. Just being near him was a treat.
“Paris, oh Paris! I can’t believe I’m truly here. I have to do something. Yes, Joachim, you must do something! But what? Oh, I haven’t the beginning of an idea! Going to Paris has always been on my bucket list.”
“We can do anything you want. I’ll show you around. Interested in visiting an art gallery that specializes in nineteenth century paintings?”
“Really, now! You take me there and I’ll die of excitement. Use your head, Jeffy.”
“Sorry. How about Maxim’s de Paris, then?”
“That’ll kill me, too!”
“You’re too hard to please. Well, how about just a walk for now?”
“That’d probably be best.”
They left the square and began strolling down the stylish streets.
“Don’t you want to take any photos, Chim?” Jeffrey asked.
“I can do without. You only get one first trip to Paris, you know. I don’t want to waste it behind a screen.”
“That’s fair.”
“Stop agreeing with me all the time! It’s weirding me out. Are you still tired?”
“Can’t you tell? I’m dead on my feet.”
“You don’t look so bad to me.”
“Fine. Maybe I should enjoy myself, too.”
Jeffrey smiled, a smile that fell somewhere in the middle of his work smile and personal grin. There was an eye-catching, handsome quality to it.
“It’s my first time with you in Paris,” he whispered as he slid his hand into Joachim’s. “Why not enjoy it? And you look beautiful, Chim.”
“…You’re babbling. Do you have a fever?”
“Huh, what kind of reaction is that? This is the city of love, so I thought whispering sweet nothings would be just the thing.”
“Please. You, sweet nothings? Your form of love is much more roundabout and messy.” Joachim’s shiny lips quirked into a smile of his own.
“I meant it, though,” Jeffrey huffed, trading his other look for an exasperated grin. “You really are gorgeous.”
“Jeffy, how many times have you been to Paris?”
“I’ve lost track. I come here pretty often for work.”
“I imagine some of the enchantment wears off as you get used to it.”
“Not really. Big cities are the same everywhere, so they all tend to blur together for me. Paris, though, just has that special Paris something about it.”
“Ça, c’est Paris.”
“Your pronunciation of the ‘r’ is killing me…”
“Oh, give it a rest!”
Their first destination lay behind the Ritz upon the Place Vendôme. The front windows of this historical building, still in use to this day, displayed dazzling suits, dresses, and handbags. Joachim let out a little cheer of delight.
“Chanel! Chanel in Mademoiselle Chanel’s own hometown. How wonderful. Can I stop and take a photo? The display in the window is perfect dance inspo.”
“Don’t you want to go inside?”
“No, I’m all right. There isn’t anything I want to shop for.”
“But we’re here. Why not take the opportunity?”
“I’m happy just looking. Besides, I don’t have any room for new clothes.”
“You could always move into a house with a nice walk-in closet.”
“Jeffy.” Joachim stopped and looked Jeffrey square in the eyes. Jeffrey felt nervous and stood up a little straighter; it was like he was about to be chewed out by an imaginary older sister.
“Hon, you and I come from two vastly different worlds,” Joachim explained.
“I know.”
“So do I. Well, I think I know, but in the end, it’s never really felt real to me. This isn’t the kind of difference we can wrap our minds around overnight. Paris is the symbol of all my dreams and longing, but to you, it’s nothing more than a place for work. It’s like how savings are just another dream for me, whereas you have more assets than you know what to do with. I’m not complaining, baby. It’s just one of those differences we were born with, like the color of our skin. With that said, I won’t let this difference ruin me. I don’t have the mental energy to keep up with you and your high-end ways, and I also don’t want to force you to eat off the one-dollar McDonald’s menu all the time.”
Joachim brandished a finger at Jeffrey, as stern as a general in battle.
“This is a fight that will take years to win. If I’m going to stay with you for good, then I’ll need to acclimate myself to your different lifestyle. It will take time. You and I are two creatures raised on a very different sort of water, but we both know that doesn’t mean our relationship is doomed. Our trouble will be in keeping it a good relationship. It’ll be a difficult mission, but I’m just the man for the job. That’s how we’ll win. We’ll win through our hard work. Just don’t ask me to do the impossible out of the blue, all right?”
His eyelashes, heavy with mascara, fluttered when he blew Jeffrey a debonair wink. It made Jeffrey smile, if a smile could be a sigh of defeat, too.
“…You’re strong, you know that?” he said.
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be alive.”
“And if we couldn’t ever be gentle, we wouldn’t deserve to be alive.”
“Why’s that now?”
“Hm? You mean you weren’t quoting Chandler?”
“Who’s that? Another one of your authors?”
“Yeah. I’ll lend you some of his books sometime. I’m a pretty big fan of his work.”
“Is that a bookstore on the corner? You should buy me something of his.”
“Would they have anything in English?”
They did. Raymond Chandler’s Playback wasn’t in stock, but Joachim came away with The Long Goodbye and a spring in his step. Jeffrey felt a twinge of regret that he’d bought a book with such an inauspicious name but kept pace with Joachim as they walked. The paparazzi made themselves scarce. So did the passerby, giving them a wide berth as they sauntered along the streets of Paris in all black with slicked-back hair and sunglasses like characters out of a movie.
“Do you really think this looks good on me, Chim?” Jeffrey asked.
“You want my honest opinion?”
“Please.”
“You’re slaying it. Could not be better. You’re so cute, I could eat you up, Jeffy.”
“Oh no…I’m dating a man with awful taste.”
“Mm-hmm. Bit late to complain about that, hon. You have a whole closet filled with my awful taste. Oh hey, let’s get ice cream at that little stall over there. We simply must!”
“All right, but if they don’t have pistachio, we’ll go somewhere else. The only two flavors I eat are pistachio and vanilla.”
“Really? I never knew. I’ll have to store that one away for later.”
It was a secret that he’d never shared with anyone before, but Jeffrey didn’t say that. He simply prayed that, through the process of opening up to one another, they could reconcile their two very different lives in time. Why, Seigi was only in his late teens when he met Richard, Jeffrey recalled. People that young were sponges unconsciously soaking up the world around them. Whether that was a good thing was not for Jeffrey to say; the future course of Seigi’s life was up to Seigi to decide.
Jeffrey and Joachim walked south from the Chanel store and took their ice cream to eat on the grass of the Tuileries Garden. The sun was delightfully warm, and the man in black next to Jeffrey was just as cheerfully bright.
“Hey, Chim?” Jeffrey asked.
“I already know what you’re about to say. You want to go clothes shopping? Pick any store you want, hon. I can make you look good in anything.”
“Ah ha. Was that your angle all along?”
“Maybe so.”
It went without saying that Paris was a city of fashion. Jeffrey usually opted for brand new clothing, but today he chose a secondhand shop of vintage clothing and brought Joachim along. Just as he’d expected, Joachim’s eyes grew wide. He wandered through the store, calling out, “Oh, this one’s perfect! Oh, and that!” like a buyer at a bargain sale. In Joachim’s hands, Jeffrey was a mannequin. Joachim’s first picks were conservative, but as he got into his groove, some of his choices took on a punk flair: black leather everything, sunglasses, ripped jeans.