He pulls me tight alongside him, his hand warm but his skin a little rough, and then we’re out into the Parisian night.
We go to Pigalle. The neighborhood is renowned for Le Moulin Rouge, the cabaret where feather-clad dancers perform the famous French cancan, but that’s not where we’re headed. Turning off bustling boulevard de Clichy, Amir and I pass by a few sex shops—with whips and vinyl lingerie in the windows—and stop in front of a black door. It’s unmarked except for a purple neon sign above it in the shape of a key. Amir knocks three times, then two, then three again. A bouncer appears, to whom Amir whispers something I can’t hear. A password, maybe. And then we’re in.
Inside, the walls are painted a dark shade of violet and lined with matching velvet booths, barely big enough to fit two people. The lighting is so subdued I can barely make out where the bar is. The music is trancelike, with few lyrics. Still gripping my hand, Amir pulls me through the crowdof sweaty bodies to a booth in the back. He hangs on to me so tight that it sends electricity up and down my spine. He wants me here with him, won’t let me go. The booth is even more private than the ones we’ve walked past, with black partitions going up halfway. We sit down.
“Taylor? Yoo-hoo, Taylor?”
Amir waves his hand in front of my face, the whiff of cooler air bringing me back. He must have been calling this name for a little while. I’ve always hated it. Taylor, it’s so basic. For a long time I refused to answer to it.It’s just a name, Rae would say with her kind, motherly smile.You don’t mind, sweetie?I did. I still do. But that’s what Cassie wanted to call me so, just like with everything else, I let her. Rae acted like it was Cassie’s fault, but she left me no choice, either.
“Is this okay?” Amir says.
“This is perfect.” Dark, anonymous, a million miles away from Cassie’s swanky hotel room and her fucking husband. Truly fantastic.I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice Amir has ordered drinks until they appear in front of us: clear liquid in no-frills glasses, with a couple of ice cubes that won’t melt the liquor away.
“Santé!” I say lifting mine and clinking it against his.
Amir follows my lead with an amused smirk. “You speak French. You’re here on a honeymoon, but with no husband. Are you married? Have youeverbeen married?”
I tip my head back, swallowing the drink in one fell swoop. It burns my insides as it travels down my throat. Blurs my edges, too.
I slam the glass back on the table. “I thought we were going to dance.”
Amir nods. “There’s something dark about you. Something twisted.”
He’s a complete stranger and yet he sees me. Or maybe it’s that I’m ready to be seen. To be myself. Free of Cassie, of…him. Of the crushing hope I felt for a few weeks. I glance at my empty glass. “What if there is?”
He leans out of our little black and purple cocoon to wave at a server,making the another-round gesture with his index finger.
Then he grabs my hand. “Did a man do that to you? Make you that way, I mean. Your ex?”
I shake my head. “It’s the women who fucked me up.”
All of them. My mother, who left me for dead and never came to get me back, even after she was released from prison. Rae, who looked the other way when her daughter tortured me every which way.You girls! Stop fighting already!But I never fought. I didn’t have it in me and I knew I’d always lose. Cassie finished me. She thinks I’m the worst thing that ever happened to her, but she doesn’t realize how mutual the feeling is.
Our next drinks arrive and are gone almost immediately. I want to dance. Amir follows as I pull him to me, my bare legs brushing against the soft velvet. On the dance floor, we melt into the crowd and the chemical, smoky air. My arms wrap around his shoulders, his around my waist, our bodies making one as we move to the mellow beat. Then he presses his lips against mine, working in his tongue softly, but eagerly, too.
It feels so good, better than I could have imagined. Why haven’t I been living like this all along? Kissing this stranger in a Parisian nightclub tastes like an escape, like after all the disappointment and the heartache, there might still be something out there for me. We kiss for a long while, our arms traveling down each other’s bodies, ignoring the elbows bumping into our rib cages and the drinks being sloshed onto our shoes. I’m always so afraid of change, of messing with the course of things. Not anymore.
“Let’s go back,” Amir says, eyes burning with desire and pointing at our booth.
Next thing I know we’re slipping down in our dark and quiet nook, and I’m straddling him while his hands search under my dress, unhooking my bra. Maybe I drank too much or maybe the partitions around the booth are as high as they look, but it feels like we’re all alone.
I unclasp his belt and he lets out a hungry gasp. “I don’t have a condom,”he whispers in my ear.
“I do.”
A spark lights up Amir’s face as I retrieve the condom from my wallet and hand it to him.
“Here?” he says at last.
I don’t miss a beat. “Here.”
I need this. I need it fast so it can erase everything else. I need it hard so tonight is not the night Cassie won again. Amir reaches under the bottom of my dress, pulling my underwear to the side. I forgot how it feels to be wanted, to see that glow in his eyes, to feel the softness of his breath. To be one with somebody else, even for a few minutes. To be wanted for who I am.
Afterward, we both lean back, sweaty and panting, not looking at each other.
“This was…” Amir wraps his hand around my neck and pulls me closer for a kiss. “I was not expecting that.”
I was not expecting the night to go this way, either. I smooth my dress back into place and reach for my bag as he pulls his pants back up. Then I check my phone. This is the longest I’ve gone without looking at Cassie’s Instagram.
