Tenements, untended shrubbery, and graffiti-covered apartment buildings swept by. A darkened tunnel, telephone wires, and streetlamps dotted their view. Then, the city gave way to more ordered vegetation interspersed with suburban homes, wide avenues and, at one point, trees shaped to resemble giant mushroom caps.
“What makes this feel different from home?” Orchid wondered aloud. She shifted her to Phoenix, as if checking that he was paying attention.
He was.
She turned back towards the view.
He watched how the curve of her cheek was lit by sunshine, and then darkened by shade, each image like a frame in an old-time film.
“It’s subtle stuff,” he said. “The flat line of the roofs, the proportions of the windows, the different plants…not Manhattan, that’s for sure.”
She nodded, then squinted, as if sharpening her observation powers. “
Before long, the vista opened up to a blue sky faded to pale hues, its color in contrast to the deeper azure of the Ligurian Sea.
“Wow,” she breathed, her shoulders relaxing a notch.
Phoenix watched her. The intimacy of their shared space, and this enclosed car, everything cocooned this moment, as if it were just for the two of them.
The rhythmic clack of wheels grinding against metal tracks reminded Phoenix of all the ways this could go awry. Everything seemed placid at the surface, as if there were never ocean winds howling, or riptides churning up beaches.
Phoenix wondered if this was his predicament. That, like the nearby sea, passersby might mark them as a calm couple, and not recognize the churning under the surface.
There was a linen-clad man seated beside a dark-haired woman, a beauty who was bejeweled with dangling earrings. If they looked at Phoenix, would they know that underneath his tranquil demeanor was a heart that kicked and bucked, debating whether he could maintain his decorum, only to find each inhale suffused with Orchid’s scent of honey and roses.
The train sped towards their destination. They entered a tunnel and emerged inside the concrete fortress of the Cannes station.
“Bienvenue à Cannes,” Phoenix said as they stepped off the train.
“Do you remember your first time here?” Orchid asked, as they rolled their bags towards the taxi line.
“Yeah, during my first job out of ad school. That agency probably regretted sending me,” he laughed, recalling the innocence of his twenty-something-year-old self. “Our senior guy got sick and couldn’t go, so they sent me in to pinch hit, to schmooze with clients. I fell in love with the idea of award-winning creative. I just kept thinking that I could do this. What would I make that would be fresh and different? My old agency had teamed me with Dex. I went back to New York afterwards, and kept talking to him about starting our own shop. Every day… until he was sick of me. I think he said yes to shut me up.”
Orchid smiled. “You’re very persistent.”
“When it matters, yes,” he responded, gazing into her eyes.
“To a fault,” she accused.
He didn’t disagree.
They took their place at the end of the queue, along with the dozen other weary travelers awaiting taxis.
“Maybe you’ll come to some epiphany after this week, too,” he predicted, noticing how her hair waved in the breeze.
“I doubt I’ll be starting an agency.”
“But you might find a company you want to work for.”
“Or a cause,” she mused.
“If it’s a lost cause you’re seeking, look no further,” He jabbed a thumb towards his chest.
“Oh pul-leez,” she muttered. “Mr. Perfect? A lost cause? At what?”
They moved forward a few feet, as travelers were loaded into taxis.
“You don’t know the half of it,” he said, and then wondered what had made him utter those words. A light joke? Perhaps. Or not. Whatever his motive, he was learning that Orchid was inspiring some new honesty in him.
