Thomas & January
Page 21

“January, feel like dancing?” Jonah asked as we started to walk away. January’s hand tensed on my arm.
“No, thank you, Jonah. I’m busy working,” she politely answered.
“Working. Is that what they call it now?”
We both turned around and I read the recognition in his face. He knew we were "together."
“What the hell does that mean?” I asked him.
“Nothing, see you next week.”
“No, you won’t,” I told him.
“Oh, you will.”
“And how would that be possible, Jonah? Unless you were cheating,” I asked him, inches from his face.
January was grappling at my arm. “He’s not worth it, Tom!” She yelled over the din of the crowd.
 Jonah stepped closer. “Because you’re going to tell me where you’re going.”
I laughed loudly and stepped back. “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I help your ass out. Do your own homework.”
I turned to walk away but Jonah stopped me with his next sentence.
“You’ll do it, or I’ll tell everyone that you and January are sleeping together and that’s the reason she’s on the road with you.”
January’s grip on my arm tightened. “You wouldn’t, Jonah.” She spoke before I could.
“I would,” he told her, a pathetic sympathetic expression on his face.
January’s face looked amazingly hurt, making me want to pummel Jonah. “Why?” she asked him simply.
“It’s business, January, nothing more.” He smiled at her sincerely. Asshole. “I see how he looks at you. You’re his only weakness. I’ve tried for years to one up this guy, but he keeps taking all the glory and for a while there I figured it was a lost cause trying to hit him where it hurts because nothing seemed important to this asshole. That is, until he met you.”
Gently, I removed January’s hands from around my bicep. I rushed Jonah in an instant, pinning him to the bar behind him. Several people scattered at once. “You tell a single soul that lie and I will make you hurt so bad, you’ll wish you’d never been born.” He started to laugh and I squeezed my hold around his neck even tighter, choking it off. “Do we understand one another?” I asked.
He nodded and I dropped him. He gripped the bar top, still grinning, casually resting against it as if I hadn’t just threatened him. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll still find you.”
“You won’t.”
“I will,” he promised.
I guided a sullen January toward the exit. We couldn’t get out of there fast enough. If I’d stayed another second, I would have wiped the floor with Jonah.
“We’re leaving?” she asked me, dazed.
“Yes.”
“What for?”
“He stole the band we’d come here to talk to but mostly because I can’t be in the same building as that unethical bastard.”
She nodded.
After a few minutes of walking the streets of Paris, we’d chosen to forget all about Jonah, purposely becoming absorbed in the beauty of the city.
Then it dawned on me. Watching January react to the city around her, I realized she’d never been here before.
“How is it possible?” I asked her.
She furrowed her eyes at me. “What do you mean?”
“This is your first time here, isn’t it,” I stated.
She blushed prettily. “It is.”
“Oh my God and we’re only here for another day. That’s it. Come on, “ I told her and yanked her toward the obvious.
“Where are we going?” she asked me.
“We’re getting the Eiffel Tower out of the way, then we’re going to see the real Paris tomorrow. The parts the tourists never see and you’re going to speak to the locals and I’m going to watch your mouth as you do it.”
“Je t'apprécie vraiment. Tu m'apprécies?” She surprised me, bringing me to a full stop.
I hugged her body closely and raptly watched her mouth. “Again.”
“Je t'apprécie vraiment. Tu m'apprécies?” She repeated.
“What does it mean?” I asked her, swallowing hard.
“I told you that I cared for you and asked if you cared for me as well,” she murmured softly.
“I do,” I said without hesitation. I ran my hand across her forehead and down her face. “Speak to me again.”
“What would you like me to say?” she asked.
“Whatever comes to mind.”
She studied my face, then took a moment. “Tu es élégant. Tu me fascines. Te me rends heureuse. Je t'adore. J'ai besoin de toi. Je pense toujours à toi. Embrasses-moi.”
I swallowed hard at how sexy I found her words and to my utter disbelief I’d had no idea what she’d said but they affected me nonetheless. “Tell me.”
“Kiss me,” she whispered.
I claimed her mouth harshly, breathing her in and tasting her tongue with my own before breaking away.
“All those words and all you asked me to do was kiss you?”
“There was more, but after that kiss I can’t remember what I’d said.”
“God, I wish I spoke French.”
“You kiss with quite the French accent.” Zap.
I kissed her again.
“You know, we could just go back to my room and I could watch you speak just as easily there,” I taunted.
“You play to win, Eriksson.”
“I know,” I told her, smacking her cheek with a loud kiss. “We better stay out in public now that I think about it.”
“Okay,” she said, taking my hand. “Lead the way.”
The Eiffel Tower was closed as it was so late in the evening so we stood underneath its belly, drinking in the cool metal and the intricately beautiful architecture. It truly was magnificent, I don't care what anyone says. Yeah, it may not have been the "cool" thing to do in Paris, but it most definitely was worth it to see. The structure was daunting and harsh but was so incredible in its artistry; it fit in so well with the nature around it. It was breathtaking...but not as breathtaking as the girl I was sharing its beauty with.
“I know where I want to go next,” she told me.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Where?” I asked, not caring about the time.
“We’ll have to cab it. I think it’s far from here.”
“Where?” I asked again.
“Cimetière du Père-Lachaise.”
“And what is the Père-Lachaise?” I asked, butchering the pronunciation. A chuckle built in her throat.
“You’ll see,” she explained, hailing a taxi.
She told the cabbie where to go in French and that earned her a place even closer to my side. Twenty minutes later, we’d arrived.
“It’s a cemetery,” I said gazing out the window.
“That it is, but not just any cemetery. This cemetery has a few famous bodies resting inside.”
“Who?”
“Oscar Wilde, Edith Piaf, Jim Morrison. And that’s just who I can remember off the top of my head.”
“That’s pretty cool, but how are we possibly going to see anything?” I asked, paying the driver.
“I always carry a flashlight in my bag.”
“Why am I not surprised by this?”
“Got me. First stop? Oscar Wilde!”
“Why?”
“Because it’s the only one I know how to find.”
“This is rather adventurous for us. Cemetery. Night.” I accidentally kicked a pebble beneath my shoe and January jumped. “Sounds.”
“I think it’s romantic,” she said, squeezing herself into my side.
“That too,” I agreed, kissing the top of her head.
The tomb was fairly near the side entrance we snuck through and it was...odd. I’m not kidding. It looked nothing like I thought it would. A seemingly solid slab, the side had a simple winged sphinx or maybe angel, depending on how you looked at it, carved into its side. It was shockingly contemporary in look and feel. Personally, I didn’t like it, not for Wilde anyway. I mean, it was an unbelievably beautiful piece of art but for someone who lived and spoke aesthetics, it was too plain.
“Why is it barricaded?” I asked, running my palm up the glass fence surrounding the tomb.
“I kind of remember reading something about women kissing the sides of the tomb to the point it was deteriorating.”
“Get out.”
“I’m serious. We women can be a bit zealous at times.”
“Is that so?” I teased, tucking her in to me as we perused the cobblestone paths along the tombs.
“If you think that’s bad, you should hear the story behind Victor Noir’s grave.”
“And what’s that?”
“Single women are supposed to kiss his bronzed face, place a flower in his upturned hat, and then proceed to fondle him in his most private of areas.”
I laughed so hard, I startled her.
“No kidding and what does this get these single women?”
She cleared her throat. “A husband...in a year.”
She got exceedingly quiet in that moment and I swear I could feel her blush.
I couldn’t tease her for the myth—it didn’t seem appropriate at the time, I didn’t really know why. All I did know was that I didn’t want to taint what could possibly be one of the most insightfully unintentional conversations I’d ever had. I shocked myself with that thought. January and I had...potential. A slow tingle permeated my stomach.
We walked a long time in silence, ducking behind trees and tombs when we suspected a guard may be approaching. We passed many graves but had no idea who they belonged to, if they were artists of any sort, be they writers, composers, painters.
We stumbled upon Jim Morrison’s grave by accident. The only indication the tomb belonged to anyone of importance was the aluminum barricade cordoning it off. I couldn’t believe how plain it looked as well. Though, the piles of flowers, candles and oddly, pharmaceuticals, were a sight to be seen.
“Thanks for Light My Fire, Jim,” I told him. Although he was an exceedingly talented musician and for that I appreciated him immensely, I didn’t personally care for the guy that much. I read once that he read heavily of existentialism. I’m a proponent of existentialism, but the Kierkegaard version and I tread carefully over those philosophies, especially Nietzche’s. His version, one I’m assuming Jim followed, based on his actions, is nothing but dribble in my opinion, created to justify the whims of immoral behavior. And it was probably the reason Morrison felt the need to experiment with the drugs that eventually took his life. He was looking for fulfillment through "oneself" so he chose a material source like heroin, and as we all know fulfillment doesn’t come that way. I know, I know, deep, right? Not just a pretty face, ladies. Plus, unfortunately, I have a lot of experience in trying to "fulfill oneself." I just ended up unhappy in the end.
A little farther down and to the right, we spotted a brilliant white tomb with a woman draped and weeping over a broken lyre. Many of the tombs belonging to musicians were fashioned with broken instruments, a fitting tribute to their genius, I think.