Chapter Six

Slow Dance

A woman was standing squarely beside me on the dance floor, her face framed by springy brown hair. She seemed familiar somehow. Tanned, well-muscled arms showed from beneath the short sleeves of her cowboy shirt. Her fitted jeans showed off full hips and shapely legs. She bowed her head slightly with a gallant smile and asked me to dance. There was something about this woman…I felt safe near her and at the same time more disturbed than I could begin to make sense of. I took her hand and she turned me in steps that I was able to follow.

Jade glided by, giggling. Being with a female partner did not seem to bother her, or maybe she was still in shock. Apparently, our strategy of dancing with each other to avoid being hit on was not too successful. Anyway, this was France. Why would the women here be any less forward than the men?

My own partner looked at me with warm gray eyes. We hadn’t exchanged a word yet; she probably didn’t even know I was American. She pulled me close for a moment as we turned together, her spongy breasts resting above mine for a moment. The contact sent bolts of desire to all parts of my body. What was happening? It’s not as though I’d never hugged a girl before, but this was different from anything I’d ever experienced with anyone, boy or girl. There was no slow buildup. These feelings were hitting me hard and all at once. We danced separately to the next song, a French one. I tried to keep a safe distance, but kept catching her eye, and whenever I did, my knees turned into soft wax. I had to look away again to restore my sense of balance. There was no mistaking the signs; I was wildly attracted to this woman. I knew it even though I’d never felt anything quite like this before.

As the song ended, the woman took my hand and bowed her head in thanks for the dance. As she did, her layered hair framed her face like a curtain. I liked the firm clasp of her hand. “Merci,” I said breathlessly, grinning up at her like an idiot. I knew I needed to sit down and gather my wits. I nodded to the woman and wobbled back toward our table.

Jade was there sitting alone. “Don’t leave me!” she cried, grabbing my arm.

“What?” I pretended ignorance. “It looked like you were having a good time.”

“I was, but how can I enjoy the dancing when they think I’m gay? I’m here under false pretenses.”

I laughed. “Is there such a thing as true pretenses?” Jade grinned. “Maybe I could make a sign to pin to your front that says: ‘I am not gay.’”

“I don’t think that would work.” She was clearly having a good time and enjoying the attention.

For myself, I didn’t want to talk about that last dance. Even though I had already told Jade about my attraction to women, I was afraid to admit I had stepped over that line. There was a great difference between what I had just done and felt and the secret crushes I’d had on girls in my school, girls who didn’t dance with me or touch me or return my feelings. There was a stigma attached to being gay. And yet I knew it was too late. I had done it—it had happened. I had danced with a lesbian and felt everything that I was supposed to feel with a man, except that I never felt like that with a man.

So I hid my feelings. I teased Jade by putting my arm around her waist as if I were her date. I puckered my lips and stuck them out at her as she laughed and dodged me.

Just then, the woman Jade had been dancing with in the beginning came by with a friend and asked Jade to dance again. Jade blushed. I said, “She doesn’t speak much French. She wants me to tell you that she’d like to dance, but you should know that she is not gay.” The woman said it didn’t matter. I translated for Jade and she smiled and stood up. Her friend held out a hand to me and the four of us went off together. We danced to several Abba tunes. I smiled politely but couldn’t help looking around for my previous partner. She seemed to have disappeared. Had she gone home? I was disappointed, but after a moment, I tried to put her out of my mind and just concentrate on the music.

Then a slow song started—“Color My World”—one I loved and had danced to with boys at home. I nodded to the woman I’d been dancing with and started back to the table, but before I got there, I saw the woman in the cowboy shirt again. She approached and looked questioningly at me. I felt a flutter of nerves. I never slow danced with someone I’d just met. I started to shake my head, but maybe it was the hypnotic piano introduction that made me move closer and place my arms lightly over hers.

We swayed slowly to the music. This isn’t real. This isn’t happening. Every time I glanced up, she looked back steadily. Hers was a solid face with large, deep-set gray eyes that tilted slightly downward. It was a face you could trust, or so it seemed to me. I felt a shiver of excitement flow slowly from my spine down to my knees as I leaned into her, my face resting just below her shoulder. I closed my eyes and drifted along in a happy daze. During the flute part near the end of the song, I opened them again and saw Kari and Annik kissing.

The music ended. I looked up at her. “Would you like to sit down?” She smiled and nodded. We made our way slowly back to the table. I don’t think I want to dance anymore. I don’t think I could.

The woman sat down next to me and shook hands with Kari and Annik. “Je m’appelle Geneviève,” she said. She had a deep, full voice. I liked the French pronunciation of the name, Zhun-vee-yev. We each introduced ourselves.

“Sophie,” said Geneviève. “Where are you from?” I told her and explained the now routine story about what I was doing here in France.

“Montpellier,” she said when I mentioned the city. “I sometimes travel there for my job. I’m a buyer for an interior decorator firm. I often go to the south. I buy beautiful things for clients.” Suddenly I thought of the woman at the café.

“You weren’t in Montpellier a few days ago, were you?” I asked, my voice shaky.

Geneviève nodded. “I just came back from there yesterday.”

I stared at her. A shock went through me. “I might have seen you. Were you sitting outside a café on the central square early in the morning on Wednesday?” It can’t be. Things like this don’t happen.

“Oh! Was that you two with the backpacks? You’re different now, dressed up. I remember you. You were with two men. I thought you were going to speak to me, and then your friends showed up.”

I shook my head. “They weren’t our friends. But that was you? I…I can’t believe it.”

“Well, these things happen,” Geneviève said, smiling that same smile that had attracted me in Montpellier. “It means we were meant to meet.”

I could only stare at her, still in shock. This was the woman in Montpellier? But she looked completely different! In her cowboy shirt, Geneviève didn’t resemble the woman in the business suit I’d seen. And yet, I had to admit that the smile was the same. And so was my reaction to her.

The waiter came over and we ordered more drinks. Having recovered my power of speech, I asked the Dutch women, “Have you seen Jade?”

“Oh, yes,” said Kari. “She seems to be having a good time.”

“Jade loves to dance.” I explained what I’d told her partner about Jade being straight, and everyone laughed. Geneviève looked questioningly at me.

“What about you?” she asked with a glint in her eyes.

I smiled but did not answer.

“She is!” Kari laughed. “I knew it as soon as I saw her at the hostel. If not, I wouldn’t have invited them here.”

“And you?” Geneviève looked back at me. “What do you have to say?”

I put up my hand and rocked it in the gesture for a little of this, a little of that. “You are the first girl I have ever danced with,” I pronounced gravely.

Geneviève’s face broke into a grin. “I am very honored,” she said. “I had no idea. You seemed so natural.” She turned toward me and leaned an elbow on the back of her chair.

I grinned back, delighted with the praise. “You’re a good dancer—maybe that’s why.”

Jade returned and sat down, her faced flushed and her eyes bright.

“Geneviève, this is Jade, my friend from home.”

“You are enjoying?” asked Geneviève, waving her hand around the room. I was glad to hear she spoke some English.

“Yes,” said Jade.

“Nobody tries to, you know,” Geneviève curved her arms together and puckered her lips comically as we all laughed.

“No. I can take care of myself. Besides, Sophie talked to her.”

Geneviève signaled the waiter and asked, “Are you hungry?” We nodded. She ordered some pomme frîtes and steak strips. “I pay,” she said. “How do you say?”

“My treat,” I said.

She’s nice. I wonder if I’ll see her again after tonight. I hope so. She said she came to Montpellier sometimes.

As we ate, Kari entertained us with funny stories about her internship at her hospital in Amsterdam. Geneviève excused herself politely to Jade and started a story in French. She’s not from Paris. Something about her vowels and the speed of her speech told me she was from a smaller place, maybe in the north. Kari and Annik seemed to understand the story better than I did. There was plenty of slang mixed in, which added flavor to her speech. We laughed hard at Geneviève’s expressions and gestures. The woman is naturally funny. I translated for Jade the best I could, but she had started to get a forlorn expression on her face.

“Speak English,” I said when the flow of French had stopped. I yawned. It had been another incredibly long day. All I wanted suddenly was to crawl into my bed. So much had happened today. I closed my eyes and leaned back.

“She is tired,” Geneviève said in English, her soft, deep voice caressing my ears. In fact, every word she spoke seemed to stir something deep inside me. “How long do you two stay in Paris?” she asked.

Jade answered, “We leave on Monday. We have to meet a friend in England.”

“Oh, it is too bad,” said Geneviève. “I go to Reims tomorrow. It is my mother’s birthday. But maybe…I meet you tomorrow morning for coffee, yes? Then we don’t say good-bye now.”

“Not too early, I hope,” said Jade. “I think I’m going to sleep in.”

I opened my eyes. “Yes,” I said, “that would be nice.” I pulled out a piece of paper from my bag and wrote the address of our hostel.

“Also, please, write your address in Montpellier,” she said, “and I will give you mine. I live close to here.” She handed me the napkin she’d been writing on with a pen from her pocket. Never go to a club without a pen.

“I have no telephone, but this belongs to my friend and neighbor,” she said.

“See you tomorrow then. What time?” I said.

“Oh, maybe nine thirty, but I will wait for you.”

I nodded and looked at our friends. “Are you ready to go?” The Dutch women nodded. We stood up and wove our way through the now crowded room and out the door. A light drizzle greeted us outside. “Until tomorrow,” we said to Geneviève and hurried away after Kari, who said the metro was the quickest way back.

On the train I said, “Jade, did you have a good time?”

She nodded sleepily and asked, “You, too?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird, isn’t it? You just told me about liking girls today, and then you go and meet someone the same night.”

I leaned toward her. “Jade, do you know, we’ve seen her before?” Jade had been on the floor dancing when Geneviève told us about Montpellier. “Remember the woman at the café?”

“No way! Are you telling me that was her?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that totally bizarre? She remembered us, too.” We were silent as the train rumbled along. Jade kept glancing at me, and I knew she too was contemplating the strangeness of that coincidence. “I wonder if she’ll really show up for breakfast?” I said.

“Oh, I’m sure she will.”

“How do you know?”

“I can just tell. She likes you.”

“Really?”

“Sophie, come on. Can’t you tell she likes you?”

“Yes.” I inhaled deeply and let out my breath in a rush. “But maybe she just wants to be friends. Maybe she’ll come see me in Montpellier when she’s there on business.”

“Uh-huh. If you’re just friends, why were you slow dancing with her?”

I shrugged, grinning idiotically.

We disembarked at the Porte Clichy stop; then the group of us trudged the two blocks to our hostel. Hugging the Dutch girls in turn, we said good night and at last Jade and I were alone in our room.

“I’m too tired to shower.” I stripped off my dress and pulled on a robe. “I’ll do it tomorrow,” I said.

I went down the hall to do my hasty ablutions in the bathroom before crawling into bed. Jade returned from her trip to the bathroom and the springs creaked above me as she settled down. In the darkness, images crowded into my overstimulated mind. I could see the Mona Lisa smiling coyly at me, and then I saw my parents coming down the steps of the church where they’d just been married. I saw Jade and me climbing the stairway to Montmartre and Annik and Kari kissing in the club amid all the dancers. Then I heard again Geneviève’s deep, velvety voice saying, “She is tired.” The phrase repeated like soothing music in my ears as I fell asleep.