Inside The New York Amory, Laura's bored look matched her grey suit, despite her fiery red hair and height that usually made heads turn.
"I'm going to check out the Viennese Fin-de-Siècle artists and wait for Max" Natasha lightly touched Laura on the shoulder in silent support "It's only a couple more days" She comforted her friend.
"Sure, two more days of tedium" Laura jumped up shuffling around the Japanese prints for the umpteenth time. "I won't have to do this when I have my own gallery". She replied not looking up, clearly disgruntled that she was manning this gallery stall owned not by her, but by a wealthy Japanese collector.Laura heard Natasha leave and called after her in a cheerier tone, "Say hi to Kokoshka for me!"
Natasha waved and smiled back in admiration at her friend's ambition. She had met Laura in Tokyo and always thought she was impossibly glamorous; like a more beautiful version of the red-haired women from Klimt's Beethoven Frieze in The Succession in Vienna. She couldn't understand why Laura would meet losers who would treat her more like something to be consumed and be disposed of, rather than the intelligent and stunning woman that she was. Natasha felt quite grown up staying with her in her upper east side apartment, like a younger sister. Sleeping on her sofa, she would hear the click of her heels every morning across the mahogany floor as she left for the gallery.
Natasha glided confidently through the numerous fine art stalls, till she found the Viennese gallery. She peered into the layers of paint, exploring the rich colours that felt as if they could never be figured out, only to be delved into through endless interpretation.
"I haven't seen anyone here look with such care as you, you must be a curator" a slim, blue suited slip of a man breathed at her from behind.
"oh, you scared me," Natasha gasped
"Did I bring you back from the Fin-de-Siècle Vienna?" He held a finger to his lips as if to quieten himself.
Natasha smiled nervously and quickly escaped his following glare. She checked her phone, "5 mins away from The Armory, Max"
Natasha breathed a silent sigh of relief. She walked across the plush blue carpet decorated by Fleur-de-Lis to the entrance. The heavy, large doors opened. The chilled late February, Manhattan air came rushing in. The wind rushed past and brushed against her rosy cheeks and with it, Max. He was wearing a tawny suit with a matching jacket that shielded him from the down-town winds. His thick hair, was wavy and was the colour of his deep set, hazelnut eyes, that instantly met Natasha's blue eyed gaze.
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"Are you close? I hope you like cosy! Max, xo," Natasha smiled as she read his text message, knowing how small a Parisian chambre could be. She raised her eyes to see his broad, muscular silhouette checking-in at the reception.
"At the entrance in 2 minutes xo" she replied
The black door opened to reveal a sweeping staircase and black and white tiled entrance. Max stood there, smiling, another eight inches taller than her. With his tawny eyes beaming at her, he took her in his strong arms. Before she could say a word, he held her in a kiss, so that all her anxious thoughts disappeared and all that was left was a sense of calm.
"I've been waiting all summer for this" He whispered to her.
"Only all summer"? Natasha teased.
Max smiled and took her case in one hand and her hand in another, guiding her into the charming St. Germain Hôtel Verneuil.
The large halls of Musee D 'Orsay felt cool in summer heat. Max swept her around The Old Masters almost as if they were dancing Viennese Waltz.
"What's your take on David and Goliath?" Max asked loudly as if to the room, rather then to her. Before she had time to respond he interrupted, talking loudly "Well it looks like my former colleague taking a shot at me in the final hour."
"It was rough what they did to you" Natasha consoled. Max ignored her and looked around expanding his chest as he did.
Natasha knew that the younger VCs had set him up and he had lost his job as a result. She knew that her usual role was to step in and make these men with wounded prides, feel better. She knew she was good at it and it gave her a special place in life, but this time, his self absorption was starting to bother her and she was beginning to feel self-conscious.
His outward expression seemed confident, yet Max knew to himself that he was feigning it, to cover up his nerves, that was starting to come across as arrogance. To over compensate further, he teased her, "Oh you seem to know less about these Old Masters as me."
Natasha blushed. The truth was, that she knew much more than he supposed, but his bawdy behaviour was making her feel uneasy especially surrounded by the silence of the summer visitors, she had lost her words. They kept glancing across in Max's direction who was bouncing from oil painting to sculpture, as if they were new toys in a shop to be wondered at and discarded a moment later. Suddenly he stopped at Gustav Corbet's 'L'Origine du Monde.'
"Now this...this reminds me of when I was twenty and I saw this for the first time," Max pondered loudly on purpose. At least ten other visitors could hear, what was, well, his inner most private thoughts, just as he wanted.
"Saw it for the first time in a painting or in life?" Natasha whispered, embarrassed as the other visitors being able to hear his boastful thoughts. He chose not to hear her and instead continued gazing back into his charmed life.
"I wrote in my diary of all the emotions that were intense and complex as a young man," Max pondered, entangled in his own memory. They stood there in silence for the first time since they had entered the museum in front of 'L'Origine du Monde' till Max came out of his narcissus pool, pulled her towards him and kissed her neck. "On y va, cheri?"
Since they were staying in St. Germain, it wasn't difficult to find a bistro to dine alfresco. Natasha ordered a Pernod and was surprised that Max didn't follow suit, instead ordering a rum and coke. As she sipped on her cool, aniseed aperitif, enjoying snippets of French, the summer breeze weaved through the bistro's guests and she suddenly noticed that Max was talking nervously, spilling his coke as he poured and mixed it with his rum.
"You know a friend of mine came to Paris with his girlfriend and that is where they decided...you know...that they would spend their lives....well together...so...you know...it's funny"
Natasha was distracted, watching him repeatedly fill and refill his glass and did not realise what he was trying to say until he grabbed her by the hand across the table "but don't worry....," Max said all of a sudden. Natasha looked up into his wide, deep eyes that held such a depth of sadness, yet were kind, with a glint of hope. "We have time."
Natasha took his hand. "Yes, we do" She gestured lightly to their fellow guests enjoying the balmy summer evening.
After dinner, they strolled through the cobbled, lamp lit, winding lanes to La Seine. Gently walking half way across the bridge, Max pulled her in to hold her tight from behind, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder to look out across Paris.
"Oh no," Max sighed.
"Oh that's chic," Natasha said ironically, as they both looked out La Seine across Paris to see Le Tour Eiffel shimmering like a 70's disco dress.
"Since when did they decide to get cheap and commercial with our beloved Eiffel Tower?" Max exclaimed gently.
"I guess times are changing" Natasha smiled
"Yes," Max sighed, "and we need to change with them."
There was that sadness again, Natasha thought. Just as Natasha started to think that he was out of reach to her, within the throws of his own melancholy, he turned her to face him and brushed away her hair gently. He lightly lifted her chin to let her eyes meet with his.
"One day I may lose myself those eyes of yours, like the depths of the ocean. There is something about you Natasha that I can't figure out, and I probably never will, but that's ok."
Natasha said nothing, knowing that this sacred space for herself is what she had always wanted. Knowing this part of herself would always remain hidden from him, she fell into his kiss, as the Eiffel Tower shimmered on across the city of love. The full moon's reflection skipped over La Seine whispering still, silent promises of uncertainty.
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