Page 112 of Pierced

“Well… I hesitate to tell you this, but the Paris deal looks like it’s falling through.”

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know. They’re being very French about the whole thing. I’m going to fly over there this week and see if we can save it.”

“No… no. Don’t do that.”

“What? Really? Why?”

“I’ll go and talk to them myself.”

“Pierce. I’m not sure—”

“Derek, I got it. I won’t freak out. These are my people. I know how to deal with them.”

There’s a long, long pause. Followed by, “Pierce?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? You’re not… sick or anything, are you?”

I laugh. Because I get it. I remember when my dad was nice to me back in New York, back when the fuse to the bomb that blew everything up got lit and I didn’t know it; I wondered if the guy was dying. Just because he was being nice to me.

When not being an asshole is the exception in your personality and not the rule, that’s something one really should take a hard look at.

“No, man, I’m fine. Just… I’ll go. K?”

“OK. If you’re sure…”

And then I decide that there’s only one way to make Derek realize everything’s OK…

“Derek, I said I’m sure! Jesus! Do you need me to have someone translate it for you? What the fuck?”

I hear a smile in his voice as he says, “OK. Great. Have a good trip.”

When people think of London around the holidays, what they’re actually thinking is Paris. Paris around the end of the year feels very Dickensian. Christmas villages, lights, trees… People fawn over La Tour de Eiffel, but L’arc de Triomphe is my favorite. They used to have the Christmas Market right on the Champs Elysées, but after some bullshit city ordinance dispute—it happens everywhere, it seems—they moved it to the Tuileries Gardens. Which is where I am right now. Strolling along, taking it all in. Andrew was right a few months back when he suggested I should come for a visit. It is grounding for me. I feel… I feel OK.

The situation with the building contract was no big deal to hammer out, after all. It came down to money, which so many things do. But in this case, I decided it would be easier to just give them what they wanted. In the past, I would’ve fought and been intractable and pushed and pulled until something broke or someone gave in.

But something I’m learning is that not all hills are worth dying on. Sometimes, to get the thing you want, you have to give up some control. Not completely. But enough so that, in the long run, you wind up getting the thing that actually, really matters to you.

Another way to say it is: Compromise.

Walking along, nursing my coffee, looking at all the gifts in the market, I catch a glimpse of something that draws my attention. A sign that reads: Joyeux noel de la maison de Sade!

Merry Christmas from the house of de Sade. As in: the Marquis de Sade.

I have to admit, I’m intrigued.

Landing at the joyfully decorated table, I see…

Whips. Handcuffs. Slings.

Cock cages…

All beautifully designed and all decorated with a distinctly holiday motif.

My God, I really do love Paris.