Page 115 of Pierced

“Yes. I know that wasn’t her.”

“Catherine Robbe-Grillet is almost ninety.”

“I know! I was making a joke!”

“Oh, right. I forgot. You’re hilarious.”

I pull her off to the side, away from noisy children and meandering tourists.

“What?” she asks, huffily, as I let her arm go and she faces up to me.

“You’ve been in Paris?”

“Wow. How’d you puzzle that out?”

“OK—”

“You’re a real sleuth.”

“Jesus! Will you fucking stop for a second?”

I guess that was a little loud because a handful of people stop to stare.

“Alló, alló. Joyeuses fêtes,” I say as I smile and wave. Then I turn back to face her. The look on her face is as chilly as the winter wind.

“What?” she asks. “What do you want?”

“What do I want? Y’know, I didn’t see you. You saw me. You’re the one who came up and engaged me just now.”

“Yeah, well. Serendipity,” she says.

“OK, I don’t even know what that means.”

“It’s like coincidence, but—”

“I know what the word means! I don’t know what… look. Let’s just… can we start over?”

The look that meets me is one of near confusion.

“Start over?” she asks. “From when? Exactly which starting over point would you like to pick? From before you lied to me? Or from before you humiliated me? Although I guess those are technically related. So how about just before we met? How about we get in our wayback machine about seven years and maybe you just hire Valerie from the start? How about that?”

“What. The fuck. Are you talking about?”

“I gotta go,” she says and starts off.

“Myrtle, I’m sorry,” I call after her. “I’m sorry, please. Please, come on. Please let me try to apologize.”

She stops walking. She doesn’t turn around. Just stands there with her back to me. Her black hair blending into the black cashmere of her ankle-length winter coat. Then, after a moment, she turns slowly to face me again.

“How do you want to apologize?” She says it quietly. I have to step to her and ask her to repeat.

“What?”

“How do you want to apologize? Do you want to give me another raise? Make me CFO? COO? How about your job? You think that’ll be a good apology? What are you doing in Paris?”

“What?”

“Are you here about the building that you’re going to scoop up? Since the magazine is not only not failing, but doing so well that you can apparently buy a Paris headquarters?”