Page 26 of Forgiving Paris
Ashley was going to love Paris.
The rain fell harder again, and dark clouds moved in overhead. Ashley watched the way the raindrops danced along the Seine and for a quick moment she thought about taking off her tennis shoes, hurrying down the bank and jumping into the water. Just for a few seconds, so she could say she had immersed herself in Paris culture from the moment she set foot here.
She smiled at herself.
Was swimming even allowed in the Seine? Probably not here. Another quick glance at the sky and she picked up her pace. She still had two suitcases to take care of, so she hurried across the bridge, through the fourth district and on into the third.
The rain was falling still harder, and there was no holding her umbrella while she was pulling her things behind her. The pace about killed her. Not because she couldn’t walk a mile or so, but because she couldn’t stop and take in the sights. Everything demanded her attention.
By the time she reached the correct address, Ashley was drenched. But she almost liked it.This is where I’m meant to be,she thought.With the Paris rain on my skin.She felt giddy, even more than before. Because the city was beyond anything she had imagined. She looked up. Anna Mae Martin lived three floors above a café. Of all things! The artsy sign was black with fancy white script lettering.BON CAFÉ.Good coffee.
I’ll spend an hour here every day,Ashley told herself.Dreaming up my next paintings.On the long flight here,ideas had already formed in her heart. Next might be a painting of a young woman, short, stylish dark hair and pretty features. And next to her a mysterious stranger, handsome and tall. The two of them standing on the Pont des Arts staring at the Eiffel Tower. And the man would have his arm around her, like he never wanted to let go.
Because they were young and in love and in Paris.
Yes, maybe she should get coffee first. She could finish the sketch she’d started on the plane, since all she had done so far was the faintest basic outline. The placement of the couple and the height of the bridge. Ashley hesitated but then she shook her head. That could wait.
Anna Martin was expecting her.
The building had no elevator. “You’ll have to walk up,” Ms. Martin had told her over the phone. “But you’re young. The stairs won’t be a problem.”
Not normally.Ashley laughed under her breath as she heaved her two suitcases up a few steps and then repeated the process. Two floors later, a pretty blond girl about her age rounded the corner. She was skipping lightly down the stairs, but she stopped at Ashley. “Oh. Can I help you?” She spoke English, but her French accent was thick.
“Really?” Ashley was out of breath.
“Sure. I was just heading down for coffee. It’s the best in the city.” She smiled. “And welcome to Paris. I’m Celia.”
“I’m Ashley.” Her heart soared.I have a friend!“Well, then.” Ashley lifted one of her suitcases up a step to Celia. “Yes, I’d love the help. Please! I’m moving in on the fourth floor.”
“With Anna Martin? She told me about you!” Celia took hold of one bag and together the two began making their way up. “You’re the artist.”
Pride filled Ashley’s heart.I’m in Paris and I’m an artist.“Yes. That’s me.” Every step was an effort, but Ashley barely noticed now. “I have a job at the Montmartre Gallery.”
“Oooh, I love that place!”
Both girls struggled to move the bags, but the job was easier with two of them. Ashley glanced at Celia. “What about you?”
“I’m interning for a publishing house. I want to be a writer.” The conversation was broken up only by the effort of lifting the heavy bags. “We’re dreamers, you and I.” Celia giggled. “One day when we’re famous we’ll laugh about today, dragging your suitcases up to the fourth floor.”
With every step, the troubles of home faded. By the time Anna Martin let them into her spacious flat, Ashley had all but forgotten Bloomington, Indiana. Celia made plans with Ashley to have coffee the next day, and when she left, Ms. Martin went over the house rules. “Keep your room clean, and no boys allowed.” She raised her brow. “Boys are trouble. Focus on your work, Ashley. The rent is cheap, it’s a gift. As long as you have a job at the gallery, you have a place here.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ashley’s hair was still wet, but that didn’t bother her. This was quickly becoming one of the best days in her whole life.
“Your teacher says you are talented.” Ms. Martin smiled at Ashley. “I do think this will be a good arrangement.”
According to Ashley’s teacher, a few decades ago Ms. Martin had been quite the artist, herself. Galleries sought her for her impressionist landscapes. Ashley looked around the grand living room. The stunning pieces gracing the walls had to be Ms. Martin’s.
“Your work.” Ashley was in awe. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Ms. Martin smiled, humble. “I hear the same thing about yours.”
She showed Ashley to her room. The space was small, but one wall was all windows. Even on this rainy day, the light streamed across the twin bed. Ashley had to check to see that her feet were still on the floor. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
The woman looked out the window for a long moment. “Artists need light. I think you’ll be happy here.”
Indeed. Ashley was still beaming long after Ms. Martin left her alone in her new room. The storm was passing, so Ashley put her things away and then changed into a navy dress, one that came down nearly to her ankles. A lightweight pink cardigan made the perfect finish for the outfit. Next she applied foundation and blush, eyeliner and heavier mascara than usual. She wanted to look her best.
She checked the mirror and grinned. Yes. She tossed her shoulder-length dark hair and blended the blush along her high cheekbones. “You are definitely an artist, Ashley.” She did another quick twirl and laughed. “You almost look French.”
