Dreaming Of You // If I'm Still Dreaming

Before leaving the Louvre I wanted to see the Venus of Milo, but Jeanne insisted to take a moment to see another statue first. It was a neoclassical piece as she explained to me, a magnificent sculpture of god Cupid with his wings extended, holding from behind and leaning towards a young woman who was reaching up for his head. We took a stroll around it and I couldn’t help but wonder about the models for the statue. For how long did they have to keep that demanding posture? I would never be able to think of art again without realising all the hard, unseen work behind it. But I knew a bit about that already. People don’t imagine how much work it takes to put on a show; that’s the reason they find it so easy to dis us.

We lost plenty of time because of the wraps we grabbed in one of those food shops the museum has in the common area, as we got hungry. When we went there to get them Jeanne was keeping in her hand a catalogue in German of one temporary exhibition she took for a friend. As soon as the guy taking her order saw it––even when she addressed him in French in the first place––he switched languages to German. What the hell? Does every single French speak another tongue than his own? And was I imagining things or did he do it to hit on her? Why did he offer her a lolly? I was a bit behind trying to go unnoticed, but didn’t he see she was with somebody? Anyway, no matter how crossed I was, part of me enjoyed listening to her speaking German. I’d heard the language before but in Jeanne’s voice it sounded sweeter, hotter. I decided I preferred it to Japanese.

When we finally arrived to the Venus of Milo’s chamber there wasn’t a lot of people as it was almost closing time. They were mostly set in circle around the Venus, so we stood a bit away to admire her from the distance. What was the big deal with that statue? Like, she was missing arms. When I asked Jeanne about it she couldn’t help but chuckle, although she admitted I had sort of a point. There wasn’t any good reason for the statue to be considered the greater treasure of ancient art beside of the fact it was first attributed to that Praxiteles guy, and the French propaganda throughout the last three centuries. Yeah, those little bastards certainly knew how to promote their country.

Nonetheless, Jeanne had a theory of her own. To her, curiosity was the master key. The Venus of Milo’s lack of arms allowed the spectator’s imagination to run wild. ‘How did she lose them?’ ‘How would she be if she were complete?’ Perhaps Jeanne was right and the Venus’ attractiveness came from mystery as with the Mona Lisa. But it was funny because as she spoke I started to wonder about the posture of her freaking arms, and I had the privilege to have my geisha there to answer to my doubts.

“Well, as in boxing it’s all about the shoulders…–––she said, stepping back but standing in front of me. The shoulders tell us the position of everything.” Her head assumed the pose of the statue behind her. Did she know how much into boxing I was? God, she was so appropriate all the time it was just frustrating.

Jeanne looked away. I watched as her back stretched. It was as seeing a flower blooming in speed motion, and suddenly she seemed two inches taller. The hips were bent to the right, her left knee slightly folded forward. Once she slowly started to lift her arms my heart began to race. She reached the posture––left arm extended to the side and the hand raising above the shoulder, right arm crossing in front of the abdomen, slightly pointing down, both to the left––and I squeezed my chest into my hand. A stabbing pain was impeding me to breathe. She had the power to make me feel weak and act like a fool all the time, but what she was giving me then sent me somewhere far beyond her vision, far more deep, far more distant than the moment itself. I was lost.

Click.

The sound of a camera brought me back to reality suddenly. I glanced around, paranoid. An Asian man had just taken a photo of Jeanne posing from behind me. Before I could even react he passed my side and went to talk to her. They shook hands, the man bowing his head to her in some gesture of appreciation. Jeanne smiled at him kindly. A second later she was by my side and I didn’t know what to do.

“Did I ruin Venus’ mystery to you?” She asked mischievously.

“You couldn’t ruin anything…” I muttered, my voice sounding all shaky. I took her to a corner beside some arcs and pinned her against the wall, away from the view of the security guards and the public. I reached for her mouth, one hand cupping her jaw and the other running around her waist, feeling the exquisite texture of her gauzy dress under my fingertips. I closed my eyes repeating Jeanne’s pose in my mind, and I kissed her eagerly, almost imperiously. “We better go,” I mumbled before things got out of hands.

By the time we came out of the museum it was dusk. I felt good because I recognised the location of a scene on ‘Swann In Love,’ when Charlus is trying to hit on the guy in his carriage. I’d been there before, when I visited Paris with my class around 2008, but that time with Jeanne was the first time I really got the sensation of knowing the city, at least some part of it. She was a natural at guiding. She couldn’t help herself and I found it adorable. As we walked home along the river she explained me the reason of those numerous plaques hanging from the dyke. They were there to remember the people who died resisting the Nazis when they invaded Paris in World War II.

When we crossed the ‘Pont Des Arts’ Jeanne told me she was quite happy because finally the city council had decided to take the padlocks down after they made the railing of the bridge collapse. Parisians were pretty crossed about the whole thing. They’re a bit grumpy. I didn’t even know how the padlock mania began. Apparently it was due to an Italian bestseller and people copying the trend unthinkingly. It sounded fair. It was the oldest pedestrian bridge in Paris after all. Nobody had the right to ruin it for the others.

I hadn’t noticed it before but windy is the usual weather in Paris, so by night it tends to be chilly even in summer. It was perfect to cuddle up in bed with Jeanne, but also for our stroll. After she showed me where we were going to attend her art session the next morning, very near ‘Pont Des Arts,’ we continued walking back home, but I recalled I was leaving. My hopes to see her again after the end of my tour were still high even if we hadn’t come back to the topic. That day we spent together had been so intense I didn’t want to ruin my mood turning blue, because it wasn’t over yet, so I got an idea. It wasn’t that late, and besides I was sort of thrilled by the fact nobody seemed to recognise me. I felt as a regular guy again, a sensation that LA can't provide me, and much less England.

“Would you like to have a drink with me?” I asked Jeanne as we walked side by side. I would have preferred to hold hands but I didn’t want to seem too clingy.

“Are you asking me on a date?” She claimed, amused.

“Well, I guess it’s the proper thing to do…” I remarked, a bit intimidated by her attitude.

“I’m not sixteen, you know…”

“Can’t you just say yes?” I complained lightly.

“There’s this pub nearby…”

Soon later the silhouette of Notre Dame de Paris appeared in the distance, so I knew we were getting near Shakespeare & Co. Our meeting there seemed like another life. So many things had happened since then. Jeanne and I weren’t strangers anymore, although for some reason it felt like we have never been proper strangers in the first place, as Louis was prone––and eager––to point out. He’s such a snotty romantic behind all that cheekiness, and his words on the matter seemed to give a certainty I was missing from Jeanne herself.

“I know that place…–––I spoke pointing towards the corner of the street as we took a turn from the river. It is where we were arguing when we came across the protest,” I snickered as I stopped walking. Jeanne giggled.“And we ran to that direction and when we came out of the cafe we walked in front of that church and then passed a street and we arrived to the underground and you had your skirt lifted and I knew I needed to get into your knickers…” I carried on pointing around to finish with my hands on my waist.

“Just then?” She said quizzically, making the both of us chuckle. I shook my head ‘no,’ flashing her a cheeky lop-sided grin.

“I played all my charms on you but you didn’t seem too impressed…–––I muttered getting closer to Jeanne. You were a doll to the pregnant woman and the waiter and bitchy to me. What were you trying to do?” I said playfully, my hands fighting to reach her waist.

“I was trying to talk you out of this,” Jeanne said candidly.

“No, you weren’t–––I blurted as I finally grabbed her, pulling her near my body. If ‘trochaic triameter with alliteration’ didn’t work out to push me away you couldn’t expect me to fall for that political rubbish.” Jeanne did that mischievous grimace with the lips. “And you surely know how basic men are on this matter. The harder to get you become the more we want you…” She laughed but I knew she was out of comfort zone. Why was so important for me to know what she felt back then? “You were honestly mad at me at first, I could tell–––I said turning serious. The look you gave me at the cafe… I honestly thought it was the last gaze you would ever give me…” Her body seemed to shiver between my hands as she breathed in deeply.

“I didn’t know who you were–––she sighed. I didn’t know to what extent you were playing with me, but then…” Jeanne looked away, interrupting herself.

“But then what?” I snapped, puzzled. She returned her eyes to mine. “What happened?” Jeanne snickered. “Did I say the right thing?” I giggled.

“You told me who you were…” The whole conversation crashed into my mind. For once I just said the right thing and I didn’t even need to work for it because it came from the heart. An intense warmth surged my body instantly. My hands passed to her elbows. Was she feeling it, the peaches?

“This is who I am,” I mumbled, reminiscing my own words.

“I know now,” she said with a small smile.

“Do you like who I am?–––I asked boldly, leaning closer. Of course you do!–––I blurted. It took you a second to stand up and run after me.” Jeanne let out a cackle, throwing her head back. I held her between my arms, and rocked her gently to the sides, ecstatic.

–.–.–

Notes

This chapter holds very sensitive information for the future of this story, and I hope you enjoyed it :)

Thank you so much, everybody, for reading this story and sharing your precious time with me. Love you all, as always.

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