Reverie. Candace Gold

      “Doesn’t matter. Here we are today, and I still feel the same way.”

      Jonathan tried to read the expression on her face. Had he just seen a flicker of doubt? “I guess we say goodbye here, then.”

      After he kissed Nikki, Jonathan tried one last time to discover any hidden emotions behind her eyes. He found it impossible. She was already thousands of miles away.

       Chapter 2

      Nikki landed at Roissy/Charles de Gaulle Airport which serviced the northern half of Paris. Orly, the smaller international airport, serviced the southern part of the city. The processing through French customs after disembarking was long, but not as time-consuming as Nikki feared it would be. The seven-hour flight itself hadn’t been too bad, either. Though the plane was full, there were no screaming, unruly children. She’d been lucky in her seat assignment, having been given an aisle seat next to an elderly couple more interested in sleeping than matching her up with their grandson, who always turned out to be gay or a Sumo wrestler look-alike.

      After napping for an hour and feeling refreshed, she filled the rest of her travel time with writing a short piece for her column and reading several chapters of a suspense novel she’d bought in the airport before taking off. The time passed quickly and when she heard the pilot announce their arrival, she couldn’t contain her excitement. This was what she’d always wanted to do. And now it was happening…

      Glad to leave the crowded, busy airport which so reminded her of JFK back home, Nikki retrieved the instructions given her by the concierge of the apartment building on avenue Foch and hailed a taxi. She gave the address of the apartment to the driver, and he pulled away from the curb. She wasn’t tired or the least bit jet-lagged. Instead, she found herself wired. The city, which had captured her childhood fantasies, now beckoned to her. And it was now only a few miles from her grasp.

      * * * *

      Nikki should be landing in Paris by now, Jonathan thought. For the tenth time, he glanced at the watch Nikki had given him as a gift. Each minute that passed was a constant reminder of her absence. He could not shake the ominous feeling that he should have stopped Nikki from going alone. He should have tried harder to get her to delay her trip for a few days while he rescheduled his appointments to join her. However, she probably wouldn’t have agreed to wait. After all, she was going there to get away from him. Wasn’t that what needing one’s space meant? What if she met a charming Frenchman?

      Jonathan had fallen in love with Nikki nearly from the night they had met. When their paths first crossed at a fundraiser for the children’s hospital affiliated with his practice, he was intrigued by her. She and a male columnist from her newspaper had been seated at his table. Though she remained quiet, it was her hair that shouted her presence. A brilliant shade of red, it shimmered and glistened under the room’s lighting. He was drawn to her attractive oval face with delicately carved cheekbones and upturned nose, a face whose dominant feature was her large, extraordinary blue eyes tending to sparkle like precious gems when she laughed at his silly jokes. Her lips were full and bore only the hint of lipstick. And he found himself wondering how her temptingly curved mouth would taste.

      Jonathan introduced himself and they fell into an easy conversation. He soon discovered her understated wit and slightly offbeat sense of humor. Nikki was the antithesis of the women he’d been seeing who were often clingy and wanted to get married after the third date. She was more independent and seemed to know what life path she was taking. He’d asked for her telephone number and watched as her long, slim fingers opened the clasp on her beaded-black purse and removed a business card from a gold holder.

      When he had called two days later and asked her to dinner, she had accepted. That first date, two years before, had marked the beginning of their relationship. It wasn’t long after that Jonathan knew he wanted Nikki to become a permanent fixture in his life. And up until now, he’d thought she’d wanted the same future.

      Their relationship, though vibrant and exciting, was far from a smooth ride. He’d already circumvented more potholes than a New York City street. Granted, he was far from perfect himself, but Nikki had an acerbically quick temper. Having a short fuse, it would erupt and then fizzle just as quickly but not before an ensuing argument. Usually the spats were over silly things, which he thought resulted from the stress of writing a newspaper column with its too many deadlines.

      Then there was her annoyance with the blurring of the line separating his professional and personal life. She disliked any encroachment of his practice into their personal time. Sometimes she had a valid reason for going off on him, but there had been times when he felt she was overreacting and merely acting selfish or even childish. Being a psychologist, he knew there might very well be an underlying reason for her petulant behavior. However, he knew little of Nikki’s past and could only speculate.

      She didn’t speak much about her family, shutting him right down if he tried to initiate a conversation about her parents. Whenever he asked Nikki about her parents and how they died, she’d become evasive. Knowing she lost both of them within a few months of each other, Jonathan figured it had been traumatic and a pivotal marker in Nikki’s life. He’d meant to do some research into her background but never got around to it. On the other hand, he always thought that when she felt secure and safe in the confines of their relationship, she’d tell him herself. Perhaps now, after two years, he should reevaluate that position.

      * * * *

      Nikki tried to mentally photograph everything she saw as her cab approached Paris. The driver, Habib, was Moroccan and his English was passable. However, when he discovered she spoke French well, he seemed delighted to be her unofficial tour guide, pointing out everything of importance that they passed. She found the need to pinch herself to confirm she was really in Paris and had to restrain herself from hopping out of the cab and checking each landmark more intimately.

      Paris had been divided into twenty districts called Arrondissements. Her apartment was situated in the sixteenth Arrondissement. According to Habib, this was where the wealthy people lived and shopped. As they drove through the area, she could see why. It had beautiful homes, several museums and a gorgeous park.

      “This is the widest road in Paris,” he said as he turned onto avenue Foch. “It goes from the Porte Dauphine in Bois de Boulogne, clear to the Arc de Triomphe.”

      “Isn’t my apartment along this street?”

      “Yes. We are almost there. It is on the next block, mademoiselle.”

      When the driver pulled to the curb in front of a white stone building, she knew they’d arrived. She got out of the cab quickly and looked at the structure. The area was well-lit, and she was able see the smooth elegance of the five-story limestone structure which towered over the nearby park in what looked more like suburbia than a city block. There were well-maintained trellises of ivy adorning its front, with two stone flowerpots filled with colorful flowers flanking both sides of the entrance. The arched basement-apartment windows bore iron gratings, and an elaborately designed wrought-iron fence ran across the entire length of the second floor. Admiringly, she wondered how much history this building had witnessed. She was thrilled and felt lucky she’d picked an apartment in such a beautiful and well-kept district.

      Habib helped carry her luggage inside the vestibule. She thanked and paid him. Then she buzzed the concierge.

      Within minutes, a tired-looking, middle-aged man of medium height and thinning black hair appeared at the glass door wearing a flannel shirt with a torn pocket and ancient-looking blue coveralls. He had a streak of grease across his right cheek. “Oui. Est-ce que je peux vous aider?”

      Nikki easily translated the can I help you and explained in French who she was. The man broke out into a huge smile. Speaking their language seemed to have that effect on the French. Which made her glad she had learned to speak the language so well.

      “Bonjour! Je suis Pierre. Bienvenue vers Paris,” he gushed warmly as he welcomed her and began to chatter away as if they were long-lost friends. “Please