Henry and I arrive together at the Eiffel Tower.
“A bit cliché at this point, isn’t it?” I ask, but it’s not what I’m thinking. What I’m thinking is that I’d feared the Eiffel Tower would be overrated, but it’s not. It’s breathtaking, lit against the night. I wish I knew how to say that, to let that part of myself go, but I can’t. Not here, not now.
Thus unmoved, Henry says, “You know the drill,” as I go to get out of the car. “Just act like you’re amazed Marcus set this date up.” He says it like he’s tired of it. I sure as shit am.
The crew gets the two of us in position in front of the tower and then cues us. “You look beautiful, Jac” is the first thing Marcus says to me when the camera turns on.
“You look beautiful,” I answer with my plastered-on smile. He kisses me, and I’m getting better at pretending there’s nothing wrong here. I’m used to writing stories, but I am the story now.
We ride up the elevator to the restaurant, me thanking Marcus profusely for making this happen for me. (When I watch later, I think how stupid I sound, how absurd. I know Marcus didn’t plan this, the audience knows he didn’t plan this, but still I’m playing along.)
I sit down at the meal with Marcus like I always do, and we pretend it doesn’t exist like we always do. It looks appetizing—steamed mussels in white wine and small steaks with fries, but we are always forced to focus on our conversation at dinner, and that does not allow for eating. Not like I have an appetite anyway.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about.” Marcus launches into the conversation in a way that makes it clear that anything he is about to say will be words directly from Janelle’s mouth.
“Okay,” I answer.
“I know how deeply I care for you, Jac—maybe even more than anyone I’ve been with before.” My heart pounds against my chest like this is real. “But I feel like there’s still something between us. A wall. I thought meeting your family would make things clearer to me, but I feel more confused than ever.”
I can’t say why I say it—if it’s because I am so broken or so tired. “It doesn’t make any sense, right?” I look down at my food, picking up a fork, pushing it around, and he waits patiently until I go on. “There’s nothing wrong with my life, but there’s something wrong with me.”
He takes both my hands, firmly pulling me from my reverie, and for that briefest moment, I remember what I liked so much about Marcus—that quick action, decisiveness. There weren’t always layers upon layers of meaning when he spoke, when he acted.
Except there totally are. But on the surface, you don’t have to wonder what he wants when he wants it. You don’t have to worry who he’ll be today or tomorrow or the next day because it’s consistent. It’s right there. “That’s not what I meant,” Marcus says.
“It isn’t,” I say, “but it’s what I heard. I want to believe in love, but I don’t. I don’t believe I’m worthy of it.”
I blink, a tear rolling down my cheek. He wipes it away with the pad of his thumb and kisses me softly.
“I always,” I say, my voice breaking up, “leave before I get left. It’s the only thing that’s made me feel good for a long time.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” Marcus says to me, cradling my face in both of his hands. “Believe that.”
It had started somewhere that scared me, but now, now I’ve found it. I talked my way into the right thing to say. I’m so good at this.
My whole body betrays me and I look at Henry. His face is stone cold, and I don’t know what that means, so I do it.
“Marcus,” I say, closing my eyes, taking a deep breath, “I’m in love with you.” I fear opening my eyes because of what I might find, convinced my skin is sloughing off my body.
“Hey, look at me.” I do. He’s smiling. “I love you, Jacqueline Matthis.” He kisses me, his lips warm on mine, and I imagine being someone else.
THE OVERNIGHT INVITATION comes as we all knew it would, and production takes us back to the hotel suite they have reserved for us. Marcus pours us both glasses of red wine.
“I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” He eyes me, clinking our glasses together. The act is over now; we revert to ourselves.
“Finally,” I say, “it will be just the two of us.”
He smiles. “We’ll really get to know each other at last.”
We joylessly make out on a bed for the camera in a way that makes my sexual appetite shrivel up and die the way my actual appetite already has, and then, finally, Janelle says they have everything they need. She orders a pizza, and all of us—Marcus, me, the rest of production, and the crew—all sit around eating it, drinking wine and beer and shooting the shit.
I’m talking with some of the crew members when Henry subtly joins our conversation. The other two guys leave, and Henry takes a long look at me. “Clothes are so wasted on you.”
“Do you ever think with any other parts of your body?” I whisper back to him.
“More often than I wish I did,” he answers, taking a drink.
“Why are you flirting with me?” I glance around, feeling us right on the edge of danger.
“Because I know I’m about to leave you with him, and I feel like shit,” he answers.
“Did you like what I did?” I say then.
“No,” he returns, sensing my thorniness. “Of course I didn’t like it.”
“Didn’t me spilling my guts give John his editing boner?” I don’t know why I’m giving him a hard time; I agreed to it. But it’s a funny thing, how often I find myself agreeing to things I wish I hadn’t.
“Jac,” Henry says, his head going down to mine. Before he can say more, though, Marcus appears at his side, wrapping an arm around me.
“Ah,” Marcus says, “my girl and her producer.”
“You having fun?” Henry asks him, putting his hands in his pockets.
“About to be having a lot more,” Marcus answers, his arm tightening around me. “I asked Janelle if everyone’s about ready to wrap up here.”
Henry glances at his watch and nods. “Yeah. Damn, it’s getting late.”
“I’m in Paris,” Marcus says. “We don’t plan to sleep, right, Jac?”
