"Evening. It's eight o'clock. I'm beat."
"Aw, poor girl. Slide a little closer, I'll give you a massage."
I grinned in the dark. "Don't tempt me, it's only an eleven hour flight."
"Paris is that bad, huh?"
I sighed. "No, actually it's wonderful. Absolutely amazingly exhaustingly wonderful."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Though I'd swear a tiny corner of his voice almost sounded disappointed.
"I still haven't even got a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower yet, though."
"I'm sure Jean Luc wouldn't mind you taking a little time off to do some sightseeing."
"Ha! You don't know Jean Luc."
"What if you just go in a little early tomorrow and take a quick trip to the tower in the afternoon?"
I rubbed my temples. I had to admit, it wasn't a bad idea. "Maybe."
"Hey, by the way, I dropped by your place last night and watered your plants."
Last spring Ramirez and I had finally taken the plunge and exchanged house keys. Probably the biggest commitment I could ever expect out of a guy like Ramirez. When I'd showed Dana the pink copy of Ramirez's house key that he'd had made for me, she'd warned that once the keys came out the ring wasn't far behind. I'd had a brief moment of panic until I realized a) this was Ramirez we were talking about and b) Dana's longest lasting relationship thus far had been with a battery powered rabbit. She wasn't exactly an expert.
I frowned into the phone. "Um, honey, I don't have any plants."
"Okay, I dropped by and watched the game on your TV. Cable was out at my place."
"You are such a guy."
"And that's a bad thing?"
I felt myself smiling in the dark again. "No. Definitely not."
"So, when are you coming home? Your place isn't the same without you."
"A week from Sunday."
Ramirez groaned into the phone. "That's a long time."
"Only ten days."
"Only?" He groaned again. Though this one held a hint of his wicked Big Bad Wolf smile behind it. "You know, I think you're going to have to make this up to me when you come home."
I quirked an eyebrow in the darkness. "Oh yeah? What did you have in mind, pal?"
"Oh, I've got a couple of ideas. How do you feel about whipped cream?"
I giggled into the phone. Even as my body went warm in places completely inappropriate to talk about in mixed company. "Whipped cream, huh? What am I, an ice cream sundae?"
There was that growl again. "Uhn huh. With maybe a cherry or two on top. Then I'd lick-"
But he didn't get to finish that thought as Ramirez's pager chirped to life in the background. I heard him shift, then curse under his breath. "Shit. Maddie, Captain's paging me. I gotta go. Call you back?"
I swallowed down a lump of disappointment. Just when we were getting to the good part. "Sure."
"Five minutes. Promise," he shot out. Then a click and silence sounded in my ear.
I looked at the phone in my hands. I swear if Ramirez paid half as much attention to me as he did his Captain, we'd be married and cooking babies by now. Not that I necessarily wanted to be a baby cooker, but quite honestly I wouldn't thumb my nose at a night of being a human ice cream sundae. I closed my eyes, wondering just how Ramirez had anticipated finishing that last thought.
There went that inappropriate heat again. I stared at my cell. Five minutes, huh?
I got up, rummaging in my suitcase for something suitable to wear while having intercontinental phone sex with my boyfriend. Unfortunately, the best I could come up with were the flannel pajamas with little ducks printed on them that I'd packed. Not necessarily Fredericks of Hollywood, but they'd have to do. I slipped the top on, giving up on the bottoms as they stretched and strained around Wonder Boot. I guess I could have taken the boot off. But I only had two more minutes. Besides, the shirt was long enough to cover all the important parts. I grabbed my cell, flipped the lights off and crawled back into bed with one minute to spare.
I sat there staring at my phone. A minute went by. Then another. One more. Okay, don't panic. Five minutes, ten minutes – what's the difference, right? I decided that a watched cell never rings and grabbed the remote on the night table, switching on the TV to wait it out. Surely Ramirez would call any second.
I surfed through one channel after another of people speaking way too quickly me for me to catch even a word or two, until I found a station airing Friends reruns dubbed in French. I still couldn't understand what they were saying, but I remembered this one as the episode where Rachel got drunk and confessed her attraction for Ross and could follow the plot well enough from memory.
Fifteen minutes later Rachel was blasted, leaving Ross's answering machine her thoughts on closure, and I was staring at my own very silent phone.
"ca, mon ami, est aboutissement" Rachel said with a smirk. Canned laughter erupted, then the screen switched to a commercial for either tennis shoes or fitness water, I couldn't really tell.
I looked down at my cell readout. Completely dark. Five minutes, huh? I flipped open my phone. Yes, battery was charged. No, I hadn't missed any calls. Damn.
I'd give him another ten minutes.
By the time Friends was over and I was watching a dubbed I Love Lucy rerun where Ricky told Lucy she had some explicitation to do, I realized a) my libido had completely faded into exhaustion and b) I'd been stood up.
While I was disappointed, it was depressing to realize I wasn't entirely surprised. When the choice was between me or a case, I knew exactly where I stood with Ramirez. When a homicide came up, Maddie disappeared. I flipped off Lucy and closed my eyes, wondering if I'd ever have Ramirez's full attention.
Bright and early the next morning my alarm blared, a Black Eyed Peas song breaking through the pre-dawn light. For half a second I had seriously second thoughts about my getting up early plan. But, it was the Eiffel Tower we were talking about. Reluctantly, I dragged myself out of bed and hopped (quite literally) into the shower, doing a one-leg-in, one-leg-out thing with Wonder Boot, which resulted in shampoo in the eyes, a funky shaving job on my one good leg, and an aerobic workout to rival Dana's Step and Sculpt class. Twenty minutes later I felt like I'd run a marathon, but I was clean and dressed in black jeans (one leg rolled up past my knee), an Ed Hardy shirt with a skull and daisies printed on it, and a silver ballet flat (just one). I had the doorman grab me a cab and made tracks through the crisp morning air toward the Louvre. This time with a large cafe au lait from the Plaza's cafe. Don't ever let it be said that I'm not a fast learner.
By the time I arrived, the sun was just starting to peek out from behind the buildings, illuminating the impressive glass pyramid structure in the Louvre courtyard from behind. The light reflecting off the angles and slopes gave it an almost other worldy look that reminded me of the New Year's ball in New York. I took a moment just to watch the spreading pink hues of the sunrise reflecting off its surface as I finished my cafe au lait.
I made a mental note to buy a disposable camera before coming in tomorrow morning as I chucked my paper cup into a nearby trash can and hobbled through the plastic flaps of the Le Croix tent.
But I didn't get far as I ran smack into Jean Luc.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm still a little clumsy on these things. The doctor said I'd get used to them, but-"
Jean Luc cut me off, grabbing me by both shoulders. His face was white as a sheet, his eyes wide, pupils dilated. "Maddie," he said in strangled voice. "It's Gisella."
He gestured toward the newly constructed runway. It was missing a few boards and the sides were still unfinished. Flanking it on one side was a pile of lumber scraps and on the other a sawhorse, ready for the coverall fellows to resume their work.