I scowled (it’s something I do a lot apparently).
“I think this ass**le behind me should take his blurry photo and stop bumping into me before I decide to do some performance art with his face.”
Livvie’s smile turned into a judgmental pout.
“It’s crowded, Sexy. Guy can’t help it. At least we’re up front. Last time I was here, I was sort of in the middle and I couldn’t see over the people. I kept getting pushed from every side. I finally just turned around and left.” She leaned against the small barricade to get a closer look.
“Well, that idea has promise.” I glared at the man behind me while Livvie wasn’t looking. He held up his hand and dipped his head as he apologized. He was so nice about it I actually felt bad for being angry. This was the effect of being with Livvie. The old me would have said, Yes, you’re sorry. Now f**k off.
There was a swat to my chest and I turned back toward Livvie, who had apparently caught me.
“Be. Nice. I don’t want to be carted off to Les Mis jail in my fancy clothes. The lesbians will eat me alive.” She grinned.
“Two puns in one joke,” I said with a blasé tone. “Bit of an overreach. Also, it’s pronounced lay, not les.”
“Whatever, it was funny.” Livvie blushed and cuddled into my chest. I finally had to chuckle. It took me a long time to realize how adept Livvie is at managing my moods. She’d made me forget I was angry and she’d done it without my knowing.
I took her hand and navigated our way through the crowd so that we might visit other, less inhabited, exhibits. Like most people, I don’t know art, but I know what I like. For my part, I appreciated some of the “less superior” pieces more than the Mona Lisa. I didn’t find her smile that mysterious, to be honest. I enjoyed Guiseppe Arcimboldo’s Autumn much more. The artist incorporated fruits and vegetables to create a portrait of a man. It made me think about life and death. All things ripen and die. I thought about being twenty-seven. Knowing one’s age had consequences.
After the Louvre, we ate lunch at a small café within walking distance of the museum. The hotel provided a courtesy chauffeur, but Livvie insisted it was cheating to utilize such services. Walking was certainly more Parisian and therefore necessary to our tourist experience. I was no stranger to walking, but I shared no such thoughts on the subject.
By the time we reached the Eiffel Tower by way of the Arc de Triomphe, I was ready to throw Livvie into a taxi. But of course, we had to reach the top of the tower. Livvie—being the beautiful, young, and spry girl she is—was still full of energy and smiles. It was just her luck (and my misfortune) that her joy seemed to be infectious and kept me from voicing my growing disdain for tourist traps.
“Awesome! The elevator is working this time,” Livvie said.
I pulled her away from the ticket window before the line turned on her.
“Sorry, Kitten, but I’m not getting in that thing. What if it breaks down? Do you really want to be jammed into a tiny box with dozens of strangers? The idea doesn’t appeal to me.” I don’t like cramped spaces of the non tight, wet, and warm variety.
“Aww, are you claustrophobic?” Livvie made a mockingly sad face.
“Watch yourself, Kitten. I’d hate to have to spank your ass in front of all these people.” I tugged her close and delivered a firm slap to her behind. Someone giggled as they walked past. Livvie laughed.
“I can’t believe you just did that.”
“I plan on doing a lot more later,” I whispered in her ear and bit it for good measure. She squealed and pulled away. “I just hope I have the energy after I climb all these damn stairs.”
“Really? The stairs?” At last it was Livvie who was whining about doing things the hard way.
“Yes. The stairs. And it serves you right for having me walk all over Paris. I hope your thighs get nice and sore on the way up. It’ll make things that much more interesting when I make you squat over me later.” She scrunched up her nose and I laughed.
“You’re mean,” she said.
“Would you have me any other way?” I received little more than a suspicious glare. “Do you have anything in your coat pocket?”
She inspected her coat.
“No. All I brought was my passport, but you took it.”
“Good. I’d hate for you to get pick-pocketed again.” I kissed her forehead and directed our steps toward the stairs.
“What if you get pick-pocketed?”
“That’s cute, Pet.” I half hoped someone would try. I’d been growing increasingly desperate for confrontation. It had been months since I’d had some sort of altercation. I was surprised to discover how much I missed it. I pushed the thought aside for perhaps the hundredth time.
As others crammed themselves into the lift, Livvie and I started up the stairs. I regretted my decision to wear slacks and dress shoes almost immediately. There was a thin layer of frost on the stairs, and as we rose they only became more slippery.
“Try doing it in velvet Mary Janes. I swear, if I die, I’m going to be so mad at you.” Livvie huffed up another set of stairs.
“As if I would let anything happen to you. Would be a bloody waste of redemption, wouldn’t you say?” I was sure I was suffering far more. In addition to climbing, I was also pushing Livvie along to help her up the stairs.
A strange pang rippled through my chest. I ignored it. If Livvie loved me, she wasn’t in any rush to let me know and I hadn’t brought up my feelings for her since Thanksgiving. We were taking things slow and getting to know each other. We’d discussed it at length. Regardless, the words stirred me. The void yawned as if waking from a nap.
“This isn’t chivalry,” I countered. “I fully expect you to return the favor when I’m done. Also, I think a good back massage is in order. My muscles are tense after having been locked up tight during our gradual and torturous ascension.”
Livvie smiled with her eyes closed.
“I love the way you say things.”
She was thoroughly lost to my ministrations. Her lack of tactful word choice didn’t even occur to her, and I suppose it made it that much easier to forgive. I knew that though she might not love me, she cared for me a great deal and would never hurt me on purpose.