Chapter 20
“Are you feeling up for it?” asks Tyler, nodding to the entrance. “It’s okay if not.”
The bar is packed, but once I peer inside, I see that the vibe is pretty chill.
It’s a truly diverse crowd, and there are even a few people who look to be around our age (or maybe college students) just hanging out with their friends.
The poster out front has the same photograph of the gorgeous Asian drag queen that we saw on the flyer on the Metro.
The drag show hasn’t started yet; a DJ is spinning French disco.
“Let’s go in,” I say.
We have no problem getting in without having our IDs checked, since there are so many young people here just eating food.
Tyler and I elbow our way through the crowds, and we find a spot in the back corner by the bar where we can see the whole scene.
I look around, my heart bursting—I’m in a real gay bar in Paris!
There’s an amazing energy here: good music, colorful hair, tattoos, piercings.
The walls are covered with bright art posters and the floor is sticky with beer.
Though it’s warm and sweaty and close in here, it doesn’t feel claustrophobic. It feels kind of cozy.
“Don’t look now,” shouts Tyler in my ear, “but there’s a hot guy in here now who’s, like, way into you.”
“Where?!” I blurt, following Tyler’s gaze over my left shoulder.
Tyler chuckles. “I thought I said don’t look now?”
I lock eyes with a guy about my height and about our age. Dark hair, big brown eyes, strong nose (a feature I’ve always found super hot), radiant olive-toned skin … and way out of my league. He’s standing among a group of friends, mostly girls, and unlike me, he looks like he belongs.
We lock eyes, and he flashes a friendly, very white smile and raises his glass, which has a ruby-red drink in it.
I’m about to wave, but I stop myself. This is probably one of those mortifying moments where you think someone is waving to you, and you wave back, but it turns out they were waving at the person right next to you—i.e. , Tyler.
I turn back abruptly to Tyler.
“He’s not looking at me,” I say, thinking back to London Boy. “The last time a handsome stranger seemed like he was into me, he was a scammer. He must be looking at you.”
“Yeah, no—he’s definitely into you and only you,” insists Tyler, grinning.
“Like, I totally understand the gay world makes you feel invisible sometimes, but is there a possibility—even a tiny possibility—that you’re so used to thinking you’re invisible that you might not notice when guys are seriously thirsting for you?
’Cause I didn’t wanna say earlier, because I was worried your ego would get even bigger”—he laughs—“but you’re cute as hell.
Not just cute—hot. I truly mean this—I have no idea why anyone would look at me when they could look at you. It’s crazy to me.”
I’m stunned. I’m speechless. My tongue feels like it’s made out of lead. No one has ever called me hot. Certainly not Lucas. Let alone someone as undeniably hot as Tyler.
“I—thanks?” I stammer.
“Listen,” says Tyler, looking over my left shoulder again. “Do you think that dude is hot or not?”
“Uhh,” I say, figuring out how to get my mouth to work again, “I mean, for sure—”
“All right, then,” Tyler says, flashing his crooked grin. “In that case, you were very rude to him just now and I’m sure he’s heartbroken. I wouldn’t be a good wingman if I didn’t facilitate this in some way.”
Tyler, still looking over my shoulder at the guy, points to me and gives an exaggerated thumbs-up, as if to say Green light!
“Stop,” I say, embarrassed. I almost want to cry—it’s not even about shyness anymore. I’m disappointed by how quickly Tyler stepped into wingman mode.
“Okay, he’s coming over,” Tyler tells me.
My stomach jumps.
“Tyler, no!” I hiss.
“Bonsoir!” says Tyler cheerily.
I turn, and I’m face-to-face with the guy. He’s even hotter close up. His skin is freakishly perfect, and his brown eyes are sparkling.
“Bonsoir,” the guy says to me, ignoring Tyler completely—it’s almost rude.
“Bonsoir,” I croak.
“Voulez-vous prendre un verre?” Tyler asks both of us. Would you like a drink?
“No, thank you very much,” responds the guy in heavily accented English, lifting his almost-full glass.
“Got it,” says Tyler. He winks at me and says, “I’ll be right back with yours.”
“Tyler—” I say, but he’s already shouldering his way to the bar.
“My name is Youssef,” says the hot guy.
At first, I don’t want to respond. I’m still on edge from my encounter with London Boy. But something about Youssef seems different. Real.
“I’m Ben,” I finally say, “but in France, I go by Remy.”
“Remy,” Youssef repeats with a laugh. “I like this name. Very handsome name …” Then he gestures to my face. “For very handsome face.”
Normally, this would be a cringe line, but his accent makes it all very charming. I feel myself blush, giggling a bit.
“Merci beaucoup,” I say. I glance at his outfit—hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. “Are you a student?” I ask.
“Yes. Me and my friends … we are first-year at the Sorbonne.”
Youssef nods to his gaggle of friends, who wave giddily when I look over.
“The Sorbonne, wow,” I say. “That’s a good school.”
My heart is thudding. A dreamy college guy who isn’t trying to sell me a friendship bracelet is hitting on me. This is a first-in-a-lifetime experience. But for a reason I can’t put a finger on, I’m distracted, and it’s not because I have butterflies for Youssef.
I glance toward the bar, where Tyler is waiting in line to get us drinks. He doesn’t realize I’m looking at him. I watch as he brushes his hair out of his eyes in that familiar way, and it hits me then, with shocking certainty:
The only person I want to be flirting with right now is Tyler.
“Is he your … boyfriend?” Youssef asks, following my gaze.
An awkward laugh escapes my mouth. “Tyler? My boyfriend? No! He’s just my friend. Good friend. Bon ami,” I say too vehemently.
“Okay, phew,” says Youssef, his flawless face lighting up as he pretends to wipe the sweat from his brow. “This makes me glad because you are … bel homme. Most beautiful man in this place.”
My heart starts pounding as I meet his eyes. “Really?” I squeak out.
Youssef smiles and nods.
This is an amazing, whirlwind, magical moment, but it’s almost like when I saw the Mona Lisa—I can appreciate Youssef’s beauty, and the fact that he, miraculously, seems into me, but at the same time, I’m a little detached.
Stop thinking about Tyler! I tell myself sternly.
There’s nothing happening with me and Tyler.
It’s just as I told Youssef: He and I are friends from home, and nothing more.
I need to stop holding out for a fantasy and jump into my reality, where a gorgeous French college student is standing so close to me that I wonder if we’re about to … kiss?
Youssef inches closer. His surprisingly warm hand envelops mine. I lean in, too, and our faces draw closer and my heart is thrumming and—
Tyler steps in between us. I jolt backward.
“Sorry to interrupt,” Tyler shouts a little louder than necessary, “but the bartender told me Tsui Ennui is about to come out.” He’s holding two beers aloft.
“Ah, Tsui Ennui is marvelous!” Youssef says, although there’s an edge to his voice as he glares at Tyler.
I let go of Youssef’s hand to take my beer. “The bartender says we should make our way toward the stage if we want a good spot.” Tyler turns to Youssef and nods curtly. “It was nice to meet you. Bonsoir.”
“Remy, please wait,” says Youssef, but Tyler grabs my free hand, and we surge forward into the crowd.
“Tyler, what are you doing?” I demand, though I make no effort to free my hand from his.
“Sorry,” he says, a little breathlessly, “but it didn’t look like you were that into him.”
“That’s not true,” I say, but I swallow my words.
That’s not entirely true, is what I really mean.
I look back at Youssef, who returns to his group of friends, looking crestfallen.
I want to run over and tell him that he’s awesome, that I know how much courage it takes to go up and talk to a stranger and show that you’re interested, and if I weren’t on this life-changing night trapped outside my youth hostel with my oldest friend who’s turned into the hottest guy who reads Proust I’ve ever met, I’d be super into him.
My thoughts are swirling with confusion.
Tyler seems agitated and nervous all of a sudden—I can tell from the tense way he holds his shoulders and how his jaw is flexing.
Is it possible he was jealous of Youssef and me back there?
Is that why he interrupted us? I almost want to ask him but can’t call up the words.
Once we get to the front of the stage, I take a sip of my beer. It’s not amazing, but it’s not bad—it’s like liquid bread with a hint of citrus.
Next to me, Tyler takes a sip of his beer, too. But then he makes a face and puts it down on a tabletop. I have to laugh. Sophisticated Tyler Travers not liking the taste of beer. Maybe he’s not so grown-up after all.
Tyler sees me laughing and fake scowls at me.
And I realize that, after all this time, we’re still holding hands.
Before I can mention it or let go, a spotlight illuminates the stage, and suddenly the entire bar erupts in cheers.
Tyler squeezes my hand as Tsui Ennui, wearing a pearl-covered bodysuit with a pink Marie Antoinette–style wig piled high on her head, steps into the light.
She’s carrying an accordion that’s bedazzled pink.
She begins playing the accordion while singing a jazzy, upbeat version of “La vie en rose”—the iconic song by édith Piaf!
Was it just earlier today that I was thinking about that song?
Tsui Ennui’s voice is powerful and full of emotion. It fills the entire club, overpowering even the deafening screams of the crowd. An overwhelming feeling of queer joy washes over me. As Tsui Ennui sings the chorus, everyone shouts along to the words, including me and Tyler.
Tyler’s voice is kind of raspy, and we smile at each other as we sing. I feel so connected to everyone in here: connected by music, connected by queerness, and it doesn’t matter the language; everyone can feel the longing and rapturous love in Tsui Ennui’s voice and in édith Piaf’s words:
When he holds me in his arms and he speaks to me softly, I see life in pink.
(It sounds even better in French.)
I really take in the words. Isn’t that what everyone in here is looking for? What I’ve always been looking for? To find a love so real that it makes you see only the beauty in the world?
At one point, Tsui Ennui gets on the floor and plays the accordion with her legs, all while she doesn’t miss a word into the mic.
By the end of the song, the crowd is shrieking, tossing euros at her, the bills raining down like confetti.
I’m cheering, and realize that Tyler and I are still somehow holding hands.
When I look down to see our hands linked, my stomach jumps. But I don’t let go.
I glance back up to see Tsui Ennui bowing onstage.
“Merci, merci, gay Paris!” she trills, tucking the bills into her pearl-studded corset.
I’m overcome with the desire to throw all my money at her, too.
With my free hand, I take out the last bill in my wallet—a wadded-up ten-euro note—and hand it to her.
When she takes it, she winks at me and puckers her lips, and my heart flutters.
Tyler and I look at each other, and both of us squeal and do a little jig in place.
This beautiful person looked at me! Best ten euros I’ve ever spent.
“This next song,” coos Tsui in her breathy, alluring voice, “is for young love.”
Cheers and whoops go up around the bar.
“There is so much pain and loneliness and strife in this world,” Tsui goes on, clutching her heart. “But when I see beautiful young lovers, I see only hope. To them, I dedicate this next song: ‘Tu te reconna?tras.’ ”
She looks at me and Tyler as she says this. And suddenly, Tyler’s and my hands, still clasped together, get hot with sweat, but we just squeeze tighter.
Tsui starts a new song—a slow ballad accompanied by just a piano. It’s one I definitely have never heard before. But the way Tsui sings it, slowly and with so much emotion, I take in every word, and even with my beginner-level knowledge of French, I manage to translate in my mind as she sings:
At every moment in every joy, every tear
You will see, you’ll recognize yourself.
When she sings the last note, tears are running down my face.
Tyler sees me. And I no longer mind that he’s seeing me cry.
He lets go of my hand, but it’s only to pull me closer.
He uses his thumb to wipe away my tears while his other hand settles on the back of my neck.
His hand feels so warm and so right. My whole body flushes.
Tyler looks into my eyes, almost like he’s studying them, seeing me for the first time.
I look back into his eyes. Time stops. My heart is thudding so hard I think Tyler can hear it. Maybe even Tsui Ennui can hear it.
The bar erupts into cheers all around us—it’s for the performance, but I feel like maybe it’s for us, for me and Tyler.
The bravery and wildness of the night combine and there’s no way I can stop myself now. I reach up and pull Tyler’s face even closer to mine. I feel the warmth of his breath.
And our lips touch.
We kiss.
Yes, that’s right.
It’s like a ball of butterflies explodes in my stomach, sending them fluttering through my veins. Every cell in my body sparkles like champagne, or the Eiffel Tower at midnight.
Tyler Travers and I are kissing!