Chapter 36 MARCEL
Chapter 36
M ARCEL
Marcel was pacing around the living room, phone in hand, checking it compulsively. He was at a crossroads. Several times, he entered the passcode, went into his contacts, and searched for Princess . He knew Siobhan would be at the Baxter Books party; even so, the urge to call her prickled at his fingertips. Should he call her or not? No, that would be immensely stupid. Why on earth would he call her now? What would he say if he did?
Hi, Siobhan, I just wanted to tell you I’m dying to see you, but I’m terrified I’m not good enough for you. I only shut you out of my life so that you can be happy. That’s all. Keep enjoying the party and let’s pretend this call never happened.
What a bunch of horseshit.
Siobhan didn’t deserve to have her feelings toyed with. She wanted the full fairy tale, and he only had crumbs to offer her. But he didn’t believe in happy endings; the very idea of such a thing seemed fraudulent. Because people always ended up leaving, sooner or later. As a writer, Marcel had learned that the only way to keep it all under control was by planning each twist and turn of the plot, every detail, from beginning to end. But then, life wasn’t a novel. He was writing blind when it came to real life. Unanticipated developments kept forcing him to rethink the original plan. He never—or almost never—knew what chapter he’d be writing tomorrow.
How many of those unplanned chapters had he written recently?
Unplanned chapter number one : In which Marcel meets his mother again after twenty-eight years.
Unplanned chapter number two: In which Marcel starts to wonder whether maybe, just maybe, in time, he could forgive her.
Unplanned chapter number three: In which Marcel discovers that one phrase holds the key. Don’t let life slip through your fingers just because your mother couldn’t do any better. Keep going.
Unplanned chapter number four: In which Marcel finally understands that perhaps not everyone leaves.
Unplanned chapter number five: In which Marcel decides to stop kidding himself.
He missed Siobhan. He missed her laugher, her freshness, the scent of her organic coconut shampoo, and every last inch of her body. He thought about her every minute of the day and imagined her by his side whatever he was doing: waking naked in his bed, sharing coffee at the kitchen island, working on a new novel together, or holding hands as they got lost in the streets of Manhattan.
Because it turned out his capacity to love wasn’t limited. Quite the opposite in fact.
What if the possibility of a happy ending wasn’t as remote as he had always thought?
He checked the time on his phone.
Eight on the dot.
“Shit,” he muttered.
He sprinted up the stairs, feeling the adrenaline rush into his veins, entered the bedroom, and picked out his best suit. He took a quick shower, sprayed on some aftershave, and got dressed. Earlier, he had requested a car, which, luckily, picked him up right away. Marcel asked the driver to take him to 1 Oak as quickly as possible. It was time for him to be honest with her and with himself. I want to mend my cracks. If the Japanese can do it, I can too. He just hoped it wasn’t too late. On the way, he considered sending her a message, but he decided he wanted to surprise her. After fifteen interminable minutes, the driver pulled up in the VIP zone in front of the club, where his passenger instructed him to wait. Marcel took a deep breath before leaving the vehicle. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined going to the Baxter Books party, given how much he hated crowded social events. The stupid things we do for love, he thought. As soon as he entered, he felt overwhelmed. There were too many people, the music was loud, and the lights were blinding. He declined the glass of champagne offered by a young waiter and focused on finding Siobhan. He thought he saw Bob Gunton in the crowd and turned away to avoid an unwanted encounter. He scanned the room but couldn’t see her anywhere. Desperate, he took his phone from his pocket and returned to the lobby to call her. There, he bumped into Alex and two girls. He recognized one right away and the other, though he had never met her, he felt sure he knew as well. They were Paige and Lena. And they didn’t look happy.
“Marcel, what are you doing here?” Alex asked, with a note of doubt and surprise.
“I came to look for Siobhan. I need to talk to her,” he said. Then he turned to Paige and said: “My name isn’t actually Michael. I suppose you know that already. I’m Marcel.” He extended his hand, though she seemed reticent about taking it. “I’m sorry about that night in Grimaldi’s.”
“You were a real jerk,” said Paige. “But you know what they say: you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
Marcel smiled.
“Thanks, I think.”
“And I’m Lena,” the other girl said. “Why do you want to talk to Shiv, might I ask? Sorry to be so direct, but you’ve jerked my friend around quite a bit. You’ll understand that I want to protect her from a diabolic character like you,” she said candidly, scrutinizing him with a stern look over her glasses.
“That’s fair. But I can assure you all I want to do is make her happy. You have my word.” After a brief silence, Lena nodded. “Listen, I don’t want to appear rude, but do you know where she is?”
“She left,” Alex said. “About fifteen minutes ago.”
Alex’s reply made him frown.
“What do you mean, she left? Where to?”
“I have no idea. We were having a perfectly nice chat about the novel, and suddenly she burst into tears and ran out.”
“She didn’t even say goodbye to us,” Paige added, in a melodramatic tone.
“She burst into tears?” Marcel said, slightly frantic. Then he rubbed his face. “Shit, it’s my fault. I knew this would happen. I knew, damn it.” He sighed. “Have you called her?”
“She won’t answer,” replied Paige. “Her phone might be on silent.”
“Maybe she went home,” suggested Alex.
“Of course. Do you have her address?”
“She isn’t in her apartment,” Lena declared, checking something on her phone. “According to Girlfriend Safe. It’s an app we use when we go out at night. To feel a bit safer. If she was at home, this little dot”—she turned the screen to show the others—“would be green, not red.”
Alex seemed puzzled.
“You use a geolocation app for women?”
“Sure,” said Paige. “The world is full of depraved murderers and rapists. You know that better than anyone.” She looked pointedly at Marcel, who was horrified. “Because you’re a crime writer,” she clarified. And Marcel’s face relaxed.
“Where the hell can she have gone?”
“Maybe she’s at your place,” Alex offered.
“Doubt it. Gonzales would have told me. Let’s see. Think, think, think,” he said to himself out loud. A sudden thought occurred to him. “Has anyone checked her social networks?”
Lena snapped her fingers.
“Bingo! She posted something on Twitter. Just a minute ago.” She turned the phone around and showed him. “Look.”
Siobhan Harris @siobhan_harris 1m
Summertime.
“Summertime? Like the song?” suggested Paige. “How strange, I didn’t know she liked Lana Del Rey.”
“She might mean the Nina Simone version,” said Lena.
“Or Billie Holiday,” said Alex.
“Whichever it is, what does she mean by this tweet?”
Marcel retreated into himself for a moment. Suddenly, a clear image floated to the surface of his memory.
Of course!
That was it!
Finally, these lousy social networks had served a purpose.
“I think I know where she is,” he told them. Then he looked at his watch. “And I’d better hurry.”
“I’m going with you,” announced Alex.
“Is there room for two more?”
There was a traffic jam. At nine o’clock at night. The kind of thing that could only happen in New York. A car had broken down in the middle of the street by Anchorage Plaza, and everyone behind it was trapped in a commotion of blasting horns and flying insults. Marcel was getting desperate. He squirmed in the passenger seat and checked his phone in hopes that Siobhan had returned his calls.
“Calm down, man,” Alex said, patting him on the shoulder from the back seat. He was in between Paige and Lena, who hadn’t stopped asking indiscreet questions the entire journey. Particularly Paige.
“How can I calm down? My future is at stake!”
“I’m sure the tow truck will come soon and clear the street.”
“I can’t wait any longer,” he said abruptly, unfastening his seat belt.
“My word, this is getting more and more interesting,” murmured Paige.
“But, what ...? You aren’t going to do what I think you’re going to do, are you? We don’t even know if she’s there, Marcel. She isn’t answering her phone.”
Marcel turned to look his friend in the eye.
“If she’s not there, I’ll keep looking until I find her. You don’t understand, Alex. The only thing I can do now is to go for it with all I’ve got. Wish me luck, will you? All three of you. And you too,” he asked the driver, who smiled and gave him the thumbs-up.
And with that, he hopped out of the car and started running down Old Fulton Street. Alex, Paige, and Lena weren’t far behind.
“Wait, Marcel! We’re coming with you!”
“Yeah, we wouldn’t miss this for the world!” exclaimed Paige. “Hey, would it be too much to ask you not to run so fast? I’m wearing four-inch heels!”
“Heels are the patriarchy!” shouted Lena, who had been smart enough to switch hers for flats.
But Marcel didn’t slow his pace. The cars honked as he passed. One guy lowered his window and had the nerve to ask where he was going in such a hurry. “To make a declaration of love!” he yelled. To which the man answered: “Good luck with that, man!” He didn’t even recognize himself. Was the guy running like a madman toward Brooklyn Bridge Park really him? Had he been abducted by the hero of a romantic comedy? He sped up and lengthened his stride until he reached the waterfront. Droplets of sweat ran from his neck down his back. His pulse was soaring, and his heart was pounding, as though shouting at him not to give up, begging some god, if there was one, for Siobhan to still be there.
Please, please, please.
Then he saw her.
She appeared before him like a dream.
She was right where he had guessed she would be. She was leaning on the railing, her gaze lost in the East River; as beautiful and vulnerable as on the night of his birthday, when she tripped and fell into his arms like a gift while a busker played “Summertime” on his saxophone.
I got you.
You got me.
How little he had known then about the true significance of those words, their hidden double meaning.
You got me, princess. You’ve always had me.
“Siobhan!” he shouted, sprinting toward her. “Siobhan!”
He was panting and grinning like a child. He was pumping with adrenaline and emotion.
She turned her head and regarded him incredulously.
“Marcel! What are you . . . ? How did you know . . . ?”
Marcel stopped before her, limp and dazed with relief, and doubled over, taking deep breaths to recover.
“Twitter,” he managed to say, panting. “We ... saw it ... on Twitter.”
“‘We’?”
When Siobhan lifted her gaze, she saw Alex, Paige, and Lena bringing up the rear.
“For the love of god!” protested Paige, clutching her ribs. “I’m going to ... puke up ... every last canape.”
“I don’t get it,” said Siobhan, her gaze slipping from one to the other quizzically. “What are you all doing here? And why were you running? From where?”
“From the Baxter Books party,” explained Paige.
“You left so suddenly, we were worried about you,” continued Lena.
“Then he showed up,” added Alex, nodding at Marcel.
“And since you weren’t answering our calls ...,” continued Paige.
“And we knew from Girlfriend Safe you weren’t at home ...,” explained Lena.
“We decided to take a look at Twitter, in case you had posted anything. And Marcel said he knew where you were. And here you are,” concluded Alex.
“Now can we clear something up?” asked Paige. “Which version of ‘Summertime’ did you mean?”
“George Gershwin.” Siobhan swallowed and turned to Marcel. “You went to the Baxter Books party?” she asked, unable to hide the incredulity in her voice.
“Yes.”
“But . . .”
“I came to find you, Siobhan,” he replied as naturally as he could, although his heart was beating so hard he could feel it pulsing in his fingertips.
“What for? You and I have said everything we have to say, Marcel.”
She sounded hurt.
Angry.
Sad.
And not without reason.
He deserved it.
“I think you should listen to Marcel, Shiv,” Paige said. “This man almost ran the New York marathon to get to you. Strike me down right now if that’s not romantic.”
Marcel gave Paige a conspiratorial look.
“Thanks, Paige.”
“Not at all. Would you sign a book for me?”
“And for me?”
“Girls, this isn’t the moment,” Alex said in a low voice. “Maybe we should give them a bit of privacy.”
“You’re right,” agreed Paige. “Come on, let’s go.”
“But not too far. Just in case,” added Lena, giving Marcel a pointed I’m watching you glare before turning away.
A few seconds later, they were alone. After a tense silence, Marcel decided to break the ice.
“You were crying.”
“It was nothing.” She gazed at the river for a few moments, rubbing her arms as though trying to get warm. “So that’s why you came.”
“That’s not why I came,” replied Marcel, taking off his jacket and draping it delicately around Siobhan’s shoulders. “Well, not just because of that. I mean, I know the reason you were crying and ran out here is because of me. And my pathetic insecurity. So I owe you an apology. For making you cry, for being such a jerk, and for not having realized sooner that ...”
“Marcel . . .”
“I’m in love with you.”
“You don’t need to ... Wait. What? Did you say ... Did you say you’re in love with me, or is my mind playing tricks?”
An adoring smile lit up Marcel’s face.
“Your mind is just fine, honey.”
“Mm-hmm. Okay. Can ... Can you say it again, please? Just to be sure.”
Marcel studied her face. No one had ever looked at him like that before, with that wonderful blend of hope and fear. He took her hands, which burned feverishly and were slightly damp in his. He lowered his head and lost himself in her eyes, shining with the lively blue of youth.
“I’m totally, hopelessly, and madly in love with you, Miss Harris.”
“But you don’t ... You don’t believe in love,” she replied.
And yet, it had happened.
“It’s possible that I’ve changed my mind.”
“Ah. Until when, Marcel? Until tomorrow morning when you remember you’re scared of being happy? I know about the royalties. Alex told me. And I know why you made that decision.”
He shook his head.
“It isn’t what you think. I’m here, Siobhan. And I’m not planning to leave. I’ve taken too long, but I’m here now. For the first time in my life, I want to live a story more than I want to write it. You make me feel like I don’t need to escape reality,” he said, running his thumbs over her knuckles. “And yes, I’m scared. Of course I’m scared. I’m terrified of losing you. But do you know what would be worse? Not having tried.” A tear rolled down Siobhan’s rosy cheek, and Marcel caught it with his fingertip. “I don’t want to reach the end of my life and say, ‘Well, at least I was careful.’ I don’t want to live like that, not anymore. I want to leave the past behind and focus on the present, build a future, belong somewhere, to someone. To you. I love you, you know that? I’ve always loved you. Even when I didn’t like you, princess.” She laughed as another tear spilled. “And now that I’ve finally said it, I feel so liberated I feel like saying it again. I love you. Shit, I love you! Yes! I love you, I love you, I love you! My name is Marcel Dupont, and I love this woman!” he shouted to the four winds.
“Happy for you, dude,” murmured a passerby.
They both laughed.
“God, what’s happening to me?” he joked. “What’s next? Eating rainbow popcorn and crying at a Meg Ryan and Billy Crystal movie about a commitment-phobe who finally sees the light?”
“Don’t be embarrassed to admit it. I’ve done it plenty of times, and I’m still here. Of course, that guy’s a bit of an idiot. He doesn’t really know what he wants and takes an eternity to figure it out. But in the end, he goes looking for the girl, and she forgives him for being an asshole, which goes to show that happy endings are possible.”
“Thankfully,” said Marcel, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, the way she liked. “I want to have a happy ending with you, Siobhan. Tell me we can be like Jeremiah and Felicity.”
“We don’t need to be like Jeremiah and Felicity, Marcel. Or like Harry and Sally. It’s enough for us to be ourselves. That’s enough for me. Because I love you too. I love every one of your imperfections and your cracks, your sarcasm, your bad moods, your social phobias, and even your incomprehensible aversion to sweets.” Marcel laughed. “I love you because you’re you, because you’re real, not a fictional character.”
Marcel nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. Then, he took her face in his hands and kissed her as the breeze from the river, the night, and the jazz playing in his memory enveloped them in a mist. Love tasted so good he wanted to lose himself in that feeling all night, all week, and—why not?—for the rest of his life.
The sound of cheering and applause caught them unawares. Alex, Paige, and Lena were celebrating their happiness nearby. Marcel rested his chin on Siobhan’s forehead, and they both laughed again. The sound of their laughter blending together was the most beautiful thing he had heard in his life—and the most promising.
They were the present.
And they would be the future.
“You got me, princess.”
“I got you, Mr. Black.”