Lost in Celine

August 9, 2008

Celine sat on the bench in Paris, the setting sun casting an angelic glow upon her golden hair, the wind causing her skin to shiver, hugging her huge YSL Tribute tote and glancing around at the crowd, waiting for someone. But who?

Who was going to save her?

Celine had started her day off in a small town on the French Riviera, close to Cannes, sprawled out on a yacht that belonged to a rich business man she had been seeing. They spent three days drinking wine, fucking in the sun, and getting body treatments at the spa close by. It all had to end when his Spanish wife came aboard, furious, slapping her husband and screaming profanities at him in her language.

A maid told her to quickly get off the boat, so Celine stuffed her bag with whatever she could get her hands on, and walked her tanned little butt onto shore. The rich businessman called her phone repeatedly until she finally answered – to which she heard a few half-assed apologies and ended up hanging up on him.

She went to a little cafe for a late breakfast, where she met the most beautiful Hungarian boy, who loved her YSL tote, loved her sense of style, and was going to Paris that day to see his boyfriend. Celine realised that she had nowhere to stay and nowhere to go, so she went with this beautiful gay boy named Harry to Paris.

Hungarian Harry drove a sporty Peugot and took Celine across France to Paris. It was a long trip that took up most of the day, but she learned enough about Harry to know that he was somebody to know. He was a stylist at heart, a makeup artist by trade, and loved to take photos of beautiful people in dirty places.

He made her promise to pose for him one day soon.

She agreed and quickly fell asleep.

Celine awoke to cars honking, people shouting and french rap music. Harry was stuck in Paris traffic and looking for a place to park.

“Celine, I can’t wait for you to meet Frederik! He is darling! Beautiful! Almost like you!” Harry’s Hungarian accent was muddled with a bit of French. Celine just smiled and waited for the car to stop. She loved going places, but she hated travelling, the constant movement always made her feel uneasy. She just wanted to get where she was going.

They met up with Frederik at a cafe close to the Eiffel Tower, a little kitsch and touristy for Celine, but the warm latte filled her up and the ambience all around her made the morning seem like it happened ages ago.

Harry and Frederik insisted that Celine wasn’t being a third wheel, but their body language and their eyes said something else – Celine took off ‘sightseeing’ and saw the cute boys go up into Frederik’s apartment building.

She didn’t know where to go though. She just kept walking. She heard her heels hit the pavement with a satisfying clap, and she ended up on a bench in a park that she had never seen before. She had been to Paris many times, but she didn’t recognize the neighborhood she was in.

The bench looked welcoming enough though and she sat down, watching the crowd around her.

She saw familes with young children, couples laughing, smiling, kissing. She wondered if a normal life would ever happen for her. If she could settle like they did, get married, find someone who was normal too. That seemed like half of her battle, finding that normal person.

She wondered what she looked like to all these normal people. A beautiful skinny blonde girl, dressed in a colourful dress that could be worn on the beach or to a cocktail party, with bright purple shoes and a patent black leather YSL tote. Did people think she was a model? Did people think she looked sad? Or did they envy her perfect looking life?

The sun was almost gone now, the dusk settling on the park left her a bit uneasy, especially when she remembered that she didn’t know where she was. But still she sat. Waiting.

“Mademoiselle? Mademoiselle?”

Celine looked over her shoulder to see a dark haired Frenchman looking at her curiously. She told him that she had lost her bearings and wasn’t sure where she was, and they started to walk. His name was Marco, he was going to a party for a friend who had written a book, and was very well dressed.

And then Celine stopped him. They were right in front of Hermes. She knew exactly where she was now. She was in front of Hermes with Marco, in Paris, and she was going to a party with him. She was a little hungry so they had a small snack at an Escargot restaurant and went to the party.

She had a fabulous time, and the night ended with her going home to Marco’s beautiful penthouse apartment, after much insistence from him that she shouldn’t waste money on a hotel room and that she could have her own bed in his house.

She awoke the next morning in Marco’s large bed to the smell of coffee and strawberries and crepes. She spent the day shopping with him, as her luggage was stolen and she had no clothes to wear.

The following week she posed in those clothes for Harry and Frederik, who styled and photographed her for a full two days.

And Celine was saved once again.

Too Many Days…

July 25, 2008

Giselle spent too many days pondering her future, her future in Europe, her present in Amsterdam. She and her boyfriend Antonio booked a month-long holiday through Europe, 8 days in they were in Amsterdam – and they had seperated.

Was it the alcohol? The drugs? The sluts that lined the alleyways of the red light district that had seduced her boyfriend and ended with him on stage at a live sex show?

She wasn’t sure. But Giselle knew it wouldn’t be too much longer until she found a new man, hopefully one that wouldn’t cheat on her on their holiday.

Giselle was pompous. A woman who was so self-assured it almost made you sick, but there was something about her that kept you listening to her annoying stories – mainly telling you that you had to buy something, be somewhere, or do a certain thing to even be alive in her books. She could have been beautiful, save for the overdone eye makeup she wore on a daily basis, her dark Italian hair piled high on her head, and her overbearing ways – that somehow made men smitten with her, and women either adored her or went crazy being in the same room with her.

No, she wasn’t too worried about the rest of her trip – she knew she would enjoy it immensly – she, of course, had all the paperwork, itineraries, and all the cash, of course. What started as a holiday with a boyfriend through Europe will end as a month-long shopping spree that her ex had funded.

The fun started in London, where it rained for all the four days spent there, continued to Paris, where it stopped raining on the second day, but was too humid for her hair to behave. They moved on to Amsterdam from there, where the weather was pleasant, people were in the streets until five in the morning, and where her now ex-boyfriend had gone wild enough to perform in a live sex show with another woman – and another man.

She shook her head just thinking of these thoughts. She was packing, it was supposed to be their last day in Amsterdam, then onto Germany. So she was packing up her luggage, and only her own, tossing all of his things into the garbage can that was next to her. Giselle had no clue where Antonio was, and as much as she wanted to not care, she kind of did. She knew the hotel only held their reservation until 3 pm today – and as it was 11:30 and his stuff was in the garbage, she knew he most likely wouldn’t make it out.

She was so organizational that even in a crisis like this, a boyfriend of 2 years who had almost proposed marriage, she didn’t cry, oh no! She organized. She worried about the schedule. She didn’t care what happened to him – as long as it happened on time.

She called the taxi to take her to the train station, and she stood outside the hotel, with 3 bags, thinking Who’s going to carry all my luggage?