I know it's ridiculous, but his things still litter my apartment.
I just can't bring myself to get rid of them.
Starched white shirts, a small expensive bottle of cologne, and a few other things that I am not so quick to mention. It's cold when I finally wake up, and I have to close the window because the breeze is giving me goose bumps. I pull the curtains shut hastily, because the teenager across the way is getting quite a sight of me in my underwear, and I don't need another run in with his mother. This is my life now.
Forgotten objects from him and a prepubescent boy who knows my sleeping schedule.
The phone rings and my muscles tense slightly, I keeping telling Georgia to get one with a less piercing ring, but she refuses. I answer it quickly so I don't have to listen to another shrill scream. "Bonjour."
"You're french is as bad as ever, Love."
"Hello to you too Eames. In town, I presume?"
"I will be in an hour. Boy, have I got a story for you."
"Oh, that good huh?"
"So good I made a special trip to Marseille just to tell you about it."
"I'll meet you in an hour and a half then."
"Petit tour garçon?"
"Oui, I look forward to it."
He pauses and I can hear the ghost of a chuckle on the other side. "As do I, m'lady."
The click on the other end tells me that he hung up, and I panic slightly. He wouldn't bring him would he? I don't think so. Eames knows the story, he knows how bad that would be- how awkward. I suddenly remember something and move over to the nightstand littered with lipsticks, trash, a pumas stone, and a small ivory elephant. My totem had been my grandmother's when I was a child- she had been to India in the late forties on holiday and acquired the little treasure. She left it to me in her will, and I am convinced there is not another one like it in the world.
It feels right in my fingertips when I pick it up, running my thumb along each little curve, twelve to be exact- they are all there. I sigh with relief.
Petit tour garçon is only a few minute bike ride from my place of residence, so I take my time getting ready. I want word to get back to the other boys that I look good for turning thirty in only a couple of months. My hair is thrown into a purposefully messy bun, and I shove on as much makeup as I own. I don't wear it often, I don't like the way it makes my face feel.
I change a couple of times, become more and more nervous as the seconds tick by and I am finally done an hour later. I decide to leave early- I cannot contain my anxiousness in the house anymore.
My bike is black and slender, with brakes that don't work and no gears. I never had any interest in a car and acquired the bike from the previous tenants of my apartment, who left it in the living room upon leaving. It's about ten minutes before I am standing in front of the little cafe with a striped awning and a painting of a plump little boy in the window with the words 'Petit tour garçon' painted above it.
I get a table for two outside and order coffee with steamed milk and a pastry.
I pondered for a moment what he wanted to tell me. What trouble the boys had gotten themselves into, and if they had replaced me completely. I wouldn't be surprised- I just hope it wasn't another woman because Arthur always had the unfavorable quality of latching on to young sweet things. Myself included.
I am halfway done with the coffee when a shadow lingers over the table and I look up to see Eames smiling down at me, merely a silhouette against the sun. "Hello Lilah."
I stand up, "Eames." And lean forward to kiss his cheek as is customary among our two cultures. "Sit down, order some coffee, it's good here."
"I remember from our last encounter." He smiles slyly and I can't help but smile back- he's practically infectious. "How's the dancing goin'?"
"Ballet is good, as always. And the business?"
"Business is boomin, I have quite a story to prove it."
"I hope you are not in too much trouble, you always did have a knack for squirming yourself into tight spots."
He grimaces slightly, biting his bottom lip and holding in a laugh. I roll my eyes at his childishness and thank the heavens that the waitress comes over before he can make a come back. He orders a black coffee and a morning bun. He always did like sugary things. "You got a man in your life?"
"What an inappropriate question, and no."
"Ah, still hung up on ol'-"
"Don't. I did not come to discuss my past, I came to hear your so-called amazing story."
He pauses when the waitress comes over with his coffee. He takes a small sip and nods a thank you before she disappears. Then he leans forward and whispers a word across the table. "Inception."
"Excuse me?"
"We did it."
"You are a liar." I say, because for all intensive purposes what he is saying is one hundred percent impossible. "You are a dirty, rotten-" He holds his hands up in mock surrender and cuts me off.
"I only speak the truth."
"Now, we both know that's a lie, fellow forger." I pause, and let a smile grace my lips because if what he is saying is true it really is amazing. "So, if this is the truth, then how?"
His story is long, and intricate, and he's leaning forward across the table, reciting it in a low whisper. I laugh and gasp at all the right moment, and when he is finally finished, the table is littered with coffee cups and I am on the edge of my seat.
"... and then we all woke up."
"Well!"
"Well what?"
"Did it stick, did he break up the company?"
"You didn't hear about it? It's been almost a year now."
"I am not exactly stateside, and I never pay attention to such menial things as politics of business." He chuckles slightly and motions to the waitress for the check. "What are you doing?"
"We're going back to your place."
"Oh, are we?"
"Yes. I have a job offer for you, I am sad to announce that this visit was not completely free of motives."
"Your visits never are."