Midnight in Paris: Adriana's from POV (with quotes from the original film)
Title: Midnight in Paris: Adriana's POV
Rating:
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I only wish I did.
Author's Note: Hello! I am posting this as a part of an assignment for my creative writing class. We needed to create a fic, post it, and get feedback from readers about what we could do better. I'd really appreciate any comments I could get so that I can improve as a writer. Thanks in advance!
Pablo and I became close in the year we had known each other. I saw his creativity and he saw me as a muse for his work. When I moved from Bordeaux to Paris to study fashion, I fell in love with the bright lights and cold nights of Paris. Pablo was a married man; who made it exquisitely difficult to pursue a lasting relationship. He was known to dabble with mistresses, but I for one wasn't much better at withholding. I had two affairs that brought me to my relationship with Pablo. He began taking me to speakeasies that sat below the brisk night sky of Mainstreet in Paris. There we would go fraternize with fellow artists and dance the night away with the several flappers. Each night put on a new show. During my days, I would waste away hours writing poems, studying, and reading books in Gertrude Stein's office; reviewing editorial submissions of aspiring authors while admiring Pablo's wonderful face. One day, a man came in who I had not seen before. He was English, and quite handsome. He seemed to be apprehensive when speaking to Stein about his work. Stein read off an excerpt from his novel.
"Out of the Past was the name of the store and its products consisted of memories. What was prosaic and even vulgar to one generation had been transmuted by the mere passing of years to a status at once magical and also camp," she announced.
I admired his way of writing. He showed true potential to become an artist of his own.
" I love it; I'm already hooked," I chimed.
Gil locked eyes with me and I saw mystique and forthcoming in the light of his iris. As Pablo left to fetch a drink, Gil and I had an introduction conversation as I admitted my past. I told him about my past affairs and how I wound up with Pablo Picasso- and the constant defeat in our relationship. He told me he was just visiting Paris for the time being, but I mentioned he had the potential to stay and continue his work. I felt undeniable tension between us; though I have felt this tension before with many men. Before the conversation could escalate, Hemingway suggested we go for drinks. Hemingway was a very flirtatious man. For any chance he gets, he plays a seductive role. Once, he and Pablo had labeled me as a femme fatale. Pablo and Hemmingway are very good friends and like to play around as boorish men. I invited Gil to join us but he looked as if he is running on a schedule.
"I only wish I could but I can't- but hopefully I'll see you again," He said.
I spent my night thinking about the encounter I had with Gil, and how I longed to see him again. The night moved fast as Pablo, Hemingway, and I bantered over our failing economy. Pablo, per usual, acted like a drunken fool. There were flashing lights and sounds of bracelets and necklaces crashing into each other. The whole building was filled with dancing monkies, in which none had a clue of the problems we faced in society. I often wished I had not been born in such a playful era, I craved the feeling of belonging somewhere else.
The night had risen to the day and the day had fallen into the night. Fitzgerald was hosting one of his infamous parties. I arrived alone because Pablo and I had an argument over him preferring to paint another woman's body, rather than my own. I glanced around the gigantic ballroom floor and had to double-take when I saw Gil dancing with Djuno Barnes. I walked over as she spun away from him. My stomach curled as I felt a hint of jealousy arise.
"I was at Gertrude Stein's - she's almost finished with my novel. And the Fitzgeralds invited me over and said you'd be here - you and Pablo." He remarked.
"Pablo's home - we had a bit of a quarrel. But you looked like you were having fun dancing with Djuna Barnes."
Gil's eyes gleamed as he heard about the situation between Pablo and me; perhaps he felt the spark that I lit aflame. After he fawned over the fact that he didn't realize whom he was dancing with, I pointed out a piece of artwork from the 18th century and complement its beauty. Everything was so glamorous back then. Hemingway interrupted us by dragging him and Belmonte over.
"Between Belmonte and myself - which of us would you choose?" He nagged.
I never seem to escape the clasp he holds on to me with. Maybe it was because I enjoyed feeding into his pathetic ego. I dragged the conversation into a dry ending, hoping he would take the hint to leave; which he did. Gil and I went for a stroll under the starry night cover.
" I hope it was nothing serious with you and Pablo." He said.
And that was the confirmation I was looking for. I turned away-but not obviously- to avoid showing the blush of my cheeks. He continued to compliment me and the glow of Paris. The way he described the city for its beauty presented the poet inside of him. He had a way with words that I had heard in very few men. I could tell he was not familiar with the Parisien culture. He was a lost man with many desires.
Out of the blue, we heard a shriek by the water edge. It was Zelda. She looked like she was planning on jumping in. Upon us rushing to her, she started yelling about Fitzgerald, and how she believed he had a mistress. I thought she was quite an over-dramatic character. Gil automatically took control of the situation by affirming that Fitgerald only had a passion for her and that he was certain he loved her. This confused me, as a visiting man, how did he seem to hold so much knowledge about everyone in town? He then gave her a pill that he called Valium.
"Er- it's the pill of the future," he said.
As he rambled, he slipped in that the reason he held the medication, was to deal with stress from his engagement with a woman he called Inez. That information left me utterly confused, and also partially upset. I seem to always be the woman intruding in other men's relationships.
We found a taxi and sent her home. Gil and I made a final stop at the bohemian cafe, the first thing I mentioned was about his engagement.
"You never said you were getting married," I said.
He looked confused, almost as if he had forgotten he said something about it. He then told me she was a funny, good-looking woman- though they had many disagreements. Maybe he was unhappy with this woman. The knotting feeling in my stomach arose, once again.
"I should go. Pablo will be missing me." I announced
He offered to walk me home, but I would rather go myself. I had no intention of furthering the conversation about him and his soon-to-be wife.
Later in the night when I arrived home, I decided to write an insert in my diary about Gil. I wrote about the love I had gained for him, and how though I had two men, Picasso and Hemingway, constantly fawning over me- My mind drew me to Gil. And that I had a dream where Gil appeared to me with a gift of earrings, and we made passionate love.
The next night I went to a wedding, and as I assumed, I ran into Gil. He admitted that he sensed the complicated feelings I held for him and that he wasn't so sure about his wedding anymore. He pulled me away so we could talk somewhere more private, but we were abruptly interrupted by Bufiul, a fantastic film writer. Gil suggested to him a plot in which a group of people who are at a dinner party, cannot leave, and are forced to show true human nature. I admired that trait of Gil, he had a fantastic mind and was very and helpful kind to everyone.
We sat at a beautiful table under the stars, as soon as I turned my face toward him, he grabbed my face and kissed me. We shared an intimate moment. When he pulled away, he told me that for a brief moment, he felt immortal. He pulled out a little box with a bow from his pocket. I opened the box which revealed a dangly pair of jewel earrings. It was almost as if he read my mind. It was bizarre but pleasant. As I announced my gratitude, a horse carriage pulled up and stopped in front of us. Gil got up and pulled me towards the door to the carriage.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"To drink champagne," the man controlling the horses said.
We arrived at the Maxims and were greeted by a nice woman named Marie. It struck me that we were no longer in the '20s, we were in the 1800s. All the pictures on the walls- the ones I admired in my present-day- sat on the walls; freshly varnished. The ambiance was just as I imagined it to be. While dancing on the ballroom floor, I announced,
"I never want to go back to the present. Never,"
Gil went on to explain that nobody is ever happy in their present-day lives, they always strive for something different; something better. But each generation holds its negative qualities. I ignored his comment because, in the corner of my eye, I spotted Lautrec, an artist Picasso worshiped. I ran over to him, as my curiosity could not resist. Gil and I sit down and sit with him. People here speak very little french if any. I loved listening to the words of a man I knew so much history on. While in conversation, Lautrec and the man he was sitting with admit that they believe the renaissance period would have been much more enjoyable, and that their generation was sterile and empty. I rebutted by saying that they lived in a golden age. I wish I had been raised in such a generation.
Before I got too deep into the conversation, Gil pulled me away to speak.
"I think we should stay here - it's the start of the Belle Epoque - this is the greatest, most beautiful era Paris has ever known," I admitted.
Gil on the other hand was more appeased by the jazz age. Then, he told me he didn't belong to my generation, and that as we visit the 18th century, he was visiting the 20s. I knew something was off about him, a sense of not belonging. Maybe that's what made me admire him, his uncertainty, and his curiosity.
I tried my hardest to convince him to stay with me, so we could stay in this glamorous time and be in love. He, however, was against the idea. He went on, and on, using his poetic words to convince me one will never be satisfied with themselves. But I was set on staying. Even if it meant we had to split. During our buttle he said,
"Yes, that one I regretted but it was a real choice and I made the wrong one. This is a choice between accepting reality or surreal insanity."
And at this moment, I realized that I was his fantasy, and Inez was his reality. I was just a fictional character in his dream world.
"Goodbye, Gil," I said.
He kissed me and returned a goodbye. I walked back to the table, as he left the building. I knew this is where I belonged. This is the decade that created the most beloved people. I will turn this place into my own reality with, or without Gil.
