Part 4: Sabrina
 Monday morning marks one month to the day she is in Paris. Astrid in a neat tan suit and light blue scarf tied around her neck hovers over Sabrina. She blows a mint stream of hot breath across Sabrina’s nose and lips and watches as her eyes flutter beneath their thin lids. She opens her eyes as if her night’s rest was a quick nap. Astrid smiles warmly, kisses her fingertip and presses against Sabrina’s top lip. She holds a brass key strung with a silky ribbon at one end, over Sabrina’s face and smiles as the honey eyes follows the pendulum. Astrid smells spicy and fresh, like orange and ginger. She places the key in her leather attache. The sun slices in through the wooden vertical blinds. The morning seems wet with golden sunlight, like an egg yolk spread across the city. For an instant Sabrina feels wet in her sheets, sticky and plastered but shifting her body in the bed she realizes she is dry, warm and safe. The apartment smells like the mixture of shampoo and soap Astrid used in her shower. “Today you will leave the house and see Paris.” Astrid’s voice is playful. “Do not come back here until later this evening. The milk was delivered this morning. Do not put it in the refrigerator. I don’t want to drink it cold tonight.” Sabrina nods. Astrid looks at her, blinks slowly and smiles enough so that her laugh lines show but her lips do not spread to reveal teeth. She nods reassuringly and is gone. Sabrina walks down the street, her pants drag across the concrete. She is careful to avoid spills and puddles. The day is the coolest it’s been since she arrived. She is proud she remembered to pack a sweatshirt with pockets in the front for her hands. She turns the corner, where the street was bustling with vendors from the Sunday market. The street is clear. Only people ambling down the avenue trying to get to work and children on their way to school are scattered along the sidewalk. Her eyes sting and the idea of buying a croissant at the bakery suddenly seems trivial and childish. She sniffles and looks up at the clear sky. She looks back down the street, at the apartment building and wonders if she can climb up six balconies before getting back to Astrid’s. Suddenly she hates the way Astrid looked at her before leaving with her key. She keeps walking. “Just a croissant,” She whispers to herself. “ A train ticket and a bench in front of the Seine and that will be all for the day.” The bakery is empty except for somebody shielded by a newspaper and a waiting cup of something steaming on the table. She points to the mountain of croissants and hands the man twenty Euros. He looks at the colorful bill and says something to her in French. He probably cannot make change. He holds the money up and asks her something she cannot understand.. Sabrina wants to run. She is not hungry anymore; she does not want to be a sophisticated beauty in another large city or to experience the zest of living in Paris. She wants to be in bed, even if she felt as if she was drowning in a tangled bed covered in egg yolk. “I don’t understand,” she flusters. He is annoyed. She turns on her heels to run but a voice in the corner stops her. “He is asking if you have anything smaller.” Sabrina swallows. The newspaper comes down to reveal the blonde woman she had been seeing. Her face smoothes and she looks back at the man behind the counter. He is overweight and needs to shave. She shakes her head slowly. He looks to the blonde woman. She shakes her head quickly and returns her gaze to the floppy newspaper. He holds up his hand, shakes the bill and disappears to the back of the store mumbling something. “He says to wait. He will come back with your change.” “Ok. Thank you.” Sabrina leans on the glass counter enclosing an assortment of pastries and doughy treats. She can hear the man arguing with other men in the back. The woman is hidden behind her paper. “Perhaps you ought to take your croissant and have a seat. He may be a while.” “Yeah?” “Yeah,” the woman mimics. Her voce is low and hoarse, like Sabrina’s. She has an accent, not French but European for sure. Her newspaper rustles and reveals her face. She folds the paper awkwardly and stuffs it between the wall and a silver napkin dispenser on the table. “Have a seat with me. You are American?” “Yes.” Sabrina looks around the empty bakery then seats herself on the empty chair across the woman. She rests her brown bag on the white granite table and peers into the woman’s delicately colored blue eyes. “Is this your first time in Paris?” “Yes” “Do you love it?” “Not yet.” The woman snorts knowingly. She shifts in her char pulls a cigarette from a crushed box in her pant pocket and holds it between her lips. She pulls a silver and gold lighter from her other pant pocket, lights and takes a deep draw. Sabrina looks uneasily at the woman then averts her eyes to her brown bag. The woman points a finger at the bag and nods gently. “Aren’t you hungry?” “No.” Sabrina is low and solemn. She wonders if she is coming across as rude and uptight, or as a scared girl trying desperately to play suave in Paris. “I’m Sigrid.” She holds the cigarette between her pointer and middle finger, close to her palm and blows an effortless line of smoke to her side. “I’m Sabrina.” “Beautiful name.” Sabrina starts a smile and ends it quickly. The man comes back with several bills and a handful of coins. Sabrina jumps to her feet as if long awaited news has just arrived. He looks pleased with himself and Sabrina smiles for him. She feels like Astrid who smiles for everybody. She stuffs the money deep into her pants. “Merci,” she says confidently. She looks back at Sigrid who is sitting back in her chair, one leg crossed over her thigh and her arm bent at the elbow so she can take puffs of her cigarette. “You ought not to walk around with your pants so long. They will be black before you know it.” “Yes, I know. I have to get them altered.” Sigrid inhales, holds the smoke and then lets it out. Her mouth, pink as a rose forms an oval and Sabrina remembers she did not put her rose in water. “You live in the building across from me. I’ve seen you sitting outside” She is casual. Sabrina likes the way she speaks to her, as if they are old friend who arranged to meet in the bakery that morning. “I see you and that woman you live with. Is she your lover?” Sabrina drops the bag. She bends her knees and drops to the floor desperately to pick it up. She brushes the bottom of the bag as she spring upright again. The man looks at them curiously trying intensely to understand the conversation between the two women in the store. His mouth forms a dumb “O” as he looks from the pale blonde in the corner to the fiery young woman in oversized clothes. “She is a friend. My friends’ cousin. I….ah…I just stay with her.” “I see.” “We’re not lovers.” That word makes Sabrina suck her lips inward. “I see.” Sigrid puffs and Sabrina is annoyed by her calmness. “Then she would not object if I helped you to fix your pants?” Her voice is like a whisper, said only as if Sabrina was the only person who could decipher its pitch. “What?” “Your pants.” Sigrid points her red polished finger at the pale green corduroys and the thick line of dirt already built up at the cuffs. “I can take them up for you if you wish. It won’t be any trouble at all unless you have somewhere to be this morning.” Sabrina looks to her pants and awkwardly tugs at the cloth under shoe. “I guess I have time.” “Good. We can go back to my apartment. That’s where I can do it. But first, sit and have your croissant while I finish my coffee.”
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