Do all things, both good, bad and in between, come to an end? A few weeks ago while on holiday, I received the following surprising text message. Could he really be leaving?
So it appears that our beloved Mexican is throwing in the towel on France. The instigator of my blog (read his story starting here) is heading back to L.A. Will Paris ever be the same? At least a few Parisian broken hearts will be spared.
I don’t really blame him for wanting the leave, he’s had a tough go of late. He and his 20 year old girlfriend (he’s now pushing 40…) broke up leaving him homeless once again. Back in mid-March, after a longish stretch of not hearing from him. I received a different hey how’s it going text. I knew something had to be up for him to break the months of silence. Sure enough when we did finally meet up after all my spring travels he fessed up, revealing the break-up with the youngster. He didn’t really think I’d let him come stay with me again, did he? I might be a bit of a sucker, but I’d learnt my Mexican lesson.
When my girlfriends hear the Mexican mentioned, they cringe. I reassure them that I’m not into him anymore and that we are really and truly only friends. Sassy said, “Why would you want to be friends with him after what he did??” I’m too much of a softie, I also try to let bygones be bygones and I did get some satisfying enough revenge so let’s just call it even. Sure he has his flaws and has done some nasty things, not all intentionally, but I do actually enjoy spending time with him, as a friend. Plus when I meet up with him, it can often lead to a good story. And our last of last get-togethers did not disappoint on that level.
On that evening we saw each other back in May we had a fun catch up, he told me about his new project ideas and I teased him about his too-young ex. Into our second bottle of wine we also had a “serious” talk, and I gave him a lecture about messing around with girls and their emotions. He genuinely apologized for hurting me. I might have even struck a chord in his complicated heart. I hope so, for the sake of all the poor L.A. girls who are about to have their hearts dragged through Mexicali mud.
He’d talked about possibly going back to the States a number of times, but since he seemed to have all these new projects on the go, I was amazed he’d decided to pick up leave right now. I guess couch surfing gets tiring after a while as well. We went back and forth on possible dates to see each other and in the end the only evening that worked for us both was a night out with a few of his friends. It would be interesting to meet some of them as I never really had before. The day before we were joining to meet up I got this text message. Sweet voice? Was he flirting with me?? What would be the point of that? I figured he probably wanted a favor… or did he want his box back?? It was still under my sofa. It was probably better off under there, one day, I can auction off his things.
I was a little late meeting them down at the Café de L’Industrie at Bastille. On my way inside I noticed a cute guy having a smoke outside, not bad at all! I scanned the restaurant for the guapo Latino, who, once found, greeted me with more flirtatious comments, adding to my suspicions. He was with a Taiwanese visiting artist friend, and then there was an empty seat… which turned out to belong to the smoker from outside. Well, well, well, the night was turning out to be full of surprises!
Shortly afterwards, the Smoker’s sister and her German boyfriend arrived, adding to the lively banter around our very international table. The Mexican was currently camping out in her office/guest room and had stayed with the brother for a little while too. At one point in the conversation, they asked me where I lived, replying way high up in Montmartre, the Smoker guessed rue Ravignan, which is the street I used to live on. It turns out the sister also used to live on that street… and not just anywhere… but in my old building… and NEXT DOOR to my old place! How strange was that?! I thought that they might have been pulling my leg, and the Mexican could have known where I used to live, but no, she really had lived there, though a few years before me.
Finishing up there, the Mexican suggested we go to Nuba, the second hip rooftop club on Les Docks, the Cité de la Mode et du Design. Early via text message, he’d told me we were going to a party and thus I’d brought a bottle of wine to take there, so before going up to Nuba, we drank it by the Seine in the glowing shadow of the fluorescent Docks building and a mini rave party being held under a bridge by young street kids… and their army of dogs. You never know what you’ll come across in the City of Light!
Nuba had a buzzing vibe, with lots of young and beautiful Parisiens. The Taiwanese artists bought us some tequila shots (how fitting for the Mexican) which livened up our moods and we danced the night away in between mojitos and gin and tonics. On our way in we’d run into this Italian girl whom the Mexican knew, a cool artsy type. The Mexican had been texting a lot over dinner, so he’d probably invited her along. It didn’t take her long to start putting the moves on him, I’d assumed this wasn’t the first time. But I really didn’t care, really. This way he wouldn’t try flirting with me and me doing anything I’d regret. On the walk over the smoker had told me the the Mexican was still obsessed with this one girl, Sea Breeze.
He obviously wasn’t actually into this Italian girl, I hope she knew what game he was playing, but I was staying out of it. He was always looking at the horizon for a better ship to jump onto, or rather a phantom pirate ship, a tormented turbulent girl, full of excitement to keep his interest and to keep his emotions on edge. I am not sure he’ll ever be satisfied, but I guess that’s something he’ll have to work out, or get a new journal to write out his romantic trials and tribulations.
Hmmm what about me? Well, the Smoker was indeed rather attractive, but he looked too much like my older brother and they are even the same age… which was a tad creepy so I wasn’t sure if I could even be interested. He didn’t really try anything and I didn’t encourage it. There were a few other stragglers who kept trying to get me to dance with them, which is inevitable out, but nobody really caught my eye (reckoned they were all 20 anyway, more appropriate for the Mexican’s ex, hee hee). I was having fun, so I didn’t care.
Somehow it got to be 5:00 am and we swayed over to the Smoker’s place which wasn’t very far away. The streets where dim and quiet, we were happy and surrounded by a peaceful aura (or was it a glow from the G&Ts?). Rounding the corner to the Smoker’s gate we’d arrived not just at any normal building… we were at a medieval castle! Right here in the middle of Paris! The Smoker lived in a cool loft in an outbuilding of Le Château de la Reine Blanche (some French people have it so good!). It’s only open on the National Heritage Days and Special Kay and I visited it a few years ago. Who would have guess, I’d be back for an after-party one day? And with the Mexican?? All things do come to an end, how fitting that my Mexican anti-fairytale would end at a castle. I hope one day, the Mexican will be content with one of the princesses he woos and that he doesn’t leave too many more damsels in distress 🙂
As I was leaving, he said he’d miss me, and I think he meant it. I suppose I will miss him a smidgen too.