Reverie. Candace Gold
with the boiler.”
He grabbed the two heaviest pieces of luggage and led the way to the wrought-iron lift which would take them to her apartment on the second floor.
He stopped in front of 206. “This is your flat.” He opened the door and brought her bags inside.
Nikki followed behind him. As she entered, she immediately felt a strange feeling of déjà vu that she’d been in this apartment before. Of course, that was impossible. She’d never been to Paris as an adult, let alone this particular apartment. Her parents had brought her on one of their vacations when she was a baby, but as far as she knew, they had always stayed in hotels. Still…the feeling clung to her like a second skin as she walked into a room which looked as if it had been frozen in time.
“Does it meet your approval?” the concierge asked, interrupting her thoughts.
“Why…yes. It’s lovely...and so…quaint. Thank you for your help, Pierre.”
“I’m at your disposal, mademoiselle. Apartment B1.” He handed her the key and left.
Nikki thanked the man again and closed the door quickly, now intent upon exploring the apartment. The room in which she stood had been listed on the website as a sitting room. The furniture, she guessed, was Victorian with its tall-backed matching magenta velvet sofa, love seat and chair. She noticed their intricately carved wooden legs. She sat down on the overstuffed sofa, which was very comfortable, and looked around the room at the wallpapered walls decorated with rich, black velvet brocade. The windows were covered with flowing drapery panels topped with swagged silk valances.
There was a large, gold, ornately-carved wooden oval mirror hanging over a fireplace. The fireplace itself was white and had green columns on either side with a hand-painted mantle top. It seemed too lovely to use and, from the looks of it, hadn’t been in a while. A large expensive-looking Persian area rug covered the polished, dark hardwood floor.
The next room into which she ventured was definitely a man’s study. In one corner of the room, close to a tall bookcase filled with leather-bound books, stood a large, dark, hardwood desk with an oversized, button-tufted, high-back, leather chair. At a glance, Nikki could tell that whoever had lived here had eclectic taste. There were as many art and music books as there were novels and non-fiction books. She read some of the titles of the leather-bound novels on the shelf, noticing books by Jules Verne, Balzac, Flaubert and Zola. The room was illuminated by two simple light fixtures which hung from the high ceiling. An upright piano stood against the wall between two windows. Though it looked like any ordinary piano, she thought she’d seen that particular one before. Probably in a movie like The Sting. It reminded her of the old-time player pianos in the saloons of the Old West.
She suddenly felt herself being drawn to the piano as if it was a magnet. When she reached it, she noticed the disagreeable odor of stale tobacco hovering around it. She thought it strange the odor lingered only there, but when she saw the pages of a book of sheet music on the piano flutter open, she stood aghast. Realizing she was overreacting to what must be a draft, she laughed at herself for forgetting the building was old and most likely drafty. She glanced down at the musical score on the opened page. Reverie. The name sounded familiar, though she couldn’t understand why. She was fairly certain she’d never heard the song played before.
A small overhead chandelier illuminated the sheen on the polished dark wood. This piano was a beauty. Even she could see that. Nikki sat down on the bench and lifted the lid to reveal keys yellowed with age. Without a second thought, she ran the tips of her fingers across the keyboard as lightly as a lover’s caress. She hadn’t touched a piano since her grandmother gave up trying to teach her in disgust. Being an unruly child, wanting to go outside to play with her friends, she’d merely mastered the rudimentary skills and could only play tunes like Chop Sticks and Papa Haydn.
She glanced down at the notes on the page and lowered her hands to the keys. Then, as if by magic, she began to play the haunting song. She wasn’t certain if she was more shocked or bewildered by her unexpected skill. The strain of the beautiful melody filled the apartment. As she played, Nikki closed her eyes, feeling the music touch her very soul as the same weird feeling of déjà vu washed over her again, as if she’d heard this romantic song many times before. Not only had the piece moved her deeply, she sensed it meant something more. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ remained a total mystery to her. Suddenly, she felt someone’s hand on her shoulder and jumped up off the stool. Spinning around quickly, she saw no one. It had to be her imagination, though she still found it difficult to slow her racing heart. She slammed the piano lid down with trembling hands and steadied herself against the instrument. All this weird stuff had to be caused by the excitement of being in Paris, she reassured herself, but she rushed from the room just the same, hoping to err on the side of caution.
Although a bit shaken, Nikki resumed her tour of the apartment. The master bedroom possessed a mahogany dresser with brass handles, a matching armoire and two night tables flanking either side of the bed. Against one wall stood a wood makeup stand with a garish gold mirror. Chubby, half-naked cherubs had been carved into the top. The makeup stand may have been considered beautiful in its day, but its gaudiness made Nikki giggle. She walked over to the window and parted the heavy brocade drapes and the thin, lacy silk ones beneath. The view of the park would be spectacular during daylight, she thought, lingering a moment before walking into the next bedroom.
This room, half the size of the previous one, had only one large window. It possessed a day-bed covered with an embroidered white spread and a small white dresser with matching night table. A small ornate mirror hung on the wall above the dresser. She had the impression that this room once belonged to a young girl.
The bathroom, completely tiled in black and white, was large and something out of the late 1800s. It was definitely a sight to behold, with its ancient-looking fixtures. The bathtub was a huge elliptical porcelain structure sitting on gold claw feet. Two people could easily stretch out and bathe together. The sink sat on a fancy pedestal and had a dainty pink floral design etched into its porcelain. Tubular-handled, porcelain and gold faucets turned the water on and off.
An ancient-looking, gold-framed mirror hung on the wall over the sink. Parts of it had dark smudges making it no longer usable. A wooden medicine chest had been placed on the wall to the right of the mirror. Curious, Nikki opened it and found an ancient lather brush in a small porcelain cup. Next to it was a folded, straight razor.
Nikki’s eyes moved next to the toilet tank. It had a fancy inlaid porcelain design similar to the one in the sink, something she’d never seen before. The floor tiles were small black and white hexagons, reminding Nikki of the wire used to make pigeon coops. It was most likely the original floor, as well. She didn’t care about any of that. As long as she had running hot water and the toilet flushed, she’d be a happy camper.
Why shouldn’t she? She was in Paris! The magical city of her dreams since she was a child. She hugged her shoulders and went back into the sitting room. The stars shimmered in the dark sky above the beautiful jeweled city, beckoning to her like the enchanting music of a Siren. She’d unpack later. Grabbing her purse and the apartment key, she headed toward the door.
Nikki had prepared competently for this trip, arming herself with maps and directions to all the major sights. She’d even downloaded a map of the Metro, Paris’ subway system. However, tonight she felt like splurging and hailed a taxi. How better to see the beautiful City of Lights at night than from the top of the Eiffel Tower? She intended to have dinner at the restaurant located on the second floor, nestled inside the giant landmark which overlooked the magnificent city like a sentinel.
The restaurant was crowded, but because she was alone, the maitre d’ found her a small table by a window. She ordered Potage d’oignon, Steak Frites, Coq au Vin, and for dessert, Tart au Citron. She knew she’d be overeating by ordering the French fries and lemon tart, but this was her first meal in Paris and she wanted to remember it. The waiter brought her some red wine, which she sipped while gazing down on the glory that was Paris. The lights illuminated the Seine, and she saw a covered party boat gliding along, filled with tourists enjoying the sights.