A Sunday Afternoon in Paris
by Jack Swenson
The painting and the two of them in the big room. A tableaux. The woman with the dark hair and green eyes, the tall American, the painting.
Later they found a cafe. She ordered wine in French, but she wasn't French. She was an American who lived in San Francisco.
The woman lived on one side of Paris, and the man lived on the other. She couldn't let him sleep in her bed, nor could she sleep in his. After midnight he walked halfway across the city to his shabby hotel.
The City of Lights. Yes. His room on the fourth floor. He had to climb the stairs because l'ascenseur wasn't working. He would lean on his window sill in the evening and watch the whores. They wore gaudy clothes and too much makeup.
Much, much later he remembered a day before they went their separate ways, a Sunday afternoon in Paris, not on Le Grande Jatte but on a lake near the zoo. They had rented a boat, and he had rowed them slowly, hither and yon, on a glittering waterway crowded with other boats. His friend had put her pale, lovely face up to the hazy sun, closed her eyes and smiled.
“Oh, Jake,” she had said, “we could have had such a damned good time together.” “Yes,” he replied, “isn't it pretty to think so?”
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Author's Note
Sorry, old son. Had to steal that bit of dialogue. Nobody's ever said it better .
Good. Goodgoodgoodgood. Poor Jake.
Right on, Jack. Great piece. "Much, much later he remembered a day before they went their separate ways, a Sunday afternoon in Paris, not on Le Grande Jatte but on a lake near the zoo. They had rented a boat, and he had rowed them slowly, hither and yon, on a glittering waterway crowded with other boats. His friend had put her pale, lovely face up the hazy sun, closed her eyes and smiled." Solid.
I really like this one a lot. It has so much beneath the surface of the story. Nice.
Excellent, Jack. Lots of good stuff going on here. Beautifully written!
Thanks James, Sam, Susan, Christian. Yes, lots and lots of stuff.
I love this so much. That is all there is to say. So sweet.
You have set this like an impressionist painting, and Paris just comes breaking through the page, a lovely story
Beautiful.
Wow. Sweet, lovely, beautiful. Thanks Meg, Susan, and Kait!
Oh I think that's great to end on, Jack! ;-)
This i simply lovely. Even the gaudy whores, in their way. Love all the details. Thanks.
Kathy, Old Ernie and I thank you very much. Thank YOU!
Like the line, " He would lean on his window sill in the evening and watch the whores."
Too many great lines here to choose one. Hauntingly beautiful.
This reads like a film or a mural. Or maybe "A tableaux."
It is pretty to think so. This does read like a little piece of art. It’s charming, but there’s more to the picture than that, of course. Enjoyed it.
Yes, the city of lights and love. A lovely story.
The pacing of this is so nice. Great descriptions.
Another damn fine piece of writing, Jack :)
I'm surprised your chat didn't address the allusion to Hemingway and poor, doomed Brett's direct quote. Nice work, Jack.*
How did I miss this when you first posted it? Was such a treat to read, evocative, sets a wonderful tone.
Oh, splendid ending! *
Enjoyed the interview, love the story. Thanks, Jack. *
I found out, through google, that you used "The Sun Also Rises"...I wouldn't have known! This is a great piece...until the end. I just don't agree with it, or something in me doesn't agree with it. Perhaps because, before, for me, they had a "lovely time"? Perhaps because I'm too wed to Henry James and just don't get Hemingway (mostly)? Still, this is just great. Also enjoyed your interview about the piece very much...the human comedy, yes.
Good writing: great story, closing scene and dialogue.