Jennifer Greene - Blame It On Paris

"Several calls came up early this morning, backup on shipments. Catalog proofs are on your desk. Looks good to me, but if you can get to that today… and that advertising affecting Lucerne and Copenhagen…"

Will listened a while longer, took it on, then aimed for his office-such as it was. A trailer closet was bigger than his cubicle. There was just enough room for him to drop to the desk chair and wade into the five pounds of files and samples and folders and debris.

Kelly wasn't here, of course. If she saw the place, she might leap to the conclusion that he was a hardcore workaholic, busier than a one-armed bandit in a bank vault.

That would be the wrong conclusion, of course. From the minute he'd arrived in Paris, he'd committed to become the laziest, most irresponsible slacker on the planet. That was what he wanted to be.

That was what he'd been trying to be since he left South Bend.

THE MOMENT Will left the flat, Kelly felt her smile deflate like a needled balloon. The apartment felt alien and lonely without him.

Still, it wasn't as if she didn't have a full day of complications to deal with. As soon as she poured a last mug of coffee, she addressed crisis number one by dialing her mom. And this time, finally, Char Nicole Rochard Matthews answered.

"Mom! For Pete's sake, where have you been?"

"Out gallivanting." The sound of her mom's chuckle was as familiar as sunshine. "You were gone, and I had nothing on the agenda for the weekend. Mary and Ann and I got to talking and next thing I knew, the three of us were off on a road trip to Mall of America. We were only gone for three days. What a place that is…"

Her mom babbled on for a while, as if calling from Paris were as cheap as calling from next door, but eventually she wound down. "Okay, your turn. I can't wait to hear how Paris is, what's going on…"

Kelly may have misled her mom about the reason for the Paris trip, but there was no way she could hide her current mess, so she spilled. She made as light of the mugger business as possible and clearly outlined what she needed from her mom-faxing the passport copy, to where, how. wiring money, where and how much, the whole complicated rigmarole. "I hate asking you to do all this junk, Mom, but-"

"Don't be silly, you goose. I'm so glad you're all right. The rest of this is just details, and as soon as I hang up, I'll start getting it all cooking…" Her mother hesitated, her whole tone changing. "You know, nothing like this would have happened if you'd waited for Jason to make the trip with you."

Just hearing Jason's name put a fresh nail of guilt in Kelly's coffin of a conscience. She sucked down another sip of strong coffee. "Jason didn't have the time off right now, and I did. Besides which, he never wanted to go to Europe."

"So why go at all then? I never did understand why you were so insistent on this trip. Spending money you could have put into the apartment. Or your lives together." Char sighed, then switched gears, both of them well aware they'd already argued about this several times and had gotten nowhere. "Jason's mother called me. We're going dress shopping together next week. Neither of us can make up our minds whether we want to go short or long, or what colors, and we don't want to clash, so we figured going together would be fun…"

Another nail of guilt stabbed Kelly. "Mom…don't you think you're rushing it? We exchanged rings. But we haven't even talked about setting a sure date-"

"I know, sweetie. But you've known each other forever. And Gaynelle and I have been talking- behind your backs, of course-for years. We're just having fun-"

"Mom, wait"

Finally her mother seemed to hear the serious note in her voice. But when Kelly tried to talk, her throat seemed stuffed with cotton wool. She could hardly get the words out. '"Mom, would it kill you if I changed my mind? About marrying Jason. About-"

Her mom laughed before she could even finish the thought. "Oh, honey, I've been waiting for the jitters to hit you. I'd have been amazed if they didn't. Sweetheart, you've loved that boy and he's loved you since you were in third grade. Weddings are just nerve-racking, that's all. Don't be scared if you get a few panic attacks. Every bride has them. You're going to look so gorgeous."

Kelly sank into a corner of the couch, rubbing her forehead. Her mom was on a tear. It'd be easier for Congress to reform health care than get a word in edgewise for quite a while.

"… and your Aunt Willa was talking about getting you an Oriental carpet. Wouldn't that be a fabulous wedding present? And Susanna called me again. She's still scandalized that you two have already found an apartment together. I told her, get a life, what century was she living in, anyway…"

By the time the call ended. Kelly's mug was sitting cold and her stomach was kneading guilt into lumps like bread dough. Will's face flashed into her mind. She replayed his face, their lovemaking, this crazy, wild encounter she seemed to be having.

Her life-her real life in South Bend-all came back at the sound of her mother's voice.

In real life, she couldn't possibly be sleeping with a stranger. The real Kelly Rochard could never be in this apartment. Couldn't possibly have turned into a brazen, lusty, amoral hussy, much less with a stranger.

Only she had done all those things.

She wanted to look in a mirror and see if she recognized the face, because she no longer seemed to be Kelly Rochard. She wasn't sure what woman had suddenly taken up residence in her body, or where the totally responsible, serious Kelly had gone. She felt angry with herself. Ashamed. Confused.

Yet when she thought it would have been so much better if she'd never come to Paris, never met Will…

Her heart clunked as if a mountain had crushed it.

Maybe she was being terribly, terribly selfish, but she couldn't regret a single moment with Will. Couldn't give him up. Not now. Not yet.

And before she could further tangle herself up, going down that impossible emotional road a minute longer, she rose from the couch, figuring on getting dressed and taking off. Then she stopped, sucked in a breath and dialed Jason.

She didn't really want to talk to him. didn't want to pursue any kind of serious conversation with him on the phone. But if she didn't call, he'd worry and start wondering why she hadn't called. And since she was already miserable, she figured another heap of guilt couldn't make any difference.

Jason should have been home from work by about then, yet his voice mail kicked in after four rings. She left a message that she was fine, hoped he was, and she'd catch up with him soon.

All right, she told herself, that was enough trauma for one morning. Instead of driving herself crazy, she had a new plan. To visit her father's old address, the whole reason she'd come to Paris to begin with. And yeah, of course she had the whole mugger mess to work on. Her mom was faxing copies of her ID records to the consulate, then wiring money to the bank Will had suggested. But one way or another, she was going to make something positive of this day.

As she pulled on pants and walking shoes and a cream hoodie, it struck her as mighty ironic that the loss of identity was a double whammy. The mugger may have stolen her paperwork ID, but the identity she'd really lost had nothing to do with paperwork.

Hopefully finding out something about her father would help her with that.

Will's phone rang just as she was chasing out the door. It was Will.

"I told you I'd check in. You haven't been mugged in the past hour, have you? No more crises? No more questions? You know where you're going, how to get there? I left you enough money?"

It was flabbergasting. How the sound of his voice sent a sizzle straight to her nerve endings.