"Ja-…oh."
Michael stood sheepishly by the door, key card still in his hand.
"Sorry, I didn't realize…I just came to see if Jack was back. Jared's going crazy, we're supposed to leave for the venue in half and hour. Have you, um, have you seen him?"
"No, the bellboy let me in," Sara stuttered, trying to tug her towel into a more decent position. "Why do you have a key?" The question was out of her mouth before she had time to think the accusation through.
"We keep spares," Michael said curtly, narrowing his eyes at her. "Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like we've met, sorry if I've forgotten."
"I don't think so," Sara said coldly. She couldn't get the image of him pulling at Erica's clothes out of her head. Once, she thought ruefully, she would have been asking for Micheal’s autograph. Now she wanted to slap the sleazebag in the face.
"I guess not. I wouldn't forget a face like that in a hurry." Michael winked at her, casting a lingering glance at her bare, wet legs. She glared at him in return.
"So you've no idea where Jack is?" Michael asked again, and Sara shook her head. "Probably gone on one of his walks. Sometimes he disappears for hours. I figured he was in the bars, but he says he just walks for miles. Thinking, he says, god knows what about. I can't believe he's being such a selfish bastard."
"Have you seen what people are saying? Wouldn't you be upset?"
"I'd get over it. The papers write all sorts of crap. No use crying and running away, for Pete's sake. We're a band. It's not all about him."
"Maybe he could do with your support right now." Sara's tone was icy. Michael just rolled his eyes.
"Looks like he's got his own personal cheerleader already. Good luck with that one. If you do see him, tell him not to bother showing up to the venue tonight. We can do it without him. It's not like I don't know the words."
Michael slammed the door, leaving Sara almost quaking with rage.
Jack breathed out into the cold air and watched his breath disperse. Around him, the city continued to hum with activity, but he was closed off from it all in a shroud of silence. The bench was cold and damp; he could feel the moisture seeping through the seat of his pants. He took a swig from his hip flask, and felt the burn of the alcohol warm his insides. Jack turned his cell phone over in his hands, willing the battery to come back to life. Sara should be in the city by now, maybe even at the hotel. He'd made sure earlier in the day that the staff would look after her. He should find a telephone booth — assuming those still existed- and call. He should walk back to the main street and hail a taxi. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to move. It was a mistake, calling her, he knew that now. Though every fibre of his being longed to see her, the truth was they barely knew each other. One mad night of passion, a few emails and text messages…that barely counted. She would have seen the papers by now, and she would think exactly what the rest of the world thought; that he was scum. He couldn't expect anything else. The thought of seeing her face to face, trying to explain the whole mess, the thought of Sara rejecting him…it was all too much. He just couldn't. Jack sat paralysed, consumed by his own misery, no idea where to go or who he could turn to. Years ago, in what felt like another life, it would have been Laura. Holding his hand, trying to make him laugh. No matter what happened, Laura could always get a smile out of him. She had looked at her big brother like he was a hero, the guy who could do no wrong. Right up until the end, she had believed in him. For a moment, Jack could almost imagine her sitting beside him, ten years old, her strawberry-blonde pigtails sticking out at funny angles, a grin on her face that revealed her crooked front tooth. This would always be the image he kept of his sister, pretty and innocent. Not what came later. He couldn't bear to think of that. Jack stared up at the orange glow of the street light as it filtered through the trees, willing away the tears that threatened to blur his vision. He willed himself to get up, to head back to the hotel. But he wasn't ready, not yet. He would just sit for a little longer.
Sara looked up at the clock. Compass were due on stage in an hour — the rest of the band would be in their dressing rooms, running through their own pre-show rituals. Once upon a time Sara would have wanted nothing more than to be in the front row, cheering them on. But tonight was different. Tonight there would be no Jack Carter, no front man. And all Sara cared about was seeing him safe. She replayed their early morning conversation in her head, over and over, hoping to recall some small detail that would give a hint of where he was, of what he was thinking. But she had nothing to go on. Only what Michael had said, that he'd be roaming the city somewhere. She gazed out of the window and pictured Jack lost in the winding streets of Paris. Fuck it, she thought to herself, there was no point sitting around driving herself crazy. Ignoring the rational part of her brain, she pulled on her jacket and headed for the elevator. Though she barely knew Jack Carter, and had no idea what was going on, Sara was sure of one thing. He called her because he needed her. She came because, despite all her misgivings, she wanted to be there for him. And if she had to hunt him down in a strange, dark city, then that was what she was going to do
The rain had finally stopped, but the wind carried a chill. Sara stuffed her hands in her pockets, wishing she had gloves. The receptionist had thrust an elaborate map of Paris into her hands as she left the hotel, but she had given up trying to follow her route. It wasn't like she knew where she was going anyway. Instead, Sara followed the river, hoping the dark waters of the Seine would lead her to her lover. She scanned the faces of everyone she passed, hoping Jack would emerge from the crowd, but there were only strangers, puzzled as to why the tourist was staring at them. Though her body ached with tiredness, Sara kept walking. Suddenly she found herself standing before the glittering glass pyramid of the Louvre, and she stopped and stared for a moment. The contrast of the modern structure with the ancient building behind was quite breathtaking, and Sara almost forgot the purpose of her mission as she marvelled at its beauty. She thought of the Mona Lisa tucked safely away inside, charming visitors with her mysterious expression, unreadable yet alluring. Jack was no oil painting, but there was something enigmatic about him too, a sadness behind every smile. Hidden depths that she would love to uncover, if she could just lay hands on him. Sara checked her cell phone for the hundredth time, hoping against hope that he was back in the warmth of the hotel room wondering where she was. No new messages.
Passing the museum, Sara found herself at the entrance to a magnificent park. In the distance she could see the imposing structure of the Arc de Triomphe, and further, the tip of the Eiffel Tower standing tall against the skyline. Even in her anxious state, Sara felt overwhelmed by the beauty of the city. Surely Jack must have felt it too as he walked the streets. Sara hoped it had offered him a little comfort. She quickened her pace as she made her way down the wide central promenade. It was growing late, and the city's crowds were thinning out. Suddenly, Sara felt alone, and more than a little uncomfortable. A shadow made her start, but it was only a statue, partially concealed by the ornate shrubbery. Sara sighed and hurried on. A little way ahead, she could see a crowd of young men loitering underneath one of the metal lamp posts that flanked the path. Sara pulled her coat tighter around herself and tried to walk casually as she passed them. She had just put them behind her when she heard a wolf whistle, and some rough sounding French that elicited a laugh from the rest of the group. Then all of a sudden, Sara felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder. As she whirled round, she saw that they had formed a semi-circle around her. The lit ends of their cigarettes glowed in the gloom.