He got out, and the elevator door slid shut. Large hotels, small hotels, hotels with old dirty wallpaper, modern hotels with huge American beds. Outdoor cafes, bar prices, restaurant signs, fixed-price menus…
In the early evening Macon headed wearily back to his own hotel. In the street ahead of him he saw Muriel. Her arms were full of parcels, her hair was flying out, her high-heeled shoes were tapping quickly along. ‘Muriel!’ he called, and run after her.
‘Oh, Macon, I’ve had the nicest day.’ She said. ‘I met these people from Dijon and we had lunch and we had lunch and they told me…’
He helped carry her parcels up to her room and sat down to watch her trying on all her new clothes.
‘So where are we having dinner tonight?’ she asked.
‘Well, I guess it’s time to try someplace special.’
‘Oh, goody!’
They went to little restaurant in a side street, and Muriel began to study the menu. ‘just order Salade Nicise.’ Macon told her. ‘It’s always safe. I’ve been all through France eating that.’
‘Well, that sounds kind of boring.’ Muriel said.
She asked the waiter’s advice, and he directed her toward a fresh tomato soup and a special kind of fish. Macon decided to have the soup too.
‘Where are you going tomorrow, Macon?’ she said.
‘Out of Paris. Tomorrow I start on the other cities.’
‘Take me with you.’
‘I can’t.’
At the end of the evening she said she was having bad dreams and would he come to her room to guard against them. He said no told her goodnight. And then he felt how she drew at him, pulling deep strings from inside him.
In the night he thought of a plan to take her with him. What harm would it do? It was only a day trip.