Page 26 of Something Beyond Fame

I took out my phone and took a few snaps. My selfie was pathetic so I tried again. I put on my best natural smile. Much better, so I posted it to Instagram. I didn't know if Claudia would check my account. I doubted it, and I hated myself for that pettiness that wanted her to look and think I was doing just fine without her when we all knew I absolutely was not. I looked at my phone to see where the next “big thing” was to see. The Arc de Triomphe was 30 minutes away, so I set my directions and headed off.

The thing no one tells you about Paris is that the city is huge. Overwhelmingly so. And the big attractions are few and far between in comparison. Don’t get me wrong. There are plenty of Parisian cafes, cute side streets and architecture to admire, but the main attractions that put Paris on the map are a hefty walk between each one.

But a walk can be good for the soul. The repetitive action of simply moving your feet. One in front of the other. Step by step until you get somewhere new, and you didn't even notice how you got there.

I gave myself a pep talk as I weaved through the streets and ran across the roads. Traffic lights don’t seem to have the same meaning in Paris as in the rest of the world, but today I didn't have the patience or the inclination to be cautious as I stepped out into weaving traffic and honking horns. I finally made it to the Arc in one piece and circled around it, taking a few photos. It was fine, I guess. Nothing special, but it lived up to its name.

I headed down the road to walk along the Champs-Élysées. I have to admit, that was something I was excited about. I loved a good shopping spree, and it would certainly help take my mind off things.

Oh, how wrong I was. Even window shopping on this street seemed expensive. Of course, I know I was on one of the most revered shopping streets in the world, but I would struggle to even get a coffee down here. I didn’t expect there to be any bargains per se, but items in the sale were still three times the price as back home.

I sulked off the street, feeling disappointed. I decided to take a coffee break and headed to a picturesque cafe a few streets over. I was going to treat myself regardless of how much it cost.

As I sat sipping my expensive but almost worth it coffee, I watched the world go by. I was thinking about the loves and lives of those around me.

For me, I felt as if my world was crashing a little. Every thought I’d had about my future with Claudia was no longer true. Every feeling I’d had was crushed. And any prospect of experiencing the incredible world around us with the one I loved was gone. I understood her reasoning to an extent, but shouldn't it have been a conversation? Did it really have to be that cold of a goodbye? Hadn't I meant more to her than that?

I battled with my inner demons, rejection flairing up to see the worst side of myself in full view. And yet, to everyone else I was just the extra sipping coffee in the background.

This helped me put my feelings into perspective just a tiny bit. Sure, I was crushed and dealing with something awful, but aren’t all those around me right now also experiencing the same in their own way? I finished my coffee and paid the bill.

I made my way down the river, watching as the water glistened in the afternoon sun. I walked around the outside of Notre Dame, wrestling other tourists for a good spot to take a couple of photos. Then I walked across the bridge to the other side of the river, stopping to get some macaroons to go on the way to the Louvre. French macaroons cannot be beaten, and as it was the first thing I’d eaten in days, they tasted even better.

Although I didn’t pay to go into the art museum, I did explore the gift shop and the other public areas inside. It was busy, and I knew I’d be stressing about the time if I went to check out the Mona Lisa. But what I did see was enough, especially since I’d recently finished reading the Davinci Code, and for about ten minutes I was convinced I could walk the Rose Line and follow Robert Langdon’s footsteps.

Time was pressing on, so I went to spend my final hour in the Jardin des Tuileries next to the Louvre. This place was stunning. Even with a broken heart, I could see, feel, and smell the beauty of these gardens. I sat on a chair next to the fountain and watched the ducks bathing and protectively circling their babies whenever a kid got too close to the water. For a moment, I felt genuine bliss at the peace surrounding me.

It felt as I had the moment in the Orkneys. Nature has a way of doing that, humbling you. Bringing you back to your senses when the world seems too overwhelming to handle.

The coach stop was too far to walk, or rather, I was too tired to be able to walk fast enough and make it in time, so I jumped on the metro to go back to the Eiffel Tower. The metro was incredibly loud and rickety, although I enjoyed the fact my mind was being distracted by something even louder than my thoughts.

I made it back to the coach in time and settled down with a canned cocktail I’d bought at the corner shop. It was cold and refreshing, exactly what I needed to unwind after an emotionally draining day. As the coach drove along back to the ship, I reflected on my day. My visit to Paris was underwhelming. Was I suffering from Paris syndrome, or was I just too dejected to see why Paris was held in such high esteem?

I had a strong suspicion that had I come here with Claudia by my side, fingers entwined as we perused the Parisian city streets together, I wouldn’t have felt an ounce of disappointment.

I guess the true beauty of the most romantic city in the world was not the place itself, but it would always be about who you shared it with.

13

After Paris, I didn't leave the ship again. There was just no point. I lived, worked, ate, and slept in a near zombie-like cycle. Even Urduja began to lose patience with me as I went round and round the British Isles on what seemed like a never-ending loop of pain.

“Don’t you want to get off?” she asked with a frustrated edge as she bounded into my room and tried to get me to at least see some daylight on firm ground.

“No, Urduja. I do not want to get off. I won't be getting off until we complete the Transatlantic and I can finally get out of this gray, raining, depressing place and see home again.

She didn't say a word, just looked at me with wide eyes and slipped out.

Then I felt like a bitch.

The show must go on. I sat on the white leather stool at my dressing table. The dark room was lit with the soft yellows of the bulbs that lined the frame of the mirror. I leaned forward and let my gaze sweep over my features. Big gray eyes scanning every detail, from lightly curled lashes to full rosy lips. I gave my head a little shake, and my short dark hair fell forward to frame my face. I tried to remind myself that the audience didn't need to know about my dead heart and blank mind. They needed me to perform. So I tried my best.

The steel stage floor reflected the single beam. It was the only light. The rest of the stage was submerged in darkness. The mood was eerie, the silence deafening. It seemed like even the ocean had stilled. Then a white flash, almost like a lightning strike, thundered through my body, and the music started.

Diving into the song, I laced it with sex, hiding behind what the women here wanted. They wanted to imagine being with Raven Ramsey. They all wanted a taste of me—or of who they believed me to be. And I had no idea what was real anymore.

I felt real for the first time with Claudia. But now she was gone, and it had me questioning if that was the real me at all.

I sang with a raspy edge, letting the band take the lead, but I followed with tones meant to entice, to seduce and, as the song played out, I heard the pause before shocked applause that never seemed to end.

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