I'm waiting for you

4.

It is eleven o'clock when the muffled sound of her cell phone vibrating on the floor wakes her up with a jolt. She quickly bends down to reach for the device, her eyes still clouded with sleep. Nothing very exciting. A commercial from her favorite dance equipment store reminding her that, for her birthday, she's getting a special twenty percent off on the new collection. She lets out an annoyed sigh, then falls back on her bed, arms spread out. Her birthday... She had almost forgotten. Thirty-three years. Ten years now, she had given up her dream career. She glanced at her smartphone, which she still held in her hand. When was the last time she had a birthday party? She had isolated herself from her friends for fear of judgment, she had been rejected by her family when they learned what she did for a living. She would never forget her mother's horrified look and her father's coldness when they tried to surprise her and discovered her secret.

That was five or six years ago, when she had just started in the cabaret. The castings for the big stages were not going well and she needed money. One of the girls, whom she had already met a few times backstage, told her about Paradis Perdu. It was a safe place that offered a nice amount of money every night. So Sarah gave it a try and got a contract as a dancer. Bonne mère immediately took a liking to her. She wasn't sure why. Was it her good-natured demeanor as a daughter of a good family? Was it her despair over her failures? In any case, it worked. She had enough money for a small studio and enough to eat. Everything was going well, until one day, when she went out drinking with the customers after a show, she saw her parents' silhouettes huddled together in the back of the room, staring at her. How had they managed to find her workplace? She had never known. But she still remembers, with a heavy heart, the argument that had followed. Her parents had cared about their reputation above all else and had refused to let their daughter play, in their words, the "p********e". But Sarah had not yet forgotten her dreams of glamour and glitz at this time. She had refused to give up, no matter what she had to do to get there. That was the last time she had spoken with her parents.

A new sigh lifts her chest. She sits up cheerfully, brushing aside the sullen memory of that evening. Nothing and nobody would spoil her moment, it was time to put her plans for the day into action.

Thirty minutes later, the music echoes in her small room, as she paints her nails a bright red while humming. As she finishes getting ready, she reviews her schedule. First, she'll go to a local tea shop for some delicious petit fours with a steaming brew. Then she'll go see a movie. Which one? She doesn't know yet. No romance or action. She wants to get away, to see beautiful landscapes. A documentary about far away places would be perfect. And to end on a high note, she would treat herself to dinner at this restaurant she loves. A little corner of paradise with white stone walls, hidden in an alley in the Saint-Michel district, where they serve the best hummus in town, if you ask her. Usually, she always takes the night off for her birthday, but this time it won't be the case. Departure is coming up. She can't afford too much extravagance.

Her nail polish dry, she puts on her favorite jeans matched with a cozy wool sweater with a wide neckline. She ties her hair in a clever updo and bends down to apply lip gloss to her lips. As she smiles at herself in the mirror, there is a knock on the door. She rushes out of the bathroom, then turns off the music before opening the front door without checking to see who is behind it.

"Sorry, Mrs. Henry, I didn't think the music was..."

She suddenly realizes that the person in front of her is not her surly eighty-five-year-old neighbor, but a young man with a dazzling smile who looks no older than twenty-five. She clears her throat, embarrassed.

"Excuse me... I thought... What can I do for you?"

For a second, the stranger's gaze becomes ardent, he bites his lip thoughtfully, but quickly takes on an amiable expression before Sarah can see it. He then pulls a huge bouquet of roses from behind his back.

"I have to deliver this to you.

- There must be some mistake, I don't expect any delivery."

He shrugs, then hands her the bouquet. His gaze slides from her face to her neck, then from her neck to her shoulder. Shoulder which found itself stripped when she rushed to the door. The young woman does not notice the way he observes her, intrigued by this unexpected delivery. She then remembers the man waiting on her doorstep. She pivots on her heels, then addresses him with her back to him:

"Wait a minute, I'll get you a tip. Thanks for coming up here.

- That won't be necessary, Sarah."

She stiffens when she realizes he just said her first name. She's sure she doesn't know him and he's not a regular at the cabaret. How can he know what her name is? She doesn't remember seeing any delivery slip that might indicate her name. The young woman turns around slowly, ready to defend herself tooth and nail if necessary, but there is no one left on the doorstep. She runs to the railing of the stairs. Not the slightest sound of steps. He has vanished. She backs up carefully to her little maid's room, then closes the door. At her feet lay the roses and a sealed envelope. She breaks the wax and opens it slowly. Inside is a photograph. It is her, last night, while she was playing with the mist in the cold winter. She turns the card over with a beating heart. In overdone handwriting, she deciphers those simple words that seem so ominous and mysterious at the same time:

"Happy birthday, Sarah. I'm waiting for you... M. "