rich kids of paris

Two friends, after New Year’s Eve.

Cecily: One day, someone will write about the grand explosion that was yesterday. Perhaps it was not so much an explosion as a type of cold war. I kissed Nino. Yves walked in and saw us. Jonathan wanted to beat Yves to a bloody pulp. Augustin pontificated about the fact that none of the others were good enough to receive the love of half the tip of my little finger. All of them confessed their undying love for me.

Alexander: Queen.

Alexander, on necessary traits.

Alexander: I’m increasingly infatuated with a lumbersexual. He’s really into metaphysics and is a licensed massage therapist. Pseudo-profundity and deft hands are the only traits I require in a man at this particular moment.

Two friends, on magic.

Cecily: Maurice likes you very much. He sends his warmest regards.

Nino: He’s lovely; your true guardian angel. He reminds me of my mother.

Cecily: I knew he’d be special when we first met. I catalysed it. I saw him order a margarita and ordered the same, because I knew that way he’d talk to me. He still thinks it was more serendipity than strategy, but who am I to sap away that rare magic?

Two friends, on vernacular.

Vinnie: You’re gay (that’s the expression Americans use when they cannot comprehend something).

Cecily: You’re straight (that’s the expression we queens use when we know exactly how to describe somebody).

Cecily, a Christmas story.

Cecily: I wanted a toy unicorn. I had an inside joke about one with my lover Yves, and I wanted to give the unicorn to him for Christmas. I announced my desire to find one rather publicly. Jonathan loved me so much he haunted every shop in Paris on Christmas Eve to find me that unicorn. He didn’t know why I wanted it, just that he could give me something I wanted, and that he could make me smile.

He found that unicorn and bought it for me for Christmas. It showed up under my tree all glittering and shining via beautiful guilt-laced adoration. And now I have it. And it was always intended for Yves.