We'll Never Have Paris Page #5

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And my feelings were misguided and I

am now mature enough to see that.

Are you?

Have you slept with him?

No.

- But you stayed with him in Prussia or...

- Provence.

Whatever and you didn't

sleep with him? -No.

- Did you kiss him?

- Quinn...

You know what,

I don't even want to know.

Where are you going?

You don't even know your way

back home and you grew up there.

Well, maybe we should phone

Guillaume at his country house

and ask him for directions.

See if he has any recommendations

for city hotspots.

I'm sure he could tell us

where the Fitzgerald's,

or Hemingway used to

smoke opium or whatever. What?

No, it's just...

F. Scott Fitzgerald actually lived in

their house in Provence for a while.

Well, that is most

f***ing amusing.

Merci.

You don't smoke.

Starting is

the hardest part, ma Cherie.

Galois's.

It'll put hair on your chest.

I preferred your chest

the way it was.

One,

two,

three.

If I spit it in the water,

will it come back to life?

No, no, no,

we can't do it on his bed.

What?

Okay, okay.

This is only good if

you have scoliosis.

Yeah, this is the greatest.

My God, that's like Danish

deco, like expensive.

How about this thing?

This thing,

it's like a Napoleon era...

I don't give a sh*t. Just, here.

I do, I'm sorry. I'm a guest.

Okay.

Just be careful. It's like

a Franco-Prussian teacup.

What, are you

his f***ing curator?

Sorry, kind of.

- Good morning.

- Hi.

- Sleep well?

- Mmm-hmm.

So I was thinking,

we should call the airline

in addition, try to get tickets to

go home today or tonight.

Uh... What?

Alternatively, tomorrow.

Devon.

F*** it.

I'm going to enjoy Paris.

I'm not going to let some

f***ing cultural attache,

alternatively, whatever he is,

ruin my time here.

You want to sip

dandelion wine in the country

in addition, rave about socialism

in addition, eat whelks and winkles

in addition, suck the meat out

of a cockle, go ahead.

Move to France, why not?

Yeah, but...

I'm on vacation. Therefore, I'll

see you when I see you.

In addition, right now,

I'm in the mood for a crepe.

I'm sorry.

Wouldn't want to embarrass you by

crying in a f***ing graveyard.

Why him?

It's not that I

want to be with him.

It just opened

my eyes, you know.

He's older, he cooks.

He and his dad played sonatas

for me in their living room.

We talked about art

in addition, politics and...

He loves Flaubert.

His family's just very

passionate about real stuff

and we just connected.

So he cooks.

I'm sorry, I don't cook.

My family ordered in

a lot when I was kid.

I think I'd like

to be buried here.

Today, if possible.

It must have been a bad crepe, I've

never had the dry heaves before.

Yeah, it was

incredibly anti-climactic.

What are you doing?

Um, I have a lunch

in about an hour.

A lunch? With who?

My grandparents.

Oh, wow, I've never met them.

I'm going alone, Quinn.

I'm not invited.

Quinn...

I flew all the way

out here to be with you

and you just sleep with me like

I'm some kind of boy-toy and...

Okay, first, I didn't

ask you to come out here.

No, you couldn't do that because

you don't know what you want.

So you're just

stringing me along?

Yeah, right, okay. You're the

victim. You're the martyr.

Did you pack your crucifix or

did they let you carry it on?

Baby Jesus.

I am not martyring myself.

Do you know how

selfish this is of you.

Of me?

You live your life like it's going to

be brilliant when it really counts.

Well, it is passing you by.

Look at your music.

How can you be a musician

when you're too afraid to play

in front of anyone?

I'm a perfectionist.

And I told you my hand span...

Shut the f*** up about

your goddamned hand span.

You're just masquerading as this sensitive,

magnanimous, self-deprecating person.

Your idea of self-deprecation

is everybody else's

definition of narcissism.

Well...

I know you came here

to bring me back with you.

But I don't want to go back,

I want to move forward.

I feel like I'm just

looking for

the name of the disease

that makes me make sense.

How do I be a man?

Hello, hello.

Hi! You do speak

a little English.

Hello, hello.

Okay.

Sorry, I'm late.

I couldn't find the address,

but then I did.

- Quinn...

- Devon, please.

Look, I've been trying to

ask you something.

Uh, Quinn, this is Guillaume.

Quinn...

I didn't know you were

joining us for lunch, pal.

Super.

I'm Guillaume.

So nice to meet you.

Um, I thought you were French.

Oh, yeah, well,

my father's French.

Yeah, just like Devon.

Wow. I'll go fetch you a plate.

What is he doing here?

And why's he being

so f***ing nice to me?

Yeah, what an a**hole.

He says, he's sorry that they only

have a footstool for you to sit on.

No, no, no.

It's my favorite kind of stool.

Yeah, speaking with

a French accent

isn't going to help

he understands you.

He wants you to have

an aperitif with him.

Oh, I just had a crepe... Okay.

It's Pernod.

He says, he's been drinking it

since he was a baby.

What's in it?

It derived from licorice.

It's a successor of absinthe,

relative of ouzo in Greece.

That does put it in

many contexts for me.

Aw. She got sushi for me

because she knows I like it.

They're saying,

you have a French face.

Ah. Thank you. It's awkward,

because I have an Algerian neck.

So they're always fighting.

They're not going to get it,

also it's offensive.

Don't edit my jokes.

Fine.

See.

The timing wasn't...

I thought it was very funny.

She says, she knows you weren't

originally going to come out to Paris.

What changed your mind?

Uh...

I...

realized I couldn't be

without Devon.

I want to wake up early

just so I can spend

more time with her.

When I'm around her,

the rhythm of

my breathing

literally changes.

I need her.

That's why I'm here.

What did she say?

She wants to know

if anyone wants cheese?

Bravo.

Mmm, Mozart, huh?

A genius.

Yeah.

Second concerto, right?

Yeah. Hey, how about that.

Are you a fan?

More familiar

with jazz but yeah.

Ah, you see, jazz...

It all sounds

the same to me, no?

Guillaume, what was the story

you told me about your violin.

Not much of a story. But...

Yes, this is a Jean

Baptiste Vuillaume.

There was perhaps

3,000 of them made.

This instrument probably costs

somewhere in neighborhood of $250,000.

If you can put a price on it.

It seems unusually small, no.

This is my baby.

My godfather is Pierre Boulez.

A famous conductor.

And he gave this

violin to my father

when he was first chair

for the Orchestra de Paris.

One of my favorite orchestras.

You know, Quinn, Flaubert said,

"Human speech is

a cracked kettle"

"upon which we tap crude rhythms

for the bears to dance to,"

"while we long to make music

to melt the stars."

Quinn plays the piano.

Yeah, I do.

- Yeah.

- Dev, can I ask you something?

That's so neat.

You going to play for us?

Sure.

I've never played

a Bluthner before.

But I'll give it a shot.

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