Nobody's Interesting Life

"IS IT TOO MUCH?" BRIGITTE ASKED. She modelled a pink strapless dress cut high above the knee. "I don't think so," I told her. "What are you going to buy?" "Something so I don't look like a bum next to you." "It's too much." "No. You have to buy it." "Really?" "Now that I've seen you in it, absolutely." "I'll have to get shoes too." "Shit, me too." I tried to pay for the dress, but Brigitte wasn't having it. I'd already snuck onto Expedia and booked a room at the Hotel Victoria, so I decided to surrender this battle. We shopped for another hour. I bought a light blue Yves Saint Laurent button up shirt, slim Ted Baker Khaki pants, and blue espadrilles. Brigitte bought a pair of white high heel sandals to go with her dress, the straps wrapping around her calves like a roman soldier. We walked about town for a little while, admiring the Lambor...

We woke early in the morning, showered and dressed, and left our little oasis within forty-five minutes. We stopped for a café crème and pain au chocolat , and strolled through the park Cimiez to the Musée Matisse . Brigitte could not contain her excitement. There was a paragraph in my moleskin that mentioned Matisse that I had copied from Tropic of Cancer. I read Miller's words to Brigitte as we entered the gallery. "Beautiful," said Brigitte. "Why is that in there?" "Admiration I guess," I told her. "Reminds me of how futile it is though." "Why?" "I'll never be as good," "How do you know?" "I don't have what he had. Most days I can live with it." "When you can't?" "I wallow in self-pity. Let's go inside." Brigitte kissed me. We entered the gallery. We said little to one another for the first thirty minutes or so. Brigitte completely enthralled and...