Free Taxi to Paris by Ruth Gogoll

found her breast. She moaned softly. My lips wandered to her mouth. She was ready for me. While my tongue sought hers, she wrapped her arms around me and pulled me as close to her as the cramped quarters would allow. Then she let an arm fall and felt around for the lever that reclined the seats. I stopped kissing her. "You don't want to ... here?"
    "Why not?" She probably did this more often than I did. At any rate, it sounded incredibly uncomfortable to me. My lips still burned from her kisses, and I could imagine that she was quite capable of making me forget where we were. But at the same time I realized that she hadn't believed me. So I sat back up in my own seat.
    "This really isn't why I invited you," I grumbled as I started the car. Before she could react, we were back on the road.
    "You don't even believe that yourself," she replied. She was right, but I wasn't about to tell her that.
    Instead I tried to learn something more about her. "Why don't you believe it? Why do you think that everyone only wants to sleep with you?" I didn't know quite where I intended to go with this conversation, but at least it would distract me from my lustful thoughts momentarily.
    Her answer shook me. "Because that's the way it is," she said.
    I found the calm and naturalness with which she said those words horrible. What kind of effect would it have on her self-esteem if she were convinced of this? On her idea of life? I suddenly felt very cold. Perhaps it would've calmed me if I'd gotten the impression that she only meant that statement about her clients. In that case, such a belief would be entirely justified. A client really would come to her for that reason only. But strangely, it sounded to me like a general observation. An observation she'd made in all of her relationships, not just her professional ones. That's why it was so upsetting.
    I looked away from the street and at her for a moment. "You're a very desirable woman, that's undisputable," I stated finally, "but you have other qualities."
    She laughed aloud for a moment. "Yes? What are they?"
    She'd taken me completely by surprise. I knew how I felt about her, but had yet to identify what exactly was behind that. So I had to think about it.
    "You see," she said. "You can't think of any either." On the one hand, she seemed pleased by this. I had demonstrated what she truly believed. On the other hand, there was a hint of resignation in her diagnosis. Maybe she had hoped a little tiny bit that I would be able to show her an alternative she had yet to consider. And I had failed.
    "That is absolute nonsense," I protested, more upset about my lack of presence of mind than about the confirmation of her self-assessment.
    "Come, come." She seemed to want to pacify me more than herself. "Don't trouble yourself about it." She was disillusioned in such a way that it somehow touched me deep inside. But, as with most apparently hopeless causes, the fighting spirit awoke in me.
    "I would really like to trouble myself quite a bit about it," I explained carefully. I was aware of the risk that if I started this I might get too close for her comfort. That could cause her to cut me off entirely and prevent me from ever getting close again.
    She let out another dry little laugh. "Why?" she asked contemptuously.
    "Because I believe that you're worth it." She fell silent at that. I couldn't make out any of her reaction, except that she didn't answer. We drove silently through the darkness, except for the occasional dim glow of a streetlight. I would've loved to look at her, but I had to pay attention to the road.
    It wasn't long before we arrived in the neighborhood of her apartment. I found a parking place right in front of the entrance to the pedestrian zone. "So." I shut off the motor. "I'm sorry, Madam, but I cannot take my vehicle any farther into the pedestrian area." I kidded around to avoid sitting there in the unbearable silence for another minute. I could never tolerate that kind of tense