Le Grand Croissant

Camille pressed her face against the door to peek through the keyhole one more time, hoping the view had changed. Hoping her eyes had deceived her the first time. Hoping it was just her imagination, brought on by the fact that Julien had been a little weird about that room earlier.

Camille’s heart was pounding so hard that it was about to break through her ribcage. She didn’t know how much time she had until Julien came back.

Her shaking hands dialed her best friend’s number while she was still bent over at that keyhole, eyes fixed on a view her mind refused to admit as reality.

The view remained unchanged. And the call went straight to voicemail. With a nervous and a little annoyed grunt, Camille texted her, forcing her trembling fingers to cooperate.

GIRL, PICK UP YOUR PHONE!

SOS!!!!!

911!!!

ANSWER ME!

I’M NOT JOKING!

I NEED A 911 CALL FROM YOU

NOW!!!!

Camille wasn’t sure of her acting skills and an ability to put on a straight face in a high-stakes situation. Testing that tonight in front of Julien would have been utter stupidity. It would have been like getting on stage at the National Opera Theatre with no practice, just crossing your fingers and hoping for the best.

Camille was pacing back and forth, cursing Zoé in her mind for not answering her call. Her phone was like an extra limb to that woman and now she decided not to answer, today of all days.

Her stare still fixed on that door, Camille was racking her brain, trying to figure out what to do. Her best bet was to leave. And leave fast. She ran to the front door, grabbed her coat, wrestled it on while simultaneously stepping into her boots without zipping them up, and flew out the door.

And crashed into Julien, who had just gotten back with the bottle of wine and sushi he had gone out for.

"Where are you going?" he asked, holding up the wine and a brown takeaway bag.

"I... I have to... umm... I have to go!" Camille stuttered. Everything she had seen on that table through the keyhole hovered still clearly before her eyes.

"Why? Where? What happened?" asked Julien, scanning Camille from head to toe, trying to lead her back into the apartment.

"I’m sorry, I have to! It’s an emergen..." she got cut off mid-word by her phone ringing. Zoé.

Camille answered the call and heard Zoé crying, almost screeching. She didn’t understand a single word, but it was loud enough for Julien to hear as well.

"I... I have to go. She needs me. I’ll call you later!" shouted Camille over her shoulder, making it look like she was hurrying to help her best friend in a crisis.

Camille raced on and didn’t even dare to wait for an elevator – instead, she ran down the stairs. One hand held her phone to her ear, the other one kept the flaps of her coat from flying open, with Zoé crying heartbreakingly on the line the whole time.

She pushed the front door open with her shoulder and as soon as it had clicked shut behind her, she said, "Okay, you can stop now."

The crying ended like it was cut off with a knife.

"So, what’s up?" Zoé asked laughingly.

"Zoé, where are you? I need to talk to you!"

"'Zoé'? So this is serious? I thought you were just overdramatic and needed a quick excuse to get away from another Tinder weirdo?"

"No. It’s serious."

"I’m at home."

***

Zoé opened the door with a wide smile on her face, that faded the instant she saw the look in Camille’s eyes. It was a look that Zoé had never seen before, nor did she know how to interpret it.

Zoé led her to the living room, not sure what to do or say. Something in Camille’s expression said to shut up and wait. They sat in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being Camille's hammering heart.

Zoé tried to figure out what had happened to her friend. Camille looked shocked, but she wasn’t crying. Interestingly enough, she actually looked focused, deep in thought. It seemed as if she was concentrating on something far away.

Camille opened her mouth to say something, but closed it again. She got up and walked slowly to Zoé’s minibar, reached for a shot glass, poured out a shot of gin, threw it back with one quick movement, swallowed and exhaled hoarsely.

Zoé followed her with her eyes the whole time. She filled the shot glass again and brought it with her when she finally came back to the sofa and looked at Zoé.

It had taken a good ten minutes from the time she walked in the door to when she was able to open her mouth.

"So... umm, I went to see Julien again," said Camille.

"Julien? The 'Julien le Grand Croissant' Julien? From Tinder?"

"Yup."

"You said he was a bit... weird."

"He was. He is. But his... croissant. Spectacular!"

Zoé grinned widely.

"Nice! Get it, girl! So what’s wrong?"

Instead of explaining, Camille pulled out her phone, clicked and scrolled a bit, and turned the screen to Zoé.

"You’ve seen the news right?"

Zoé glanced at the screen and then back at Camille, confused. She wasn’t sure when they had changed the subject.

"Um, I don’t know if you remember, but I’m a journalist and I work only for the biggest newspaper in the country. YES, I’ve heard the news! We had an emergency meeting because of that today," said Zoé, rolling her eyes.

"Well... um... I found them."

"You found them?" Zoé repeated Camille’s words monotonously, voice flat like the meaning didn’t quite reach her.

"I found them. In Julien's guest bedroom – bent over, butt-naked, eye pressed to the keyhole, flushed, giddy, and reeling from the fucking amazing shag with Julien and his le Grand Croissant.”

The silence filled the room for a long and thick five seconds.

"You do realise, you’ll have to tell police the WHOLE story, right?"

Camille downed the shot of gin that sat in front of her.

"Yup," she said through a sharp burning breath.

The two women just stared at each other for a beat. Then they burst out laughing almost uncontrollably.

"So... you found the stolen jewels of Louvre because you went back for a good—"

"Pretty much."