High brow low brow

Steven was running late. He hadn't expected the traffic to be this bad at this time of day.
Why was he even doing this? He didn't even like Xavier. Oh yeah, it was to advance his career. Anything to please the head instructor.
'My girlfriend, Lola, is arriving from London at 8pm but I'm training that pilot from Basel from 6 onwards. Do you think you could pick her up for me?'
The life of a pilot was unpredictable. There he was, stuck in tail to tail traffic, on the Periph as the Parisians called it. 
He ran into arrivals, skidding to a halt at the correct gate. And there she was with her bags. The neon light bouncing off her peroxide hair forming a halo, as her red talons tapped agressively on her smartphone screen. 
'Hi. Sorry I'm late. I'm Steven'
'Yeah. About time. I almost thought you wasn't coming.' He detected East London. Nostalgia rose in his throat.
'You're not French.'
'Nope. Kent, born and bred.'
'Kent.' She said almost spitting the word out, her face contorted as if he was something the car had brought in, half chewed and spat out again. 
'So where's Xavier then?' She pronounced his name zay vee ey making Steven smile. 
'He's training a new Swiss guy. He said to take you round to his place.'
By then the traffic was smoother and they got to Xavier's classy apartment in the newly fashionable Le Marais in good time. Steven was following Lola up the steep stairs laden with all of her bags, watching her lurexed buttocks bob up and down.
'Here we are' He said gesturing with his chin towards a heavy ornate wooden door. 
Just as he'd managed to get the door open, Lola pushed past him impatiently. He set her bags down, placed the keys on the antique dresser by the door and was about to leave. 
'Old on a sec.' She said digging in her handbag. And she got out a crumpled 20 Euro note, shoving it into his hand. 'Cheers for the lift'.
Then she pushed him through the open door into the corridor and slammed it behind him. As Steven stood in the dark, the note clenched in his fist wondering what the hell had just happened, Lola, her forehead held against the closed door as if it might open of its own accord, hardly believing her luck. Ah Paris, we'll always have Paris.

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