Charlotte in Paris

by Annie Bryant

  I had forgotten how imaginative Sophie was. I could feel myself getting carried away with her dream.

  “Where will Hotel Sophie be?” I asked. “You know, I will be traveling around the world, so I hope it will be in a very restful place.”

  “Mais alors, Charlotte. Have you already forgotten my favorite spot in the world?”

  “The Côte d’Azur.” I smiled broadly. How could I forget Sophie’s favorite summer vacation spot?

  “Yes, I will have the most chic spot on ze beach. My American convertible T-Bird will be parked in the courtyard and there will be chocolate everywhere.”

  For the next half hour, Sophie and I planned Hotel Sophie down to every detail. We had one mini argument about what kind of chocolates to serve at breakfast because both Sophie and I were chocolate fanatics and could get very insistent about our preferences.

  When Madame Morel called us in for breakfast, I stood for a moment in front of the Morels’ living room window. The view from their apartment was truly amazing. Floor-to-ceiling windows on one whole living room wall overlooked the city. I had a rooftop view that could have been a Paris postcard.

  Ah, Paris. The very air seemed alive. Not like the electric energy and hustle-bustle of New York or Boston, but truly alive. It was as if every moment, every breath was precious, and the city was coaxing me to slow down and appreciate it. I felt so lucky to be here with my friends once again.

  “Come, Charlotte. Le petit-déjeuner est prêt—breakfast is ready!” Sophie smiled as she linked her arm through mine and led me into the dining room.

  Madame Morel had set out fresh croissants from the bakery, a colorful fruit salad of grapes, melon, and strawberries, and eggs baked with cheese and tomatoes. She took my plate and served me small portions of everything. Supersizing was not a French custom. Perhaps that was one reason the French looked so trim and fit. Madame Morel poured me a steaming mug of hot chocolate and a glass of ice water as well.

  I waited until everyone else had filled their plates and then eagerly tasted everything. The memories came back with every bite I took.

  “Were you frightened to be traveling on your own?” Madame Morel asked.

  “I wasn’t really on my own. Madame Giroux was right beside me the whole time. And we ran into a friend of hers on the plane—a Mr. Peckham. I spent a lot of the flight talking to him. He was nice, but he had the most tragic love story to tell!”

  Suddenly, Sophie clapped eagerly, catching everyone’s attention. “Charlotte, everyone at school is so happy you’ve come back to visit. When I told the class on Thursday, the students didn’t stop talking about it all day!” Sophie’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

  “Really?” I was surprised. “I haven’t been so very good at keeping in touch with anyone but you. I kind of thought everyone might have forgotten about me by now.”

  “How could you think they would forget you, Charlotte?” Sophie wondered, elegantly sipping her hot chocolate. “You live in America. Everyone wants to hear about your adventures. They all want to know if you’ve ever seen Tom Cruise or Natalie Portman.”

  I smiled as I took a bite of my croissant and wiped the buttery flakes off my chin. This was why I loved being a world traveler. I’ve learned that there are amazing people everywhere, and now here I was, ready to see my old classmates again.

  After we finished our meal, Madame Morel insisted that I sleep for a while, even though I was reluctant to waste even one moment of my visit.

  “We will leave you in peace for a few hours, and there will still be much of the day left for exploring,” Madame Morel gently assured me.

  Sophie and I went back to her room. I loved how it was decorated all in cream and deep rosy magenta. Very sophisticated, I thought. As I took off my sneakers and crawled into the roll-away bed the Morels set up for me, I reminded myself to describe it to Katani. Sophie sat down at her desk and took out her schoolbooks.

  “I’m going to study as much as I can until you wake up. If I can get ahead on my assignments, then this week will be like a vacation for moi aussi…me too!” Sophie quietly began to read and write in her notebook.

  Despite my earlier protests, I found my eyelids getting heavy. Just as I was about to drift off, I bolted upright.

  “What is it?” Sophie asked, startled at my sudden burst of energy.

  “I forgot to call my dad!” I exclaimed, hopping out of bed. “Is it okay if I use the phone in the hallway? My dad got me an international calling card to pay for long-distance calls.”

  “Bien sûr! Of course!” Sophie said, gesturing toward the door.

  I found the calling card in my wallet and took it with me into the hallway.

  “Charlotte?” Dad sounded tired when he answered the phone.

  “Hi, Dad. I’m here. I’m sorry I forgot to call earlier,” I said quickly.

  “It’s okay, Char. I’m glad you finally remembered, though. I was getting worried, but then I checked online and saw that your flight landed safely, so I decided to wait a little while before checking up on you. How is everything going?”

  “It’s amazing, Dad. I can’t believe I’m back here. It’s just like I remembered it…almost as if I never left. I was afraid that I wouldn’t remember my French, but it’s coming back to me no problem.”

  “That’s great, kiddo. Have fun and be careful, okay? Say hello to Sophie and the Morels. And don’t forget to eat some escargots for me.”

  How could I forget? Snails—no one in America understood how tasty snails could be all smothered in butter and garlic. Yum! I smacked my lips.

  “Bye, Dad. Love you…and thanks so much for letting me do this.”

  “You’re welcome, Char. Love you too. Remember to keep a journal now.”

  I hung up the phone, went back into Sophie’s room, and crawled into the bed all over again.

  “Good night, Sophie,” I said.

  “Good morning, Charlotte,” Sophie replied, pointing to the clock.

  I giggled and then snuggled into the soft comforter and drifted off to sleep.

  When I woke up, the sun was shining brightly through the gaps between the shade and the window. It took a moment to realize where I was, and I grinned as the events of the past day came flooding back.

  I hopped out of bed, smoothed the comforter into place, and quickly tied on my running shoes. I found Sophie in the kitchen, stirring a big pot of soup.

  “Hello, sleepyhead. You were asleep for almost four hours. Did you have a good rest?” Sophie asked.

  “Yup, I did. I guess I needed it. Can I help you in here?”

  “Nonsense!” said Madame Morel. “You girls go enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Just make sure you are back by seven o’clock for dinner.”

  Sophie and I put on our coats and went out into the brisk air. It would have been chilly if the sun wasn’t shining so brightly. We walked away from the Seine up rue Jacob and headed to the nearby Jardin du Luxembourg, one of our favorite places in the city. The park was filled with families, joggers, and couples enjoying the sunny afternoon. Everyone in Paris loved the Jardin.

  “Remember when we took my little cousins to the merry-go-round here last spring? Adèle refused to come down from the horse when the ride was over.” Sophie laughed as she recalled that afternoon.

  I giggled. “You had to drag her off the horse while she was kicking and screaming. And then we took them for ice cream at La Buvette des Marionnettes and Claude dropped his ice cream and wanted to take his spoon and eat it off the ground. I’m so glad we’re not baby-sitting today.”

  After walking slowly through the park for an hour, we stopped at an épicerie and bought a baguette and a package of herb cheese from the grocer. We sat on a bench outside the store, tore off pieces of the bread, and dipped it in the cheese. Dinner was in about an hour, but since neither of us could wait that long, we decided to treat ourselves to a little amuse gueule—an appetizer. It would be about lunchtime now back at home. Maeve would adore Paris, I thought. All of
the couples walking by were holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes. So romantic.

  “I suppose we should head back now…Maman will be annoyed if we’re late. She’s been planning this dinner for three days!” Sophie brushed a few crumbs off her jeans as she stood up, and in a moment we were off, giggling through les rues de Paris—the streets of Paris—as though I’d never left.

  Bon Appétit

  Dinner was absolutely spectacular. I felt like I was at the Ritz—the Paris Ritz. All white linen, roses, candles, silver, and china. Monsieur Morel lit a fire in the dining room fireplace. The flames crackled on one side of me while the lights of Paris sparkled on the other. Madame Morel brought in each course from the kitchen—a simple, but elegant meal. We started with a small bowl of her famous sorrel soup, full of delicious leafy greens, onions, and potatoes. I inhaled it. Madame Morel was very pleased.

  Dad and I cooked together all the time, but our dinners were pretty informal, and we gobbled up the food in no time. I think it’s part of the fast-paced American life. Watching the Morels eat was like watching a ballet. Every movement was graceful. Conversation bubbled around me. Madame Morel, who worked at La Samaritaine, one of the largest department stores in Paris, told me all about her new job, and Sophie filled me in on the latest gossip from school. I tried not to slurp or spill the delicious soup as I listened intently.

  After the entrée—beef bourguignon—came the cheese tray. Monsieur Morel was a cheese exporter. He explained to me that a proper cheese tray has a variety of milks (cow’s, goat’s, and sheep’s) as well as a variety of textures (soft, medium, and hard); the variety makes the whole experience pleasing for the taste buds and the palate. He carefully carved tiny slices of cheese for me to sample. My favorite was the Doux de Montagne. It was delicious…creamy, nutty, and buttery all at once.

  When we’d all tried the different cheeses, Madame Morel took the cheese tray back to the kitchen and returned with crème brûlé for dessert.

  “Oh, this is my favorite dessert in the world!” I exclaimed as I spied the custard with the burnt sugar caramel on top.

  “But of course, Charlotte…I remembered how you loved it, but Sophie made sure to remind me just in case.” Madame Morel smiled.

  After dessert, Madame Morel served espresso to the adults. Sophie went to a cupboard and returned with a long rectangular box. Inside the box were ten different colored packets. Sophie carefully inspected the selection and then plucked a tiny magenta envelope. “Oui, raspberry, I think. And for you?” she asked, opening the tea box in my direction.

  The only kind of tea I drank was cold, had a big slice of lemon in it, and lots and lots of sugar. But when Sophie dropped the little baggy into her porcelain cup of steaming water and the rich, sweet scent of rosebuds and raspberries wafted through the air, I couldn’t resist.

  “If your Razzberry Pink’s store sold perfume, this is what it should smell like!”

  I agreed. Sophie was fascinated by the idea of a store devoted to pink.

  “Raspberry please, merci,” I said, trying to imitate Sophie’s graceful steps—tearing open the tea sachet and lowering the bag into the water. The sugar cubes were in a bowl nearby, but the tea smelled so sweet already I decided to skip the sugar and took a sip. BIG MISTAKE! The hot tea burned my tongue and it definitely wasn’t sweet.

  Sophie didn’t seem to notice my reaction as she lifted the cup with her wrist gracefully arched, her pinkie extended. She took a tiny sip and continued telling me about Philippe and Alain’s big presentation in science class the week before. I couldn’t help noticing how much Sophie sounded and looked like her mother as she spoke and daintily sipped her tea. I think Katani would call Madame Morel’s look “classic” and Sophie’s look “modern,” but they both had a certain flair that made it clear they were mother and daughter. Sophie and Katani should definitely meet someday, I thought.

  It was nearly nine thirty p.m. when we finished dinner.

  “May I help with the dishes?” I asked.

  “Oh, no, my dear Charlotte, merci beaucoup—thank you so much,” Madame Morel said, glancing at the clock. “It’s a school night for Sophie…you girls must get ready for bed. You have a busy week ahead of you, and you have had a very long day, Charlotte.”

  “Thank you for dinner, Madame Morel. It was delicious beyond belief,” I said.

  Madame grabbed my hands. “How you talk, Charlotte, so amusing. Je t’en prie, you’re welcome, my dear Charlotte. A special celebration for a great friend,” Madame Morel replied graciously.

  “Before you leave the table, we must make a toast,” Monsieur Morel announced.

  Everyone raised their glasses.

  “To Charlotte. Bienvenue à Paris,” Monsieur Morel clinked his glass against mine.

  “To Charlotte!” Sophie cheered.

  “To Madame Morel—for an amazing dinner,” I added.

  “To old friends.” Madame Morel smiled and raised her glass high.

  We all sipped our drinks and sat in silence for a few moments, full of good food and the memories of a wonderful evening.

  Sophie fell asleep right away that night. I, on the other hand, was still too wound up. Every cell in my body buzzed with excitement. Was it only this morning that I had been in my own bed all the way across the Atlantic? I knew I would never fall asleep if I continued tossing and turning, so I slipped out of my bed and tiptoed to Sophie’s desk. I started up the computer as quietly as I could and connected to the Internet.

  I checked the clock on the computer screen. Ten-fifteen p.m. I counted back on my fingers. Nine-fifteen. Eight-fifteen. Seven-fifteen. Six-fifteen. Five-fifteen. Four-fifteen. No wonder I wasn’t tired—it was only four-fifteen in the afternoon! Half of me was in America and the other half in Paris. Très bizarre! I thought.

  To: Katani, Maeve, Isabel, Avery

  From: Charlotte

  Subject: Hello from Paris!

  Dear BSG,

  I still can’t believe it…I’m actually here, in PARIS! I’m at Sophie’s apartment right now. Her mom made an amazing dinner to celebrate my visit. I forgot how good real French food tastes! The plane ride was fun. There was a nice man sitting next to me (Mr. Peckham) who I talked to, and that helped the time pass quickly. He’s from England, but he’s lived in Paris for over fifty years! Just wanted to say hello and tell you that je suis arrivée à Paris! Miss you lots!

  Bisous,

  Charlotte

  I was still wide awake, so I decided to check the Boston Globe website to see what was happening back home.

  Home, I thought. What a flip-flop! Just a short time ago I was wondering what was happening in Paris because I still considered it to be my home.

  Same old news. There was trouble in the Middle East. Would that ever change? I wondered. The front-page story was about a possible strike by public transportation workers. Blah, blah, blah, as Maeve would say. I was about to sign off, but I noticed the word “Picasso” under the Arts and Entertainment heading. I clicked on the story and scanned it quickly.

  A Picasso sketch had been stolen from a Boston home. Odd, I thought…Isabel had been so excited that I would get to see Picasso’s artwork in Paris, and the picture that had been taken was an original sketch from the neighboring community of Newton, not that far from where we lived in Brookline. The police had no leads on the thief, and the case was under investigation.

  When I turned off the light on the desk and logged off the computer, it was just after eleven p.m. Paris time—five o’clock at home. The computer desk was only five steps away from my roll-away bed, but as I crept back I somehow managed to trip over my suitcase. Thankfully, I caught myself on the edge of the bed, but cringed as my tiny flashlight rolled off the mattress and landed with a loud kerplunk on the hardwood floor. I peeked at Sophie, but she only squirmed and rolled over.

  I picked up the flashlight and quietly climbed back into bed. As I began to drift off to sleep, I dreamed of Orangina wandering the streets of Paris. He w
asn’t slinking around on all fours. Instead he was wearing a tuxedo, walking down the street like a regular person, and talking to me in a French accent. “Oh, my dear Charlotte, it is fantastique to have you back in Paris. Won’t you join me for a cup of tea? I want to tell you everything that’s happened since you went away.”

  5

  Le Dernier Cri

  THE LATEST FASHION

  When I woke up, the room was bathed in a soft light. I blinked as I tried to adjust to my surroundings. This wasn’t my bed. Where was Marty? Why wasn’t he curled in a ball at the foot of the bed? Then it hit me…I was in Paris.

  Sophie had closed the curtains to let me sleep, but she left a small lamp on so I wouldn’t be confused when I woke up. Her bed was empty. I looked at my watch. It said nine o’clock. I felt wide awake, which was especially surprising since it was three o’clock in the morning back in Boston.

  Yikes! Sophie must have left for school more than an hour ago. And I was supposed to go to school with her! Sophie’s parents both worked. Had they left me in the apartment alone?

  I grabbed my robe and stumbled into the living room. Even though the Paris sky was as gray as the rooftops, the Morels’ living room was filled with a soft, bright light. The light in Paris always made me feel like I was in a painting. It cast a glow that made everything seem more real and more magical at the same time. Maybe that’s why there are so many great French painters, I thought. I paused at the window and gazed out. Between rooftops of buildings cluttered with stacks of clay chimney pots, I caught a glimpse of the silver waters of the River Seine.

  “Bonjour!” Madame Morel called out cheerfully, stepping into the living room to join me.

  “Good morning, Madame Morel,” I replied. “I’m sorry I slept so late. I wish Sophie had woken me up for school!”

  “Do not worry, ma chérie. We decided that after your long day of travel, you should sleep well so you will feel rested. I have the day off from work today, so I will bring you to school in the afternoon…that will be plenty of time for a visit.”