by Alix Nichols
I hand Ioana the bakery bag. “I brought some chocolatines.”
“What’s that?” Liviu runs out of his room and shakes my hand.
“Oh, right! You don’t use that word in Paris. In Bordeaux and the southwest we call chocolatine the pastries Parisians call pain au chocolat.”
“Cool,” Liviu says. “Give me another Bordeaux expression!”
“Um… let’s see… Nothing comes to mind.” I smile. “How about you give me a Romanian one?”
Dana comes out, wearing skinny jeans and a roomy sweater. I look at her, and my stomach contracts as if it has been punched. It’ll pass, I tell myself. I always get this violent reaction the moment I see her, my hands so keen to touch her that I have to ball them into fists and press them to my sides. But once the initial shockwave has rolled through me, it gets better. More manageable.
We exchange cheek kisses and I follow her to the table in the front room.
“I can’t think of any Romanian expressions,” Liviu says before turning to his gran. “Help?”
“We call lies ‘doughnuts,’ ” Ioana says. “And we call messes ‘cabbage.’ ”
Liviu’s turns to me. “That’s true! She uses those all the time. Like when Baloo turns the loge upside down, grandma says it’s cabbage.”
“Coffee or tea?” Dana asks.
“Coffee, please.” I turn to Liviu. “I have a Bordeaux expression for you! You’re a droll.”
“You mean I’m funny?”
“No, I mean you’re a kid. We call kids ‘drolls’ in Bordeaux.”
Liviu arches an eyebrow. “Because we make you think of trolls?”
“Not me, no, but my best friend Yacine? Yes, definitely.”
Ioana serves the first batch of her divine pancakes, which are called clatite in Romanian. I eat one, then another. They aren’t bad, but frankly, my mom’s crepes are better. Way better.
“I didn’t realize Bordeaux had local words like that,” Dana says. “But now that you mention it, why shouldn’t it? Why should only Paris have distinctive expressions?”
“Is there a Parisian word you find weird?” Liviu asks.
Ioana places two more crepes on my plate. “Eat, eat.”
While chewing, I give Liviu’s question some thought. “Here in Paris, you call all the countryside within a two hours’ drive ‘The Suburb’ as if it were a single entity.”
“In a way it is,” Dana says, smiling.
“In what way? A suburb in the northeast and a suburb in the southwest have less in common with each other than two random countries.”
Dana laughs. “Don’t overthink it. ‘The Suburb’ simply stands for ‘within a day trip from Paris.’ That’s all.”
“With the super-fast TGV train, even Bordeaux—hell, all of France—is part of ‘The Suburb’ then,” I say.
She places her hand on mine and bats her eyelashes. “Is that a problem?”
Liviu giggles.
“No.” My voice dropping to a hoarse whisper from her touch. “Not a problem at all.”
She takes her hand away.
When we finish the last pancake, Ioana makes me put my hand over my heart.
“Why?” I ask.
“So that you speak the truth.”
“Err… OK.” I do as I’m told.
“Now tell me what you think of my clatite.”
“Divine,” I say at once. “There’s no other word for it. They were di-vine.”
She puffs out her chest and beams with gratification.
Winking, Dana blows me a kiss.
I feel ridiculously pleased with life in general, and with myself in particular.
“Anyone feel like a walk to digest our delicious breakfast?” I ask.
“You go,” Ioana says. “I’ll stay home with Baloo. He and I, we don’t like walking in the rain.”
A few minutes later, Dana, Liviu and I head out armed with umbrellas. But it’s windy, and our umbrellas don’t handle it very well, threatening to break.
“I have a Plan B,” I say. “We duck into the Passage des Panoramas, and then maybe catch a show at Le Grand Rex.”
They tell me it’s a great plan.
We accelerate, turn left onto Boulevard Poissonnière, and five minutes later, we’re shielded from the raging elements by the glass roof and stone walls of the Passage. With its floor tiles, wrought iron and polished wood, the place holds a decidedly retro charm.
“Do you know when it was built?” I ask Dana.
“No. Do you?”
“In 1800,” I say. “It’s the oldest surviving passage in Paris.”
Liviu whistles. “That’s, like, more than two hundred years old!”
“I know, right?” I flash him a proud smile. “I looked it up the other day, trying to learn more about my neighborhood.”
“What else did you learn”? Dana asks as we progress through the colorful passageway.
Liviu hops along ahead of us, gaping at the exotic shops and eateries.
“The purpose of this and other passages was to give moneyed Parisians a comfortable shopping experience,” I say.
“I’m sure they loved it.” Dana bunches her eyebrows into a little roof over her eyes. “The elegant nineteenth-century mesdames and messieurs must’ve appreciated being able to shop away from the muddy, smelly streets of the time.”
I look around, imagining this place in the light of gas lamps as we stroll through it. In costume. “I’d have a top hat and a walking cane. A proper dandy.”
Dana grins. “And I’d be a beauty with my waist corseted, my breasts pushed up, and my derriere padded.”
I itch to tell her she doesn’t need any of those things to be a beauty, but instead I say, “You’d have a huge wide-brimmed hat.”
She strikes a coquettish pose. “And a tiny hat veil.”
“And a white parasol,” I add. “You’d look smashing.”
Liviu stops in front of a bric-a-brac shop called Fallen Out of a Truck and points to a necklace in the window. “Mami, would you like that for your birthday? I’ve saved enough.”
“It’s lovely,” Dana says, “but there’s no way I’ll let you break your piggy bank for that.”
“When exactly is your birthday?” I ask her.
“Mom’s turning thirty next Friday!” Liviu answers for her.
“I won’t be celebrating it,” Dana says quickly. “I never do.”
“Grandma says you should celebrate this one.”
Dana waves her hand dismissively. “She’s making a huge deal out of the round number, like it makes any difference.”
“It does,” I say.
“Why?”
I give her an impatient can’t-you-see look. “Because it’s round, dummy.”
She rolls her eyes, and we change the topic.
But my head is already spinning with the possibilities.
17
The million-euro question is, what do you get a friend on her birthday when all the following apply:
One, she’s amazing, and you really, really like her, so you want to give her something personal.
Two, she’s turning thirty—a round date—so the present must be special. And pricey.
Three, you’ve had sex and walked away from it because of reasons, so the gift can’t be too personal.
And four, movies are her biggest hobby, so that could be an option, but a ticket or a DVD isn’t pricey enough, and you can’t afford to buy her a movie theater.
In the end, I settled on a two-part approach.
The first part consists of two ten-ticket passes to Le Grand Rex, one for her and one for Liviu. I also got one for myself in case she suggests I tag along.
The second part involves a three-day event to mark Dana’s thirtieth birthday befittingly.
On Friday evening, I will take her and Liviu to dinner at Bouillon Chartier. On Saturday, I’ll close the clinic and drive them to Monet’s Gardens in Giverny. For once, the weather app on my phone promises a sunny, warm day with n
o rain. It would be unforgivable not to take advantage of that.
On Sunday, the three of us will hop on a train to Bordeaux and join Yacine, Fred, and Phil for our monthly jamming session in Fred’s house. My three childhood friends and I are terrible musicians, but that’s beside the point. Our jamming sessions are more a pretext to hang out together than an attempt to make art in the form of music.
When I laid the program out to Dana, she said it sounded great, but it was impossible for her to do all those things over a single weekend.
Begrudgingly, I agreed to downscale the celebrations to only two events. She picked the Friday dinner and the visit to Giverny on Saturday.
Then both of us received invites to a party that Dana’s friends were throwing for her at La Bohème, on Friday night. Manon said they wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Dana called me. “Rain check for the Bouillon Chartier dinner?”
“No problem, on condition you and Liviu come with me to Bordeaux on Sunday.” Before she could object, I added, “I look forward to meeting your entire gang.”
She laughed. “It’s not a gang, it’s a pack. If everyone shows and alcohol is consumed, things might get intense.”
“Now I’m really curious.”
She huffed a sigh. “All I wanted was just to veg in front the TV in my pj’s and bunny slippers.”
“Damn friends! What a nuisance,” I said heartily.
“I know, right?” I could hear the suppressed laughter in her voice. “A total waste of time.”
We hung up without her getting a chance to say no to Bordeaux.
Within minutes, I was online purchasing three sets of nonrefundable TGV tickets, and effectively leaving Dana no choice. I knew her well enough by now to predict that the prospect of throwing away two TGV tickets would bother her enough to guarantee that she and Liviu would make the Bordeaux trip with me, Even if she meant to pass on it.
I still feel ambivalent about my maneuver. A part of me is proud of my cleverness, but another part is ashamed of how underhanded it was.
But what’s done is done.
It’s eight thirty when I close the clinic for the rest of the weekend and head to La Bohème. The door is locked. I ring, and a waiter lets me in. The bistro is filled with people. Some of them I’ve met before, but unfamiliar faces prevail.
The establishment’s owner, Jeanne, walks over to me as I’m scanning the crowd for Dana. “Glad you could make it, Dr. Thomas!”
Jeanne and Manon have found Ioana’s way of addressing me perfect. “At once friendly and respectful of your noble profession,” Manon recently explained. So, they’ve adopted it. I tried to talk them out of it, but in vain.
“Come, come!” Jeanne leads me across the room to the table with drinks.
Someone thrusts a champagne flute into my hand just as I finally spot Dana. She’s wearing a pretty cream dress and glossy red lipstick. My stomach tightens. Her cheeks turn pink when she catches me leering. I give her a clumsy smile.
“Silence, please!” Jeanne taps her knife to the side of her flute. “We are here today to celebrate a birthday. A round birthday. Dana is turning twenty.”
“No, I’m—” Dana begins to protest.
“Give or take a decade,” Jeanne says.
Manon raises her glass. “You’re entering the best phase of your life.”
“Of your sexual life, at any rate,” a classy blonde in a well-cut business suit adds.
Dana drops her head into her hands.
“What?” The woman bristles. “That’s a scientific fact. Women experience their best orgasms after thirty.”
A black-haired man next to her stifles a smile.
“And that,” Jeanne adds, taking over, “deserves a celebration. Happy birthday, Dana!”
Jeanne’s husband, Mat, whom I’ve met once before, points to the tables with delicious-looking food. “Eat, drink, and be merry!”
Manon hands Dana an envelope. “It’s from all of us!”
Thanking everyone, Dana opens it. Inside, there’s a big birthday card, and a gift card for Galeries Lafayette.
Her eyes become perfectly round. “You’re nuts! I can’t accept this. It’s… it’s too much!”
“Your loge is ridiculously small and too crowded as it is,” the candid blonde says. “So, we figured we’d chip in for a gift card, and you can use it any way you want.”
Manon pats Dana’s shoulder. “And don’t worry, louloutte, everyone contributed according to the size of their pocketbook.” She points to the blonde and another woman. “Amanda and Lena, for example, shelled out way, way more than I did.”
“I don’t know what to say.” Dana’s face is flushed as her gaze travels between her friends. “Thank you all so very much!”
“Go crazy, get yourself some ridiculously overpriced clothes and jewelry,” the blonde says.
A young boy of five or six tugs at a well-dressed woman’s sleeve. “Mom, Amanda is being ironic, right?”
“He’s just learned the concept of irony,” the woman explains to the others.
Jeanne hunkers down in front of him. “I’m afraid she meant it literally.”
“What’s literally?” he asks.
“Without irony,” Amanda explains. “I want Dana to buy herself something extravagant, something she’d never consider otherwise.”
He turns to Dana, bright-eyed. “Buy a helicopter!”
“You mean one of those remote-controlled toy helicopters Liviu used to have?” Dana asks, ruffling his hair.
His eyes widen. “Can that card buy a real one?”
“Afraid not,” Jeanne says. “For a real one you’ll need to borrow one of your grandpa Anton’s cards.”
The woman scowls at her friend. “Jeanne! You know Rob and I are trying to raise the kids to be normal people, not spoiled brats.”
“I know, hon. Sorry. The words were out before I could stop myself.” Flashing the woman an apologetic smile, Jeanne scurries away.
Finally, I get a chance to walk over to Dana.
“Your friends seem to like you,” I say, smiling.
“I had no idea they’d come up with such a diabolical plan!” She shakes her head in reproach, but she does look pleased. Mighty pleased.
It’s a joy to see her feeling happy. I find myself wanting to see her like this more often. In this moment, drinking in the happiness in her eyes, I find myself wanting to cause her to feel this way. Often. Always.
The thought staggers me.
Luckily, there’s a distraction. A young waiter carrying a tray with clean wine glasses trips and falls, breaking the glasses. Everyone rushes to her, asking if she’s all right. Manon rolls her eyes and strides to the kitchen.
As the server heaves herself up, unhurt, Amanda points to her high heels. “That was not a very smart idea.”
I whisper in Dana’s ear, “Amanda doesn’t seem to be a kind sort.”
“No,” Dana says. “Amanda isn’t kind, not conventionally, anyway. But she’s always been nice to me. And she’d never, ever trash anyone behind their back. Only in their face.”
Glowering, the waiter points at Amanda’s attire. “You have an office job, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what I thought.” She jerks her chin up. “You have no idea how hard waiting tables is. If you tried it for yourself—”
“I have, as it happens,” Amanda sneers. “A few years back, I spent a summer waiting tables in this very bistro.”
The younger woman narrows her eyes at Amanda.
“Ask Manon, if you don’t believe me.” Amanda taps Manon’s back who’s busy cleaning up the mess. “Can you confirm I worked here?”
“It’s true,” Manon says.
“See?” Amanda arches an eyebrow at the girl. “I knew nothing when I started, but I had a great mentor.”
“Who? Manon?”
Amanda wags her finger. “Uh-uh. Amar. He quit a couple of years ago and moved abroad. But he was a great guy.”
/>
“Not true,” Manon says. “He wasn’t a great guy.”
Amanda shoots her a sympathetic look. “You have every right to be mad at him, even if I still think there’s more to his sudden relocation than meets the eye.”
“There isn’t.” Manon straightens. “And anyway, the two of you locked horns nonstop while you worked here. How can you say he was a good guy?”
“Because it’s perfectly possible to lock horns nonstop with someone, and still think they’re amazing.” She shrugs. “Ask Kes.”
“That’s her husband,” Dana whispers to me.
Manon picks up the bag of broken glasses and turns to the clumsy server. “Get the mop.”
“You know what?” The young woman unties her apron and tosses it to the floor. “I’ve had enough. You were right. This job is not for me.”
She storms out before anyone has a chance to say anything.
“I told you it gets intense with everyone around,” Dana whispers near my face.
I breathe in her scent and clasp my hands together to keep them from pulling her to me. “It sure does.”
18
We’re speeding toward Giverny, which is only an hour’s drive from Paris. I’m at the wheel, Dana is in the seat beside me, and Liviu in the back.
She’s been raving for the better part of the trip about the Grand Rex passes I gave her. According to Dana, the best part is that with those babies, she and Liviu will be able to go there on a whim, whenever the fancy takes them. The other advantage is that they can do evening shows and movies in 3D without worrying about the price.
Then, finally, the question I was hoping for comes. “Will you join us sometimes?”
I keep my eyes on the road ahead and my tone level. “Yeah, sure.”
“Excellent,” she says.
“Cool!” Liviu echoes from behind.
We drive in silence for a short while with my attention focused on the road signs and the GPS. I don’t know “The Suburb” well enough—not at all, to be more exact—to rely on my own sense of direction.
“Is Nico still on his best behavior?” I ask when we hit the home stretch.
