Frankie in Paris

by Shauna McGuiness

  For the first time on our trip, I honestly felt a little afraid for our safety. I could hear screaming, and I couldn’t tell if it was in jest. A young woman swayed to the beat of distant music, a cigarette hanging from her lip. She was wearing a purple peasant skirt and a white blouse, but the blouse was unbuttoned to the waist, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. Her eyes were closed, and she didn’t seem to notice, but the group of men standing across from her sure did.

  We finally came to the now familiar door of the Hôtel de Lutèce.

  Henri was at his post. When he saw Lulu he shook his head. “Wild night, non?”

  “Oui. Wild.” He covered his mouth in mock horror.

  Lulu was practically sleepwalking, so I pulled her onto the elevator, off of the elevator, then to our room and used my key to open the door.

  I planted her on her bed, and she seemed more alert. “Thank you, dear,” she said.

  Dressing in her emerald pajamas and washing her face, Lulu looked like a little old woman leprechaun. I was surprised that she had the energy to get herself ready for bed, and she was deep into her dreams by the time I finished taking my turn in the bathroom, her small arms wrapped around the champagne bottle.

  I was so full of pent up frustration and irritation that I wanted to break something. The curtains began to swirl into a twist of fabric, and my bedspread lifted up toward the ceiling and scrunched into a tight ball. I needed to do something to turn my evening around, fast.

  It was nine in the morning at Rich’s house. I could have called him, but I didn’t want to go outside by myself this late. With the way that my day had gone, I was sure that someone would drive by in an unmarked car and throw me in the trunk. I would be forced into a life of prostitution or sent to some other country to do free labor.

  I didn’t even like doing the housework that my parents made me do. The thought of cleaning some stranger’s bathroom was not at all appealing. Not to mention the prostitution part, which was probably more likely. Honestly, I’d rather travel to Russia on vacation with Rich on our honeymoon, someday, than have to live there and work with other kidnapped women.

  Not wanting to tempt fate, I decided to write a letter. A small stack of Hôtel de Lutèce stationary was piled on the desk near our window. I beckoned a sheet of it to my bed and then called the city guide to use as a table. Sitting on the bed with my legs folded over each other, with my chin in my hands, I began to write. The pencil lifted up into the air and began to swirl across the page in neat, even cursive.

  ***

  Dear Rich,

  I hate it here. I want to go home RIGHT NOW. You would never believe how awful this day has been. We wandered around, providing entertainment for the general public, as always. I had to eat snails, and Lulu got drunk and yelled at everyone at the dinner show—which, by the way was a topless production. She sang on the Metro and some freaky guys tried to pick up on me. I never want to come to France again. I don’t know how I will last for the next two days! At the rate we’re going, we’re sure to injure someone or destroy something. The Eiffel Tower will be lying on its side when we’re through with it! I still don’t have any Docs. I was so close, too. I wish I were at home, with you. I wish we had gone on a European holiday. What was I thinking, coming here with her???

  Wish me luck,

  Frankie

  P.S. I haven’t used your money yet.

  ***

  I licked the envelope closed. I debated bringing it down to Henri, but decided to make the trip downstairs. Too amped to sleep, I just needed to get out of the room.

  ***

  Henri was wearing reading glasses and had a book on top of the counter, which he promptly hid when I approached.

  “Did you tuck her in?” He looked at me from over the spectacles. His eyes were kind and warm, like melted chocolate.

  “Yes.”

  “No offense intended, Mademoiselle, but you look très terrible.”

  “Yeah, well I feel très terrible.” I exaggerated my French accent and Henri snorted.

  “What are you reading?”

  “Eet eez a book about gardening.”

  “And do you garden, Monsieur Henri?”

  “Oui. I have un petit jardin at my home.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “Oui. One girl and one boy. Ages six and eight. They help me harvest.” He smiled.

  I nodded my head and wondered if he was a good father. He probably wished he were home right now. I know I did.

  “Can you please mail this for me?” I put the envelope on the counter.

  “Oui. Shall I beel eet to your room?” He said “beel” instead of “bill,” almost making me laugh.

  “Yes, please.” I was too tired to answer in any language other than English.

  “I weel put eet out tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.” Giving him a mini-wave, I headed back up to the room.

  ***

  I should have bought a beer from that redhead’s bag in the bathroom at Versailles.

  8

  Old Dead Napoleon and Other Colorful Characters

  I woke up before she did, which probably had never happened before. I couldn’t remember a single time that I had been in that little nest between the twin beds and she wasn’t already watching TV.

  Grampy would always bring her coffee every morning so she wouldn’t have to rise until she was well caffeinated. I always wondered how they had agreed on that arrangement. Maybe at their wedding, she made him say: “I pledge to love, honor, obey and deliver hot coffee to you every morning, as long as we both shall live.” I would have to remember that, for my someday nuptials.

  Could I convince Rich to bring me daily coffee in bed? I was pretty certain that he would.

  ***

  The stain above my head resembled George Washington’s profile today. There was a pointy nose on one end and a little curly ponytail on the other. Was it changing, or did it just seem that way? What would that say about me if it had been a psychological test?

  ***

  I tiptoed to the shower and washed off the Champs, The Lido, and the snails. I massaged bubbles into my scalp, rinsing them away with tepid water. Doing so made me feel so much better.

  As I scrubbed, I wondered what was in store for us today. Hopefully nothing that involved alligator bags or champagne, although if I was the one drinking the champagne, dealing with the alligator bags would be all the more pleasant.

  When I emerged from the bathroom, fully dressed with dripping hair, she was watching the news: or rather, seeing the news, but not really understanding it. I wrapped a towel around my head and sat on the room’s sole chair, working the terrycloth around the wet strands. We sat in silence for a while, the newscaster’s voice covering the hot topics of the day.

  “Whew! What a night!” She whistled. It wasn't clear whether she was embarrassed or not.

  “Yup. It was a doozy.” I grabbed my boots, pulling them on and beginning to lace them.

  “I’m so glad that I went. I offered to pay Henri to take you to the show. He said he was busy, but the other desk boy would have done it. I really enjoyed the show, though!”

  Only one lace was tied. “Did you just say that you tried to pay someone to take me to the topless production?” I was still bent over.

  “Well, yes, but I decided to go.”

  “You decided to go, but you had originally planned to send me out at night with a stranger? And you were going to pay him?” I finally straightened up and looked at her face.

  Maybe her over-priced champagne hangover had done something to her head because she still didn’t quite understand how I was feeling about this new information.

  “He seemed like a very nice boy. He was more than willing to do it. I haven’t been to The Lido in so long, though, so I thought that I should go.”

  “I’m sure he was more than willing to do it, Lulu! What decent young man wouldn’t agree to be a male escort and go on a free date?” The sarcasm was lost on her—or she
was ignoring it.

  “That’s what I was counting on. I am getting so that I don’t like to go out at night, and I thought you would enjoy yourself so much more if I could get someone young to take you out.”

  “Lulu! He could have been dangerous! What if you sent me out with a stranger and I never came back? What would my parents say? What would Rich say? Seriously!”

  “Oh, please! He couldn’t be dangerous! He has his eyebrow pierced, but who doesn’t, these days?”

  The urge to shake her was almost uncontrollable. I was on the verge of screaming. All of the items on the small dresser across from my bed began to vibrate, coming alive with my overwhelming frustration. I was seriously close to making keys, lipstick, a box of Kleenex, and the TV’s remote rise up and attack her. Instead, I left, mumbling something about getting coffee. With unbrushed hair and one shoe still untied, I headed for the elevator. The black string trailed along the floor until I stumbled over it and ran into the elevator door.

  I just couldn’t catch a break.

  Once inside, I fixed my boot, the laces making bunny ears and twisting into a knot while I stood tall with my eyes scrunched shut. At the lobby, the door opened, and the nice boy with the pierced eyebrow was standing there, as if he were waiting for my arrival.

  "Bonjour, Mademoiselle.” He smiled. His blonde hair was longish. It grew to his chin as Rich’s had when I had first met him. Bright green eyes sat underneath the silver hardware. I had originally thought that he had only one ring, but there were actually two additional piercings: very thin silver rings with tiny silver beads through the middle. The whole package was far from unappealing.

  Human traffickers don't have to be ugly. Looking down at my feet, I walked by him without answering. I could feel him watching me until he disappeared behind the elevator doors.

  ***

  Okay, it was time to mentally calculate how long I would be able to survive in France alone with a woman who wanted to employ someone to take me away. Could I remain living for two days? Would I make it home to my comparatively uneventful life? I probably would. But I couldn’t say the same for Lulu: if she continued in this vein, she wouldn’t make it past the afternoon—because I would kill her.

  ***

  I had grabbed my purse on the way out the door and was relieved because I didn’t remember picking it up. Taking my mother’s calling card out of my bag, I dialed Rich’s number. It would probably be around dinnertime at his house.

  No answer. How could he be out when I needed him? I had to tell him that my life was in danger! I wanted him to tell me that I was overreacting!

  “Hey—this is Rich. If you are hearing this, then I am O.U.T. You know what to do. Beeeeep.”

  “Uhm. Hi Babe. I... I... " A sob managed to escape. Sneaky thing. “Lulu is a mean, old woman and I can’t stay here with her anymore!” Not able to continue, I hung up the phone.

  I allowed myself to cry for ten or so seconds, then re-entered the hotel. SHE was waiting for me in the lobby.

  “Dear, you can’t just leave like that! I was afraid that I wouldn’t find you—I didn’t know where you had gone!” Ugh.

  Sitting through our carb-loaded breakfast, I wasn’t able to eat anything. Lulu took around a hundred and forty years to butter and ingest her food. Any time I saw a hotel employee, I imagined that they were looking at us, trying to figure out what kind of grandmother tries to sell her grandchild to a foreigner. Actually, I guess I was the foreigner in this case. Whatever.

  “We need to see Napoleon’s tomb today. Also, I think we should see the Louvre before it is too late. You can’t go to Paris and not see the Mona Lisa.”

  Why did we need to see Napoleon’s tomb? At this point I felt lucky not to be lying in my own tomb. I did want to visit the Louvre, though. I also wondered how my grandmother was going to handle all the walking.

  ***

  Lulu was wearing what looked like a sailor’s outfit.

  Both the blouse and the slacks were navy blue. The top had two rows of gold buttons running parallel from collar to waist, and there were navy and white stripes between them. A wide, white, square collar made her look like she was a part of some munchkin singing group.

  Her white flats were looking a little worse for wear. Black scuffmarks were smashed across the toes, and it looked like the rubber was beginning to detach from the left heel.

  And yet, somehow it all worked for her.

  How I love this woman: even if she had tried to pay someone to take me on a date.

  ***

  “Off we go,” she warbled, when she had finally, finally finished her habitual morning croissant.

  She reached into her purse and pulled out a scarf—a portrait of the famed Mona Lisa, silk-screened on the fabric. It was pretty enough, but when she tied it around her hair (why she did this, I don’t know—it wasn’t like we were planning on taking a breezy scooter ride through the city or anything) and turned around, the effect was comical. It was as though Da Vinci’s most famous muse was extremely short and walking backwards.

  Mona's face covered the back of Lulu’s head perfectly. If this didn’t proclaim “Tourist! Tourist! Tourist!” I didn’t know what possibly could. Where could she have found her artistic accessory? I hadn’t seen her buy it, so she must have brought it from home. Unbelievable: Lulu brought a French souvenir from the USofA.

  ***

  I followed the smiling (or maybe not: it’s so hard to tell!) woman to the Metro station.

  “Do we know where we need to get off?” I asked my grandmother.

  “I think so. I looked at the map this morning. I don’t remember the name of the street, but when I hear it, I will remember.”

  “Did you bring the map? I’ll figure it out.”

  “I left it in our room. You disappeared, and I was in a hurry to get dressed and find you.” Pursing her lips, she refused to look at me. I couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses, but I’m sure they were all ablaze with exasperation.

  Funny how she was so worried about me disappearing, all of a sudden! She turned her head to look out the window, and I found myself face to face with Mona again. I rolled my eyes at her, but she didn’t comment.

  Behind me sat a woman with a little boy.

  “Excusez moi,” I said, “Où est … uhm … Napoleon’s Tomb?” I tried to find the correct words.

  “Ah. Si vous trouvez l’Esplanade des Invalides, vous trouvez Napoleon.” I think she was trying to simplify the words, because she could tell that I was not a native speaker. What I gathered from her explanation was something like “If you find the Esplanade des Invalides, you find Napoleon.” That was helpful.

  “Merci beaucoup!” I nodded vigorously, and she smiled. The little boy giggled.

  The Metro had already made a stop, and the doors were closing. When I looked through the window, I saw that the sign on the station wall said “Esplanade des Invalides” in big, black letters. We were too late. The car was already on the move!

  “We missed it, Lulu!” I hissed.

  “Well, let’s get off at the next stop. It can’t be that far.”

  “But we won’t know where we are!”

  “We’ll ask someone. Besides, I used to live here. I ought to know my way around!” Flipping brilliant.

  We exited at the next stop and ended up on the street.

  “Okay, now what?”

  “You know, I don’t think you’re in a very good mood today!”

  “Really?” I seethed.

  “Yes, really. For someone who got to wake up in Paris, you sure are grumpy.”

  Almost being sold into slavery can do that to a person.

  “I’ll try to be less grumpy,” I promised through clenched teeth.

  ***

  The humidity pulled no punches and made quick work of making me sweat. Damned boots! I had worn an almost transparent skirt and a sleeveless sweater, but the black tights and clodhoppers brought my core temperature through the roof, as usual. I had dressed
in an optimistic mood, even adding color to my usual funereal attire.

  This was before I had found out about Lulu’s plans for me the previous night.

  My sweater was ribbed and cranberry red. I loved it because it stretched out around my breasts and made my waist look small. The skirt stopped just above my knees and had little buttons trailing down the front: it was black with white roses, and it twirled when I spun around. Not that I was doing a lot of spinning, lost out there on the street.

  ***

  It was quite evident that we had no idea where we had landed. I doubted that my grandmother had spent a lot of time on this particular corner forty years ago. If she had, it had been removed from her memory.

  “We need to get back on the train,” I told her.

  “What? Why?”

  “Because it is too hot to wander around looking for dead Napoleon. If we get back on the Metro, we can go back to the right stop.”

  Reluctantly, she looked around, giving her navigational skills one last chance. “Back on the train.” She turned and headed back to the station. Mona stared at me, unblinking.

  I didn’t think she was smiling anymore.

  ***

  I am not sure what happened next, but I found myself lying on the street—on top of Lulu. My skirt was around my waist, and my elbow hurt like crazy. Muffled moaning could be heard beneath me.

  “Oh my God! Lulu, are you alright?”

  A man ran toward us and helped me up, then reached for Lulu and hauled her to a standing position.

  “Mon Dieu!” he exclaimed. “What happened?”

  Glasses askew, the right side considerably higher than the left, Lulu adjusted them and wiped dirt off of her knees.

  “I tripped.” She touched her hair and made sure that she still had her purse.

  My injured elbow was scraped and slightly bloody. The man looked at the two of us and shook his head.

  “Au revoir,” he said, as he walked away. I wouldn’t want to be a part of this either.

  “Can you walk?” Since I had fallen on top of her, I was worried. I was much larger than she and capable of damage.

  “Of course I can walk! I just tripped on something, that’s all. I am fine. I want to see Napoleon. Now let’s go!”