A Summer in Paris

by Cynthia Baxter

  “Mom, Dad, I’ve reached kind of a decision. I’m, uh, hoping you’ll support me in it, because I’ve given it a lot of thought ... and I know that it’s what’s really best for me.”

  “Go on,” her mother said in a pinched voice.

  “I’ve decided that when the summer is over, I’m ... uh, I’m ...” Nina took a deep breath and then let out a sigh. “I’m going to stay here in Paris.”

  “What?” her father cried. “You’re going to do what?”

  “I’m going to stay—”

  “Nina, have you completely lost your senses?” Mr. Shaw barked. “What on earth are you talking about? What about college? Just yesterday in the mail you got your class schedule. You were even accepted into that creative writing class you wanted to take.”

  “That’s ... that’s great, Dad. And, in fact, writing happens to be one of the reasons I’ve decided to stay here. I thought being on my own in Paris would give me a good chance to try doing some serious writing. Of course, I’ll get a job, too, something to support me—”

  “I think I understand what’s going on here,” her mother interrupted. “You’ve met a boy, haven’t you, Nina?”

  “Have you, Nina?” her father echoed.

  “Why, yes, as a matter of fact. I wrote you about him. His name is Pierre du Lac, and you’ll never believe—”

  “Now that’s just great,” Mr. Shaw said. “You’re going to throw away your college education, your whole future, for some ... some French boy you’ve got a silly crush on.”

  “It’s not like that!” Nina found herself doing precisely what she had promised herself she wouldn’t do: exploding. “You just don’t understand! Pierre and I love each other! And that’s only part of it. Don’t you see? I want to live here! I love it in Paris. I belong here. It’s ... it’s not like Connecticut, and it’s not some boring, sleepy little town. And the Sorbonne is filled with exciting people who are really interested in doing something with their lives.”

  “Nina, this is utterly ridiculous,” Mr. Shaw said. “You’re talking like a child. I thought you knew better than to lose your head over some stupid boy. Now listen to me. You’re coming back with the other students from your school, just as we’ve planned all along, and that’s final.”

  There were tears in Nina’s eyes, but her voice sounded controlled as she said, “No, Daddy. This is one time when I know what I really want. I know I’ve never gone against your wishes before, not even for the smallest thing. I took the courses you wanted me to take in school; I applied to the college you wanted me to go to.... I even decorated my bedroom to suit you and wore clothes that you approved of.

  “But I’m not a little girl anymore. This time I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to stay in Paris.”

  * * * *

  “I have the best news, Pierre!” Nina announced in her flawless French.

  It was two days after her triumphant phone call to her parents—her “declaration of independence,” as she now thought of it. Since then, she had been walking on air. But she had been doing even more than that: she had been making plans.

  Now, as she threw open the door of the art studio, almost bursting with her good news, she found Pierre exactly as she had expected to find him: standing at his easel, paintbrush in hand, taking advantage of the last rays of the late afternoon sun. Set up in front of him on a wooden straight-back chair was a vase of wildflowers, vibrant shades of purple and blue and yellow. Directly behind it was the backdrop he had made by draping blue fabric across the back of the chair.

  Nina glanced over at the setup, noting that the arrangement of flowers was actually rather ordinary. On Pierre’s canvas, however, it looked magnificent.

  But she was not here to be an art critic.

  “It’s really wonderful news,” she went on, crossing the room. “See if you can guess.”

  “I know,” he said, depositing his brush in a glass jar of turpentine. “You had lunch today with a publisher who is begging you to let him publish your first novel—whenever it is finished.”

  Nina giggled and threw her arms around Pierre. “No, that hasn’t happened yet.”

  “Not yet, but someday.” Pierre frowned. “Let me see ... I know! You stayed up all night and wrote the first chapter of your book.”

  “Pierre, maybe I’d better just come right out and tell you,” Nina said with a sigh. “Otherwise, this could take all day.”

  “Believe me, there is no other way I would prefer to spend a day, other than talking to you. Unless, of course,” Pierre added with a sly grin, “I could spend the whole day kissing you.”

  “Not now, my sweet.” Gently she pushed him away, then pranced around the room in front of him. “Guess again!”

  “I’ve got it! You have decided to become a ballerina.”

  “No.” She stopped dancing and folded her arms across her chest. “Pierre,” she said, her face flushed, “I found myself a place to live!”

  In response to his puzzled expression, she went on, “You see, I can only stay with the Rousseaus until the end of the month. That was the original plan, after all. Anyway, when I decided to stay in Paris after the summer is over, I knew I had to find an apartment. I mentioned it to the Rousseaus, and it turned out that Madame Rousseau has a sister with a town house not too far from here.

  “And,” she continued gleefully, clapping her hands, “Madame’s sister will be thrilled to rent me the top floor! I haven’t seen it yet, but she says there’s a bathroom up there, and while I won’t have my own kitchen, I can use the woman’s any time I want. She’s hardly ever around, since she works for Air France and is always traveling ... So?” Nina threw her arms out, as if she were asking a question. “What do you think?”

  He stared back at her, blinking. “It sounds too wonderful to be true. When do I get to see it?”

  With a twinkle in her dark brown eyes, Nina reached into the pocket of her jeans and pulled out a shiny gold key. “Is the prospect of seeing my first apartment enough to drag you away from your painting?”

  “Nina,” he replied, coming over to her and taking her arm, “have I ever been able to say no to you?”

  * * * *

  The apartment on the top floor of Madame Rousseau’s sister’s house was even better than what Nina had been expecting. It consisted of two good-sized rooms plus a bathroom, all on the third floor of a narrow brick house no more than half a mile away from Pierre’s art studio. The rooms were bright and airy with large windows and pale green walls. There were even a few pieces of furniture: a sagging couch and a table in the front room, a bed and a large wooden dresser in the other.

  To some people, it probably wouldn’t have looked like much. But to Nina, it was heaven on earth.

  “Pierre, this is fantastic!’ she cried, walking back and forth between the two rooms, still barely able to believe her good luck. “I’ll make this room a combination living room and study. I’ll get a big wooden desk for that corner over there, so I can work in front of that big window. I’ll get something serious-looking, the kind of thing a writer would use. And I’ll make this smaller room in the back the bedroom. I’ll make it come alive with pastels. I’ll fill it with wonderful fabrics and rag rugs and vases of fresh flowers....”

  “Don’t forget the paintings,” Pierre said.

  “The paintings? What paintings?”

  “Why, my paintings, of course. The ones I’m going to create for you. If you’d like, you can line your walls with them.”

  He was only half-teasing as he added, “Of course, I do have an ulterior motive.”

  “You do?” Nina blinked. “What’s that?”

  “I want you to think about me all the time.”

  Nina’s confused expression melted into a smile.

  “Ah, Pierre,” she said, throwing her arms around his neck, “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

  As they strolled back to the Rousseaus’ to return the key Madame had lent her, Nina grew more pensive.

 
“Now almost everything is in place,” she said, jamming her hands deep inside the pockets of her jeans.

  “Almost?” Pierre seemed surprised. “And here I was just thinking about how impressed I was that you’d already taken care of every detail.”

  “Almost every detail.” Nina frowned. “I still need a job. I know finding one won’t be easy, since it’s not that simple for a foreigner like me, someone without French citizenship, to get working papers.”

  “Hmmm.” Pierre was pensive. “How much money do you think you’ll need to make?”

  “I think I’ll be able to live on very little. The rent that Madame’s sister is charging me is such a small amount. I think that more than anything, she’s just happy to have someone staying in her house since she’s away so much. And my expenses will be low. I can eat cheaply, and it’s not as if I have expensive art supplies to buy, the way you do....” She glanced over at Pierre. “Any ideas about what kind of job I could get?”

  Pierre shook his head. “I am afraid not. But don’t lose heart. You still have some time left before the summer ends.”

  Nina didn’t reply. She was too busy thinking, Yes, there’s still some time ... but not very much.

  And she knew perfectly well that without a job-some kind of job, any kind of job—her dream of staying here, of living in Paris, would simply fade away, gone before it had ever become a reality.

  Chapter 9

  “Kristy! Wait until you hear what has happened!”

  There was a jubilant expression on Alain’s face when Kristy came out of her last class of the morning and found him out in the hall, waiting for her. His green eyes were shining, and the smile on his face was so big and bright that it made his entire face light up.

  “What is it? Alain, what happened?” His excitement, she was finding, was contagious.

  “Oh, Kristy. I do not know where to begin.”

  “Can’t you just come right out and tell me?”

  Alain’s smile faded into a frown. “Well ... I would like to, but it is not quite that simple.”

  “What are you talking about, Alain? What is not so simple? Now I’m really confused.”

  He hesitated for a moment before saying, “Kristy, I think you had better sit down. Come, let us go get some lunch. I will tell you then.”

  The ten minutes between the time Alain announced that he had some important news to tell her and the time that the two of them were finally sitting on a bench in a small park near the Sorbonne, holding croissants filled with ham and cheese, seemed endless to Kristy. She had no idea what Alain had to tell her, but she had the sneaking suspicion that what was good news for him might well turn out to be not such good news for her.

  “We’re sitting down now,” she said impatiently, ignoring her sandwich. “Now tell me, before I scream.”

  “All right. But I have to go back a little bit. Kristy, I told you back when you and I first met that I was interested in geology. And I believe I mentioned that my parents have never exactly been supportive of the idea of me following a career studying rocks.” He made a face as he said, “They have always had more ... shall we say, predictable plans for me.”

  Kristy wasn’t sure she understood, but she nodded anyway. “Go on.”

  “Anyway, I secretly applied to a special program at a college with a very strong geology department, without telling them that no matter what they thought, I was still very serious about getting a Ph.D. in this field. They found out my little secret by accident, when the school wrote to me to ask for more information about my studies.” With a frown, he explained, “They happened to see the envelope before I had a chance to hide it from them.”

  This was becoming more and more mysterious to Kristy. Why on earth would Alain’s parents be against his studying geology ... and getting a Ph.D. in such a respectable field, no less?

  While she was trying not to prolong the introduction to his “good news” any more than necessary, she couldn’t resist asking, “Alain, why are they so against this? It sounds wonderful to me.”

  He looked at her sadly. “Because they want me to take over the family business.”

  “Oh.” Finally it was beginning to make some sense. “You mean their little store on the outskirts of Paris.”

  Alain nodded.

  “But here you have an interest in doing something so much more important than simply running a tiny shop! You want to go on to get a good education for yourself, probably to be more successful than anyone else in your family has ever been. Why aren’t they glad about that?”

  “Because running the store is a family tradition. My grandfather started the business, and my father took it over after he finished his schooling. My parents always just assumed that when I finished at the Sorbonne—when I got bored with playing with my rocks and stones, was the way they put it—I, too, would be ready to learn the family business so I could continue to run it.”

  Kristy shrugged. “I guess people just feel differently here than they do in America. Most people would be thrilled if their kids wanted to get a Ph.D. Anyway, go on, Alain. You still haven’t told me what your good news is.”

  “A few months ago, when my parents saw the envelope from the school I had applied to, we all sat down and had a long talk about my future. I tried very hard to make them understand about the things that are important to me. When I managed to make them see how much it means to me, they finally agreed that if—if—I got into this special program, they would send me off with their blessing. No more talk about the store. But if I wasn’t accepted into the program—”

  “But I bet you were, right?”

  Alain nodded, his face relaxing into a huge grin.

  “Oh, Alain! I’m so thrilled for you!” Kristy threw her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re going to get to do what you really want.”

  “Yes, but that’s not even the very best part,” Alain said, drawing away from her so he could see her face. “Kristy, I can hardly wait to tell you the rest of this.”

  “Then don’t wait,” Kristy said, laughing. “What is it, Alain?”

  He took a deep breath before speaking. He was still wearing his huge smile as he said, “The school I’m going to is in Boston, Massachusetts. The same city where you are going to college in the fall!”

  Suddenly the true meaning of his words dawned on her. Alain was coming to the United States to study. That was wonderful for him, but it meant that he was going to find out that she was a fraud!

  Her spirits instantly sank. It was suddenly clear to her that what had begun as a kind of prank, an experiment to see what life would be like if she truly were the person she had always dreamed of being, had seriously backfired. As soon as Alain found out how sneaky she had been, he would want nothing to do with her. He would see her for what she really was ... not only someone capable of tricking him for weeks on end, but also someone who, in reality, was a social zero, an absolute nothing. Whatever friendship existed between her and Alain, whatever romance was beginning to blossom ... it would all be crushed when he found out that she was a phony.

  Kristy felt like crying. But she knew that, for now at least, she had to pretend that everything was fine, that her happiness for him over being accepted into the academic program that was so important to him was untainted.

  “Oh, Alain, that’s so great,” she cooed. “Really. I couldn’t be happier for you.”

  “Not only for me, also for us!” he proclaimed triumphantly. “Kristy, this means we can still be together in the fall! We will be living in the same city. We don’t have to go off on our separate ways just because the summer is over. Everything is working out perfectly.”

  Kristy forced a smile. “Everything is perfect,” she said. “Completely, utterly perfect.”

  But she could already see the writing on the wall.

  “Here, let me take your picture,” Alain was saying, reaching for her camera. “I want to remember exactly how you look today. The day you found out that you and I were going to
be together! I want to record this day, a day that for both of us is the best day of our lives!”

  “Sure, Alain. Go ahead.”

  Halfheartedly Kristy struck a pose, hoping the two-dimensional, black-and-white image wouldn’t expose the truth—that instead of its being the best day of her life, this was one of the worst.

  * * * *

  “How about waitressing?” Kristy suggested, her tone of voice making it clear that she was trying to be helpful.

  She was sitting cross-legged on the floor of the sunny front room on the third floor of Madame Rousseau’s sister’s house, the room that Nina was planning to turn into a living room and study when she moved in at the end of the summer. Immediately after their morning classes that day, Nina had insisted on bringing her two best friends over for a look at the dream apartment that, hopefully, would soon be hers.

  “If you worked as a waitress, you could make a lot of money from tips,” Kristy went on enthusiastically. “Hey, I know. Since you speak English, maybe you could work in a restaurant that specializes in tourists.”

  Nina, sitting on the floor beside her, made a face. “I don’t want to live in Paris so that I can work around other Americans! Besides, restaurants are run differently here, remember? We learned that in our class on French culture. Waiters and waitresses don’t get tipped in cash, the way they do at home. In France, a fifteen-percent service charge is automatically added on to every bill.”

  “Why anybody would want to stay here at all is beyond me,” Jennifer grumbled, lounging on the threadbare couch. The oversized piece of furniture looked rather lonely, parked the way it was in the middle of the room. “I mean, this apartment is nice and everything, but I’m already counting the days until I can go home.”

  “Jen, you’ve been doing that since the moment we stepped off the plane,” Kristy shot back.

  Nina, meanwhile, chose to ignore Jennifer.

  “Even waitressing would require working papers,” she said, staring out the window at the charming town houses lined up below. There was also a small grocery across the street, an épicier. Already she was longing to make stopping in there for cheese and fruit and French bread a part of her everyday routine. In fact, just thinking about it made her heart ache with longing for the romantic, totally free existence that she imagined living in Paris would provide for her.