by J. J. Kapka
Maddie was torn, remembering the noise of being on the street at the first hotel, yet feeling she would deprive herself of Parisian scenery if she were to take a room on the inside. “I know this sounds strange, but could I see both?”
The lady smiled. “Mais oui—yes, of course.” Pivoting around in her small receptionist space, she collected two keys from the wooden cubbyholes behind her. Handing them to Maddie, she directed her to the elevator nearby with instructions to leave her luggage downstairs, saying it could be delivered by the bell cap to whichever room she chose.
Both rooms were up on the third floor at either end of a narrow hallway. Turning right after stepping off the elevator, Maddie first set out to inspect the room facing the street. She cranked open the window and craned her neck both ways to see if she could catch a glimpse of anything at all. She was disappointed to find that, while the room was quite pretty, it didn’t afford much of a view after all. Her mind mostly made up, she checked out the interior room and found that it was just as well appointed as the first, but with a more private and quiet feel to it. Yes, this one will do quite nicely, she thought to herself with satisfaction.
~~~
July 1—Late Afternoon
Within half an hour, Maddie had registered, had her bags delivered, and had unpacked as much as she felt she’d use over the next few days. She decided to go out and explore the immediate vicinity, maybe even scout out a place to eat dinner. The Place Madeleine itself seemed pregnant with possibilities, if her initial impressions had been correct.
Circumnavigating the Place, Maddie found it overwhelming in its gustatory temptations. Fauchon, another famous gourmet provisioner, occupied at least five distinct shops along the square, from charcuterie, to confectionary, to market-cum-food court. Equally tempting were two different store/restaurants, one devoted to caviar, and another to truffles. On yet another quadrant of the square sat a wine bar with a restaurant where the staff matched the food to suggested wines, rather than vice versa. Last, on the far side of the square, Maddie spied another shop, which might have been described as a tearoom in England, displaying an eye-catching array of prototypical French pastries in the window.
All this bounty could be found within the circumference of the Place, and didn’t include the tempting alleys and small streets radiating out in all directions from this culinary hub. Of course, there was the church in the center of the square itself, the titular Madeleine. It was as restrained, perhaps even austere, a rendition of the genre as she’d ever seen. Maddie chuckled at the intermingling within the square of the two extremes of sublime: heavenly and earthly. How appropriate for the French to conveniently co-locate nourishment for the soul and the flesh, separated only by the throbbing rhythms of the Parisian traffic flowing around the church. One could either see the church as isolated by the seething activity of the square which surrounded it, or protected in an oasis of calm from the ceaseless onslaught of life in one of the world’s busiest cities.
Exhausted from her travels and overwhelmed by the dining choices that Paris laid at her feet, Maddie decided to rest herself at the café which she had first passed after exiting the Métro. She asked the waiter for an Orangina, settled at her small table on the sidewalk, and initiated herself into the fine art of café life: nursing a drink while people-watching with as detached and inconspicuous an air as possible.
Trying not to stick out like a sore thumb as a tourist, Maddie supposed that in her trying, she was probably twice as obvious. The Orangina, which turned out to be an orange soda that was less sugary and more thirst-quenching than those she was familiar with in the States, cooled her parched throat and at least quieted her grumbling stomach enough to allow her to make a more rational dining decision than simply bolting for the fastest food she could obtain. Keeping in mind her avowed decision to seek out new experiences, Maddie decided to try the truffle restaurant she’d glimpsed while circumnavigating the square. Although she’d seen truffles sold in New York, and had even seen them incorporated into a few dishes back home, she’d never tried them. If ever there was a place to educate one’s palate on truffles, Paris was certainly it.
After stopping back at the hotel for a quick wash and change, she found herself ensconced at a tiny window seat. All the tables seem to be tiny, she mused. She’d read in her guidebook about the French menu concept, where every restaurant was required to provide at least two courses and a glass of wine for a set price that was less than the sum of its parts if purchased separately. In fact, most restaurants offered many variations therein, with multiple menus, ranging from the most common three courses up to seven or more.
Eager to test the practicality of this concept, she ordered the truffle-tasting menu, which allowed her to select from several choices each of appetizer, main course, and dessert. To start, she chose a mixed-greens salad with shavings of truffle and truffle oil on top. Next, trying to pace herself, she selected the simple scrambled eggs with truffles as her main course. She postponed her dessert choice till later to see what might have the most appeal to her after the first two courses. Then she rounded off her selection with a glass of the house red wine.
Immediately, a waiter brought the wine and a basket of sliced French bread.
Eagerly grabbing a slice of bread in order to have something to do rather than feel like a goldfish in the face of the glances from Parisians strolling past the window, Maddie took a quick bite of the simple piece of baguette. The utter freshness of the bread, with its crisp crust falling in shards onto the white paper covering the tablecloth, almost spoiled her for the rest of the meal. Absentmindedly, she nibbled away and only remembered to stop herself after the third slice.
Strange, she thought, she’d always been one to butter her bread, but no butter had been presented to her, and she realized now that the bread by itself was just fine. The butter would have been almost an insult. Sipping her full-bodied wine, Maddie reflected that perhaps it was good that she’d eaten as much bread as she did, as it prevented the wine from going immediately to her head.
Before she knew it, the discreet waiter slid the salad into place, and she tucked into her first taste of truffle. Try as she might, though, Maddie had a hard time picking up any particular flavor, other than a woodsy kind of background note. Perhaps she’d expected them to taste as strong as a forest mushroom did. Yet the salad was deliciously light and satisfying, with its combination of mache and endive, complemented with a few fresh walnut pieces among the shavings of truffle.
When she received her eggs, the truffle flavor was decidedly stronger in contrast to the more neutral flavor of the eggs. Still, it was quite subtle. She didn’t know if she’d rush out and buy any of it when she got home. Considering the prices she’d seen when she walked through the store to get to the restaurant, she didn’t think she could afford to keep it on her shelves anyway, but it was definitely a nice way to inaugurate herself to the flavors of France.
Having finished her eggs, and one more irresistible slice of bread, she felt just sated enough to go for the fresh strawberries for dessert, along with a cup of espresso. It was truly satisfying to sit here and gaze out at the square as the daylight started to dim, cars turned on their headlights, and the crowds bustling by on the way home gradually thinned.
Having picked off all the strawberries one by one, Maddie savored the espresso. For the first time in a while, she wondered what Becker might be doing right now. Probably enjoying his freedom, she mused bitterly. Whatever that means. Thinking back on their years together, Maddie couldn’t find any major flaws. There’d been minor arguments, to be sure, but nothing earth-shattering. They’d had what she thought was an extremely warm and loving relationship, regardless of what they were going through in their jobs or with their friends and families. She just couldn’t pin down any one moment where she could see him deciding he couldn’t go on with her anymore.
Resolutely wiping away the tears that welled up at her recollection of some of their best times, Maddie signaled
the waiter for the check. Time to take a walk and shake off the cobwebs of the past, she thought to herself. Why waste time being maudlin in a place like Paris? As she’d told herself before, there was plenty of time to dissect their life and what had gone wrong after she got back to New York. For now, though, Maddie set her mind on deriving as much pleasure as she could from this trip.
About fifteen minutes later, with the help of her trusty map, she found herself on the Right Bank of the Seine, with a beautiful view in all directions. Across the river and to the right, the Eiffel Tower rose majestically above the cityscape. The iconic tower, lit with multi-colored hues and set against the dusky sky, took her breath away with its grandeur. Seeing the fabled landmark gave her a rush of encouragement. This, she marveled, is why I came.
Turning to her left, she could just make out the uppermost parts of Notre Dame, rising above its own little island. Enjoying the breathtaking view, she could see glimpses of the towers and the gargoyles that ringed the edifice, just enough to pique her curiosity to see more. Below where she stood alongside the Seine were all sorts of watercraft plying the glistening surface, from taxis to the famous Bateaux Mouches, the tourist boats with the expansive glass sides and ceilings. On impulse, with the lights starting to wink on throughout the city, she headed across the bridge to seek out the nearest embarkation point for the boats. Maddie thought it might be fun to get a duck’s eye view of the city before she started exploring it on foot the next day.
Luckily, Maddie located the small dock just ten minutes before the next boat’s departure. Paying her fare, she climbed on board and settled herself in an outside seat near the railing, so as to have an unobstructed view of the sights. As the boat pulled away from the dock, she sat gazing over at the opposite bank. What was that? Something had grazed her arm.
Turning her head, she found herself looking directly into the softest brown eyes she’d ever seen. Sitting next to her was a man close to her own age. He grinned at her. His stubbly cheeks and chin couldn’t hide a well-sculpted face, and although his nose was a bit on the large side, it suited him. His longish dark brown hair was casually pushed back from his forehead, a rogue lock falling rakishly across his forehead.
“Bon soir,” he cheerfully began, but seeing the hesitancy in Maddie’s eyes, he paused.
Maddie knew he’d said good evening, but afraid of embarrassing herself with her rusty pronunciation, she grappled with whether to attempt to reply back in French. Instead, she blushed.
Just as she was about to try speaking, he asked, “Ah, perhaps you are not French?”
“No, I mean, yes, I’m not French,” Maddie stuttered. “I’m American.”
“You are here for vacation?” he asked with a delightful accent.
“Yes, this is my first day in Paris, in fact,” Maddie replied. “And you? Surely you aren’t a tourist?”
“Mais oui,” he quickly responded. “I am.”
“Oh, but your accent.” Maddie was puzzled. “It’s French. I thought…” She trailed off in embarrassment.
The man’s eyes twinkled. “I am not from Paris. So, I am a visitor to Paris, just like you.”
Maddie nodded. “Where are you from, then?”
“Nantes.”
“Nantes? I’ve never heard of that city. Where is it, exactly?”
“It is west of here, along the Loire Valley. Very beautiful,” he added.
“Oh, I see,” Maddie said, still somewhat confused. “Well, I’m sorry for presuming, but it’s just that I thought only non-French tourists would take this boat ride. It seems too… too…”
“Gauche?” the handsome stranger volunteered.
“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Maddie enthusiastically replied.
“If there are French people who won’t step on such a boat, then I pity them because they miss sights like that.” He nodded his head toward Maddie’s left, where they were just beginning to pass by the inspiring façade of Notre Dame. The massive edifice was gloriously floodlit so that the flying buttresses seemed to spring up out of the light to give balance and support to the most famous church in the world.
In awe, Maddie gazed quietly for the entire time it took the boat to lazily pass by the historic landmark. As they slid past the end of the cathedral’s island, the Isle de Cité, she glanced back at her neighbor.
With a nod and a point of his finger, he enjoined her to continue looking to her left. “Right there, next to Cité? That is one of my favorite places in all of Paris,” he enthused.
Maddie looked at what seemed to be another small island, with no particular landmarks, only a sedate line of houses along a short, nearly empty street. She looked back at him quizzically.
He smiled. “That is the Isle St. Louis. It is very small, yes, but that is part of its charm. It seems that it almost gets lost next to its famous neighbor. Indeed, there are only three streets that run the length of it, but on the middle street, there are all kinds of wonderful restaurants and shops. And it is there that you will also find a shop that sells the most famous ice cream in all of Paris, Berthillon.”
“There?” Maddie asked skeptically.
The man grinned and said, “Yes. Looks can be deceiving, no?” Looking at her hands, he promptly continued, “You are married, but your husband is not with you for this romantic boat ride?”
Once again, Maddie found herself blushing. She, too, looked down at her hand and realized she’d completely forgotten about the symbol of her former tie to Becker. She’d worn the ring for so many years, it simply felt like a part of her body.
“It’s a long story. Or maybe not.” In a rush, Maddie gave an explanation of what had happened in London, closing with her assertion that she still had no idea why the breakup had come to pass.
“Hmmm,” the Frenchman murmured, “this was a cowardly thing to do to someone you love: to take them on a trip, only to abandon them as soon as it starts.” His face took on a disapproving look as he added, “And to leave a woman as beautiful as yourself to see Paris all alone, that is a crime.”
“Oh no,” Maddie hastened to correct him. “I mean, yes, it’s been a heartache, but you know, I’ve actually had a good time up to this point. I just made up my mind to not really think about it until I get back and not let it ruin my trip—at least, not as much as it could if I let it.” Nodding as she herself realized the import of her words, she went on. “It’s been the most interesting thing. Now that I’m free to make my own choices without input from someone else, I find myself doing things I wouldn’t be doing if it were the two of us.” Maddie stopped and grinned sheepishly. “As if all this concerns you. That’ll teach you to ask a simple question.”
“Not at all.” He smiled. “You are quite…refreshing. I forget how open Americans can be. I spent some time in the U.S. when I was studying at the Sorbonne. I spent one year of my school time in New York in an exchange program, and I…”
“New York,” Maddie said excitedly. “That’s where I’m from.”
“Is that true? Incroyable! It really is a small world, no?”
“It really is. So that explains why your English is so good,” Maddie mused.
“Oh, please. I wish it were good, and I can only apologize for my mistakes.”
“What mistakes? Perfect English with a French accent—that’s as good as it gets.” This time it was the man’s turn to blush as he looked down in apparent, but nearly hidden, gratitude at her comments.
“And don’t forget,” Maddie reminded him, “I’m the one in your country, and I can’t even muster two words together in French. I’m the one who needs to say I’m sorry.”
The man chuckled, which brought out two dimples that only heightened his attractiveness. He continued, “But I am enjoying getting to practice your language again. It’s been a while, outside of watching American movies and television shows.” Suddenly, he mockingly smacked his hand on his head and exclaimed, “I can’t believe I am such a bore. I have not even introduced myself to you, and already, I am
talking about my school days. Please forgive me.” With a mock sweep of his arm accompanying half a bow from his seated position, he announced, “My name is Thierry. And yours?”
“Madison. Maddie for short.”
“So pleased to meet you.”
They both seemed to realize they’d gotten carried away in their conversation and were missing all the sights. Thierry proceeded to make up for lost time by giving her a running dialogue on the various items of interest on both sides of the river. His explanations and insight were far more interesting than those provided on the speakers, or at least the portion that Maddie was able to discern, the sound system being a bit the worse for wear.
After that flying start, the time seemed to pass in a haze. Maddie avidly listened as Thierry proudly pointed out sights both famous and not so famous, adding history, gossip and a liberal sprinkling of humor to his narrative. The trip seemed to have barely started when they were startled to find the boat was bumping up against the dock.
Together they climbed the steps up to the street. Feeling sad, Maddie extended her hand to bid her companion farewell and to thank him for his delightful commentary.
Thierry hesitated, seeming to be thinking about something, and then decided to plunge in. “I hope you don’t mind my suggesting something. I’ve very much enjoyed talking to you. Not just because of getting to practice my English, but also because I’ve really enjoyed your company. It’s still quite early for Paris on such a beautiful summer night. May I buy you an ice cream at that place I told you about earlier?”
Maddie was taken aback by the request. Was this turning into a date? And if it was, would it be right to see someone so soon after…after what? After Becker dumped me, that’s what, she told herself emphatically.
That thought was all she needed to remind herself of her newly liberated status. She quickly decided she should hardly be mourning for their relationship. Certainly Becker wouldn’t be doing so. Besides, it wasn’t really a date. Thierry was just offering her an ice cream, for heaven’s sake. Why get all carried away with the repercussions of having an ice cream with the man? It would be fun to have a personal tour guide to this supposedly special place, so why not seize the moment?