The first time she saw Paris had been love at first sight for her. She loved everything about it. The weather, the architecture, the people, the museums, the art, the restaurants, the parks, the streets, the churches, the light, the sky. She had been so overwhelmed the first time she rode in a taxi up the Champs-Élysées to the Arc de Triomphe, she had started to cry. It was night, and an enormous flag was fluttering slowly in a summer breeze, lit up in the dark night, and she had never gotten over that feeling of awestruck adoration for the magical city, even now. Her heart always pounded with excitement every time she arrived. She had never gotten blasé about it, or taken its breathtaking beauty for granted. She had always said she wanted to get an apartment there one day, but somehow never had. She stayed in the same suite at the Plaza Athénée every time she came instead, and they pampered her like a deliciously spoiled child. She loved it, and as a result, had never gotten her own place.
“You’re meeting with the fashion writers from The Washington Post and The New York Times, and some journalist from Le Figaro, after lunch,” Jade said briskly, and then smiled as she looked at her. Timmie had a look on her face that she only saw in Paris. No matter how tired she was, or how exhausting the previous cities had been, there was a kind of glow about Timmie in Paris. She had a special kind of romance with the city, and people always teased her about it. “You’ve got that look,” Jade said with a smile, as Timmie nodded, unabashedly happy to be there, whatever her country’s views on the subject at the moment, or however much others liked to bash the French. Timmie always stood up for them staunchly. She loved the French, and everything about Paris. Sometimes she just sat in her room late at night at the Plaza Athénée, after she got home from business dinners, and looked out the window at the dark gray pearly light of the night sky, or a sunrise on a winter morning … spring … summer … whatever time of year, it was Timmie’s favorite city, more than any other in the world. There was nothing else like it and it never failed to make her heart race.
Timmie absentmindedly ran a hand through her thick, long hair, and pulled it back in an elastic. She didn’t bother to look in a mirror, or go to the bathroom to do it, or even brush it. She didn’t care. She rarely thought about her looks. She was beautiful but not vain. She was far more interested in the looks she designed for others. Her lack of narcissism about her own appearance was endearing and refreshing. When she was working and busy, she looked like a long, leggy child who had wandered onto the scene and was pretending to be a grown-up. Her style was commanding, and her talent obvious, but at the same time there was a kind of innocence about her, a lack of awareness about who she was and the power she wielded. Timmie’s real strength was pure raw talent, and incredible drive. She produced more energy than an electrical power plant, and Jade could sense her winding up now.
Timmie had a lot to do in Paris. They had fittings with the models scheduled for seven the next morning. She was driving three hours outside of Paris after that, to look at textiles at the factory, and see if they were willing or able to do some special fabrics she wanted. There would be more interviews after that, to talk about the collections she was showing, for both men and women, and she had just introduced a new perfume in September, which had been a major hit with the youth market. Young women all over the world were clamoring for it. Everything Timmie touched turned to gold, and was blessed with the sweet smell of success. In her business life, things had always been like that. In her personal life, she had been far more challenged. But to look at her, all one saw was a beautiful woman with a mane of thick red curly hair and big green eyes, who was totally unaware of how striking she was.
They stood up, waiting to leave the plane, and David took her alligator bag from her, and groaned as he always did when he held it. “I see you brought your bowling ball with you again,” he teased, and she chuckled. He looked like a young male model, and Jade was as meticulously dressed as Timmie wasn’t. If one had to guess, anyone would have thought that Jade was the designer and Timmie the assistant, although Timmie was capable of looking smashing when she chose to. Most of the time, she wore her own designs, mingled with vintage pieces she had collected over the years, and some fabulous Indian and antique jewelry she bought mostly at Fred Leighton’s in New York, or at an assortment of jewelers in Paris and London. She loved unusual pieces, thought nothing of mixing real with fake, and on her no one ever guessed the costume pieces. She never hesitated to wear a diamond necklace with a T-shirt, or a gigantic vintage Chanel ring, from Coco Chanel or Diana Vreeland’s collections of costume jewelry, with a ballgown. Timmie O’Neill was beautiful, in a strikingly natural way, but more than anything she had style, in a casual, mix-and-match bag-lady sort of way, as she liked to say herself. She was no bag lady, but she liked to think so. In fact, she didn’t like to think of herself at all. She just got up and dressed in the morning, and let things fall into place. It always worked well for her, although Jade frequently said that if she had tried to put herself together as Timmie did, they wouldn’t have let her in the back door of their hotel. But on Timmie, it all worked.
She looked striking and casually stylish as they finally filed off the plane, and David located the VIP woman to help them. He was happy to put Timmie’s immensely heavy alligator bag on a rolling cart. It was full of notes and sketch pads, a book in case she wanted to read, a bottle of her latest perfume, and a ton of what Timmie called “debris” that was always floating around her purse. Keys, lipsticks, lighters, an ashtray she had stolen at Harry’s Bar, or that they had actually given her when she tried to steal it, a new gold pen someone had sent her, and a dozen silver pencils, all of which weighed a ton as she lugged it all around. David always said you could open an office and start a business with what Timmie carried in her purse. It gave her a feeling of security to carry everything she needed with her. She didn’t want to rely on having to find some essential item while she was away on a trip. So she took it all with her, as though she might never go home again.
They followed the VIP woman to baggage claim, where Jade and David would wait for their bags. There was a mountain of them, as Timmie always packed too much, and they had the entire collection with them packed in special trunks. The airline had been warned, and the trunks and boxes containing the ready to wear collection came out first. David had arranged for a truck to get it all to the hotel. He had offered to ride the truck with it, so Timmie could go ahead, but she said she preferred to wait. She wanted to make sure nothing got lost. It would be a disaster if it did. She left Jade talking to David, as they waited for the bags. Timmie walked away, watching people, and lit a cigarette. She had quit for years, but started again eleven years ago, after her divorce.
She stood quietly near a wall, watching people drift by carrying their bags, on their way to customs. As an American, with an entire clothing collection in tow, they had to go through immigration and customs as well. They had documents exempting them from duty and tax, although it was unlikely anyone would open any of their bags or trunks. They had paid five thousand dollars in excess baggage, which was roughly what they always paid, moving the collection from New York to London to Milan to Paris, and then finally back to L.A.
As Timmie smoked her cigarette, she kept thinking how far she had come from her beginnings. Staying at the Plaza Athénée in Paris was second nature to her now, and felt like home, but she had come a long way to get here. She never lost sight of that, and was often grateful for her achievements and blessings, and her serendipitous beginning, all those years ago at the coffee shop. It had been a long, long road from there to Paris, as she stood in her vintage mink jacket, wearing a large diamond bracelet on her wrist, which a few passersby noticed as she smoked. She was so casual about it in spite of its size, that it was hard to guess if it was fake or real. She absentmindedly pulled the elastic out of her hair, and her long curly red hair cascaded past her shoulders. She looked like a young Rita Hayworth in all her glory. Timmie looked nowhere near her age, few people would have guessed t
hat she was forty-eight. At most she looked forty, if that. And in her case, it wasn’t due to any special caution or attention, it was just good genes and blind luck. She hated exercise, had no need to diet, and rarely used beauty products. She splashed cold water on her face, brushed her hair, and brushed her teeth, and that was it.
Her eyes drifted to a young mother, struggling to get her bags off the conveyor belt. The woman had an infant strapped to her, while a two-year-old girl holding a doll clung to her skirts, and a boy who looked about four argued with his mother, and finally burst into tears. Both mother and son looked exasperated and harassed. Timmie noticed that the little girl was beautifully dressed. The boy was wearing short pants and a navy jacket. The mother looked tired as she struggled with the bags, and the little boy continued to cry. He wasn’t having a tantrum, he was just upset. And without thinking about it any further, Timmie reached into the pocket of her jacket where she had a stash of lollipops that she liked to suck on whenever she had to draw. It kept her from smoking, and was a habit she’d always had. She pulled out two of the lollipops, and approached the mother of the crying boy. They were obviously French. Despite Timmie’s passion for all things French, she had never learned the language, except for a few cursory words. She usually got by with gestures and smiles, and the driver she always used in Paris usually helped her out. This time, she was on her own. She managed to catch the mother’s eye, showed her the lollipops, without the children seeing them, and smiled a questioning, shy glance.
“Oui?” she asked. The woman understood her, and hesitated. She looked Timmie over carefully, and was about to say no, as the children turned around to observe her. With her free hand, Timmie gently stroked the boy’s fine, carefully cut Dutch boy hair, which surprisingly was the same color as hers, or the color hers had been at his age. Timmie’s had settled into a burnished copper over the years. His was more carrot-colored, and he had the same pronounced freckles she had had in her youth. The little girl was blond with big blue eyes, as was their mother. The baby had no hair at all, and was observing the scene peacefully with a pacifier in her mouth, which was keeping her quiet. The two-year-old was sucking her thumb, seemingly unaffected by her brother’s tears.
The mother nodded then, having seen Timmie’s unconscious gesture, as she gently stroked the boy’s hair and he stopped crying, and stared up at the stranger. The two women exchanged a smile then, as the young mother thanked her in French, and said “oui,” as Timmie handed both children the lollipops, and then helped the young woman with one of the bags, to get it on the cart. Both children politely said “merci” to Timmie, and then the family went on their way, as Timmie watched.
She had noticed from the tags on their bags that they had come from a French city, and not from the flight from Milan. The little boy turned and waved at her with an impish grin, before they disappeared, and the mother glanced back with a grateful smile, as Timmie waved back. Her eyes followed them until they were gone, and then David and Jade joined her. They hadn’t seen her exchange with the two French children, but it wouldn’t have surprised them. Timmie had a soft spot for kids, and had none of her own. She was always talking to children in supermarkets and airports, or while standing in line in department stores. She had a way with them that defied language and nationality, and bridged the gap between her age and theirs. She was just one of those people who liked children, and they seemed to sense that about her. She had an easy way of talking to them, which was unusual for someone in her position, with a career, and no family of her own. She always said that she was alone in the world. She had often said to Jade that she might adopt one day, but she never had.
Jade had biological clock issues of her own. At thirty-eight, she was worried that she’d never have babies. She had spent ten years as the mistress of a married man, and had finally broken up with him the year before, but had met no one important to her since. Her clock was ticking. And Timmie’s had stopped ticking years ago. She felt too old to have a baby now, but adopting a child still appealed to her, in a distant dreamy way. She knew it was unlikely to be a dream she would indulge, but she still liked thinking she might one day, although she hadn’t mentioned it in a while. David thought she should. He worried that she would be lonely in the years ahead without children. Even Timmie couldn’t work forever. Or could she? She always said she planned to work until she keeled over at a hundred.
Jade thought the idea of Timmie adopting a child was silly, and that Timmie was fine as she was. She was a sophisticated, successful woman, who headed up an enormous conglomerate. She couldn’t even begin to imagine Timmie with a baby. She knew, as Timmie did most of the time, that it was just a dream, and she would never do it. But on quiet, lonely nights, once in a while, Timmie still thought of the dream with an aching heart. Her life was lonelier than she liked to admit, and the prospect of being solitary for the rest of her life depressed her. It wasn’t how she had expected her life to turn out. But over the years, much had changed. She was philosophical about it, enjoyed her life, and tried not to think about how much lonelier her life would be in her old age. Without ever intending to, she had wound up with a career, and no man or kids.
Gilles, Timmie’s Paris driver, was waiting for them just beyond immigration and customs. He was a familiar, welcome sight, and greeted them with a broad smile and a wave. As always, a cigarette was firmly embedded between his lips, as one eye squinted to avoid the ever-present curl of smoke. He had driven Timmie for ten years, and had married and had three children in the years since. His wife was a pastry sous-chef at the Crillon, and between them they made a decent living, while his mother-in-law took care of their kids.
“Bonjour, Madame Timmie! Vous avez fait bon voyage? You made a good trip?” He spoke heavily accented, fairly accurate English, and always enjoyed driving for her. She was reasonable, friendly, and never made outrageous requests of him. She apologized profusely when she kept him out late, which never bothered him anyway. He liked his work, and the people he met. It made him feel important driving clients like her, and impressed the other chauffeurs. She was generous with her tips, and she sent him a suit for Christmas every year. As a result, he was one of the best-dressed drivers at the Plaza Athénée or any other hotel. She had also given him gifts for his wife and kids. He enjoyed her passionate love of Paris and all things French. She was a pleasure to drive and chatted with him easily, as she and Jade slid into the car, and David got into the luggage truck with their bags. It was not a job for a vice president of marketing, but he wanted to keep track of their things, so nothing got lost or went astray along the way.
“How are Solange and the kids?” Timmie asked pleasantly.
“Very good. Very big,” he said, with a broad smile, still squinting in the smoke, as Jade rolled down the window with a disapproving look. Timmie didn’t mind, and lit another cigarette herself. She always smoked more in France, since everyone else did. “We get another baby next year,” he said, looking happy about it. Timmie knew it was their fourth. He had asked her about investment advice more than once. He and his wife made a good living, and they owned their own house outside the city, where Solange’s widowed mother lived with them. Timmie liked knowing about the people who worked for her, and she had always been fond of Gilles. “It’s good with you?” he asked, glancing at her in the rearview mirror, as he darted expertly through the traffic leaving Roissy. She always looked beautiful and sexy to him, despite her age. He didn’t have the age prejudices about women that men did in the States. Forty-eight seemed young to him, particularly looking as good as she did.
“Everything is fine,” she said, looking pleased. “We’re doing the ready to wear shows next week. I might get some time to shop this weekend.” She was hoping that they would finish all their work by Friday, so she could have a day or two to herself, to wander through antiques shops and check the boutiques in Paris. She liked staying on top of local trends, wherever she went, and the competition. But in Paris, she also liked to wander along the
Seine, visit the stalls of the bouquinistes who sold old books, and just breathe deeply of the atmosphere of Paris. She liked going to church there too. Gilles always took her to out-of-the-way places she wouldn’t otherwise have discovered, and tiny quaint churches she had never heard of before. She was fun for him to drive around. He loved showing off the city to someone who appreciated it as much as she did.
She had already told Jade and David that, once their preliminary work was done, they could go away for the weekend. They both wanted to go back to London to see friends. They didn’t share her passion for Paris, and David had even said something about Prague. There would be no meetings or interviews over the weekend, and hopefully by then, all the fittings would be complete. The seamstresses Timmie had sent over would be working on alterations and last-minute adjustments all weekend, but were well able to manage it on their own. She would handle all the last-minute details herself, and with Jade and David on Monday. The runway show was Tuesday, and on Tuesday night Jade and David would head for New York. She was flying to meet them on Friday, after two days off on her own after the show. And if she got time to herself over the weekend as well, it was an added bonus, and an ample reward after three weeks of hard work so far. She didn’t look it, or even admit it readily, but she was tired.
She and Gilles chatted easily on the drive into Paris, while Jade quietly read her notes. She left several messages on their office phone in Los Angeles, for when the office opened, and several more in New York. It was just after noon in Paris, and still too early everywhere else. Timmie’s first interview wasn’t until two-thirty, so she’d have a little time to get organized, and gather her thoughts before they got started. There was traffic on the way in, and they drove onto the Avenue Montaigne just before one. Timmie beamed the moment she saw the Plaza Athénée. It was her home away from home. She loved staying there, the elegance, the people, the exquisite service, and she loved meeting friends for lunch at de Relais.
First Sight Page 2