Cancans, Croissants, and Caskets

by Mary McHugh

  “I’d love it,” Gini said. “It’s one of my favorite places in Paris. Sort of quaint and elegant. I want to take some photos there. OK with you if I tag along, Ken?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “You probably know more about that island than I do.”

  “Is Le Bon Goût still there?” Gini asked.

  “It is,” Ken said. “Still really good food. Let’s go there.”

  Since Pat was going to lunch with Captain Chantal, I asked Tina and Mary Louise if they wanted to come with us.

  “Thanks,” Tina said, “But we’re going to Notre-Dame and we’ll eat somewhere over there. See you later. Better be back by five o’clock, you guys, because of only one shower.”

  “Don’t worry, boss, Gini said. “We’ll be there.”

  Janice’s Fashion Tip: Keep it natural and cool with linen, silk, and cotton.

  Chapter 6

  Another Bite of That Salade Niçoise, S’il Vous Plait

  Ken put an arm around each of us, and we ran off the boat and up the small street to the sidewalk along the Seine that led to the Île Saint-Louis. I always love walking along that sidewalk on either side of the river because of all the stalls selling every kind of book you can imagine. Old ones, new ones, children’s books, mysteries, romances. If you had enough patience, you could find anything you wanted.

  By the time we got to the Île Saint-Louis, we were hot and thirsty. Ken led us down the narrow little streets, past elegant town houses, little shops selling flowers, a church, some bakeries, and an ice cream place that Gini said people came from all over Paris to visit, and finally we arrived at Le Bon Goût, a dark, cool, intimate café.

  Inside, the room was small and cozy, with net curtains at the windows, white tablecloths, thick napkins standing upright in the wineglasses, a bar in the back, and a large, old-fashioned cash register on the shelf.

  “This is perfect,” I said as we sat down at a table and ordered cold white chardonnays for Gini and me and a beer for Ken.

  “This brings back so many memories,” Gini said. “I must have come here a hundred times to photograph this island. Especially when all the flowers were in bloom in the spring. I always wanted to live on this island, but it’s so expensive.”

  “You guys must make a lot of money dancing,” Ken said. “Why don’t you buy an apartment here and come back when you’re not tapping?”

  Gini and I looked at each other and exploded into laughter. “You’ve got to be kidding,” Gini said. “We get just enough for our costumes and the meals we eat when we’re in Paris or some other exotic place. We love it, but we’ll never get rich this way.”

  “You always look great,” Ken, our affable, good-natured ex-pat, said. “I assumed you earned a lot of money.”

  “If we ever figure out how to do that, we’ll let you know,” Gini said, breaking off a piece of the baguette on her butter plate.

  “What about you, Ken?” I asked. “Do you get paid a lot on the Bateau Mouche?”

  “Wish I did,” he said. “It’s OK, but not enough to live on the Île Saint-Louis. I think it’s the best place to live in Paris.”

  The waiter took our orders—a croque monsieur for Gini, a salade Niçoise for me, and a hamburger and French fries for Ken.

  “How can you order a hamburger in Paris?” I asked him.

  “Sometimes I just need something really American,” he said, leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Like you.”

  Nice. I liked this guy. “Liked” is the operative word here.

  Gini was her usual fidgety self, looking around to find something to photograph. She’s always afraid she’ll miss something, our Gini. I’m always afraid I’ll find too much. I guess you could say we complement each other. That’s why we’re such good friends.

  “Relax, Gini,” I said. “Tell me what you heard Madame Fouchet telling Suzette in French back there on the bateau.”

  She took a sip of the cold, deliciously dry wine and said, “I couldn’t hear everything, but the main thing was that she was urging Suzette not to leave the Bateau Mouche to go to New York to sing in Anderson’s nightclub. She was really upset. That woman is consumed by keeping that boat going, making money for her, and she was very anxious for Suzette to stay. She’s their biggest draw, after all. I heard her say she would double her salary if she stayed in Paris and didn’t go to New York.”

  “What did Suzette say to that?” Ken asked.

  “She didn’t say much,” Gini said, “but it sounded to me like she was determined to go with Anderson. She wants to be in New York. Tell me about Suzette, Ken. What’s she like, really? Did she fool around with Fouchet or Claude or both of them? I’m really confused about her.”

  “Everyone is confused about Suzette,” Ken said. “She doesn’t let anyone know what she’s thinking or feeling. I feel sorry for Claude because he does love her and she treats him like dirt. One minute she’s all lovey-dovey and sweet, the next minute she’s sleeping with Henri.”

  “How come Madame Fouchet doesn’t hate her?” I asked. “She must know about Suzette and her husband.”

  “Well, since Madeleine is fooling around with Jean, she doesn’t really care what her husband did with Suzette,” Ken said. “It made it easier for her to be alone with Jean. Madame and Suzette are sort of friends. Or at least I see them talking together a lot. I don’t really know the inside story about all this. They like my music, but they don’t confide in me much—I suppose because I’m an American.”

  “I probably shouldn’t say this,” Gini said, as if that ever stopped her, “but Madame—Madeleine—whatever her name is—sure doesn’t seem to be devastated or even a little bit sorry that her husband is dead. I’m beginning to think she might have killed him. What do you think?”

  Ken ordered another beer from the waiter when he brought our lunches. Gini and I asked for more wine. I took one bite of my salade Niçoise with anchovies, green beans, potatoes, plum tomatoes, and black olives and closed my eyes in ecstasy.

  “I have to find out how to do this,” I said. “Whatever this dressing is, it’s heaven.”

  “Ask the waiter before we leave,” Ken said. “He’ll tell you. They’re really nice here. Especially if you ask in French, Gini.”

  “Remind me, Jan,” Gini said. “I’ll ask him. I’d also love to get the recipe for this croque monsieur.” She stuffed another forkful in her mouth. “The French do something to this simple grilled cheese that makes it incredible. But to get back to our conversation, Ken, do you think Madame killed her husband?”

  “She certainly acted guilty—or coldhearted, at least,” he said. “More worried about publicity than about Henri’s murder. But the thing is, she was in the dining room supervising the staff and then in the front of the boat with us, going over the music. I never saw her leave that part of the bateau during the time somebody shot him.”

  “Maybe she hired somebody to kill him,” Gini said.

  “That occurred to me, too,” Ken said. “Like that Indian guy. Nobody seems to know who he was or what he was talking to Henri about. When Suzette went up on deck to talk to him she said there was nobody with him.”

  “I was talking to Alan Anderson this morning at the Jardin du Luxembourg,” I said. “He said it was probably somebody in the Mafia who killed him because he wouldn’t pay for protection.”

  “Sounds like an old movie made in the thirties,” Ken said. We’ll just have to leave it up to that amazing Captain Chantal to solve it.” He grinned. “I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better.”

  “Forget it, love,” I said. “She butters her toast on the other side.”

  Ken looked stunned. “How do you know that?”

  “She asked me out,” I said, cracking up at the expression on his face.

  “Are you going?” he asked.

  “No, I’m stuck with liking guys,” I said. “But Pat is having lunch with her right now. Can’t wait to find out what happened.”

  Ken took my hand and kissed it. “Could
you be stuck liking me?”

  “Of course, chéri,” I said, taking my hand back. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

  “I’ll take you everywhere,” he said. “Where do you want to go after this?”

  “I know you’ll think this is silly,” I said, “but I’d love to ride on a carousel. It’s sort of a hobby of mine—to ride on a merry-go-round in every new place we go.”

  “That’s not silly,” he said. “I’m crazy about carousels. I’ll take you to the one in the Tuileries. Want to come, Gini?”

  “Sure,” she said. “I want a picture of you and Jan riding around on wooden horses. But we told Tina and Mary Louise we’d meet them at Notre-Dame. Let’s take the Pont Saint-Louis—that’s a bridge, Jan—over to the Île de la Cité, check out Notre-Dame, find our friends, and then walk over to the Tuileries from there. Does that sound like a plan?”

  Ken flashed a look of disappointment at me, because I think he wanted to be alone with me. But in his usual good-natured way, he said, “What do you say, Jan? Church before fun?”

  I had totally forgotten about Notre-Dame. “Of course,” I said. “We can’t leave Paris without seeing Notre-Dame.”

  Gini asked the waiter for the recipe for the salade Niçoise and the croque monsieur. He returned in a few minutes with the recipes neatly typed out in English. “People ask him all the time,” she said, and handed them to me.

  We took a last sip of wine, paid our bill, and found another narrow, charming street that led to the bridge that crossed over to the neighboring Île de la Cité and Notre-Dame.

  Mary McHugh

  RECIPES FOR SALADE NIÇOISE AND CROQUE MONSIEUR

  Salade Niçoise

  Serves four hungry people or six not-so-hungry people.

  Sauce Vinaigrette (one cup)

  4 tsps. mustard

  Salt and pepper

  1 tsp. chopped garlic

  8 tsps. red wine vinegar

  1 cup corn oil

  2 tsps. chopped fresh rosemary

  Potato Salad

  4 medium-size potatoes steamed whole, with

  skin on, until tender (not too soft; about 20 minutes)

  1½ tbsps. shallots

  Salt and pepper

  3 tbsps. white wine

  3 tbsps. water

  Rest of the Salade

  2-ounce can flat anchovies in olive oil

  3 tbsps. capers

  1 large head Boston lettuce

  10 plum tomatoes, halved

  ½ lb. green beans blanched and chilled (I won’t tell if you use frozen beans)

  3 hard-boiled eggs, peeled and halved

  ¾ cup pitted Kalamata olives

  1 large can tuna

  3 tbsps. chopped parsley

  To make the sauce vinaigrette

  1. Mix the mustard, salt and pepper, garlic, and vinegar together.

  2. Whisk in the oil until you have a thickened sauce.

  3. Add the rosemary.

  To make the potato salad

  1. Cut the potatoes into ½-inch slices.

  2. Toss the potatoes with the shallots.

  3. Add about ¼ tsp. salt and several grinds of pepper.

  4. Add wine and water and toss the potatoes some more.

  5. Add about ¼ cup of the vinaigrette sauce and toss. Chill.

  Arranging the salad

  1. Toss the lettuce with the sauce vinaigrette and arrange the leaves around the outside of a large oval platter.

  2. Put the potatoes in a circle in the center.

  3. Place the tuna in the middle of the potatoes and sprinkle some dressing on the tuna.

  4. Place the tomatoes around the potatoes; sprinkle the vinaigrette on them and add a little salt.

  5. Add dressing and salt and pepper to the green beans, toss them, and arrange them in groups of five or six around the platter, next to the tomatoes.

  6. Place the halved eggs where they look the prettiest on the platter, and decorate them with an anchovy and a couple of capers on top.

  7. Add the black olives around the potatoes.

  8. Toss some parsley on top of the tuna, and you have a beautiful salad to serve.

  Croque Monsieur

  4 tbsps. canola oil

  4 slices white bread

  4 slices Gruyère or Swiss cheese

  2 slices honey-cured ham

  1. Preheat oven to 400 degrees.

  2. Oil a cookie sheet.

  3. Dip one side of each slice of bread in the canola oil.

  4. Put one slice of cheese on the oiled side of all four slices of bread.

  5. Place a slice of ham on two of the slices of cheese.

  6. Make two sandwiches that each have a slice of cheese on the top, covered by a slice of ham, covered by the other slice of cheese.

  7. Dunk both sides of the sandwich in the oil, put them on the cookie sheet, and cook in the oven for ten minutes.

  If you want to make a Croque Madame, substitute chicken for the ham.

  I know this sounds like a plain old grilled cheese sandwich, but it’s really much better. Give it a try.

  Janice’s Fashion Tip: Flip-flops or sneakers: non. Sandals: mais oui!

  Chapter 7

  Only 387 Steps to the Top

  “I could spend my life photographing this cathedral,” Gini said. She already had her camera out and was clicking away.

  When I first saw this Gothic cathedral with Derek on our honeymoon, I remember being overwhelmed by the sheer size of it, the intricate carving of saints on the huge door that led into the church, the gargoyles peering out from the roof. Inside there were tour groups and tourists taking pictures of the gigantic, awesome rose window, the sunlight shining through it to cast its brilliant colors on the dark wood of the pews and statues. At the front of this vast interior, Christ on the cross dominated the altar, with statues of Louis XIII and Louis IV kneeling before him.

  Ken and I left Gini shooting away, moved around the hordes of tourists in the plaza outside the church, and opened the heavy door to enter the cathedral. There were so many people inside I wondered how we would ever find Tina and Mary Louise. I was soon caught up again in the feeling that God Himself was in that edifice. In spite of all the people listening to tour guides, or walking slowly past the smaller altars on the side adorned with statues of saints, the sounds of voices could hardly be heard because of the glorious organ music filling the vast interior.

  I sat down in one of the pews and bowed my head. I wanted to say thank you for this day, for my life, for my friends, and for my daughter. It was as if some hand had guided me there.

  Ken sat down next to me, and when he saw that my eyes were closed, he bowed his head too. He was the kind of person who followed along with whatever was happening at the moment. Whatever everybody else was doing. Like a little puppy. I couldn’t help but like him, but he wasn’t the kind of man I fell in love with.

  I’m drawn to men who are leaders, forceful and strong, with definite ideas about what will happen next. This does not often lead to harmonious relationships, but men like Ken bore me, because they’re too nice. As many therapists, including my friend Pat, have often told me, I’m still looking for my exciting but extremely unreliable father. Unfortunately, I keep finding him. I’d be a lot better off if I could settle down with someone less exciting and more dependable—read duller.

  Three marriages and three divorces later, I still look for intellectually challenging partners. After our adventure in Spain on the luxury train, I was sure Tom Carson, an actor I’ve known for years, was right for me, and we’ve been seeing each other in New York. He’s a good combination of interesting and reliable. He divorced his wife, who was with him on that trip, and wants me to marry him. I go back and forth. A fourth marriage seems way too risky. I realized I hadn’t called him since I left New York and promised myself I would get in touch with him when I had the chance.

  After a few minutes of thanking God, I felt Ken’s eyes on me.

  “You’re so beauti
ful,” he said.

  “You’re nice,” I said, and only I knew it wasn’t a compliment.

  I stood up and looked around. “We should find Tina and Mary Louise,” I said. “Let’s go back outside and see if they turn up.”

  The plaza was even more crowded with tourists. At first, I couldn’t find Gini, but her red hair always attracts attention. I caught sight of her talking to our missing Hoofers across the way.

  I ran over to them, Ken close behind.

  “Where have you been?” I asked them. “I didn’t see you inside the church.”

  “We climbed up the three hundred and eighty-seven steps on the outside of Notre-Dame to the top, where you can see the gargoyles up close and all of Paris below,” Tina said, her face still flushed from the effort on such a warm day in July. “It was amazing, Jan. You should do it.”

  “Three hundred and eighty-seven steps,” I said. “Oh, Tina, I don’t think so. The carousel in the Tuileries is more my style. Ken and I are going over there now. Want to come?”

  “I don’t think I’ll walk anywhere except over to that café for a cold drink,” she said. “Don’t forget, Jan. Be back at the apartment by five-thirty.”

  She and Mary Louise headed for the café.

  “Gini, you still want to come to the carousel with us?” I asked.

  “Think I’ll change my mind, Jan,” she said. “The view from the top of the cathedral is the best one in Paris. I’m taking the three hundred and eighty-seven steps to the top.” She shaded her eyes and looked up at the spires of the church. “I’ll catch up with you later.” I knew she would be up there forever taking pictures of her city.

  “See you,” I said. “Have fun, Gini. Come on, Ken, let’s head for the Tuileries.”

  Ken and I pushed our way through the crowded plaza and took the Pont d’Arcole over to the right bank. We moseyed along, enjoying the sound of people speaking French all around us, the stalls selling prints of Paris’s monuments and boulevards, the sightseeing boats motoring by on the Seine below us, the tourists peering at maps planning their next foray into this always fascinating, never disappointing City of Light.