Julia

by Marty Sorensen

  Part VI - 1980

  Three and a half hours after taking off from New York, the Air France Concorde jet landed smoothly at Charles de Gaulle airport just after noon. Carolyn took the RoissyBus for the hour long trip to the Arc de Triomphe at the center of Paris. She then walked up the avenue de Friedland to the Hotel Napoleon, still within sight of the grand arch and it’s circular traffic. As she walked in the lobby she remembered why she wanted to stay here. The hotel was originally built by a Russian merchant as a gift to his new love, an art student. Above the bar just to the right of the entrance hung pictures of Errol Flynn, Orson Welles and Josephine Baker. She felt already like it was her home away from home, her pied à terre, even if she was only going to stay long enough to find a place to live. And that place would be on the Left Bank near the Sorbonne.

  Carolyn relaxed in her room that afternoon. She took a long hot bath, luxuriating in the French soap. After she was out and dry, she called the hotel salon, and was able to get her hair styled immediately. She had them cut her long hair off, then had them cut it more until she was satisfied with the Paris gamine look, with a part on the left side. Very French. Totally non New York. Non California.

  Back in her room as the scene outside her window darkened with sunset she watched the Eiffel Tower light up in the distance. She walked out and down a few blocks to the Champs Élysées for dinner.

  The next morning she walked back to the Champs Élysées to the Banque National de Paris, where she wrote a check for $50,000 from her fund at the Chase Manhattan Bank in New York. She received 17, 280 francs in cash and a passbook noting 200,000 French francs in her account. And a promise she could pick up her new ParisCard in a week. As she walked back out to the street she silently spoke to herself. Thanks Mother. You managed so well. That at least you could do for me. Now I can do everything for myself in French francs.

  That afternoon she took her map, her address book, and Le Monde to a table in front of Shakespeare & Co just opposite the magnificent Notre-Dame cathedral. She spent the long afternoon hours on a search for a place to live. She first thought about where she had lived as a student, in the Left Bank, behind where she was right now, near the Sorbonne University, while she worked as a researcher in the Louvre. She was familiar with the area, and thought that was the most important quality she was looking for.

  But when she arrived at the first address on her list, and the concierge asked her a barrage of insulting questions, like what school she attended, was her mother taking care of her, did she have noisy boyfriends, her face flushed immediately. She realized that being taken for a college student, among the thousands of Americans in Paris, was not what she had expected. She thanked the concierge, but not politely, and headed away from the Left Bank.

  Feeling very stupid for not remembering what Parisian landlords were like, she went back to the Champs-Élysées and took her map and address book to Stella Maris near the Arc de Triomphe.

  Outside the bar, traffic passing by, elegant men and women walking down the street, Carolyn opened her address book and searched for familiar names from her time as an exchange student. The first name that caught her eye was that of Nathalie Rameau, the woman who supervised her studies on the Northern Renaissance at the Louvre. Perfect, she thought. Nathalie was 30 years old, married with children, but still, almost a friend as well as advisor. Carolyn felt that this woman would understand her predicament.

  Well, it wasn’t exactly a predicament. She just wanted to be practical about her decision where to live. Someone to think it through with her as well as give her expert advice as only a Parisian could do.

  She quickly drank the small espresso and walked three blocks back to the Hotel Napoleon. This time as she noted the photos of American actors over the bar she felt the now familiar reminder that she wasn’t as French as she would like to be.

  Yet, as she passed the registration desk dominated by the huge portrait of Napoleon III and nodded to the clerk, she remembered that her accent was so good that no one spoke to her in English, even in a hotel that prided itself on old movie stars.

  In her room, kneeling on the sofa and looking out the window at the Eifel Tower in the distance, Carolyn knew this was her new home. An urge to call Beatrice prompted her arm to move to the small table with the phone on it, but she resisted. Not yet. Not until she was settled in her new home in Paris, in whatever arrondissement that would be.

  The phone number in Carolyn’s address book still worked and in just a few moment she breathed a sigh of relief that she hadn’t had to go through the maze of departments of the Louvre museum administration to reach Nathalie.

  “Bonjour.”

  “Bonjour, Nathalie, it’s me, Carolyn Stuart. Your assistant from two years ago.”

  “Carolyn-,” Nathalie pronounced the name in her favored fashion as car-o-leen, although her English was perfect from her research time at Harvard. “How are you? Where are you calling from? Are you in Paris?”

  The charm and warmth of Nathalie’s voice brought back memories of laughing among the hidden workrooms of the great museum. Carolyn smiled to herself and felt a confidence she had thought long escaped her. “Yes, I am as a matter of fact.”

  Nathalie did not wait to hear what Carolyn’s call was about. “Are you alone? Are you traveling? Tell me, what’s going on? I have missed you.”

  Now Carolyn felt a sense of guilt for not having kept contact with her mentor. “Oh, thank you, Nathalie. Well, actually, I just arrived yesterday, and today I went to look for where I’m going to live.”

  “To live? You are going to live in Paris? But you must just have finished college, isn’t that true? I thought you wanted to go to Berkeley?”

  Now Carolyn crossed her legs defensively, and felt the small bite of regret that she was still not much beyond a student. Still, she felt a sense of relief in knowing that Nathalie didn’t really think of her that way.

  “Yes, I did graduate. But I’m not going to Berkeley. I need to be somewhere new. That’s why I’m in Paris.”

  “Are you going to study-,” Nathalie stopped herself. “Listen, Carolyn, you know this isn’t a good time for me, this very moment, I’m in the middle of something. Why don’t you come to my house for dinner tonight? Bernard will certainly be happy to see you, and the girls, well, I think they may or may not remember you. They’re a lot older now. What do you say?”

  Carolyn received Nathalie’s invitation as a relief, the taking of a burden off her shoulders. She was glad she had phoned Nathalie first and hunched forward with a sigh. “That’s so nice of you. So, the girls, when I was there Anne was-,” she laughed, “there was only Anne. Who else do you have?”

  “Little Marie is just now past her first birthday.”

  “Oh wow, congratulations. I don’t want to put you out. Little kids are a lot of work.” Carolyn remembered that Nathalie put in long hours at the Louvre, and now with a family things would be that much harder. And with a French husband, more so.

  “Oh don’t worry, you don’t put us out. You get to eat what we do, and I remember you as a very generous girl, so it won’t make any difference to you. Shall we say, then, about eight? You’re going to have to learn again to eat later in the evening.” Natalie gave a short, but light laugh. “Do you remember where we live?”

  “Of course I remember where you live. You had me over so many times. Numero 8, rue Gavarni. It’s the Passy metro stop. A lovely neighborhood. It will be really good to be there again. Thank you for the invitation. Can I bring something?”

  “Oh no, just come and be with us. I’ll take advantage of you to entertain the children while I put dinner together. Bernard is usually very good at that. He’s a good cook himself, a gourmet chef you might even say, so when he hears that you’re coming, he might feel inspired.”

  “Nathalie, now you make me feel like I’m really putting you out, just showing up like this.”

  “Nonsense. If Bernard is inspired, it’s because he’s inspired, not because t
here’s company for dinner. Besides, I never know what time he gets home anyway. Okay then, see you at eight. Or before then. Why not? The nanny will be there with the children, you can just come in.”

  “Are you sure I can’t bring anything?”

  “Carolyn, please. I tell you what, if you feel you must, Bernard loves his brandy. Of course, French brandy for him. Or anything. Don’t go out of your way. It’s you we are interested in. Look, I have to run. See you tonight.”

  “Thanks. Bye.”

  Carolyn hung up the phone and sat back on the sofa and felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. Now she could look forward to a great French dinner with great French people. She decided to take a shower and get ready, then remembered she had to go out and find something special for Bernard. And flowers for Nathalie. And maybe little gifts for the kids.

  But first she just enjoyed relaxation, then, after a few minutes, the quiet of the room made her feel too alone, too unprepared, so she went out. The tall clerk with round-rimmed glasses at the front desk gave her an strained look and in response to her question about buying cognac said the closest store was Nicolas, not far from the hotel, on the corner of rue Beaujon and Wagram. Americans find their favorite whiskies there, he offered. When she heard that, Carolyn tensed up. Did she look like a business traveler to this guy? Well, that was better than being insulted for sounding like a typical American college student studying abroad.

  She remained polite and tried to keep her emotion hidden. She smiled, and perhaps her smile was forced, but as she went out the door, she didn’t care any longer. She wasn’t going to buy any damn whiskey.

  As she turned the corner from the hotel, she decided she wasn’t going to any American hangout either, but then with a sigh she looked at her watch and decided it wasn’t worth the search beyond the immediate neighborhood. At Nicolas she simply said she wanted cognac, and the man, short and pudgy with pasty skin and a black double breasted suit, and an air of superiority, put his arm up and showed her a wall with every possible brand and cost. He didn’t seem arrogant to her, so she solicited his help in choosing something a little different, that Bernard might not have. He recommended Armagnac or Salignac. She selected Salignac. And because she knew it had some elegance and she didn’t have to worry about making a mistake with the wrong kind of stuff.

  After she paid for the bottle, she learned from the man the location of a neighborhood flower shop. It was close enough to the metro to leave for later when she left for dinner. She wanted to buy a couple of toys for the kids, but knew she didn’t have time for that, unless there was something in the hotel. And there was, sort of. The woman at the concierge desk, young, typically French petite, with curly dark hair radiating out from either side of a part in the middle, and the conspiratorial voice of the helpful attendant, told Carolyn that there was a drugstore very close where they would have children’s toys, at least something suitable for bringing to a home for a visit.

  So the problem of gifts was solved quickly. The Grande Pharmacie was close by. And she had time to take a bath, a luxurious bath in a beautiful French bathtub, relaxing with a glass of white Mouton-Cadet, feeling completely Gallic, extended, unhurried, warm, content.

  Then she was leaving the metro at the Passy station, up to the street. The rain was falling softly and putting a reflective sheen on the street and sidewalk. Just two short streets and she was on rue Gavarni, now becoming familiar with its yellow buildings and narrow streets. As she turned left around the building she knew was number 8, she smiled at the recognition of the small chic Hotel Gavarni across the street from Nathalie’s house. And then, just beyond the house the fabulous Sushi Passy, and beyond that Axel Brixe in dark red paint around the windows, with the very expensive but always fashionable women’s clothes. And then the Auto École that kind of ruined the upper-class appearance of the street.

  Oh, she had forgotten, Maison de la Presse, she could have bought something for the kids there. And down at the end of the street, the funny hot pink Lollipops sign. She could barely make out the items in the store window, they had to be the same as they were before, purses of all sizes, but always hot pink.

  Nathalie’s house was much plainer than the rest, a dull grey house whose upper stories had more the look of a cheap New Orleans street rather than this elegant Paris arrondissement.

  But, Carolyn sighed, as she adjusted the brandy, flowers and toys to ring the bell, this is more like the real heart of Paris. Easy to get to, easy to live in. Away from the university, away from students. Most important, away from prying landladies.

  “Carolyn!” came the sound of a child’s voice from up above.

  She looked up to the second floor, and saw little Anne-it had to be her. Surely she didn’t remember Carolyn? The girl continued waving to her. Carolyn smiled with pleasure and waved back. “Bonjour Anne.”

  The little girl squealed and disappeared and at the same time the buzzer on the door allowed Carolyn to push it open. When she entered the foyer, Anne was already at the bottom of the curved staircase and running toward her.

  “Bonjour Caroleen.”

  Carolyn wanted to lean down and hug her, but her packages made that impossible. Anne pushed the elevator button and squirmed in excitement.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” Carolyn said.

  “Merci,” Anne said. “I have a little baby sister. Are those flowers for us?”

  “Yes they are.” The elevator door opened and they squeezed inside the small space. Carolyn managed to get the flowers into Anne’s hand. “A baby sister? Isn’t that wonderful. How old is she?”

  “One year. We just had a birthday party for her.”

  The elevator door opened on the second floor and Anne took hold of Carolyn’s arm and pulled her into the open door to the apartment. “Mama!” the little girl cried with a wide smile on her face. “We’re here,” Anne said, as if they had been on a long trip.

  Nathalie appeared holding a little baby in her arms. She brushed her dark brown hair back from her face and put her arm around Carolyn’s neck. “Bonjour.” She pulled back and let Carolyn see the baby. “This is little Marie. Say hello to your Aunt Carolyn.” Nathalie took the baby’s arm and made a little wave, but the baby turned her head to hide in her mother’s neck.”

  “She’s your sister?” Anne said, her eyes wide in surprise that Carolyn was going to be family.

  Nathalie laughed and put her hand on Anne’s head. “Oh my, you are grown up. I didn’t think you understood that. No, not really, she’s just a friend from work, it’s just a way of making her feel at home. Go find papa, my little girl, and tell him Carolyn is here.”

  “But the flowers, Mama.” Anne waited in hope she could be part of this grown-up scene. She held up the bouquet of red daylilies and green leaves interspersed with small sunflowers to her mother.

  “They are beautiful,” Nathalie said, leaning down to smell the bouquet.

  “But wait, I have this too,” Carolyn said. She handed a small kit of beads to Anne.

  Anne took the flowers and beads, turned to go, then stopped and said thank you, then ran out of the room calling, “Papa.”

  Carolyn gave Marie a rattle, and the baby warmed up to her, then she followed Nathalie down the narrow hallway to the living room. She remembered the back wall behind the sofa full of books. So European, she thought.

  “Oh you know,” Nathalie said, “she’s daddy’s little girl.”

  “If I remember correctly, she’s a lucky little girl.”

  At that moment, a tall thin man entered the room, holding Anne’s hand. His smile showed a row of perfect white teeth. He was dressed in his dark Navy uniform. He came to Carolyn and kissed her on both cheeks.

  So thin, so French, Carolyn thought. She offered him the bottle of Salignac, saying, “Oh, mon capitaine, I see you have silver bars on your epaulets.”

  He laughed, “And you, I see you pay attention to military rank. Yes, capitaine de frigate, just two months now. I believe
you would say Commander.” He held the bottle of brandy out before him and made a face of appraisal and approval. “This Salignac is fit for an admiral. Thank you. I will take it on board and impress the junior officers.”

  “Bernard is getting ready to go to sea,” Nathalie said. She looked at her husband, and showed perhaps not real worry, but some concern.

  “Oh?” Carolyn felt unsure how to react. She raised her eyebrows as something noncommittal.

  Bernard looked at Nathalie. It was clear there had been a conversation about this. “Yes, you know Tito just died, and so to help calm international nerves, my little ship is going to go tour the Greek isles to show the French flag in the Adriatic sea. There’s nothing dangerous about it.” He looked at his wife again in reassurance.

  Nathalie showed she did not take that reassurance well. “It’s never dangerous until it is.”

  Bernard’s voice showed some irritation. “Come on, now, it’s not like there’s fighting going on anyplace. And Tito doesn’t have a navy, anyway, so the worst that could happen is we have to chase a cruise ship for fun.”

  Nathalie laughed at the last remark, a sign that she believed Bernard. “And then, after that, he comes home for a few weeks and he’s off to the Caribbean. I tell you, the Navy is the best.”

  Bernard shook his head, but smiled at Nathalie and took her hand. “Yes, it’s a lovely place. But we’re going to bring relief supplies to Guadeloupe and Martinique. They’ve been hit rather hard by the recent hurricane.”

  Anne came running up and held her father’s other hand. “Papa is going to be admiral some day.”

  Carolyn showed exaggerated happiness as she responded. “Oh, I’m sure that’s going to happen soon. You must be very proud.”

  Anne nodded and smiled.

  Nathalie gave the baby Marie to Bernard and stood. “Carolyn, come into the kitchen and help me a little with dinner. Bernard is happy with the girls.”

  “Oh, all right, please excuse me,” she said to Anne and Bernard as she got up. She patted the baby on the head, and the little girl laughed.

  Anne followed them into the kitchen, waiting for attention.

  “Oh, of course, my petite, will you help me too?” Nathalie gave Carolyn a conspiratorial look. “But nothing hot, all right. Will you bring the bread in?”

  Anne nodded seriously and took the basket with large pieces of baguette in it, walking carefully to make sure nothing fell out.

  “There’s not much,” Nathalie said. “just leftover couscous and chicken. If I remember correctly you eat anything.”

  “That’s right. And I’m hungry, so especially so tonight.”

  “Did you have any problems finding the place?”

  “Oh, no, it’s so easy, just across rue Passy and you’re practically there. I did like seeing the old stores I remember from before.”

  Nathalie handed Carolyn the bowl of couscous and took the plate of chicken and a bowl of salad and pointed out to the dining room.

  Once they were seated and plates filled with food, Nathalie began the conversation. “Okay, Carolyn, you must tell us what you are doing here. Bernard wondered when I could not tell him what you were doing back in Paris so soon. Unless you’re just on vacation. You graduated recently, right? I thought Americans sent everyone graduation announcements.”

  Carolyn knew his was why she had come to visit Nathalie, and maybe even her husband. Bernard was a Navy officer of some rank, and to her that signaled a capability of judgment, but also of rational decision making that she needed right now. An Nathalie, who was a world-class expert on art of the Northern Renaissance, had befriended Carolyn during her junior semester abroad. More than befriended, Nathalie had shown great warmth to Carolyn. They had even become close friends.

  “Announcements? Oh, yeah, well, I must say, that’s something I learned in Paris. French students don’t have this big fancy ceremony where everyone walks across the stage and gets cheered, and I thought, that’s all right for me. So, no I didn’t send out any announcements.” She frowned. “I hope you weren’t expecting one.”

  “Well, yes,” Nathalie said, “kind of, I did. But it’s all right you know. It looks like you’re making the announcement in person.”

  “Carolyn,” Bernard interrupted, with a smile of intrigue, “you did have a graduation, didn’t you? Americans love those big academic celebrations.” He shook his head in amusement. “Even when I was visiting Annapolis I thought they loved those displays. But, then, not more than us.”

  “We did, at school, you know, the big thing in the stadium.” She looked down to align her silverware a moment, then continued. “My mother came. It was very nice. But afterwards she had something to go to in the City, so she couldn’t stay.”

  Bernard missed the implication in her remark. “But of course you remember my graduation.”

  Carolyn smiled. “Oh, who could forget that. On the Champs-Élysées. That was quite impressive. But it wasn’t college, was it? I mean, I forget what the graduation was for, for you, I mean. To be honest, I was most impressed with the Foreign Legion.”

  “Yeah,” he said, “the French do a great job with pomp and circumstance. The École Polytechnique, that was my group, the red pants. I had just finished a command and staff semester, so they made us march with the others. Then we all mingle together in the stadium. It was like a war from the nineteenth century mixed in with commandos of the twentieth. I found it exciting myself.”

  “Yes, I do remember you with your gold epaulets. And now I remember, too, that Spanish person right next to you. It’s great isn’t it, Europe, the European Union.”

  “Yes,” Bernard said, “it’s something for the future, I think, when we will all have the same laws and the same money and the same government. But for now, I’m skeptic.”

  Nathalie looked at him in mock dismissal. “Too conservative, I think. We need to all have the Euro first.”

  Bernard shook his head, but smiled. “The Euro is a fantasy for the future. People will never give up the franc.”

  Nathalie pursed her mouth as if she would say nothing more. She wiped the face of Marie, who was scraping pieces of cookie off her high chair. “You arrived just yesterday, Carolyn?”

  Carolyn was glad the conversation turned away from European politics. She was uncomfortably aware that her education in that area was sorely neglected and she resolved to start reading Le Monde every day and watching France2 news at night. “It was wonderful. I flew on the Concorde. Amazing. So high up, it’s true you can see the curvature of the earth.”

  “Wow,” Bernard said. “That’s not cheap.”

  Carolyn heard his remark as a reminder to be more careful about what she said to other people, especially since all Europeans think Americans have money to burn. “No, I splurged on that. So unfortunately I have to make up for it in other areas. It will be a while before I can afford a car.” She made that last remark up on the spot, and felt somewhat guilty for doing it. “But there’s an example of British and French entrepreneurship, if you ask me.” Then she thought of something she heard just a few weeks back that would show them her attention to French history. “I understand Sartre just died. Now that’s an end to an era.”

  Bernard and Nathalie looked at each other.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Nathalie said. “You know, in that respect I think we’re all the same. We all read Being and Nothingness in college and then quickly forgot about it.”

  Bernard nodded in agreement about this change in tone of the conversation. “Philosophy is still a major subject for the baccalaureat, but once you’re out of school, unless you’re a professional philosopher, it’s not widely studied. Same as in the States, I suspect.”

  Carolyn put her knife and fork on her plate in a sign that she was finished. “I think you’re right. It’s like music. People used to have a piano in the home and kids used to study it, but now we have the Sony Walkman, and you carry your music with you.”

  “That’s right,” Nathali
e said, “I see kids now. They are even thinking of a way to bring them into the museum, so you can take one with you and listen to a painter while you look at his pictures.” Then she laughed. “Not in my area, though. There’s nobody around anymore. Speaking of art, Carolyn, do you know what you are going to do? Are you going to study painting at the Sorbonne?”

  Carolyn had hoped that she could have this conversation in private with Nathalie. Not that Bernard wouldn’t be sympathetic, but with his military uniform he seemed like someone who made her feel ashamed at the speed with which she had left San Francisco and then New York. She had no plan and no explanation for why not. If she didn’t understand herself, what was there to say? She decided to just be honest.

  “No I don’t. I know I don’t want to just look at art.”

  “It is art you are interested in, then?” Bernard said.

  Carolyn was puzzled by the question.

  Bernard sensed it, and said, “I mean, you studied art with Nathalie, and you just graduated with an arts degree, I think. So it is logical.”

  Logical. That’s Bernard.

  Nathalie shook her head. “Not necessarily. She could be studying business or-“ She stopped herself. “Or anything. I’m sorry, Carolyn, we shouldn’t be pestering you like this.”

  Carolyn sat back in her chair. She looked at Anne playing around with the food on her plate. “I think we’re probably pestering Anne more than anybody.”

  Anne looked up at the mention of her name and smiled, obviously wondering if she was supposed to say something. She squirmed in her seat and went back to eating.

  Carolyn continued. “No, actually, I called you because I wanted to talk to you. I think you could help me more than anybody decide on what I want to do.” There. She said it. She said it more to herself than them. She needed help and she needed clear thinking and not just the empathy she had been seeking back home.

  Bernard crossed his arms over his chest. “You said you don’t want to just look at art. What did you mean by that?”

  “I mean I’m not just on vacation. I haven’t figured everything out yet. I—of course I just got here. But I’m not going to just visit museums and see the Loire Valley. I plan on living here for the foreseeable future.”

  Bernard leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “I take it you have enough money for that?”

  “Bernard.” Nathalie shot him a look of strong disapproval.

  It seemed strange to her, but Carolyn was not bothered by his remark. “No, it’s perfectly all right. It is why I came here tonight. Yes,” she said, nodding, “I do have enough money. For now. For a few months. If I can’t find a way to make a living, eventually I will have to go home.” She was surprised at how easy she spoke this lie, having enough money to last the rest of her life if she wasn’t extravagant. “I can stay in Paris meanwhile. And I know too, that I want to do something with art, but I just haven’t figured it out yet.”

  Nathalie touched Bernard’s arm, but kept on looking at Carolyn. “What about your own art. I remember you did some nice things while you were here. You did a very nice watercolor of Notre Dame from across the Seine. And I liked especially your portraits. Remember the one you did of Anne? I think you are talented.”

  “Yes,” Anne said, excited. “You painted me. I remember it. Maman, where is it?”

  Nathalie looked embarrassed. “We have it stored away, somewhere. We’ll find it and put it up, don’t you think?”

  Anne nodded. “Oh, yes, it’s in my art gallery.”

  Carolyn frowned playfully. “Your gallery.”

  “Yes, I have a box with my paintings and I’m sure yours will be in there, too.”

  “We’ll find it first thing tomorrow after school,” Nathalie said.

  Carolyn was grateful for Nathalie’s personal comment. It was so like her, to think of Carolyn’s feelings. But it came mixed with the painful realization that she had failed to get into the school of her choice.

  “My own art?” Carolyn looked at both Bernard and Nathalie as she tried to think of what she should say. “My own art is on hold, I’m afraid.”

  Nathalie frowned, but did so sympathetically. “I don’t understand you.”

  Carolyn sighed. “I mean, I found out that the problem with school is that, well, you’re in school. It’s more figures, more drawing, more experimenting with all the different media. I need to settle on something that I can develop. That’s my own art. And I don’t know what that is. That’s why I came to Paris, someplace completely different from California.”

  “But not for you,” Bernard said. “If I remember, you fit into Paris very well. Your French is almost perfect. You could just say you’re from Quebec and nobody would question you. And you ate all that stuff we wouldn’t touch. I remember andouillette sausage, for example.”

  “Thank you, Bernard, that’s very nice of you. But Paris is different from New York, too, and here I’m not me, I’m not the girl from San Francisco. So I don’t know what’s in store for me, I just know it’s not in school. Which brings me to the question I have for you.”

  “Oh, for us? That’s interesting. Go ahead.” Nathalie put her fork down.

  “I don’t mean it’s a big deal. I just thought I’d ask you where might be a good place to live. I remember so much, but I don’t want to be in the Left Bank, just because it’s full of students. And not in Montmartre because its-oh-it’s-trendy or something. Here in the 16th is very nice, but you’re here and I don’t want to intrude—“.

  Nathalie laughed. “Intrude? I don’t think so. I remember you as a very excellent and handy baby sitter. That’s my point of view.”

  “Sure, Nathalie, I’ll always do that, you can depend on me.”

  Bernard sat back and looked thoughtful. “Everywhere is nice in Paris. Everywhere has some, let’s say, some less desirable areas. Let me ask you, are you trying to save money, Carolyn?”

  “No, that’s not it. I’m okay for a year or two, I can get by. I definitely don’t want to put out a lot of money. It’s more, I’m thinking someplace central, but not near the Sorbonne and not very expensive.”

  Nathalie shook her head. “You’re still not being very clear. I think you still want to be close to art, so you don’t have to make a long train ride, isn’t that right?”

  “Yes, that’s true. But there’s so much art in Paris, that anywhere would do. I think if I sat down and studied the matter, I could eventually figure out someplace to live. But I thought of you, and it would mean so much to me if you’d help me. Like you did when I worked for you.”

  Nathalie sat up with an idea. “So, let’s be, as Bernard said, logical about this. You are here for art, one way or another. But not museums, and not schools. Well, then, I think there’s only one answer.”

  Carolyn waited in anticipation. She knew she had made the right phone call. She opened her eyes and smiled while she demonstrated her interest to Nathalie.

  “For me, it would be the fourth arrondissement, the Marais, the Centre Pompidou. You remember that?”

  “Yes, of course, I do, it was just being completed when I was here. But it’s a museum. I remember the big beautiful lips near the pool.” Carolyn laughed at the memory. “Sorry, I just remember that as being funny.”

  Nathalie waved off the humor with her hand. “That’s not my point. It’s an area with many new galleries. You see, that’s what’s good for you. Not museums, galleries. And there’s something else.”

  “What?” Carolyn said, curious, her eyes open wide.

  “No students. They have some very upscale apartments, and they don’t have any cheap apartments like over the hill in Montmartre. But they have nice apartments you could probably afford and there won’t be any students in them.”

  “Oh, thank you, Nathalie. I knew I could count on you. Well, I didn’t mean I should count on you, but thank you all the same.”

  “So I think I solved your problem, Carolyn. And there are many nice places all over. Look where we are,
this building isn’t very nice, I mean, sure, inside, we have a nice apartment. It’s a little small with the children, but It’s not expensive like the others in the neighborhood. Bernard inherited it from his parents, so we are lucky to live in the 16th. And there are bound to be many places in the 4th like this. You just have to be patient.”

  Nathalie looked at her little daughter, who had fallen asleep in her chair, leaning against her father.

  “What do you say we have some chocolate mousse.”

  Anne suddenly became awake, sitting up and stretching, then looking up at her mother and smiling as if she had fooled her.

  “Oh, so not too sleepy for dessert, my little girl.” Mother and daughter laughed together.

  After dinner, with the children put to bed, and feeling like a new person, Carolyn wished Bernard well on his deployment, and thanked Nathalie profusely as they stood in the foyer.

  “One more thing”, Nathalie, said. She held the door open as she stood on the threshold. “Look around, but when you find something you’re interested in, give me a call at work. I’ll use my lunch break to see it with you. They still will look at you, Carolyn, you are very young and pretty, and they will try and take advantage of you. Will you do that?”

  “You are so helpful, Nathalie. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “Go on,” Nathalie said. “I’m happy to do it. Now that Bernard is gone for a while, Anne is in kindergarten , and I can’t get home for lunch with my baby, but the 4th is close enough to the Louvre. It’ll be fun.”

  Carolyn embraced Nathalie and kissed her on both cheeks, then walked over to the subway but decided it was a beautiful night in a beautiful city, and she had all the time in the world. She walked home and took every opportunity at every corner to look over to the right and see each different view down an avenue toward the amazing lights of the Eiffel Tower.