A Summer in Paris Page 15
“So, Nina,” she said, primly arranging her napkin on her lap. “When do we get to meet this young man of yours?”
“What the heck is this stuff?” her father was grumbling, peering at the menu. “Pool... pool...”
“Poulet,” Nina said. “It’s French for chicken. Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll order for you. I know what you like.”
She only hoped the modest restaurant she had chosen for this family dinner did, indeed, serve steak, cooked medium rare, and plain baked potatoes.
“Is he in Paris?” her mother went on, not willing to be thrown off the track. “This boy, this ... this ... What’s his name again, Nina?”
“I think you mean Pierre,” Nina said. “I can understand that you’re interested in meeting him,” she went on, “but I don’t think you understand that having met Pierre is only part of the reason I’ve decided to stay on in Paris. It’s the city itself I can’t bear to leave. I can’t tell you how much I love it here. It’s as if ... as if I belong here, as if I were always meant to be here.”
“Hah,” her father snorted. “Now that’s a silly notion, if I ever heard one. You’re an American, through and through.”
“I probably am,” Nina replied. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy living in another country, or that I can’t benefit from the experience of being a part of something completely different from everything I’ve ever known.”
Her voice was gentle as she said, “You know, Dad, I probably won’t end up staying here forever. You’re right; I am an American. But for now, living abroad is simply what feels right to me. It’s what I want.”
“And college?” her father demanded. “What about that?”
“I’m not saying I won’t ever go to college. I’m just not ready to go to college yet. At least, not back at home, in the States. I do want to take courses at the Sorbonne in the fall. I don’t intend to stop learning, you know. I just want to do it my own way. And that means staying here.”
“How about your friends, Kristy and Jennifer? What are their plans?”
“They’re going back, just as they’d always planned.” Nina couldn’t resist adding, “Jennifer is like you, Mom and Dad. She can hardly stand being away from home. She’s been like a fish out of water since the day she got here.”
“What about money?” her father persisted. Nina could see that he had come armed with a whole list of arguments.
“I thought I’d mentioned over the telephone that I plan to get some kind of job.”
“A job, huh? Doing what? A young girl like you .... Do you have this job yet?”
“Well, no. But I have some ideas. And I have some friends who are helping me out. Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m not asking you to support me forever.”
“It sounds as if you’ve thought of everything,” Mrs. Shaw interrupted crisply. “But I still want to hear about this boy, this Pierre. Who is he? What’s going on with the two of you? Surely you’re not giving up college and your future and everything else that’s ever meant anything to you for some teenage romance?”
It was at that point that Nina realized that all of her efforts to explain were in vain. It was a waste of time trying to make her parents understand her point of view. Her mother was absolutely right when she commented that Nina had thought of everything. Yet that fact meant nothing to either her mother or her father. All they could see was that their daughter, their little girl, was being rebellious, insisting upon doing something that they could not comprehend—and certainly not accept.
And then, all of a sudden, her mother spoke in an entirely different tone of voice. “Oh, Nina, it’s just that Paris is so ... so far away.”
The intensity in her voice prompted Nina to look at her—really look at her, for the first time since her parents had arrived in Paris. And the expression on her mother’s face caused her stomach to tighten.
What she saw there was fear. She realized then that what was really behind her parents’ actions was not the need to control her, nor the wish to keep her a little girl. They were afraid for her. They were trying to protect her, trying to keep her from being hurt. And since the idea of living in another country sounded frightening to them— these two people who had never lived anywhere besides Connecticut, who rarely left Weston now that they were all settled in—they simply could not see why such an idea would hold even the slightest bit of appeal for anyone else, especially their daughter.
“Maybe we could talk about this some other time,” Nina said gently, reaching over and taking her mother’s hand. It hurt her to see the pained look on the woman’s face, and the dampness of her mother’s eyes made her insides tighten up even more. “We have plenty of time. You’ve only just gotten here. Let’s think of tonight as a celebration—a celebration that we’re all together.”
Her mother just looked at her, forcing a weak smile.
* * * *
After Alain learned that in the fall he would be attending college in the same city in which Kristy would be going to school, he was in such a happy mood that he went around humming all the time.
“What on earth is that noise?” Kristy asked in irritation as the two of them were taking one of their after-school strolls through the park. They were walking hand in hand. But instead of it being a romantic moment, the way it should have been, each of them seemed to be a million miles away.
“Oh, you mean my humming?” Alain asked cheerfully.
“Is that what that sound is?”
Alain shrugged. “These days, I find that I am humming all the time.”
“What song is that?”
He had to think. “Oh, yes. Now I know. It is that old Neil Diamond song. What do you call it? ‘Coming to America.’ “
When he wasn’t humming, he was making plans—plans for what life would be like for him and Kristy once they were both living in the same city.
“I hope you will invite me to your parents’ home for that holiday—what is it?” Alain’s forehead became wrinkled as he thought hard. “The one in November, when you eat turkey and pie until you feel sick. I know. It is called Thanks-saying, right?”
“Thanksgiving,” Kristy corrected him. Inwardly, she was groaning.
“Yes, that is it. Thanksgiving. It will be so exciting to have my first real American holiday—and in a huge mansion with servants, no less. Tell me, do your parents have a Rolls Royce?”
“They have six,” she mumbled, no longer caring.
But then one day, when she met Alain at their usual time and place after her morning classes, he looked a bit troubled.
“What is it?” she immediately asked. For the moment, at least, she forgot all about her ongoing concern about how her relationship with him was going to change—and perhaps even end—as soon as he set foot on American soil and found out that the girl he cared so much about was a total fake.
“My parents,” he replied. “They want to have a celebratory dinner. They want to celebrate the fact that I am going away to school in America in a few weeks. And they want to invite you. You would, in fact, be the person of honor.”
“I believe that’s guest of honor. Why, Alain, that’s very nice. I’d love to come.”
He looked at her woefully. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
Kristy chuckled. “That’s not much of an invitation, Alain! What’s the matter? Don’t you want me to come to your house for dinner?”
And then suddenly she realized what his bad mood was all about. He was embarrassed about how poor he was, compared to her!
Of course that was the case. Here she had been carrying on all summer about how wealthy her family was, what a magnificent life-style she was used to, how she herself was practically a celebrity. And while Alain was undoubtedly impressed, he must have felt that, by comparison, his own life was modest. Perhaps he was even afraid that when she saw how simple his house and his family and his life were, she wouldn’t like him anymore.
The whole situation would have been funny if Kristy hadn’t been so concerne
d about the day that the tables were turned. She dreaded the day Alain came to visit the Connors in Weston, Connecticut. He would be expecting to see six Rolls Royces parked outside their house. Instead he would end up discovering who she really was ... or more accurately, who she wasn’t.
“Alain, I’d love to come to your house for dinner. And if you’re worried about what I’m going to think of your family—”
“I am, a little bit,” Alain said. “But that’s only part of it. I am also afraid of what you will think of me once you see where I live, where I am from.”
“Oh, Alain, I would never care about any of that!” she cried, and her words were more true than anything she had ever before said in her life. “Don’t you understand that I like you for what you are? I don’t care about how much money—or how little money—your family has. I don’t care if they’re not famous, or if they’re not even successful. If they’re good, honest, caring people, then that’s all that matters.”
Alain looked at her nervously. “I hope you really feel that way, Kristy. Because in a few days, on Saturday night, you will be finding out the real truth about me. My family, our store, our house, the way we all live ... you will see all that for yourself.”
Kristy reached over and took his hand. “Trust me, Alain. None of it will matter to me,” she said. “Just wait. You’ll see.” But what she was thinking as she gave his hand an encouraging squeeze was, Oh, Alain, if only you end up feeling the same way about me!
* * * *
“I am so glad you decided to go out with me this evening,” Louis said warmly. “I was eager to see you again, Jennifer, but at Claudine’s party the other night, I got the impression you weren’t really certain you felt the same way about me.”
Jennifer shrugged, meanwhile pulling the sweater she was wearing more tightly around her. She and Louis were strolling down the Boulevard St. Germaine, headed toward a restaurant that Louis wanted to go to. He had telephoned her a few nights before, suggesting that the two of them go out for coffee. She had agreed, partly because she had felt so comfortable with him at the party, partly because she figured it was a way to get out of the house, to do something a little bit different.
When he arrived to pick her up, he spent a long time with the Cartiers. Much to her surprise, he actually seemed to enjoy talking to them. But there was something else. He treated them with a kind of respect, as if he were in awe of them. Jennifer decided he was just being polite.
“Was my hunch correct?” he went on to ask. “Were you unsure of whether or not you wanted to see me again?”
“I guess I was feeling a little guilty, agreeing to go out with some guy I’d met at a party when I’ve got a wonderful boyfriend back home.”
“Even if we are going out just as friends?”
“Well ... that’s the only reason I agreed. I mean, it’s not as if Danny were one of these possessive types who doesn’t like me to have male friends.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Oh, Danny’s great. We’ve been together for ages. We’ve even talked about getting married one day, although that’s still down the road quite a bit.” Dreamily, she went on. “He’s really fun to be with, for one thing. He’s always joking around, being the life of the party.... And he’s really easy on the eyes, if you get what I mean.”
“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Maybe they don’t say that in Kentucky. What I mean is, he’s really cute. You know, good-looking.”
“Ah. That, I understand.”
“But that’s not all. He’s sweet and thoughtful.... I don’t know, what else is there?”
Louis smiled. “It sounds as if that’s enough.”
“Yeah, I sure miss him. He and I have been writing to each other almost every day. He’s got this really great job this summer. He’s a lifeguard at the town pool.” With a sigh, Jennifer added, “Boy, I sure wish I’d been with him all summer.”
“Well, it is almost time for you to go back. Just another week or so, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” Jennifer said, showing more enthusiasm than she had all evening. “The big countdown has already begun.”
“Oh, come on, Jennifer. Tell me the truth. You must be at least a little bit sad about having to leave France ... right?”
“Me?” Jennifer laughed. “You must be kidding, Louis. I’m counting the days until I’m out of here. In fact, I’m practically counting the hours. You know, I didn’t even want to come on this trip.”
“No?” Louis was surprised. “Then why did you decide to come?”
“I didn’t. The whole thing was my parents’ idea. They thought that living abroad for the summer would make me a better person or something.”
“I take it you don’t agree.”
“Hardly. And just as I expected, this whole summer has been nothing but a waste of time. Oh, sure, I saw a bunch of stuff, and some of it was interesting. And I guess I know more French than I did when I first got here. But all in all, I know I would have had much more fun if I’d stayed in Weston this summer.”
She let out a loud sigh. “And if I wasn’t crazy about the idea of coming here in the first place, I knew for sure it was a bad idea when I met the Cartiers.”
“The Cartiers?” Louis’s eyebrows shot up. “Why? What about them?”
“Well, it’s like I was telling you at Claudine’s party the other night. They’re so dull. I mean, it was nice of them to invite their granddaughter Michèle up from Lyon—even though the two of us have about as much in common as a dog and a cat—but basically they’re just two old people who hang around the house all day. I just don’t feel they’re very interesting. And wasn’t that the whole idea of my coming here in the first place? So that I could meet interesting people?”
Louis opened his mouth to reply, but Jennifer cut him off before he had a chance to say a word.
“Then there are the classes we’ve been taking all summer. I thought they’d be a real breeze, you know? But it turns out we have to do tons of work for them. In fact, the biggest project is yet to come. Each of us has to give an oral report the last week of class.”
“I’m surprised you’re going to bother.”
“Huh?” Jennifer looked at him oddly. “Oh, I get it. You mean, why don’t I just cut all week?”
Louis nodded.
“Don’t think I haven’t already considered that. But I have my two best friends to think about. Nina and Kristy. They’re real gung-ho types.” With a shrug, Jennifer explained, “I don’t want them to think I can’t do it or anything. Since they’re throwing themselves into this project, I figure I ought to at least give it a try. And I don’t want to make a total fool of myself.”
“That’s the spirit,” Louis said.
Jennifer glanced over at him, afraid he was making fun of her. Instead, she saw that he was sincere.
“And on what topic will you be doing this oral report?”
Jennifer sighed. “That’s the most boring part of all. I was assigned ‘France during World War II.’ “
“But that’s a fascinating topic!” Louis insisted. “Very important, too.”
“I guess.” She didn’t sound convinced. “It’s just that World War II was so long ago....”
Laughing, Louis protested, “It wasn’t that long ago! My grandfather fought in World War II.”
“It seems long ago to me. The 1940’s, after all, were way before I was even born.”
“But your grandparents were probably involved in it in some way, weren’t they?”
“I guess.” It was clear that Jennifer was already growing bored with this topic. “Look, Louis. It’s nothing personal, believe me. It’s just that learning about a war is not exactly my idea of a good time.”
“Have you started doing any research yet?”
“A little bit. I’ve been doing some reading. I got a bunch of books out of the library at the Sorbonne. I’m doing my best, really.... It’s just that the whole thing is so dry, you know?”
Jennifer’s face lit up. “Oh, Louis! What a great idea! And how sweet of you to think of it!”
Louis looked around in surprise. “I’m glad you approve, Jennifer. The Café des Voix has always been one of my favorites....”
“The Café de what?”
“The Café des Voix. Translated, it means, the cafe of the voices.” He looked confused as he gestured toward a tiny hole in the wall, a storefront that was only as wide as a doorway and a small window. Hung over the door was a small hand-painted sign with the name of the cafe. “Isn’t this what you were so excited about?”
Jennifer burst out laughing. “Oh, I’m sorry, Louis. I thought you were taking me over there!”
She pointed to a restaurant across the street. Louis’s eyes followed her finger—and he saw that she was talking about the McDonald’s opposite the Café des Voix.
“Oh, now I understand. I’ll tell you what. I’ll make a deal with you, Jennifer,” he said, taking her arm and leading her toward the cafe. “Let’s give this place, the café, a try. If you find you don’t like it, then we can go to McDonald’s.”
“Well ...” But already Jennifer was following him into the tiny café.
Inside it was dark and cramped, such a tiny space that it was almost like being in someone’s living room. The wall that ran the length of the long, narrow room was exposed brick. Hung on it were the front pages of newspapers, displayed in picture frames. Jennifer’s French was good enough for her to figure out that their headlines were calls to action. Many of them were from the late 1960’s, a time she knew had been one of great political activism in France, especially with the students. But most of them, she saw, were very recent.
The café was packed. There were only a dozen or so tables, rough wooden tables without any tablecloths. Six or eight young people, not much older than she was, were huddled around each table, drinking small cups of coffee that looked like espresso. Most of them were talking loudly or even arguing. All of them seemed very intense.