Map to the Stars (12 page)

“Ready for more steps?” asked a deep voice in my ear. I jumped and turned to see Graham closing in on me, holding out cups of mint iced tea. He'd either ordered with hand signals or I'd been even more transfixed by the view than I thought. I accepted one gratefully and chugged it down. Graham chuckled softly in my ear and handed me
the other cup.

“I told you.”

“So good. Oh my God.”

Roddy came over with two cups of his own and handed one to Graham.

“Okay, let's head up inside the dome,” Graham announced, taking my hand again. I could definitely get used to this hand-holding stuff. Bring on more stairs.

Which wasn't exactly what I was saying three hundred steps later as Graham and I finally arrived at the top of the dome and squeezed our way into a claustrophobic space to look out over the rooftops at a 360-degree expanse of city. It was breathtaking. Not because of the climb into the upper limits of the atmosphere or the outrageous view that made me feel like I was Ewan McGregor perched on the Moulin Rouge rooftop, but because I was finding it particularly hard to catch my breath given the confines and my forced proximity to one certain heartthrob.

“Heads up” came Roddy's voice through our earpieces. “Big tour group with a lot of teenage girls out here. Might want to head out a side entrance. Let me know when you've picked one and I'll meet you there.”

We took the stairs as quickly as possible given their narrowness. Once on the ground floor, we stuck our heads out a nondescript exit near the back of the church, trying to take in enough landmarks to orient ourselves and give Roddy a meeting place. With my head poking out of an enormous wooden door, on the lam from a teenage posse, I
fully appreciated the ridiculousness of the situation. Things with Graham were never boring, I had to give him that.

Roddy communicated in our ears that he was making his way around to the back of the church, so we tucked back inside to wait for his signal. It was then that I saw the small girl. She couldn't have been more than nine or so and she was tugging on Graham's sleeve. With saucer eyes and in the most adorable accent I've ever heard, she asked, “Eggscuse me, boot air you Graham Cabett?”

He looked at me helplessly. I shrugged. It was just one little kid. Why not make her day?

Graham must have had the same thought, because he said, “Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Wood you seegn thees?”

She pulled a Euro Disney autograph book from her bag and handed it to Graham along with a pink pen adorned with a giant ball of fluff at the top. Graham smiled and flipped past Goofy and Buzz Lightyear to find a blank page.

“What's your name, sweetheart?” he asked, turning his movie star charm on. She sighed as she stared at him and I more than felt her pain. What was it about seeing a cute guy being adorable with a kid that made every girl fall in love? It couldn't just be me, right?

The little girl, who could have scored a role on Broadway as Cosette from
Les Mis
with her doe eyes and innocent stance, answered, “Isabelle.”

Graham scribbled out a message and Isabelle reached out a hand to retrieve the book. Using her other hand, she placed two fingers in her
mouth and gave a wolf whistle that shattered the respectful peace of the sanctuary. Like ninjas, no fewer than a dozen petite girls turned a corner from the vestibule and began streaming down the center aisle, arms waving. It was like
Flower Girls Gone Wild
and I was sure we did not want to stick around for the credits of this episode.

“Run!” yelled Graham and pushed me ahead of him out the door. “Head down the hill. Follow signs for the Metro and you'll see the flea markets. I'll find you!” he shouted, taking off in the opposite direction. I knew it was him they'd be after, but my adrenaline was pumping as fast as my legs as I raced by the street performers and took off down the street.

I slowed to a walk as I neared the base of the hill. I couldn't hear anything in my earpiece and wondered what the range on the things was. Clearly, I wasn't within it.
Okay, Annie, no need to panic.

I knew I was safe, but I still couldn't get my heart back to a normal speed and I entered the first market with it pounding in my ears. Graham had Roddy and a lifetime of dealing with things like this, but I still couldn't focus on the array of goods in front of me. I wandered around unseeing, worrying. As I picked my way absently through a bag of vintage French postage stamps, I finally heard, “Stamps? You know, they invented this thing called email. Much faster than a letter.” My shoulders relaxed at his warm voice.

“Where are you?” I asked, spinning in place and searching the marketplace for a cheesy outfit and an anything-but-cheesy face. I saw neither. Which wasn't all that surprising given the chaos of the market. Booths lined either side of narrow pedestrian pathways and
colorful awnings extended out over the street so the items could literally spill out from their cubbies. Elegant chairs, lamps, propped-up paintings, and even a harp clogged the passageway and obstructed my view down the quaint alleyway. The vines bushing out from the walls didn't help either, except to contribute to the charm factor.

Graham chuckled in my ear. “Don't worry. I can see you. And I'm enjoying the view.”

I blushed, and hoped he wasn't close enough to discern it. “Did you find Roddy? Any problems getting away?”

“Roddy's here. He's grabbing some Fanta at a café on the next street over. I don't think he's had to run like that in a very long time.”

Roddy's voice boomed into my ear, interrupting. “Hey, for people with such short legs, those girls could book it. Good thing their moms were bearing down on them.”

Now that I knew none of us were in actual danger, I laughed at the image. I imagined if Graham were close enough, he'd be swatting me. “Where are you?” I asked again, frustrated. I strained to spot him.

When I lowered myself from tiptoe and turned to face the opposite direction, I gave a loud laugh of surprise. Graham had stepped out from behind an antique grandfather clock wearing a Rastafarian red-, yellow-, black-, and green-striped hat that had long black dreadlocks flowing out from under it. Coupled with the black socks/tan sandals combo and the dumb Tommy Bahama shirt, he looked like someone any Parisian would cross the street to avoid. I, on the other hand, flung my arms around him.

“You look ridiculous!” I told him, drawing back before I made a
spectacle of myself by disappearing forever into his answering hug.

“That's sort of the idea. Blend in by standing out sort of thing.”

“I'm not so sure I can be seen with you,” I said, a mock-serious expression on my face.

“That's actually good, because
I'm
sure I
can't
be seen with you. Roddy spotted one paparazzo already while we searched the market for you. Not sure if he's here for me or not, but even if he isn't, it won't take long for word from the church to get out on social media, if it hasn't already.”

I tried not to show my disappointment. “We can head out now.”

“Not a chance. This is the best of the city right here and near the top of my checklist of Parisian experiences I'm determined to show you today. We're staying. Roddy'll be trailing too and, as long as we stay a little bit apart, we're fine. I couldn't care less if paparazzi spot me solo. Might knock me out of the running in a few best-dressed competitions, but I'm pretty okay with that.”

As he talked, he placed more distance between us. My arms were still tingling from where they'd wrapped around him, but he was nearly out of sight again.

“As long as they don't take a picture of us together, huh?” I asked, trying to hide the mope in my voice.

“Well . . . yeah,” he said, sounding a little off himself. What was Roddy making of this exchange and how much did he know about us? Not that there was an “us.” Just that there might have been.

“Okay, so we're going to shop together . . . apart?” I asked.

“The girl catches on quickly,” Graham said, and I could hear his
smile even though I couldn't see it.

Okay, so it was weird, but . . . it was also kind of fun. I could no longer see more than a glimpse here and there of Graham but whenever I would pick something up, he would whisper in my ear, “Too big,” “Too much money,” or “Wayyyy too ugly!” If only there was a way to package this shopping method and send it to Wynn for her mall outings. Might save me from having to listen to her cry poor every other day.

As for Wynn, I found her a delicate vintage snow globe showing a cozy café scene with swirls of fake snow settling gently along the tops of itty-bitty green metal chairs and a miniature Metro post in the background. She would love it. I handed it to the clerk and at the last minute added a glittery Eiffel Tower one as well.

I reached for my wallet and only then remembered getting cleaned out by a certain Liar's Poker mastermind. “How much are these? And, um, do you take credit cards?” I asked, cheeks flushed.

She wasn't even through shaking her head and one finger at me when Graham materialized at my elbow.

“First of all, you're going about this all wrong. Roddy, we need your French. They always offer more of a discount for anyone attempting their language.”

In my ear came Roddy's gravelly voice. “Repeat after me. ‘What is the price?'
Quel est le prix?
And now you're going to offer her thirty percent less. She'll come back with twenty percent, if we're lucky.”

Graham repeated Roddy's words. The gypsy-looking woman pretended to be offended at his haggling, then narrowed her eyes and
countered. Graham nodded and forked over the appropriate bills.

As we walked away with my purchase, I offered my thanks. “I'll pay you back as soon as I get some cash.”

“Here, hand them over. You need two hands for shopping. And no need to pay me back. I figure since I took all your money off you on the train, it was the least I could do. So, do you have a collection of these or something?”

He gradually moved away from me again, until there were several booths in between us.

“Wynn, my best friend, does,” I said, stopping in front of one selling vinyl records and flipping through, even though I didn't recognize any of the French artists. I moved on to the next bin.

“Ah. Wynn, the best friend. I'm filing questions on her away for later. What about you? Anything you collect? Or do you not believe in collections the same way you don't believe in magic pennies? And seriously? NO Madonna.”

I made an exaggerated show of returning the
Vogue
album to its place. I tucked my chin close to my shoulder, so anyone watching me wouldn't think I was totally crazy chattering away to myself.

“I believe in them, I just haven't found anything I like enough to want to collect. I used to find sand dollars at my grandparents' cottage in Maine every summer and I kept them in a glass jar there. But I haven't been in a while. My dad has a collection of—”

I stopped abruptly. I definitely hadn't meant to bring
him
up.

“Of what?” Graham asked, unaware of the Pandora's box he was about to open.

“Um, nothing,” I mumbled.

“Please? Pretty please with a can't-remember-what on top? If you don't tell me, I'll be forced to use my imagination and I might envision him collecting dug-up skulls from the local graveyard or back issues of
Playboy
, or something equally lurid.”

I laughed despite myself. As pissed at my dad as I was, I had to defend his honor. “It's not lurid. He collects photos of weird road signs.”

“Come again?”

“Yeah. Like he has one that's a Dead End sign mounted on a street sign for Cemetery Road and another we found that says ‘Buckle Up Next Million Miles.' It's a pain in the ass to drive anywhere new with him because at any moment we might be swinging a U-turn and pulling over into a ditch so he can find his camera. It happens
all
the time. He wants to get one of every different type of sign in his collection so a bunch are just regular ones too.”

I had to swallow over the lump in my throat but Graham's silky laugh echoed in my ear and brought me back to the moment. All I had of him was his voice in my ear, which actually made it much easier to open up to him. I'd somehow managed to completely block out that Roddy could hear everything too.

Weirdly, even though I couldn't see Graham, I felt completely connected to him as we meandered through the market. He showed up again when I wanted to buy a cookbook of French cookie recipes for my mom and once more when I spotted a white canvas fanny pack. He protested wildly, but I forced him to negotiate for it and promptly
fastened it around his waist. I stepped back to take in the full effect. “Voilà! Perfect final touch to that
très
chic outfit you got there.”

This time even Roddy, who'd been keeping discreetly quiet, was guffawing in my ear. Graham chose this moment to decide he'd had enough of the markets.

“We have the whole rest of the city to see. Onward,” he said, raising a fist in the air.

We sped across town in a taxi again, this time to a spot Graham insisted had the best cafés au lait in the city.

The rest of the day reminded me of being little and plucking daisy petals, only instead of “He loves me, he loves me not,” the refrain circling my head as the afternoon went on was: “It's a date, it's not a date.”

It's a Date: Graham found an excuse to press his leg and shoulder tight against mine as we sat three across in the taxi.

It's Not a Date: Roddy sat with us at a round café table under an enormous red-and-white-striped umbrella as we sipped cafés au lait and played a rousing game of “Tourist or Local?” about the passersby.

It's a Date: We hopped onto a riverboat cruise down the Seine where Roddy made himself scarce in the back of the boat as Graham and I rode in the open-air front deck. I schooled him on the different types of French architecture we drifted lazily past and, when the clouds returned briefly, Graham took a light sweater from his bag and draped it over my shoulders along with his arm.