Read On the Brink of Paris Online
Authors: Elizabeth Cody Kimmel
On the Brink of Paris (12 page)
After the bathroom door had slammed, and the subdued giggles issuing from Some of Us Who Shall Remain Nameless had faded, Madame Chavotte continued speaking as if nothing had happened.
“Okay, zen, we are livving for ze airport early in ze morning, so mek sure to get plenty of sleep. Since we 'ave so much time on ze plane, I am asking each one of you to write a t'ree-'undred-word essay on 'ow ze veezeet to Paris 'as changed you. I will collect zem when we have landed in ze U.S.”
There was a chorus of groans and protests, its epicenter being with Bud and Chaz. I, on the other hand, found myself kind of looking forward to the exercise. Because through all my phases and dramatic episodes, I am and always will be Lily Blennerhassett, Writer Extraordinaire.
FROM THE PARISIAN DIARY OF
Lily M. Blennerhassett
And so, even as the lights of Paris blaze and twinkle outside, we have come to the final evening of our journey. We spent our last day, in what I consider a poetically fitting manner, strolling amongst the memorials to some of Paris's most esteemed citizens and expatriates. While paying homage to these honorable achievers of days gone by, we took the time to contemplate our own mortality as well as we wandered down the avenues of eternity.
Also, at dinner Janet ate cow brains and hurled.
A
ll the way to the airport, I tried to absorb my last glimpses of Paris and imprint them into my brain. The boutiques and outdoor cafés, the petit bakeries emitting scents of croissants and coffee, the mysterious gated archways leading to courtyards. It was all there, right before my eyes. But in less than twenty-four hours I would be back on American roads, passing city-size Home Depots and highway billboards enticing travelers to visit the local Chuck E. Cheese.
Madame Chavotte, not unlike my father, was ruthlessly efficient when it came to travel, and she made sure we arrived at the airport several hours before our plane was scheduled to board. Though buzzing with an international cast, Charles de Gaulle Airport still had a distinctly
French flavor. It inspired me to buy a
Paris-Match
magazine, an oversized colorful French publication that is a kind of hybrid of
People
magazine and
Newsweek
, with a teeny bit of
Star
magazine for good measure.
But none of us were allowed to linger and shop for long. Madame Chavotte herded us like a flock of untrustworthy sheep toward our gate. There was a brief drama when Janet discovered she had left her boarding pass and passport balanced on top of the toilet paper dispenser in the ladies' room approximately six miles back down the corridor. We all had to jog in tandem back to the spot. I like to think we looked like the cast of
CSI
filming a promo: important, mysterious, and undoubtedly in One Serious Hurry. In spite of the unscheduled expedition, we managed to find ourselves seated at the gate with a tight window of just 109 minutes to spare.
Bonnie immediately folded herself into the lotus position and disappeared into her Interior Universe, where passports and boarding calls were not required. Janet was a far cry from the effervescent
French Women Don't Get Fat
âwielding enthusiast she'd been on the trip over. She had not completely recovered from her foray into the world of French delicacies the night before and definitely looked a little green around the gills as she sucked weakly on a Coke (full strength). Tim was slouched down in his seat and had fired up his iPod. He had the volume turned
up so high, I could identify the band (The Wallflowers) and the tune (“Everybody Out of the Water”) from a distance of eleven feet. Bud and Chaz had spotted two tourists wearing Yankees shirts, and the four of them were shouting cheerfully about batting averages. Charlotte was already working on her essay. She sat next to Lewis, who was peering intently at his Sidekick. Even when they weren't talking, they looked like they were.
“What's the haps, Lew?” I asked, pointing to the Sidekick, where I could tell without looking that he was perusing news headlines.
“Yesterday they released four giant catfish into a Cambodian river in an attempt to repopulate the species,” he replied.
“No, they did not!” I said enthusiastically. “Can you check the entertainment headlines?”
Lewis hit a few buttons.
“âHouston Ramada accidentally walks out of Bloomingdale's with $1,800 of lip care products in her bag,'” he read.
“Well, that was bound to happen sooner or later,” I said. “Anything else?”
“Your homegirl Lindy Sloane got in trouble for disappearing from her movie set.”
“It was a family thing,” I stated.
Lewis glanced up at me.
“What do you mean, it was a family thing? That's not what it says here.”
Oops.
“I meanâ¦that'd be my best guess. That it was some family thing. Keep reading,” I said.
“âSloane was mobbed by reporters and paparazzi in Charles de Gaulle Airport on Tuesday'âhey, that's here, she was right here yesterday!” he interjected. “âHer publicist denied that her disappearance was unauthorized and explained that her client had been advised by both the film's director and her personal team of physicians to take a few days of rest and relaxation after suffering from an exhaustive bout of a stomach virus.'”
“Actually, I'm here on the advice of my personal physicians too,” I quipped. Lewis kept reading.
“âSloane herself then interrupted to confirm her publicist's story. She added, “I took some time to recuperate by taking long walks along the Champs-Elysées, and thank God I did! While I was there, I found a little American girl who had gotten separated from her group and was lost! The little girl was terrified, but of course she was quite excited to recognize me, and being a fan, she trusted me right away. With the help of some of my staff, I was able to get her back to her people. I'm so grateful I was in the right place at the right time. A little girl wandering alone in the streets of Paris might have ended tragically if it hadn't been
for my intervention.”' That's the end of the article.”
A little American girl? She was talking about ME! I could accept being called a Little Chicken by a Kindly Elderly Parisian Gentleman. But Lindy Sloane, who arguably had not eaten a sandwich in fifteen months and had a head and body combo that looked like a giant meatball perched atop a single strand of spaghetti, calling ME a little girl?
I was OUTRAGED. I opened my mouth to tell Lewis the entire
Star
magazineâlevel outrageous story. But over his shoulder I caught a glimpse of Tim drumming his carry-on bag and moving his lips to the Wallflowers. He glanced up at me, flashed me a thumbs-up sign, and resumed his drumming.
I closed my mouth. I had the gossip anecdote of a lifetime, and I was keeping it to myself.
Sometimes it is so difficult being me, Lily M. Blennerhassett. But I wouldn't swap it for love or money.
Lewis continued to browse the headlines. “âA woman found a severed finger in her bowl of chili at Wendy's,'” he read.
Three seats away, Janet overheard and uttered a little shriek. Moments later she was on her feet and frantically querying other passengers for the location of the nearest
toilette
.
But these amusing interludes could not suitably alleviate
the boredom I was experiencing. You see, when you are GOING somewhere and you arrive in the airport, you are THERE. But when you are LEAVING someplace and you are waiting in the airport, you are neither HERE nor THERE. Charles de Gaulle Airport wasn't Paris; it wasn't really even France (except technically, and geographically, and legally). It was a hub of arriving and departing humanity where boredom reigned. Time had slowed to a Ridiculous Extent. I was so bored that I even skimmed the entire volume of
French Women Don't Get Fat
. When I finished, I began to look at my watch every two minutes, making note of my surroundings (though at this point my Mental Pool was overflowing and required No Further Details of Any Kind).
Minute Two:
Svelte woman in highly tailored suit and scary heels wearing expensive accessories strides past our gate, trailing a good sixteen inches of toilet paper behind one shoe.
Minute Four:
Blond Demon Child by window demands attention from Weary Mother. Receiving none, she hurls herself to the floor, shrieks, and points to her mother while shouting, “Mommy pushed me!”
Minute Six:
Businessman standing by pay phones drops his plastic container of strawberry Yoplait, which shatters and splatters pink goo everywhere. Businessman departs hastily. Janet runs back to the
toilette
.
Minute Eight:
Young, badly dressed Houston Ramada wannabe pauses near gate, loudly talking on her cell phone. All airport noise, including landing and takeoff sounds, are briefly drowned out by the following: “So I'm all likeâ¦what? And he's all likeâ¦no, you did not! And I'm all likeâ¦so what if I did? And he's all likeâ¦later. And I'm all likeâ¦whatever, loser!” Young, badly dressed Houston Ramada wannabe's cell phone battery suddenly dies, and her conversation is cut short. Several passengers seated nearby are all likeâ¦YAY!
Minute Ten:
Madame Chavotte falls asleep, her mouth wide open in a menacing, scarlet
O
.
Minute Twelve:
They are coming to take me away. Actually, they are coming to take us all away. Two very neat men in pilot's uniforms are strolling toward our gate. They look jovial but focused. Energetic but centered. French but not French. They are pulling two identical black suitcases behind them. They are wearing identical sunglasses and sport identical clipped beards. Golden wing pins gleam from their chests. The Pilot Twins stop briefly to exchange words with the flight attendant on duty, who gazes at them with liquid, adoring eyes. Then the door with the sign that says
DO NOT ENTER
in six or eight languages opens, and the Pilot Twins go through. One of them glances over his shoulder, seemingly at me (it's hard to be precise with the sunglasses). Like he's telling me to
get it together, because this is it.
Then they both disappeared through the Do Not Enter door. Not a few seconds later we heard the official boarding call, first in French, then in English.
“It's time,” said Charlotte in her Scout leader kind of way. “Everybody stow your stuff in your carry-ons, and make sure you have your passports out, because they're going to want to see them when we board.”
Apparently I did not move fast enough.
“Come on, people!” cried Charlotte. “Continents drift faster than this!”
Madame Chavotte was standing behind Charlotte, waving her arms the way those guys in the jumpsuits and headphones who stand out on the runway do when they want to tell the plane where to go.
“Mek a line 'ere be'ind me,” she was calling. And though nobody seemed to move, we were suddenly more or less in a line behind her. She was just That Big, I figured.
When the line started to move, I felt an unexpected surge of panic. I gripped at Charlotte's shirt in front of me.
“Charlotte,” I whispered, “I don't want to go!”
Charlotte nodded.
“No, I mean I really, really don't want to go! I'm not ready. I CAN'T LEAVE!”
I was getting to a place that might be called pre-pre-hysterical. Then I felt a cool hand on my shoulder.
“Lily,” came Bonnie's soothing voice, “Paris is part of your Inner Universe now. You can visit anytime you want.”
I can't say I fully bought Bonnie's claim. If that were true, and you only had to visit a place once and then could go back to your Inner Universe, I don't think the airline industry would be doing so well. Cruise ships, luxury resorts, they'd all go belly-up.
But I did get on the plane.
FROM THE PARISIAN DIARY OF
Lily M. Blennerhassett
Our journey has come to an end. As the plane bears us up into golden sunlight toward our fine home country, we are privileged with one final view of Paris, which now resembles nothing so much as a stately, elegant woman bejeweled and immaculately coiffed. Her gifts to us have been of art and architecture, of cuisine and culture, of sight and sound. She has changed us permanently; she has imprinted herself upon our souls. Perhaps this is what Hemingway meant when he said Paris was a movable feast, for a vestige of its riches and treats do indeed follow us home.
As for our little group, Janet is already hogging the closest bathroom, Charlotte and Lewis look suspiciously like two people about to become an item, Tim is getting quite used to speaking out loud in Actual Conversation, and Bonnie has picked up a regal medieval glow that I don't believe she had before visiting the Hôtel de Sens. I'm sure even Bud and Chaz have changed, though I think it may only have been from tossing an American sort of ball to tossing a European sort of ball.
On a personal note, I have to say I did not get what I originally thought I wanted out of Paris. My plan was to collect gems and nuggets to convert into the first chapter of my Great Parisian Novel. I was going to wander the realms Far Removed from the Regular People and the Simple Tourists. But the truth is, I was not transported into an elegant world of pâté de foie gras and champagne. The truth is, I don't have to write the Great Parisian Novel to be interesting. Sometimes the ordinary contains all
the extraordinary a writer could ever need. My experience was what I swore it wouldn't be: that of a Simple Tourist. And you know what? This Simple Tourist had a blast.
Auarevoir, Paris.
I have a feeling I'll be back.
eh bien:
well, then
quatre, cinq, six:
four, five, six
Bonjour! Comment ça va?:
Hello! How are you?
vraiment fantastique:
really fantastic
C'est formidable!:
It's tremendous!
le chocolat:
chocolate
commes les Françaises:
As Frenchwomen do
la turbulence:
turbulence
alors, mes enfants:
now, my children
oui:
yes
Allons-y:
Let's go
chaussures:
shoes
la grand-route:
the highway
Ville Ecole Internationale:
International School City
les bandits:
robbers
les Français:
the French
Ecoutez, mes enfants:
Listen, my children
immédiatement:
immediately
Pour les filles, deuxième étage:
For the girls, second floor
Pour les garçons, troisième étage:
For the boys, third floor
premier étage:
first floor
rez-de-chaussée:
street level
Voilà !:
There it is!
allez:
go
Bon appétit!:
Hearty appetite!
steak au poivre:
steak with peppercorns
escargots:
snails
pommes de terre:
potatoes
terrine:
pâté
Voici!:
Here it is!
raison d'être:
reason for being
J'aime Nutella!:
I love Nutella!
seul:
alone
écrivain:
writer
absolument:
absolutely
D'accord?:
Do you agree?
le bus:
the bus
Comprenez?:
You understand?
trop vite:
too fast
la vie:
life
rester:
to rest
je veux:
I want
s'il vous plaît:
please
terrible:
terrible
l'hôtel:
hotel, manor, or other fancy building
une Parisienne:
a Parisian woman
formidable!:
tremendous, fabulous!
Bonjour! Je m'appelle Jah-nay!:
Hello! My name is Jah-nay!
Je ne parle que français:
I speak only French
la disgrâce:
a disgrace
Pardon?:
Excuse me?
Tu es perdu, ma petite poulette?
Are you lost, my little chicken?
Mais tu parles un peu français, non?:
But you speak a little French, no?
Chez:
at the home of
Jean-Michel, nous avons besoin d'aller au Musée du Louvre tout de suite, s'il te plaît. La demoiselle ici est bien en retard.:
Jean-Michel, we must go to the Louvre Museum right away, please. The young lady here is late.
Nous sommes arrivés:
We have arrived
Magnifique, n'est-ce pas?
Magnificent, right?
amusement:
amusement
en bonne santé:
in good health
objets:
little thingies
fermé:
closed
le chien de garde:
the watchdog
Allô, oui? Je m'appelle Jahnay, et je suis une américaine qui a visité le Cimetière Père Lachaise. Maintenant mes deux amies sont accidentellement fermées dedansâ¦. Oui?â¦Oui? Formidable, merci bien:
Hello, yes? My name is Jah-nay, and I am an American who has visited the Père Lachaise Cemetery. Now my two friends are accidentally locked insideâ¦. Yes?â¦Yes? Wonderful, thank you.
Merci bien, monsieur:
Thank you very much, sir
Il n'y a pas de quoi, petite demoiselle. J'espère que ta voyage est bien agréable.:
You're welcome, young lady. I hope you have a nice trip.
garçon-fille, garçon-fille:
boy-girl, boy-girl
abats à l'etouffée:
stewed organ meats
civelles:
baby eels
cervelles de veau provençal:
calf brains with garlic, tomatoes, and olive oil
agent de police:
police officer
voyage:
trip
représentants:
representatives
sophistiqué:
sophisticated
Où est la toilette?:
Where is the bathroom?
au revoir
: good-bye (literally, till we see each other again)
Bonjour. Je m'appelle Lily M. Blennerhassett, et je suis ravie de gagner le Prix Magnifique du Touriste Simple, qui honore l'auteur qui a écrit le livre le plus
réussi et brilliant du monde:
Hello. I'm Lily M. Blennerhassett, and I'm thrilled to win the Magnificent Prize of the Simple Tourist, which honors the writer who has written the most Brilliant and Bestselling Book in the World.