A Summer in Paris (13 page)

“What a beautiful cake!” Kristy cried. “Here, let me take its picture. I’ll take your picture, too.”

As she readied the adjustments on the camera she had begun carrying with her at all times, Nina commented, “Goodness, Kristy, you’re becoming quite a shutterbug, aren’t you?”

“A
what?”
Jennifer said.

Kristy translated for her. “A camera freak.” She was wearing a big grin. “Well, yes. I guess you could say that. And the best part, aside from the fact that I’m really finding it fun, is that it turns out I have kind of a knack for taking pictures.”

“Oh, no.” Jennifer groaned. “Not another Parisian
artiste
!”

Nina and Jennifer had also brought along a bottle of Coke, as well as napkins, paper plates, plastic forks, and plastic knives. They had thought of everything, going to quite a bit of trouble to make Kristy’s eighteenth birthday special. When they began to sing “Happy Birthday,” it was all she could do to keep from bursting into tears. Instead, she leaned forward and blew out her candles.

“You guys ...” she said hoarsely. “You’re really too much. Both of you.”

“I hope you remembered to make your wish,” Jennifer reminded her.

“What more could I possibly wish for besides two great friends like you?”

Jennifer looked at Nina and grinned. “Maybe one of the things in these boxes. At least I hope so.”

“Open this one first,” Nina urged, picking up the pink-and-purple package. “It’s from me.”

Her gift was a dictionary of French slang expressions. As Kristy unwrapped it, Nina teasingly explained, “It’s to help you with your romance with Alain.”

“Well, I don’t know how much of a
romance
we’re having,” Kristy returned with a sigh, “but it’ll be helpful with whatever is going on between us. Alain is probably the sweetest boy I’ve ever met in my life, but his English ... well, let’s just say it’s a little bit more creative than what I’m used to.”

Nina laughed. “Maybe I should have gotten him a dictionary of English slang.”

“Hey, what is going on with you guys, anyway?” Jennifer asked. “He waits for you after class every single day. You two are a real item, going out for lunch together like clockwork.”

“And I heard that you’ve been going out in the evenings, too,” Nina said. “If all that’s not a romance, then I don’t know what is.”

Kristy smiled. “He
is
taking me out to dinner tonight. He wants to celebrate my birthday in style.”

“Oh, cool!” Jennifer leaned forward excitedly. “Where is he taking you? Someplace fancy? One of those fine gourmet restaurants that serve snails and rabbits and stuff like that?”

With a shrug, Kristy said, “I don’t really know. You see, I get the impression that Alain comes from a family that doesn’t have very much money. His father runs a shop somewhere on the outskirts of the city.”

“You mean like a little grocery store or something?” Jennifer asked.

“I think so. Anyway, I know he would love to take me out to a really special restaurant. I just hate to have him spend a lot of money on me.”

Especially since if he did, it would mainly be because he thinks that’s the kind of treatment I’m used to, Kristy was thinking. In fact, she was tempted to confess the whole thing to Nina and Jennifer. In the end, however, she realized that she was so embarrassed by the way in which she had lied to Alain that she would never be able to bring herself to admit it, not even to these girls, her two best friends in the entire world.

“Well, Kristy,” Nina said, “I hope you’re not letting the fact that Alain isn’t exactly the number-one playboy of Paris bother you.”

“Oh, no! Not at all. In fact ...” Kristy was aware that her cheeks were turning bright red. “I kind of like him. I mean, like, a lot.”

“Oh, terrific,” Jennifer groaned. “So you’re falling in love with a French boy. That’s all you need, to leave him behind in another few weeks. Which reminds me.”

She turned her attention to Nina, who had been just about to cut the cake. “How are things with you and Pierre?”

Nina froze, the plastic knife she was holding poised in midair. “Things are ... wonderful.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes upward in exasperation. “Oh, boy. So far, that’s two broken hearts out of three. As a group, I’d say that we’re not doing very well.”

Nina opened her mouth to speak, but then quickly snapped it shut. How could she explain to Jennifer that the feelings she had for Pierre were nothing to joke about? This was serious ... even more serious than she had been willing to admit to herself. She was glad she could turn back to the distraction of cutting the cake and placing generous slices on the flimsy paper plates.

“Goodness, Jennifer,” Kristy was saying, “what a pessimistic attitude you have. What’s wrong with all of us enjoying what we have right now? Sometimes I get the feeling you’re trying hard
not
to like Paris.”

Jennifer shrugged. “I’m just waiting it out, that’s all.”

“Aren’t you having any fun?” Kristy asked.

“Well, this is fun. Hanging out with you guys, I

mean.”

“What about your host family? You haven’t said very much about them.”

With a snort, Jennifer said, “Them? They’re just two old people who hardly ever go out. What could possibly be more boring?”

Nina handed her a piece of cake. “Didn’t you say they invited their granddaughter up to Paris? She lives in Lyon, right?”

“Yeah. Michèle.” Jennifer shrugged. “She’s okay, I guess. She just tries a little too hard, that’s all. I mean, she’s been taking me all over Paris, and she has shown me some pretty neat things. I don’t know. I guess maybe I’m just one of those people who can’t get excited about anything that’s so far outside her own experience.”

Nina and Kristy exchanged frustrated looks as Jennifer picked up the present that had been resting next to her on the grass. “And speaking of things that are familiar ... happy birthday! Here, Kristy. This is for you. Open it!”

Kristy was only too happy to do just that. Inside was a stack of magazines ... all of them
American
magazines. Wrapped up in colorful birthday paper were the August issue of
Elle
and several recent issues of
People.

“I searched all over town for these,” Jennifer explained triumphantly, “but it was worth it. A little taste of home, you know? Plus they’ll help you get psyched for going back and starting school in the fall. It’s just a few weeks now until Labor Day!”

Once again Kristy and Nina exchanged meaningful looks. Nina, it was clear, was totally frustrated with Jennifer’s attitude. But Kristy just laughed.

“Thanks, Jennifer. This is a terrific present. It’s so ... so
you.”

“Why, thank you!” Jennifer seemed really pleased by the compliment.

“Now, how about some of that birthday cake?” Kristy said. “It looks fantastic.”

“Just make sure you save some room for tonight’s dinner,” Nina reminded her. “Don’t forget, those snails and rabbits and all those rich French sauces can be pretty filling.”

* * * *

“I know it’s probably not the kind of place you’re used to,” Alain apologized for the tenth time, “but I think you will like this restaurant anyway. The food is quite good, and the atmosphere is fairly quiet.”

“Oh, Alain, it’s just fine,” Kristy reassured him, also for the tenth time since he had picked her up at her host family’s house earlier that evening to take her out for her birthday dinner. “In fact, this place looks wonderful.”

It was true that the supposedly “modest” restaurant that Alain had chosen to take her to this evening was, in fact, a cut above the kind of place that Kristy had been expecting. It was called Beauvilliers, and it was located on Montmartre, one of the livelier sections of Paris. Restaurants and cabarets were crammed onto the hill that was topped by Sacre-Coeur, a graceful white church with distinctive architecture.

The restaurant itself was actually made up of several small rooms, the walls painted in rich colors to create an intimate atmosphere. There were huge bouquets of flowers everywhere. And there were so many waiters tending to them that Kristy felt like a queen. Some of them, in fact, treated Alain so well it was almost as if they knew him. There were even snails and rabbit on the menu— although, fortunately for Kristy’s somewhat less adventurous taste, it had chicken and fish as well.

“This was such a sweet idea,” Kristy commented once she and Alain were seated at a table right near the window, one that afforded them an excellent view of the lovely summer evening sky. “Thank you for inviting me tonight, Alain.”

“Well, Kristy, I had to ... how do you say, make the large deal about your birthday.”

Kristy smiled. “I appreciate your ‘making a big deal’ about my birthday. Some of my American friends had a little party for me this afternoon, too. Oh, nothing special, just a picnic. But I feel lucky to have so many people looking after me.”

“You know, I would love to spend time with your American friends,” Alain said. With a twinkle in his eyes, he added, “Sometimes I get the feeling you are trying to keep me away from them. Perhaps you are a little bit ashamed of your simple French boyfriend?”

Kristy hesitated. She didn’t know whether to feel excited over the fact that Alain had referred to himself as “her boyfriend” or nervous about his interest in meeting her friends. Not that she was embarrassed by him, of course, not at all. What she was fearful of was that Nina or Jennifer or any of the other kids she knew from Weston High School would spill the beans about her true identity. And given the way she was starting to feel about Alain, that was something she simply could not risk.

Before she could try to explain that she simply had not yet had a chance to arrange any meetings with her friends, their waiter, who had been eyeing them oddly ever since they had come into the restaurant, came over to their table.

“Pardon, Monsieur,”
he said, bowing slightly. “But are you not Alain Gault?”

At the same time that Kristy started to say, “Why, yes, he is,” she heard Alain saying, “No, I’m sorry, but you must have me confused with someone else.”

“My mistake,” the waiter said, looking confused. “Please excuse me.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Kristy looked over at Alain expectantly.

“Well? What was all that about?”

Alain seemed a bit disturbed by what had just happened. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that ... one of the odd things about this place is that when you make a reservation, sometimes the waiters take note of the name you’ve used and then they make a big deal about who you are.”

“What?” Kristy wasn’t following this at all. “I don’t get it. You mean that the waiters here pretend you’re somebody important just for the heck of it?”

“Something like that.” Alain shrugged. “It’s something that is very French. I don’t think I could explain it very well.”

Suddenly his face relaxed into a smile. “But I don’t want to talk about the silly things that French people sometimes do. Today is your birthday, after all. We should be talking about you.”

“What about me?” Kristy asked, suddenly nervous.

“Tell me more about your life at home, in the United States.” With a teasing smile, Alain added, “I bet you are bothered by waiters and other people in restaurants all the time.”

“Uh, yes, sometimes.” Kristy shifted in her seat. “But, uh, mostly when I go out, I go to places where people won’t recognize me or anyone in my family. I try to keep a low profile.”

“A low profile?” Alain repeated. It was clear that this was one more English language expression that he didn’t quite understand.

“You know, I make a real point of not acting like a celebrity. Mainly so I won’t be recognized.”

Just then, the waiter reappeared, this time carrying their appetizer. Kristy had suggested that Alain order for her, since he was so familiar with both the restaurant and, of course, the language. As she picked up a fork and dug into the mysterious-looking food that was artistically arranged on a small plate, she decided she would rather not know all the details of what she was eating.

Two hours later, after a magnificent meal that had been accompanied by equally memorable conversation, Kristy and Alain strolled through Paris. The night was lit up by stars and a bright, friendly moon. The breezes wafting off the Seine River were a refreshing change from the warm summer day. It couldn’t have been more wonderful—at least, that was what Kristy was thinking
before
Alain reached over and gently took hold of her hand.

“You know, Kristy,” he said in a soft voice, “sometimes I worry.”

“Worry? About what, Alain?”

“I think you are very ... very special. Sometimes, in fact, I cannot believe I have had the good luck to meet such a wonderful girl like you. And then I think about all the other boys you must know back at home, rich boys from important families, the kinds of boys who live the same kind of life as you.”

Kristy was growing alarmed. “Oh, Alain, I don’t care about that! Really! Most of the boys who are ... who are like that are positively
boring.”

“Really? You find rich boys boring?”

“Well, sure. All they ever talk about is the new car they just bought or the expensive vacation they’re about to go on or their new CD player.... Frankly, I find you a refreshing change.”

“Do you really?” Alain let out a sigh of relief. “And here I thought that, sooner or later, you might begin to find that our differences were getting in our way.”

“Oh, no, Alain. Not at all.”

“Good. I’m so glad, Kristy.”

They were standing on one of the gently arching stone bridges that stretched across the Seine, and suddenly Alain stopped walking. She could see that beyond the bridge, all of Paris stretched out before them, lit up by thousands of lights, looking like something out of a dream. And then Alain turned Kristy toward him and kissed her.

“So you think perhaps you could fall in love with a poor boy like me?” he asked in a soft voice.

Kristy, overwhelmed, simply nodded. She was too caught up in her own emotions to say what she was really thinking. And that was that she already had.