Blondetourage (10 page)

J
J and I end up going on a bit of a shopping
spree at the beautiful Galeries Lafayette.

I almost can't believe it when our taxi pulls up
outside and I catch my first glimpse of the place –
trust the French to make even department stores
beautiful. The place looks like a wedding cake and
I'm sure every single layer will be a delight. When
we get inside and I look up, I can see that I was
right. As it turns out, there is a void filled by
ornate rings of balconies, leading up to a gigantic
light-filled dome. I may not be anywhere near
as hard-core a shopper as Romy and Anouschka
both are, but it sure is nice to be shopping in style
for once and without Frau Braun, whose idea of
fashion went out with the dirndl.

The first thing JJ and I head off to look for is
the item of greatest need – a pair of jeans. Plenty
of other things catch our eye on the way, but
JJ reminds me that we could get called away at
any time, so it's first things first and then we can
browse. Within half an hour, I have two pairs of
Diesel jeans. One pair swings in the bag hanging
off my right wrist and the other I have on. My old
ones the sales lady folds and places neatly in her bin
for us. She was even nice enough not to put gloves
on to perform the task. As we turn away from the
counter, however, we realise we have a problem.
I now need new shoes. The dark, new jeans look
terrible up against my daggy old sneakers, so we
head off to the shoe section. And within another
half hour I have a really gorgeous pair of silver
Puma street shoes on my feet. The sales guy tells
me they have a vulcanised rubber outsole and
when JJ laughs, holds her hand up split-fingered
and tells him to 'live long and prosper', he doesn't
laugh back. 'They are very high tech,' he gives her
a filthy look and as we walk away from the counter,
JJ tells me under her breath, 'I guess the French/Australian mind-meld is a little too big an ask.'

It must be my lucky day, because no one calls
or texts JJ and within another hour I have a new
puffy zip-up vest, four T-shirts from Petit Bateau
and new underwear as well.

'I think I need a coffee now,' JJ leans against the
latest counter where she is paying for my haul.

'I think I need a new suitcase.' All this new
stuff, plus the Ladurée box, is starting to weigh
me down. At least I've ditched most of what I was
actually wearing along the way. My old clothes
are now residing in bins all over the department
store.

'A new suitcase as well? Don't push your luck,' is
her reply. 'Just roll those clothes up hard and sit on
the lid. Now, espresso. Let's go.'

We find JJ her espresso and me a hot chocolate
and then we head off for some JJ-type shopping.
Which means food, not clothes. We head into
Lafayette Gourmet which, translated into JJ-ese,
means heaven. Within seconds she is oohing and
ahhing over chocolates and sausages, fish and spices.
I look on as JJ buys this and that, and check out a
woman in head-to-toe Hermès consider gorgeously
spotlighted spices for at least ten minutes. I can't
help thinking how different this all is to Australia,
where display and packaging aren't so important
and spices mostly come in boring little glass jars in
the supermarket.

JJ drags me around the different food stations
until, finally, she looks at her watch and gasps.
'We'd better get back so I can put dinner on,' she
says and with that I'm dragged off again, out of the
store this time and into a cab.

JJ and I are quiet as we drive slowly through the
busy streets back towards the apartment. We're both
tired and JJ is busy scribbling away on her iPhone,
planning meals for the next few days. She's particularly
excited about some truffle juice she's picked
up and when I tell her I'd prefer apple, she gives
me a withering look. Seeing her happily planning
her meals, though, reminds me of what she'd said
earlier this afternoon about finding your passion,
which, in turn, reminds me of Romy. Ugh. If only
I could work out what her passion is. She looked so
miserable today during filming. Like she'd rather
be anywhere else on earth. Which is where she'll
be if I can't help her soon. She'll probably just up
and leave, won't she? And then where will I be?
Back with Frau Braun, that's where. It's no secret
JJ's former client is begging her to come back.
Apparently she's stacked on the weight and we've
only been gone eight weeks. So, yes, that's it. I
have to start thinking harder about this. With my
new look, I'm now way too cool to be hanging out
with the likes of Frau Braun.

$$$

When our cab pulls up outside the apartment's
entrance, George is running to and fro outside,
looking more than a little worried.

'Hey!' I say, as I exit the cab. 'What's going
on?'

George turns and glares at someone hanging
about in the shadows of the doorway – Ashleigh,
as it turns out. 'It's Fluffy. He's lost.'

Ashleigh takes a few steps out onto the footpath
now and shrugs. 'I told Anouschka not to leave the
balcony door open.'

I glance up for a second. 'The balcony door? He
couldn't have got down onto the street from all the
way up there.'

Ashleigh tutts. 'He's a cat, Elli.'

My jaw sets in a hard line. 'I know he's a cat.
He's also a cat in France. Who can't speak French.
We have to find him. Fast. Are you sure he's out
here? That he isn't just hiding out somewhere in
the apartment?'

'He should be, after peeing on my duvet again,'
George says, but then spots my expression and
waves her comment away. 'Sorry, sorry.'

'He's definitely down here. I saw him walk off
down the street. Or at least Anouschka said
she
did.'

George snorts. 'You, Anouschka, same thing.'

Ashleigh gives George a once-over. 'You, a
stick of liquorice, same thing,' she mimics. 'I guess
Fluffy just needed some air.'

'What's going on?' JJ comes over, having paid
for the cab and waited for a receipt.

'Fluffy's got out somehow,' I sigh. 'George and
I are going to have a quick look for him, okay?'

JJ bites her lip. 'Oh, no. That's no good. Have
a quick scout around, but come in before it gets
dark, won't you? I'd help you out, but I have to get
dinner ready.'

'I know,' I nod. 'We won't be long. Hopefully
he'll be hanging out somewhere nearby.'

'Checking out the French talent,' George adds.

'Let's go,' I grab her arm. 'Bye, Ashleigh,' I
say, pointedly, as we turn our backs. Something's
telling me she really is at the bottom of this. That
she really is as nasty as everyone keeps telling me.
And if that really is true, her kind of help we don't
need right now.

We only get a few steps down the street when
we're interrupted by the beep of a text on my cell.
'Ugh,' I moan as I check it out. It's from Steph.
She's having a tanty because I haven't contacted
her lately. Fantastic timing. And today had been
shaping up to be such a good day, too. And now
... I have no idea what Romy might be good at.
Fluffy is missing. I can't please Steph. Maybe I'd
be better off back in my Viennese prison after all?
At least there I knew what each boring day would
bring.

'Anything wrong?' George pauses beside me.

I shake my head quickly as my fingers fly, texting
my cousin back to tell her I'll give her a call soon.
'Just cousin troubles,' I explain, slipping my phone
back in my pocket and we start off again.

This time, as we go, we both look high and low,
calling out Fluffy's name. I think a couple of people
get the gist of what we're doing, because they come
over. Finally, my French comes in handy and I'm
able to give at least a garbled version of what is
going on when people ask. Though I do somehow
make Fluffy sound as though he looks like an alien.
But how else can you describe a very ugly, very
hairless cat. Each time I speak to someone new, I
make sure to mention that he's really very sweet,
because I'm starting to feel disloyal.

Finally, an old man approaches us, having overheard
part of what's going on. Just as he gets up
to us, however, he starts coughing and coughing.
I'm not sure what to do – go and get him some
water? But then, as suddenly as he started, he
stops.
'Voici une boule de poils!'
he tells me and I
start to laugh.

'Here comes ...' George understands the first
part.

'Here comes a furball!' I tell her.

'Your cat, he has no hair?' the man continues in
broken English.

'That's right,' I tell him.

'I think you will find he is busy with
le goûter.
He indulges in brioche with almond cream,' he
points down the street.

I'm unsure how a cat can indulge in afternoon
tea, but I almost kiss him. 'Thank you! Thank you!
Merci Monsieur!
Let's go!' I grab George and we're
off down the street as fast as we can run.

We get to the café on the corner in no time and
there, right in front of us is Fluffy, sitting on the
lap of one of two stunning Parisian ladies who are
petting him in turn and feeding him, as the old
man said, brioche. With almond cream. George
and I approach them.

'Fluffy!' I say when I get a bit closer. 'What are
you doing?' I look at the two women.
'Excusez-moi, pardonnez mon chat s'il vous plaît.'

I don't think I've ever asked someone to pardon
my cat before, but there's a first time for everything,
right? And then, over the next ten minutes,
I try to translate the coos of the two ladies to
George as they reluctantly hand over Fluffy. After
he finishes his brioche, of course. Finally, we
manage to wrestle Fluffy away and, after saying
thank you, we start back up the street towards the
apartment with him tucked in my arms.

'What did they say they named him?' George
peeks over my shoulder at Fluffy and he hisses at
her. 'Hey!'

'Behave yourself,' I tell him. 'Um,
pamplemousse.'
'Huh. That's cute. What does it mean? Devil
cat? Cat that doesn't know what's good for him?
Cat that may get left behind for real some time?'

'Very funny. It means grapefruit.'

'Grapefruit?'

'Beats me,' I shrug and wait for George to
punch in the access code now we've reached the
apartment door. 'I've no idea why they called him
that,' I tell her as we trudge up the stairs. (We've
now been told we're not allowed to catch the
elevator. Melinda says it's because we need the
exercise, but George is convinced it's for the Rich
Girls only.)

'Maybe grapefruit is a good fit,' George continues
as we make our way onto the third flight. 'He
is a bitter little thing, after all.'

Hiss.

$$$

'Well, that was fun,' I turn to George, who's sitting
next to me, as per usual. She just snorts as she packs
up her books during our short break.

'You mean you don't like Geography?' Rhys
leans forward in his chair so he can see across
George. 'What's not to love about natural resources
and their development in India?'

I laugh. 'I don't have anything against India.
It's just that my last tutor – I don't think she
even realised India existed. She certainly didn't
remember to teach me anything about it. Before
today I could have pointed it out on a map, but
that's about it.'

'Sounds perfect to me,' George wrinkles her
eyes as she scours the remaining macaroons in the
Ladurée box. 'What's this one?' she points.

I take a closer look. 'I think that's chestnut. And
that's definitely coffee and that one there is dark
chocolate. I'd go with the chestnut, myself.'

George passes the box to me. I shake my head.
'Oh, no. I've Laduréed myself out today.'

'Okay I'll give it a whirl,' George takes the box
back and picks out the chestnut one. Her eyes practically
roll back in her head during her first bite.
'Oh, oh wow. That is pretty good.'

I nod. 'Not bad, are they? You've got to try one
Rhys,' I encourage him. 'They're fantastic.'

Rhys doesn't look convinced. 'I'm not really
into sweet things.'

George almost chokes on her macaroon with
this. 'Freak. What planet are you from?!'

He just laughs. 'Planet LA, remember?' Rhys
reminds us his dad is a personal trainer. And one
who obviously gets results if Anouschka's muscly
arms are anything to go by. 'I'll try one, though,
for you.'

George shoots me a raised eyebrow with this
and I try not to blush.

'Um, try the dark chocolate, then. It won't be
as sweet.' And then I panic as I wait for George
to make some comment about the macaroon not
being as sweet as me or something like that. Thankfully,
her mouth is still full, so she can't. Phew.
'Um, Ashleigh?' I pass the box over to the table
behind us when Rhys has taken his dark chocolate
macaroon. 'Would you like the last one?'

'No, not for me. I'm watching my weight.'

George smacks her lips as she licks off the last
vestiges of macaroon from them. 'Wow. Between
that and your other intellectual pursuits, you must
be super-busy!'

'George!' I hiss at her, not unlike Fluffy.

She gives me an innocent 'What?' look and I
try to focus my attention on her and not on Rhys
who's quite happily devouring his macaroon on
the other side of her.

'Pretty good!' he gives me two thumbs up when
he's done. 'Maybe you can tutor me in sugar and
I'll help you out with Geography.'

'Ha ha, um, sure.' I stand up, fumbling for the
box. It's only then that I spot Ashleigh again. Sitting
all by herself at that long, empty table. Trying oh-so-hard to pretend she isn't listening in to what we're
saying and that she's busy with her work. But she
can't be, can she? No one would be in that situation.
She looks really ... lonely. Despite the fierce 'I'm so,
so, busy' set of her jaw, that is. I take a step forward
so I'm in front of her, and bend down. 'Ashleigh?
Are you sure you don't want one?' I offer her the
box again. 'They're really nice.'