Reed looked down at me. “Is he?”
“Is he what?” I asked, although I felt like I was talking to myself, not to Reed.
“Bothering you,” Reed said.
For a second I did not know how to answer. Then all of a sudden the only thing I could think of was Grandma’s dress. I remembered how I had watched from across the street while Josh had the desk clerk at the Hotel Jacob toss my luggage into that old trash truck, and how the truck drove Grandma’s dress away and into oblivion. Now my face felt so hot, I thought I would burst into flame. “Yes,” I said. “He
is
bothering me.”
Sometimes real life is like a movie. For example, Josh showing up at that bar at precisely the same time as Reed and me is exactly the kind of thing that would happen in a movie. Then other times, life is not like a movie at all. Because in a movie, there would have been a big brawl spilling into the street and crashing through windows, like the fight between Hugh Grant and Colin Firth in
Bridget Jones’s Diary.
But that’s not what happened. Reed only hit Josh once. Boom.
Flavien helped Josh up off the floor. When Josh picked up his Astros cap, his nose bled all over it. He bled copiously on Flavien’s shirt, too, but Flavien was so sweet he pretended not to notice.
Then Flavien banished Reed from the bar. And even though this bartender was a complete stranger, and even though I hated Josh, and had very good reasons for hating him, the fact that Flavien was siding with Josh made me wonder if I had done or said the right thing.
Reed wasn’t the least bit apologetic. In fact, he was quite proud of himself for sticking up for my honor. What made him think my honor was at stake, I don’t know. I just wanted to leave, so he got me a cab and as usual gave me cab fare. Then he leaned over, and I swear, of all times, that was when he thought he was going to kiss me. But I was much too . . . well, bothered, and bewildered, too, for that. So I just gave him a hug. Not even a real cozy one. Then I got in the cab and drove away.
We hadn’t even reached the Seine, but as soon as the driver had gone a block and I was sure we were out of sight of the hotel, I told him to pull over. I gave him all the money Reed had given me. It was probably the best tip for the shortest fare that driver ever got.
I looked at my watch. It was past two in the morning. I didn’t care. I walked all the way back to Celestine’s apartment. Trying to figure out what it all meant.
And, for the first time since I left home, I really, truly wished I was back in Kirland.
40
I
called my parents to tell them what was going on. This time they were home. Needless to say, my mom wanted to know all the details I had left out of my answering machine message.
I told them that, with Grandma’s dress as my guiding light, I had instantly found the perfect dress, which, of course, the starlet of the movie adored, and now she was my second-best friend in the world, right after Celestine. My third-best friend was now Celestine’s father, who it turned out was a world famous director, and who introduced me to the very crème de la crème of French haute society, like for example Johnny Depp, who I assured my mother was even more handsome in person. Not to mention thoughtful, because as soon as my movie job ended, he introduced me to his good friend Mister Giorgio Armani, who immediately hired me to work in his boutique alongside Celestine. Just as my career in high-end retail was taking off, though, I met the very dashing Reed James, TV news producer extraordinaire, who insisted on making me a star as the fresh new voice of Fox News. In fact, he was in such a hurry to get me on the air and boost Fox’s ratings, he was flying me to New York—First Class, no less—the very next day.
Well,
some
of it was true.
My parents were very supportive, and agreed it was an excellent opportunity. Then again, they also sounded anxious. Cautious. Parental. “It seems awfully sudden,” my dad said.
“It
is
awfully sudden,” I said. “My whole life is awfully sudden these days.”
“That’s what I mean,” he said. But if he thought it was a bad idea, he didn’t say so. My dad is the least judgmental person I know. Which I really appreciate, even if I don’t always tell him. Or ever tell him. Maybe he’ll read this eventually. So I’m telling him now: Thank you, Dad.
Then there was an awkward pause. I knew exactly what it was about: My mom was waiting for me to ask her to call Uncle John again.
“I’ll call Uncle John,” I said.
“You will?” My mom was clearly surprised. Relieved, too.
“I can’t ask you to do that twice.”
“He won’t like it.”
“I know. But I’ll take care of it.”
After we hung up, I actually thought about maybe not calling. But I knew I couldn’t do that. So I called. I told Uncle John that Fox News was giving me a job as their fresh new voice.
“You already have a job.”
“I’m on vacation.”
“You’ve been gone a week.”
“It’s a big opportunity.”
“You have responsibilities. How do you expect to fulfill them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe the Fox News job won’t work out.” Even though I didn’t believe that. I was going to be a star. Reed said so. “If it doesn’t work out, then I’ll just come back.”
“Maybe when you decide to come back, you won’t have responsibilities here anymore.” Then he hung up. Leaving me wondering, Had I just been fired?
You’d think I would know. Particularly since I had been canned twice within the last week. With so much recent experience, you’d think I’d be an expert on the subject. But both times they actually said, “You’re fired.” Not, “Maybe you won’t have responsibilities here anymore.” Who knew what that meant?
Anyway I couldn’t dwell on it. I had a plane to catch.
In spite of the fact that she was really upset I was going, Celestine was an angel helping me get ready to leave. “You must come back,” she kept saying.
“I will,” I kept saying.
“You must promise,” she said.
That made me stop and think for a minute. About promises. Here I was, packing my bag to go running off to New York with Reed James. So why was I thinking about stupid Josh Thomas and his stupid promise to himself to wear a stupid Astros cap? I guessed he would have to buy a new one now, since he had bled all over the old one.
Of course, Josh wouldn’t have been bleeding if Reed hadn’t hit him. Which Reed wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t practically told him to.
Chasing a lost cause.
Just exactly what did Josh mean by that, anyway?
“Well?” Celestine asked. “Do you promise?”
“Yes,” I said. “I promise.” Then I added, “I’ll be such a big star on Fox News, I’ll be able to visit as often as I want. I’ll even get them to send me to Paris on assignment.” We both smiled at that. Then I did my best to concentrate on packing.
Packing made me confront the fact that Grandma’s dress was really gone, and that hurt all over again. As long as I stayed in Paris, there was at least a chance I might still find it, although let’s face it, the chance was pretty slim, and any hope I’d held that Josh might tell me where to look had been shattered the moment Reed punched him in the nose. I was just going to have to face up to the fact that I was leaving without the dress, and trust in the skills of Reed’s investigative team.
I wondered if the curse only applied in Paris, or if it would follow to New York and haunt me forever.
I tried to find a bright side. At least packing was easier this time, since the disposal of my mom’s suitcase had left me with almost nothing to pack. In theory, anyway. But Celestine wouldn’t let me go with nothing. She kept throwing clothes at me. Literally throwing them. Until there was this huge pile of gorgeous expensive designer clothes on the floor all around me. She would say “Gaultier” and fling a leather bustier at me. We both got such a case of the giggles that we had to sit down on the floor until we could breathe again.
I finally agreed to take a few things. Only things she swore she didn’t wear. I didn’t really believe her, because the clothes she gave me were absolutely wonderful. Plus she pulled out this classic Louis Vuitton bag and put the things inside. It wasn’t an actual suitcase, more like a big carry-on, but still—a bag like that costs a fortune. “I can’t take this,” I said.
“It’s old,” she said. Which I guess it was. But if you take care of a Vuitton bag, it will last you pretty much forever. “I can get another one,” she said. She probably could. Then she said, “I want you to have it.” What could I say to that? So I took it.
The next morning she got up early and made me breakfast. Which is actually quite a big deal, because Celestine is not much of a cook. I should know, having lived with her for a year. Anyway, she ran out early to shop, then cooked the most Midwestern breakfast she could think of. So what if she burned the bacon, and the eggs were a little runny? And the fire she started in her frying pan was only a little one. She is without question the best friend I ever had.
Then it was time for me to go. We hugged each other and cried. I asked her to walk me downstairs, but by the third step down, she was crying so hard I told her good-bye right there and sent her back to the apartment. Before she closed the door, she said, “Remember. You promise to come back?”
“I promise,” I said, took a deep breath, ran down the stairs, and went outside.
A black Lincoln Continental sedan was waiting for me. It is not the kind of car you see in Paris every day. In the middle of all the tiny little Peugeots and Citroëns and Renaults, a flying saucer would have been less conspicuous. Do not ask me how Reed found it. He had the driver pop the trunk, even though I only had the carry-on from Celestine and my little duffel baggy. Reed eyed the carry-on disapprovingly. “Louis Vuitton?”
“It’s . . . a copy,” I said. “I bought it in Chicago. Cheap.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He closed the trunk and held the door for me, then climbed in on the other side and sat next to me as the driver pulled the car into traffic.
“I want to say something,” Reed immediately began. I waited. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know who that guy was. And it’s none of my business. But I shouldn’t have hit him.”
I thought that was pretty grown-up of him. Because I hadn’t even asked him to apologize.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” I said. I couldn’t help it. I was picturing Josh bleeding all over his hat, and all over Flavien.
“I know.”
“He did something mean to me.” I wasn’t saying that for Reed’s benefit. I was trying to shake feeling sorry for Josh, and I wasn’t entirely succeeding, even though I hated him. “When I got kicked out of my hotel, he was the one who had them throw away my suitcase. My clothes.” I almost said
my Grandma’s dress,
only I thought that if I said it, I would start to cry. So I didn’t. “But you still shouldn’t have hit him.”
“I know.”
Then we rode for a while and didn’t say anything. Until a full fifteen minutes later. Out of nowhere, Reed said, “I am really, truly sorry.”
“Okay,” I said.
41
W
e were flying American Airlines.
Which kind of figured. You know, what with Fox News and all.
Flying First Class is way better than flying Coach. The seats in First Class are like huge comfy La-Z-Boys that recline all the way back. Plus the minute you sit down, they pour you champagne, and bring you a ceramic bowl full of warm mixed nuts, and hand out little hot washcloths for you to wipe your hands. There is an endless parade of flight attendants, and when they distribute the menus you get to pick real meals, starting with a fresh salad, then yummy elaborate entrées, then hot-fudge sundaes. Not to mention more champagne, and wine, and after-dinner liqueurs. It should have been wonderful.
But it wasn’t. For starters, even though Reed had apologized, I was still feeling pretty bad about his punching Josh. Do not get me wrong: I was still just as furious and unforgiving as ever about what Josh did with Mom’s suitcase, and specifically Grandma’s dress. Although it occurred to me that he couldn’t have known Grandma’s dress was in it. Not that I would forgive him anyway. But I couldn’t help seeing his side of it. His movie didn’t happen on account of me. I guess if I were him, I’d have been mad at me too. And we all do stupid things when we’re mad.
Feeling bad for Josh made me feel not as good about Reed. Or about myself, since Reed only hit Josh because I said he was bothering me. Maybe that’s why everything was a little less fun than it should have been.
Then somewhere in the middle of my third glass of champagne, it struck me: I wasn’t just upset about Grandma’s dress and Josh. I was upset because I had failed. Over and over again. When I left home eight days earlier, I had thought this was my chance to be a huge success. Instead, I had left a trail of people who didn’t want me around. The Movie People. Everybody at Armani. Josh. Uncle John. Okay, in the meantime Mom and Dad still loved me, but they didn’t know yet that I had lost Grandma’s dress.
Maybe that was why I’d been so quick to say yes to Reed. I didn’t care that much specifically about becoming a star on Fox News. I think I just wanted—needed—to prove to myself that I could do something right.
So when the flight attendants started serving lunch, I asked Reed, “Could you be a little more specific? About the job, I mean.”
Reed told me how Fox News had picked the anchor from one of their local affiliates, a man named Michael Smith, and was trying him out with his own half-hour format. So far they were only testing him in the Northeast, but his numbers looked good, so they were thinking about rolling him out nationwide. They would introduce me as a commentator during Michael’s show, and make it a regular spot if things went well. “Which I know they will,” Reed said.
Incidentally, Michael Smith is the man’s real name. But don’t bother looking for him on Fox News. He no longer works there.