Bon Appetit (20 page)

“Oh, sure,” I said.

She was a good friend, and I completely trusted her honesty. It was just that she was so … competent.

I got up early on Friday morning in order to make it to Rambouillet on the first train. I checked my e-mail before leaving, as I always did. There was a message from Sophie.

Dominique was coming back to France! No one had breathed a word of it. Where was I going to work? Even worse, where was I going to
live?

And apparently Dan’s lawyer friend was a better catcher than she let on, and I didn’t mean softball.

I dashed off a quick e-mail to Sophie asking for details. When was Dominique coming back to France? What was wrong with the new store? What was wrong with Luc?

On that unhappy note, I looked at the next e-mail, which was, unbelievably, from Dan. I scanned it quickly, not wanting to miss the train. He wanted to know how to contact me. I quickly, efficiently, and nonemotionally jotted down my phone number.

It wasn’t just out of rush. I was detaching from him out of self-protection, like I’d done in Seattle. But back then, I had been full of
looking forward to the promise of Paris. Now, I realized I’d left an ache behind in Seattle.

I ran for the train.

I was delighted to note I’d arrived before Anne, then immediately chided myself for being petty. It wasn’t a contest, in spite of what Monsieur Desfreres said. Somedays I thought his brain had been overproofed and his heart underbaked.

The bakers were just arriving, and I noticed Kamil had come from the village bakery to work here in Philippe’s absence. Preparation for when Philippe moved to Versailles, I was sure.

“Hey, it’s my favorite American,” he said.

“I’m the only American you know,” I teased back.

“Yes, but you’re still my favorite!”

I grinned at him. He’d been kind to me since day one. I would enjoy working together this weekend.

Anne arrived shortly thereafter, and it was fun to have my friend baking with me. Anne worked on breakfast pastries. She worked quickly, quietly, and with intensity. Nearly everything came out as nicely as if Patricia had done it herself. I worked on the petits fours that were to be picked up in a few hours. I had to refrost several of them, as my mind was not on my work.

It was on Dan and Nancy, and if they stopped in L’Esperance together to eat breakfast pastries. I wondered if he was happier than Sophie made it seem, good friend that she was.

I needed a break and some food therapy. I picked an almond croissant from one of Anne’s baking racks. “These look good enough to eat!”

“Thank you,” she said, blushing. I grinned. I wasn’t the only one who blushed easily!

At ten o’clock, Simone came back to the cool room. “Madame Gasçon is here for her petits fours,” she said a bit timidly. I realized she truly wanted me to succeed. I motioned for her to come back.

“C’est si bon?”
I asked her. “Are they good enough?”

She looked over the ones I had decorated like gifts, and some with tiny sprays of autumn flowers piped on them. I had made some dots of grapes nestled among tiny chocolate leaves, just turning colors. I’d made some with squash and pumpkins and
courgettes
, zucchini. All fall themes, but unusual décor for petits fours.

“Très, très belle,”
Simone said as she exhaled. “Like nothing we’ve seen here before. With an American touch, perhaps?” She grinned at me, grabbed my shoulders, and kissed each of my cheeks.
“Allez!
Madame is waiting!”

I quickly boxed them up and delivered them to Madame Gasçon. I opened the box for her. “Will these do?” I asked.

She looked them over and smiled.
“Oui,”
she said. “The most beautiful!
Merci”.

“Bon,”
Simone said as Madame left. “She is a hard biscuit”.

I wrinkled my brow. “A hard biscuit?”

Simone’s face dropped. “I am trying my English. Hard biscuit is not right?”

I switched my brain back to English. “Ah!” I said, the light going on. “A tough cookie! Someone hard to please!”

“Yes!” Simone said. “That is what I mean. Jerry Lewis says that,
n’est-ce pas?”
We giggled together, and I knew our misunderstanding about
préservatifs
was now corrected.

I made myself a café express, thankful Monsieur Delacroix required espresso as much as any Seattleite I knew and had installed a machine in the back. Besides, a little coffee might help me catch up to Anne’s productivity.

I set about making the apple galettes.

Anne and I took a late lunch together at a café a few blocks from the bakery. “How are things going?” I asked.

“Good!” she said. “I love working there. What a nice bakery. Patricia and Philippe wrote out everything they needed done, and Kamil is a great help too”.

“You’re very fast,” I said. “Normally, Patricia does both our jobs. Philippe is faster than Kamil, I know, but he’s catching up”.

“I’ve been talking to some other people in class, and I know being able to produce good stuff relatively quickly is important in employment. I’m trying to get faster”.

I wasn’t fast. Maybe it would come with time and practice. Unfortunately, I only had six weeks left to practice, whereas people like Anne and Kamil had worked in bakeries for years.

“Speaking of other students,” Anne said, “what do you think of Désirée’s gâteau au fromage blanc?”

“I was surprised,” I said. “I truly thought she was sabotaging everyone else”.

“And what do you think now?”

“I still think she is,” I said. “Though I’m surprised she was willing to risk looking bad in order to draw attention away”.

“Did you notice she did it on a day when Chef Desfreres was not there?”

“Oui,”
I replied. “I’d noticed. She’s smart … and maybe dangerous”.

“I don’t know that she’s dangerous. Just perhaps,
dramatique
. We will have to watch out for her,” Anne said. “We can watch out for one another. I think Jean-Yves and Juju know too”.

“What’s the worst she could do?” I asked, spooning up another mouthful of butternut squash soup. I loved squash.

“She could ruin the exhibition, somehow,” Anne answered.

I set my spoon down. That
would
be bad.

“Speaking of the exhibition,” Anne said. “My mother is going to come. And maybe my boss from the old bakery. It’s a big deal”.

I was so happy for her. I’d wondered if she’d have anyone there.

“Everyone I know in France and maybe my old boss from America is coming to see me,” I said. “Patricia told me I have to be in the top ten in order to work for Monsieur Delacroix”.

“You can do it!” Anne said. “I know you can. We’ll help each other”.

After lunch we went back to the bakery. Simone was in a dither.

“Lexi! Anne! A birthday cake order has come in for Sunday. A very large cake—four layers. White chocolate with raspberry filling, decorated
parfaitement
. I would normally have said
non
, since Patricia is not here, but the lady ordering the cake is the schoolteacher of Céline. I did not want to turn her away. Can one of you make it?”

“I can,” I said before Anne could say anything. I looked at her. “If it’s all right with you”.

“Bien sûr,”
Anne said. “Of course. Your work is much prettier than mine”. She sounded matter of fact, though I wondered if I had jumped in too quickly. But I wanted this chance.

I’d work on the cake Saturday night and Sunday morning after my other orders were done. I wanted it to be perfect.

Saturday I came in early and finished the strawberry tarts. Anne helped me brush glaze over them, and I made two extra—one for each
of us to pop into our mouths with the midmorning express. Then I made the tarte aux nougat-pommes for Monsieur Étienne. As soon as I was ready to box it up—two hours early—it fell apart. The nut powder in the recipe made them notoriously crumbly, but I thought I had added enough butter to compensate and hold it together.

“Help!” I called to Anne. Kamil nodded that he had everything under control, and she helped me fashion another crust. I filled it with apple filling and caramelized another topping. Ten minutes before Monsieur Étienne was to arrive, we finished.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’d have never been able to do it without you”. How did Patricia do this on her own? Would I ever be able to do this on my own? Or was this destined to be yet another career that Lexi tried, couldn’t master, and failed?

“No
problème,”
Anne said, ending graciously with, “I wouldn’t be here without you”.

I brought it forward to Simone, who kept it set aside for Monsieur Étienne. She reported later that he had sniffed and said it would do, which was apparently high praise.

I was just settling in to prepare the large birthday cake when Simone came to get me.

“I’m leaving,” she said, “but there is a phone call for you. An American man”.

Anne was pulling on her coat, getting ready to go home for the night. “I think I’ll stay for just a minute,” she said, grinning. I grinned back. It was okay to be nosy if you were a good friend.

I picked up the phone. “Hello?” I said in English.

“Lexi? It’s Dan. Is … is this the right number? It’s the one you e-mailed me”.

I was not prepared for the jolt I felt upon hearing his voice. You know the old cliché about knees going weak? It made my knees go weak.

“Hey, Dan. I’m sorry. I was in such a rush yesterday morning that I must have given you the bakery number. I’m—I’m glad you got me, though”.

“I’m glad I got you too,” he said. Did he intend that double entendre? He’d started out the conversation with a very businesslike tone of voice, but he’d softened. I wondered how his knees were doing. I wondered where Nancy was.

“I’m leaving tomorrow for my sister’s wedding, and I just wanted to check in with you and make sure we’re set for next weekend. I wondered if you’d be able to take any time off. I’ll be in Paris for three days”.

“I think so. I’ll have to check,” I said. “Will you be in touch through e-mail?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Don’t worry, the weekend is my treat. You show me the sights, I’ll pay the way”.

“Okay,” I said. “See you soon”.

“I’m looking forward to it,” he said softly.

I hung up the phone, and stood there until Simone nudged me.

“Ça va?”
she asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Oh, oh yes,” I said. I went back to the kitchen.

“You look like you’ve been standing near the oven,” Anne said. “What’s going on?”

“A man I’d just started dating before I moved to France is coming to Paris next week. He wants me to show him the sights, and I told him I would. That’s all”.

“I’d be glad to fill in for you next week if you take time off,” Anne said. “It’ll be a nice break from job hunting!”

“Thank you,” I said, with mixed emotions. “I don’t know how I feel about it yet. Seeing him again”.

“Ah,” Anne said. “And here I thought there was something happening with Philippe”.

I said nothing.

“Is there?” she asked. “You don’t have to tell me, of course”.

“No, no,” I said, keeping my voice down so the others couldn’t hear. “It’s all right. When I left Seattle, Dan and I parted with no strings attached, you understand? Because I may live here forever and, well, who knows?”

“I understand,” she said. “But you still have strong feelings for him?”

I nodded.

“And Philippe?” she continued.

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “I like Philippe, but I’m the girl who’s had three boyfriends her entire life. We’ve been out a few times, nothing serious, but I like him. And Céline”. I shrugged in confusion. “I don’t have a recipe to follow for this”.

“You bake by instinct, anyway,” Anne said. “I’ve been watching you. I prepare. You create. Create what you want from this”.

She kissed both of my cheeks and left me in the
laboratoire
by myself to create the cake.