Lost in Paris (10 page)

24

“This is Murielle duPluie reporting live from Père-Lachaise Cemetery, where the American underdog Gwen Russell and her friends have just won the contest for tickets to Shock Value's special one-night engagement.”

She put the mic into my face again. “How does it feel?” she asked—her signature question.

“Fantastique!”
Brigitte said.

“Formidable!”
Henri said.

“Oink,” Norman snorted.

“Incredible!” I yelled. “I cannot wait to meet Winston, Alec, and Glen.” Then I added, “U-S-A!”

“I'll be reporting all the backstage action from the VIP reception at the concert tomorrow.” She paused and flashed her perfect smile.

The cameraman said, “Cut! That's great!”

“What?”
Jean-Luc yelled at Murielle duPluie. He looked at the Shock Value lady and again asked, “
What?
Are you
kidding
me?”

“I can translate,” I said. “I mean, if you wanted me to.”

Jean-Luc got just an inch from my face. “No,” he said. “I do not need a translation.” Then Jean-Luc took a step backward, landing his foot right into a pig present that Norman had so perfectly placed at his feet.

Good pig!

“Aw! Gross!”

Robert said, “You are not getting into my car with those shoes.”

“So disgusting!” Sabine said.

Jean-Luc said, “Get that stupid pig out of here.”

“Or
you
could just leave,” Brigitte suggested. “We still have to talk to the Shock Value people about winner business.”

Jean-Luc harrumphed and walked away, sliding his feet on the grass.

Brigitte, Henri, and I enjoyed a high five, and we all petted Norman. After a short meeting with the Shock Value people to sort out all the deets for the next day, we began walking back to the petmobile.

“OMG!” I said. “This is just perfect. I made the news, I won the contest, and now I get to attend a VIP reception with the band.”

If it was so perfect, why did I feel bad? One word: Beef.

“The only thing that could be better is if Clay Bright was there,” Brigitte said.

“Too true,” I said.

Henri said, “I wonder why he vanished and ran away.”

“Maybe it was all too much, the pressure,” I said. “And he just wanted to leave . . . to leave and . . .”

“What?” Henri asked. “Leave what?”

“His worries behind,” I said. “And fly away.” I get quiet, allowing my thoughts to race around the inside of my head.

Henri and Brigitte didn't notice my silence and kept talking. Brigitte said, “I guess we'll never know what happened to him.”

I didn't respond right away. “We could ask him,” I said.

“Ask who what?” Brigitte asked.

“We could ask Clay Bright why he disappeared,” I said. “I know where to find him.”

25

We went back to the Hôtel de Paris and walked up the boulevard to my friendly neighborhood guitarist.

“You're him,” I said to Knit Cap.

“Who?”

“You're him!” I said again.

“Who?”

“Clay Bright,” I said.

Henri studied him closely. “And you are not missing.”

“It took you long enough to figure it out,” he said. “I thought you were, like, a huge Shock Value fan.”

“I am! But look at you. You're hanging out on the street. AND I thought you were missing!” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my life now. It's all about music. That's what I was born to do.”

“Being in the world's most popular band wasn't doing that for you?” I asked.

“It wasn't about the music anymore. It was photo shoots and perfume and T-shirts. Heck, I started buying music instead of writing my own. That was the last straw for me.”

“So you just hang out here every day?”

“Yup. You know, I've been playing here for a year and Beef never recognized me.”

“The costume is
très bien
,” Henri said.

“Thank you. My mom made me the cap. You know, no one actually told me I was good or had real talent before you came along. It was always ‘how many ­arenas can you sell out' or ‘make sure you don't cut your hair before our next photo shoot.' It was never about the actual music. And you helped me get past my writing block.” He strummed a few chords and began singing the most beautiful lyrics about making friends with strangers and being found.

“That's amazing,” I said. “You're better than ever!”

“I don't know how I can thank you.”

“I do,” I said.

“Just ask,” Clay said. “What can I do?”

“Get me another ticket to tonight's concert.”

“Another?”

“Oh, yeah, we kinda won the contest!” I said.

“That's great! That's exactly what you wanted.”

“It totally is.”

“You are going to have an awesome night.” He paused and crinkled his brow like he was thinking deeply. “Man, I miss those guys.”

“You might have the chance to see them sooner than you think.”

“Why?”

“I'd like you to help me get Beef in front of Shock Value,” I said. “To give her the opportunity for a break.”

“How will I do that?”

“By asking Alec, Winston, and Glen,” I said.

“You mean, you want me to come out of hiding?” Clay asked.

“You're ready,” I said. “Don't you think?”

Before he could answer, Brigitte asked, “Can you do a commercial for Boutique Brigitte—Pour les Petits Animaux? I mean, after you come out of hiding, of course.”

“Sure,” he told Brigitte. “But can it wait until next week?”

“That would be okay,” she said.

“So, you'll do it?” I asked.

“It's time for me to fly back,” he said. “Home to my boys. Let's go tell them.”

“Tell the boys? As in Alec, Winston, and Glen?” I asked. I couldn't believe I was going to get to meet them, like, today.

Clay nodded. “We'll have to swing by my house first so I can change my clothes.”

“Then
allons-y
to your house,” Brigitte said. “I'll drive.”

“Seriously?” Clay asked. “In the pet van?”

He was going to need a limo or something. He was Clay Bright. He was used to traveling in style.

“I've always wanted to ride in that thing,” he said. “Is the snake in it?”

“No. But we can get her,” Brigitte said. “She is such a pretty snake.”

“Too true,” Clay added. He secured his guitar in the case and clicked it shut.

On the way to the van Henri asked him, “Your mom has seen you since you have disappeared?”

“It would be pretty weird if she made me a sandwich every day but couldn't see me.”

“Who else knows?”

“Just my mom. And, now, you guys.”

He helped Brigitte with Norman's ramp, then got in.

“After my house, we'll go find the boys,” Clay said. “They're the ones who can get you the ticket you need.”

“You know where they are?” I asked. “You haven't talked to them in a year.”

“I know all of their habits.”

“So where are they?”

“Uncle Alphonse's garage. He lives in Essonne.”

“You know who is on the way to Essonne?” Brigitte asked.

Clay nodded, then asked, “Is Fifi here?”

“No, but we can get her too. And we'll have to bring the birds!”

“Oh, yes. Please,” Clay said. “Let's get them all.”

Seconds later, Sylvie was in the van, hanging around Norman's neck like a scarf. Before I knew it, Fifi was sitting in Henri's lap, licking his face. She wasn't snug in her car seat because Clay Bright was in that space.

We left the animals in the car and went into a brick row home, where we found Clay's mother in the living room, sitting at a drum set. “Hi, honey,” she said.

He gave her a kiss. “Hi, Ma. This is Henri, Gwen, and Brigitte. They just won the Shock Value contest. They need an extra ticket for some lady named Beef so she can play for the boys and maybe get her big break into musical stardom.”

“Sounds good, honey.” She pulled headphones over her ears. “I made tuna sandwiches.” She jammed on the drums. Terribly and loudly.

Clay said, “Just give me a sec.” He really was only gone for a sec, and when he returned, the only thing he'd changed was his cap. He took sandwiches out of the refrigerator and put them into a brown paper bag.

Clay lifted one of her earphones. “Wanna come?” he asked his mom.

“You're going to see the boys?”

He nodded.

“And not hide anymore?”

He nodded again.

“Sounds like a hoot.” She put her drumsticks down and unplugged the earphones without taking them off. On the way out the front door she grabbed a white ­button-up sweater that looked like a librarian's. It didn't go with her cheetah-print leggings and spiky heels.

“Nice ride,” she said when she saw the petmobile. She stuck her hand out, waiting for someone to put something in it. When no one did, she looked at us. “Keys?”

“It is my pet van,” Brigitte said.

“Cool. I like it. But I'll drive. I always drive,” she said.

Clay confirmed, “She always drives.”

Brigitte took out the keys, but before she could give them to Mrs. Bright, the woman snatched them and got in the van. As we were still piling in, she peeled out. I fell into the seat with Henri, and Norman squealed.

Mrs. Bright yelled back, “Buckle up, amigos!” And floored it.

Finally, someone who could drive!

Mrs. Bright whizzed around corners, changed lanes, and honked the oinker generously. She appeared to know exactly where she was going. We left the city of Paris for the first time and traveled along the hilly French countryside. The grass was dark green, and slender fir trees lined both sides of the narrow road for miles. We all managed to crack our windows to let fresh air in and stale pig smell out. The animals were quiet and sniffed at the new scents in the air; even Sylvie gently swayed her head from side to side over Norman's shoulder. The pet van followed a sign with an arrow pointing toward Essonne.

Essonne was a picturesque village with many gardens, small rivers, and bridges. There were more bicycles than cars on the gravel streets, but that didn't slow down Mrs. Bright, who took tight turns and kicked dirt out from under the van's tires.

Brigitte held on to a hanging hook near the car
window with one hand and braced herself on the dashboard with the other for the entire ride. I was sure she wanted to say something, but except for a few whimpers, nothing left her mouth.

Mrs. Bright skidded into the unpaved driveway of a small stone cottage with white shutters and beautiful window boxes filled with colorful wildflowers. There was a trellis adorned with grapevines, underneath which sat a wrought-iron table and chairs. Sitting in the chairs were Winston, Glen, and Alec!

They saw Mrs. Bright and hopped up to greet her. Then they saw three strangers get out of a van, and last, they saw Clay. Their eyes widened in shock.

“No way!” Alec yelled, and ran into Clay's arms.

“Incroyable!”
Winston ran his hands through his hair over and over.

“I should kick your butt right here, right now, man,” Glen said. “But I'm just so glad to see you, I'll do it later.”

“It's a date,” Clay said, and he hugged his friend. “Look, guys, I know you probably have a lot of questions, and I'll tell you everything, but I need a favor.”

“Now?” Alec asked.

“I guess it doesn't have to be
right
now, but since I'm here . . .”

“It's just that Murielle duPluie is on her way here to
do an interview. You know, a sit-down thing before the concert,” Glen said. I loved that Glen talked like a New Yorker. If I wasn't at a beautiful cottage in a village outside of Paris with the most popular band in the world, I might have been a little homesick.

“An interview?” Clay asked. “That sounds perfect.”

“For what?”

“A public reappearance?”