21 Steps to Happiness Read Free Page B

course! It’s a magnificent suite. André will show you.”
    André, my porter, grabs my card key and I follow him to the elevator. I can’t stop staring at him. He is such an elegant creature, with a funny walk. His body remains perfectly still while his legs go wild.
    It has to be some kind of professional trick.
    â€œA magnificent suite…” I repeat, trying to imitate the French accent of the receptionist.
    â€œOh, yes, floor seven. The English Suite. Very beautiful, mademoiselle, ” André says and does his funny walk all the way to the door to open it for me.
    Mama Caramba!
    I take my first step into the room. It’s clotted with antiques, drapes and fancy material, yet an awesome sense of refinement strikes me through and through.
    â€œThat will be fine,” I whisper because I want André to go away before I faint.
    I find a five-dollar bill in the deepest darkest part of my jacket pocket and pass it to him.
    â€œMerci et bonne journée, mademoiselle.” André hands me my card key and closes the door behind me.
    I’m still standing in the entrance. I cannot grasp the fact that this is my room. I feel that at any time the real guests will come in and call the police to escort me out.
    Because, let’s be honest: I don’t deserve any of this.
    Jodie just said, “I made a couple phone calls. You’re going to work in Paris. It will be good professional experience for you. And please, take off that dress. I cannot be seen with you in that dress.”
    She didn’t say anything about being treated like a freaking New York princess.
    But then again, that’s how Jodie is.
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    I slide like a ghost toward the bed. It’s huge and truly beautiful, but I wouldn’t dare touch it. I can see the door to the bathroom. I am like an insect attracted by the light. I push open the door to have a look inside.
    I clap a hand over my mouth not to scream. It’s so gorgeous! I have never seen anything so beautiful as this bathroom. All the silver and tiles are shining like diamonds. The towels look so warm and cozy. I need to touch them. I approach them. I reach for them. My skin feels the comfort of them. I turn to the mirror.
    Ah!
    Something is wrong in this bathroom.
    It’s me.
    I see my reflection in the mirror and I am the odd one out. Not only do I look exhausted, I look like an ugly little duckling with a mad hairdo.
    I can’t believe that I have been seen by all those people dressed like this.
    André the porter looks ten times more swish than me. Roxanne must have had a hilarious time with me. I must be her best joke since the invention of the whoopee cushion. She must be talking about me to all her friends—she might even phone Jodie. “Guess who I met on the plane? Your ridiculous daughter. Isn’t she common! She was wearing this ugly dress and hideous jacket!”
    I am about to leave the bathroom when the sound of an alarm stops me. I look around and locate the source of the noise. There is a phone above the toilet seat.
    Wow, you can sit on the toilet and still talk with your friends and family.
    Disturbing.
    I pick up the phone.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œLynn?” a man’s voice says.
    That’s me, so I say, “That’s me.” No, no, that’s not assertive enough. “This is Lynn Blanchett speaking,” I say loud and clear.
    â€œOh, hi! My name is Nicolas Bouchez. I’m the human resources manager at Muriel B,” the man says with a slight accent.
    Oh, God!
    First instinct: hang up, run away.
    Second instinct: hide under the bed.
    Third instinct: change your dress, don’t add disgrace to disillusion!
    â€œIs everything okay? Are you…satisfied with the room?” he asks.
    â€œThe room?”
    â€œMuriel wanted to be sure you’d be happy with the room.”
    â€œIt’s…okay.”
    I have to sit down on the toilet. It’s quite comfortable for a