Bon Appetit Read Free Page A

tiniest pearl studs clinging to her earlobes.
    “Hello”. I shook her hand. “My name is Lexi”.
    “Lexi! I like that name”. She sat next to me.
    She
liked
my name! She didn’t think it was strange. Take that, mean work permit woman.
    “Are you taking the place of Dominique?” she asked.
    Dominique was Luc’s sister. “I’m working here while she works in my town”.
    “In America?” Céline asked, biting into her cookie.
    “Yes”.
    “Do you live in California? I love California”.
    “No”. I watched her eyes droop. Not ready to lose my first and only French friend, I added, “But I live very close to California”.
As U.S. geography goes
, I thought.
    “Oh, good. That’s fine then”. She hopped off the stool next to the weighing counter, taking her cookie with her. “Do you know my papa?”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “What is his name?”
    “Philippe”. She took another nibble out of her cookie.
    “No, I don’t know him yet”.
    “You’ll like him,” she said. “He’s
très sympa”.
    I laughed. “I’m sure your dad is very cool”.
    She laughed too and walked up front to bask in the adoring gaze of Maman and Odette.
    I smiled for the first time that day. Céline was definitely
bien élevé
, well-raised, and polite.
    A few minutes later Maman came and handed me a list of ingredients. “Weigh these out for me, to prepare for tomorrow”.
    “Immediately,” I said. Then I added, “Céline is a delightful child”.
    She nodded. “I know. If only I had grandchildren. She is my brother Marcel’s granddaughter. She’s in the village today for the fireworks celebration tonight. Normally she’s in Rambouillet withher father. But school is now out until September, and since her mother died a few years ago, we all take care of her”.
    I hadn’t known Philippe was a widower. I remembered Patricia talking about her brother when she was in Seattle and knew she doted on him. Poor Céline. No
maman
.
    “Ah well,” Maman said. “Luc is getting married next month, and maybe I’ll have grandchildren myself soon”.
    “The wedding will be very exciting!” I said. Even though I’d had my fill of weddings at home, it would be fun to see a French one. And I had truly begun to like Marianne, Luc’s fiancée.
    Maman looked at me strangely and walked away.
    I shook it off and began to weigh out the butter,
exactement
, according to her instructions.
    Out of the corner of my eye I spied Odette, who had been eavesdropping, I was sure. She hung her apron on one of the pegs in the back. The bakery was closing early due to the holiday.
    I tried again to make polite conversation. “How nice that your name is embroidered on your uniform!” I said. “I’ll have to get that done”.
    “Temporary workers and floaters don’t have their names on their uniforms,” she said. “There is no reason for it, as the customers and suppliers, even the other bakers, won’t need to know their names, and they don’t stay long enough to matter. It’s for those who are
permanent
. It would be a great
faux pas
to have it done yourself”.
    “Oh,” I said, busying myself with the butter. I blinked back tears and was ashamed to admit I wanted my own
maman
despite being twenty-five years old.
    Odette took a pastry box out of the refrigerator case and readied herself to leave for the day. “You won’t be going to Luc’s wedding,” she pronounced. “It’s for family and friends”.
    And then she left.
    I grinned. That was where she was wrong. I knew the bakery would close for two weeks in August, as many businesses in and around Paris did, and that the family was traveling south for the wedding.
    I couldn’t wait to visit Provence. Odette may not have realized it, but I
was
Luc’s friend.

Two

    Sacred cows make the best hamburger
.
Mark Twain
    A few weeks rolled by, and every day after my shift, I plopped down at an outside table at the village café, eating a late lunch, drinking iceless