Chasing Sylvia Beach Read Free Page B

what to do next.
    Moving with purpose now, she soon arrived at the Carrefour de l’Odéon. A flutter of fear shadowed her. What would she say? As she approached the bookstore, a dim light warmed the window and gave her hope. But the shop was closed and nothing moved inside, not even the dog she’d met earlier. Of course, Lily thought. She was closing when I left. I’m not thinking straight. I have to find somewhere to stay tonight.
    On the boulevard Saint-Germain, she crossed the street and entered rue de l’Ancienne Comédie. She paused at Le Procope, where she had dined once with her parents. Supposedly the oldest restaurant in Paris, it had served mediocre food that she hadn’t cared for. Her dad loved it, relishing the history that seemed to sparkle from the chandeliers. Her mom was uncomfortable in such a fancy setting, dressed in her sensible khaki pants and black top and requesting ice for her soda.
    A small group of people passed Lily, talking and laughing loudly, nudging her from the restaurant’s blue façade. A few streets away, she recalled that she had a reservation during the literary festival at the nearby Hotel Saint André des Arts. Perhaps the hotel existed in 1937. Her parents had stayed there when they visited her. Maybe she could get a room there. Certainly the cheap lodging she’d had as a student wasn’t available and besides, those tiny rooms required proof of student status and a long application process. She wandered in the narrow and angled streets of the neighborhood before she found the hotel.
    With relief, she recognized the street even if it wasn’t illuminated with bright and gaudy neon signs. Gone were the throngs of tourists she’d known to crowd this intersection. The corners of the streets were still dotted with cafés and restaurants, but the atmosphere of the neighborhood was somber compared to the bright, busy quartier she’d known. She hurried down the street looking for the hotel. Yes, it was there; in fact it was nearly the same as when her parents had stayed there. Only the door was different—the entrance was now in the middle of the windows and not to the side. Light filtered through the lace curtains. Lily sighed with relief. She was just minutes from a safe haven. She gathered her courage and went inside.
    Lily found herself in a small reception area, facing a desk with a high counter. The half-timber walls and the exposed wooden beams darkening the staircase made the reception area feel cozy and inviting. A door to another room behind the desk was ajar, and Lily heard a newspaper rustling from inside. She tapped a bell on the counter. The sound of a chair scraping on the floor came from the room.
    The hotel keeper, a woman with graying hair pulled back into a bun, walked out and stood behind the desk. She wore a sleeveless blue housedress that stretched tightly across her breasts. Sizing Lily up, she frowned and grunted, “Oui?”
    Lily asked for a room in her most polite French. The woman peered around Lily. “You are alone?” she said.
    Lily nodded yes. At this, the woman frowned and asked where her husband was. Lily’s blouse dampened with sweat. Mustering her courage, she pressed on in hesitant French.
    “I’m not married. I just want a room for the night.”
    The hotel keeper raised her eyebrow and shook her head. “I’m sorry, mademoiselle. This is a hotel of good reputation. It’s not the kind of place to harbor an unaccompanied, unmarried woman.” With that, she closed the ledger on the desk and gave a scooting nod, urging Lily to leave.
    Lily wavered, wanting to get away from the woman but needing a room more. She had money. Just because she didn’t have a husband didn’t mean she was immoral. Pulling herself upright, she spoke in what she hoped was correct French.
    “What do you take me for? I can pay!”
    The woman gave a mean smirk. “I take you for a foreigner! And here, rules are rules whether you have money or not. Now, please, I ask you