a huge blue, white, and red French flag hanging from the center of the arch fluttered in the breeze, surrounded by a whirling ring of traffic. Horns blared as Henri took a right, cutting off several miniscule Smart cars, and headed right down the Champs-Élysées.
Then Lucy caught a glimpse of the famous glass pyramid in the courtyard of the Louvre, so quick she would have missed it if she’d blinked, and then they were battling traffic once again on the rue de Rivoli.
“Fantastic shopping here,” said Sue, adding in a reverential tone, “Bay Asch Vay. It’s the very French version of a hardware store.”
“Looks like BHV to me,” said Pam. “Whatever could that mean?”
“It means expensive,” said Sid with a sigh, resigned to Sue’s passion for shopping.
Then they were caught in another whirling roundabout, this time around the tall verdigris column that now stood in place of the Bastille prison, which was destroyed by an angry mob in 1789, sparking the French Revolution.
“They make such a big deal about it, but there was only a handful of prisoners inside,” said Ted Stillings, Pam’s husband. As editor and publisher of the Pennysaver, he had a journalist’s commitment to the facts.
“It was symbolic,” said Bill, yawning. Lucy knew her husband needed his eight hours every night, and he hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight. Neither had she, for that matter.
“I always feel so badly for poor Marie Antoinette,” said Rachel, who could probably find something nice to say about Idi Amin. “She seems so sweet.”
“I think you’re thinking of Kirsten Dunst in the movie,” said Sue.
“She was married to a fool. Louis XVI was a terrible king,” said Ted.
“The whole system was rotten,” said Rachel’s husband, Bob Goodman, who was a lawyer. “The king could get rid of anybody he didn’t like. He would simply issue a lettre de cachet with some poor devil’s name on it, and off he went to prison until the king decided to let him out.”
“It’s still rotten,” said Henri, surprising them all with his command of English. He took an abrupt turn down a quiet, very narrow street and braked in front of a pair of double doors, like old-fashioned garage doors, that were covered with unsightly graffiti. “Voilà. Neuf rue Roger Verlomme.”
They all scrambled out onto the sidewalk and stood awkwardly, looking down the empty street, which was lined with blank walls punctuated here and there with similar doors, all tightly closed. A few windows boasted window boxes planted with ivy and spring flowers, but even they were heavily curtained and offered no clues to the rooms within. Charming streetlights, styled like lanterns, hung here and there from the buildings.
“What do we owe you? How much?” Ted asked Henri as he reached for his wallet.
“No problem. All paid,” said Henri, but seeing Ted replacing his wallet in his pocket, he added pointedly, “Did you enjoy the tour of Paris?”
Sid was on it. He had a couple of euro coins he was intending to give to Henri, but Sue stopped him. “Give him a twenty,” she hissed.
Sid gave her a look as if she were completely mad, and Bill stepped up, slipping Henri a twenty-euro bill. “All set?”
“Merci,” replied Henri. “Have a nice time in Paris.” He paused, indicating a small treed plaza at the end of the street, filled with chairs and tables. “That’s a nice café,” he added before jumping into the driver’s seat.
Then the van was gone, and the eight Americans, tired from the overnight flight, as well as the struggle at the baggage carousel and the long lines at immigration, were standing on the street, next to a pile of suitcases, apparently locked out of their promised luxury apartment.
“What now?” asked Rachel.
“Try the buzzer,” advised Sue, pointing out a keypad fixed to the wall beside the doors.
Rachel pushed the one button that didn’t have a letter or number, and moments later one of the
Then Lucy caught a glimpse of the famous glass pyramid in the courtyard of the Louvre, so quick she would have missed it if she’d blinked, and then they were battling traffic once again on the rue de Rivoli.
“Fantastic shopping here,” said Sue, adding in a reverential tone, “Bay Asch Vay. It’s the very French version of a hardware store.”
“Looks like BHV to me,” said Pam. “Whatever could that mean?”
“It means expensive,” said Sid with a sigh, resigned to Sue’s passion for shopping.
Then they were caught in another whirling roundabout, this time around the tall verdigris column that now stood in place of the Bastille prison, which was destroyed by an angry mob in 1789, sparking the French Revolution.
“They make such a big deal about it, but there was only a handful of prisoners inside,” said Ted Stillings, Pam’s husband. As editor and publisher of the Pennysaver, he had a journalist’s commitment to the facts.
“It was symbolic,” said Bill, yawning. Lucy knew her husband needed his eight hours every night, and he hadn’t been able to sleep on the overnight flight. Neither had she, for that matter.
“I always feel so badly for poor Marie Antoinette,” said Rachel, who could probably find something nice to say about Idi Amin. “She seems so sweet.”
“I think you’re thinking of Kirsten Dunst in the movie,” said Sue.
“She was married to a fool. Louis XVI was a terrible king,” said Ted.
“The whole system was rotten,” said Rachel’s husband, Bob Goodman, who was a lawyer. “The king could get rid of anybody he didn’t like. He would simply issue a lettre de cachet with some poor devil’s name on it, and off he went to prison until the king decided to let him out.”
“It’s still rotten,” said Henri, surprising them all with his command of English. He took an abrupt turn down a quiet, very narrow street and braked in front of a pair of double doors, like old-fashioned garage doors, that were covered with unsightly graffiti. “Voilà. Neuf rue Roger Verlomme.”
They all scrambled out onto the sidewalk and stood awkwardly, looking down the empty street, which was lined with blank walls punctuated here and there with similar doors, all tightly closed. A few windows boasted window boxes planted with ivy and spring flowers, but even they were heavily curtained and offered no clues to the rooms within. Charming streetlights, styled like lanterns, hung here and there from the buildings.
“What do we owe you? How much?” Ted asked Henri as he reached for his wallet.
“No problem. All paid,” said Henri, but seeing Ted replacing his wallet in his pocket, he added pointedly, “Did you enjoy the tour of Paris?”
Sid was on it. He had a couple of euro coins he was intending to give to Henri, but Sue stopped him. “Give him a twenty,” she hissed.
Sid gave her a look as if she were completely mad, and Bill stepped up, slipping Henri a twenty-euro bill. “All set?”
“Merci,” replied Henri. “Have a nice time in Paris.” He paused, indicating a small treed plaza at the end of the street, filled with chairs and tables. “That’s a nice café,” he added before jumping into the driver’s seat.
Then the van was gone, and the eight Americans, tired from the overnight flight, as well as the struggle at the baggage carousel and the long lines at immigration, were standing on the street, next to a pile of suitcases, apparently locked out of their promised luxury apartment.
“What now?” asked Rachel.
“Try the buzzer,” advised Sue, pointing out a keypad fixed to the wall beside the doors.
Rachel pushed the one button that didn’t have a letter or number, and moments later one of the
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