Excuse me while I slip into something blue. . .

Excuse me while I slip into something blue  . . .  

I promised my friend Sue a story about villes & villages & the most romantic evening I ever experienced.  In a little place outside Paris.

It is a funny thing, that one travels across the Atlantic to celebrate the end of a relationship.  In my case, a marriage.  

A friend  & I took a trip to London & on the air voyage, over wine & dinner, learned a great deal about one another that we never knew before deciding to travel with another.

But it was a great trip – I had been to London once before, with the man I had left & my friend & current traveling companion Mary  offered a different view & experience.

After our week in London & its environs, Mary flew back to Houston & I took a flight to Paris, to meet up with girl friends who were embarking on a Francophile  voyage & to retrace my steps with the man I had left in divorce court & leave those steps behind.

And do some other things.  To see the Impressionists. 

After a few days with my girl friends, who moved on to their nest destination in France,  it was just me in Paris in my pension.  And a strike by the Museum workers.

Not visiting the Orsay was a huge disappointment.  Not being able to visit the other museums in Paris was bitter.  I should have been depressed.

Except that my friend Elizabeth put me in touch with Bill Baldwin, one of her youngest brother Doug's friends.   Bill Baldwin was on a European jaunt, with an end goal to visit his childhood nanny in England, & was in Paris.

So Bill Baldwin & I took a train to Versailles (where we could look at the grounds), ate lunch at a quaint cafe & when we returned to Paris, we settled ourselves outside of a little bistro near the pensione where I was staying.

Bill Baldwin ordered oysters & beer.  

And I learned that there are oysters, & then there are oysters.  French oysters taste nothing like Gulf Coast oysters.  Accompanied by mignonette, a combination of shallots & red wine vinegar, lemons for the Americans & buttered rye bread, the waiter opens them up at the table.  And they are divine.

Bill Baldwin was younger, well educated & traveled & charming.  So we ate oysters & drank beer & talked.

At some point during our conversation, I looked across the street at the Metro stop & watched a very tall, very handsome young man descend.  A man I recognized.

I grabbed Bill Baldwin's arm & said:  I know that man.

No you don't,  he replied.  You are hallucinating from too many oysters & too much beer.

I insisted.  I know him.  I told him I was coming to Paris & where I would be staying.  

Eventually, Bill Baldwin,  a very well-mannered young man, escorted me to my pensione & waited until the front desk gave me my room key & note.

Someone left you a note.  Bill Baldwin said.  

I know, silly.  I know.  

A very tall, very handsome man left his note at my pensione & then descended into the Metro as I watched, consuming massive quantities of oysters with mignonette & buttered rye bread & beer with Bill Baldwin.

I read the note, right there in front of the front desk & Bill Baldwin & read:

Jaki, welcome to Paris. 

I guess you didn't get my message.  I suppose you are having a good time since you're still out. 

Give me a call tomorrow 759-6228.  I'll probably be moving into a new place tomorrow evening so I'll be tied up for a while but we could arrange something. 

Thank you for your birthday card!  

I called.  He moved.  And we did arrange something.

Well, one or two somethings.

And then he rented a car & took me outside Paris to a village.  With cobblestones & a small ancient church of stained glass & a hill overlooking both.

We toured the church & sat in its pews, silent.  Looking back, it was lovely, just sitting there & soaking up the moments.

We climbed the hill, watching the sunset, drank wine & talked & talked.

And then we descended the hill & he walked me over the cobblestones to a very tiny space without any identification,  just a door.  He knocked.

A tiny Frenchwoman met us, happy to see Per.  No doubt this was not his first excursion into her establishment.  But it was my first visit.

The bar was about the size of an average closet – no stools.

The very tiny Frenchwoman led us to the left of the bar into the dining room.

Beautiful room.  No doubt original to the house.  Four tables, max.  A hearth with a fire burning lined the back wall.

 

We were the only ones in the room.

 I don't remember Per ordering our meal.  Tiny Woman brought out bread,  Per ordered wine. 

In  French, of course.  Great wine. 

And we dined on filet mignon grilled on the fireplace, white asparagus, little potatoes & that very fine wine.

Still one of my favorite meals.

We talked & talked.  I had never been (or since) in such a lovely place where a man ate & talked & talked & ate.  And stilled talked to me.

We left after dessert, walked across the cobblestones, back to the car & Paris & his new place.

Excuse me, while I slip into something blue . . .