P.S. from Paris(11)
“I might be able to, as long as it’s a clear one.”
“I’ll bring you one of Daisy. I’m sure she would love to see herself as a work of art, and I think you have the talent to do her justice.”
The caricaturist bent over to rummage around in one of the portfolios propped up against his easel. He took out a stiff sheet of paper and handed it to Mia.
“Your friend is positively ravishing,” he said. “She walks past here every morning. Go ahead, take it. It’s a gift.”
On the finely textured paper was a gorgeous drawing of Daisy—not a caricature, but a real portrait, capturing her expression with skill and sensitivity.
“In that case, let me leave you mine in exchange,” she said, before waving good-bye to the caricaturist.
Paul had given them a whistle-stop tour of Paris, much to Lauren’s delight. With the kind of nerve that he alone was capable of, he had cut the line that stretched out at the foot of the Eiffel Tower, saving at least an hour. At the top, a spell of vertigo kept Paul a safe distance away from the edge, gripping the guardrails with shaking hands, while Lauren and Arthur admired the view. After taking the elevator back down again with his eyes clenched shut, he’d regained his dignity and led his friends to the Tuileries Garden.
Seeing children riding on the merry-go-round, Lauren was seized by the need to hear her son’s voice, so she called Nathalia, Joe’s godmother. She invited Arthur to join her on the bench where she was sitting. Paul took the opportunity to go and buy candy from one of the fairground stalls. Lauren watched him in the distance as Arthur chatted with Joe.
Without taking her eyes off Paul, Lauren took the phone from her husband, heaped words of love upon her little boy, promised to bring him a gift from Paris, and was almost disappointed to realize that he didn’t seem to miss her all that much. He was having a great time with his godmother.
She blew kisses into the phone and kept it pressed to her ear as Paul came back toward them, struggling manfully to carry three sticks of cotton candy in one hand.
“How do you think he’s doing, for real?” she whispered to Arthur.
“Was that to me or to Joe?” Arthur asked.
“Joe hung up already.”
“Then why are you pretending to still be on the phone?”
“So Paul keeps his distance.”
“Well . . . I think he’s happy,” Arthur replied.
“I think you’re a pretty terrible liar.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No. Just an observation. Have you noticed that Paul mutters incessantly?”
“He’s very lonely. He just doesn’t want to admit it.”
“Isn’t he seeing anybody?”
“Paul claims to have his own long-distance romance. She lives in Korea. He’s even thinking of giving it a shot with her over there. Apparently, his books have a huge following in her neck of the woods.”
“In Korea?”
“Yup. To be honest, the whole thing sounds a bit far-fetched.”
“Why? What if he really is in love with her?”
“I get the impression she might not love him as much as he loves her. And the guy is terrified of flying! If he manages to get there, he may never come back. Can you imagine him living alone in Korea? Paris is far enough from San Francisco as it is.”
“You can’t stop him. I mean, if that’s what he wants . . .”
“I can try to talk him out of it, though.”
“We are talking about the same Paul here, aren’t we?”
Paul, who was tired of waiting by now, walked resolutely toward them.
“Can I talk to my godson, by any chance?”
“Ah, you just missed him,” replied Lauren, blushing slightly.
She put her phone away and gave Paul a big smile.
“What have you two been conspiring about?”
“Nothing,” replied Arthur.
“Don’t worry, I won’t be hanging around all the time during your stay. As much as I want to enjoy your company, I promise to leave the two of you in peace very soon.”
“But we want to enjoy your company too. Why else do you think we came to Paris?”
Paul looked thoughtful. What Lauren had said made sense.
“I still think you were plotting something. So what were you talking about?”
“A place I’d like to take both of you tonight,” Arthur said. “A restaurant I used to go to all the time when I lived in Paris. But you have to let us go back and get some rest first. I think we’ve had enough playing tourist for one day.”
Paul accepted the invitation, and the three friends walked along Rue de Castiglione until they reached Rue de Rivoli.
“There’s a cabstand not far from here,” said Paul, stepping out onto the crosswalk.
The lights turned green, and Arthur and Lauren didn’t have time to follow him. They stood separated by the flow of traffic. A bus went by and Lauren noticed the advertisement on its side: You might meet the woman of your dreams on this bus . . . unless she takes the métro . . . proclaimed an Internet dating site.
Lauren elbowed Arthur and the two of them stared at the passing bus.
“You can’t be serious,” whispered Arthur, turning to her.
“I don’t think you need to whisper, he’s all the way over there.”