Lost in Paris by Elizabeth Thompson (ebook smartphone .txt) 📕

“But you just told me.”

Marla grimaces and puts her hand over her mouth.

“I guess I did. But you can’t say anything, okay?”

“I won’t. I mean, it’s no big deal. It was only a couple of times, right?”

“No, apparently it was going on for a while. Like most of last year.” She grimaces again. “Let’s not. I just… Let’s pretend like I didn’t say anything.”

Despite her black eye—or maybe because of it—she looks earnest. I want to believe her. I don’t want to judge her—or anyone, not even Cressida, for having a secret fling with Jesse.

Maybe I’m an idiot for softening up when a moment ago I was ready to boot Marla out.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

At this point we’d all be better off not to test her. The path of least resistance is to get to Paris.

“I was thinking,” I say. “Since the meter is ticking on my vacation, it’s better for us to go check out the apartment sooner rather than later.”

“Absolutely,” Marla says. “I’ll look into arrangements. Maybe we can leave tomorrow?”

April 1927

Paris, France

Dear Diary,

It’s been a few weeks since I’ve had a chance to write, but I have a good excuse: a lot has happened. Thanks to the guidance of Pablo’s friend Luc Fabron, we have found a new living arrangement. It’s a small apartment in Montparnasse. It’s not fancy, but at least it’s clean and free of smelly letches who change the rules at whim.

It turned out the painter Pablo Picasso, who seemed so smitten with Helen, had a young girlfriend… and a wife. He has yet to paint Helen. I think she hurt his feelings. That morning at Dingo Bar, he introduced Helen to Luc, another painter. Immediately, Helen threw over Pablo for Luc. It’s just as well, given Pablo’s reputation for collecting women. And the fact that Helen does not like to share.

Beyond her happiness, meeting Luc was a godsend because he knew of an inexpensive apartment that was available for immediate occupancy. We were able to move in that night. We did not have to risk Monsieur Arpin barging in as we slept.

Much to Luc’s delight, we are now his neighbors. He’s as smitten with Helen as she is with him. It’s too early to tell whether my friend’s infatuation will last. Even if it doesn’t, Helen has a way of converting tiresome romances into friendships—well, except for Pablo, who seemed full of resentment as he watched Luc take possession of Helen’s affections.

I hope Luc understands that if she gets an offer from the Ballets Russes, she will be gone from his arms faster than he can say, Helen, mon amour.

But for now, they are happy, and we are safe in our new abode.

The afternoon of our first visit to Dingo Bar, we decided to stay away from Monsieur Arpin’s place on rue du Cardinal Lemoine until night fell with the hopes that Monsieur Arpin had a nightly routine of drinking himself into an oblivion. Luc and other friends of his (but not Pablo) tagged along to protect us while we gathered our belongings.

I wondered if it was a good idea because by that late hour the men were drunk and seemed to be spoiling for a fight, saying things like, “Let him even look at the two of you and we’ll knock him into next week.”

I didn’t want a scene. I wanted to collect our things and leave Monsieur Arpin and his slum garret in the past. I had bigger fish to fry, such as finding a job so I could earn enough money to cover my share of the rent, which, we discovered, was inexpensive by Paris standards, but cost decidedly more than the place on rue du Cardinal Lemoine. Considering we would no longer be forced to pay the high price of fighting for our dignity, it was worth the extra expense.

Not long after we were settled in the new apartment, I learned that Pauline and Ernest had left Paris before she could look at my designs and make the introductions she’d offered. Apparently they are to be married. After what happened with Hem, I’m not surprised she didn’t follow through. Disappointed, yes, but not surprised.

Adele, a woman I met at Dingo Bar, warned me that Hem had a wandering eye and fast hands. She said he had been married to a woman named Hadley when he met Pauline. According to Adele, it was love at first sight for Pauline, even though she and her sister, Jinny, met Ernest and Hadley together. Apparently, Pauline even went so far as to befriend Hadley to get close to Hem.

This is all to say that perhaps Pauline’s helpful demeanor at the bar was less a case of true self-confidence as it was a matter of keeping friends close and romantic rivals closer. She need not worry about me—I have no designs on her man—but it’s clear I can’t count on her for introductions. Now, I have no choice but to get out there and make the rounds at other fashion houses on my list.

There will be a job for me in this mecca, won’t there?

Seven

January 2, 2019—3:00 p.m.

Gare du Nord train station, 10th arrondissement

Paris, France

The next day, Marla and I board the train at St. Pancras station and make the two-hour-and-fifteen-minute trip through the Chunnel to the Gare du Nord in Paris.

“Let’s not take the Metro,” Marla says when we’re standing on the sidewalk paralleling rue de Dunkerque in front of the train station. She points to her phone where she’s entered the address of our hotel into Google Maps. “Let’s walk.”

We reserved a room at a small hotel in the first arrondissement near the Louvre, figuring it was the smart thing to do since we didn’t know what we were getting ourselves into. Even though it was a bit far from the apartment, which is in the ninth, the price was right for a modest place with good ratings in a