Claire and Marti stood drooping in an August heatwave outside Au Printemps’s window. They drooled over the mannequins sporting the height of fall fashion.
Marti swiped at the sweat running down her face. “Look at that beautiful plaid wool suit. And the cuffs and patch pockets are suede. It’s magnifique! Could you make that for me?”
“I could, but we couldn’t afford the wool, never mind the suede.” Claire peered closer. “The tailoring is impeccable. That’s hand-stitching along the lapels and those are hand-sewn buttonholes. You’d never see that in the States.”
After catching a glimpse of their reflections, Claire pressed her sweaty forehead against the glass. “We look like a couple of beached mermaids, only that’s not sea water dripping down our necks.”
Marti laughed. “Now we know why every French woman flees Paris in August. How can the poor clerks stand working in there? There’s not enough air conditioning in the world to cool that place.”
A boisterous swarm of teens—who else but Americans would wear Spice Girls T-shirts, cut-off jeans, and platform sneakers in the city of fashion—entered the store. “How do those tourists stand it?” Claire slid the pink gingham triangle scarf from her head and wiped it across her face. Okay it wasn’t Parisian style, but it was retro and smaller to pack than a floppy-brimmed sun hat. She had sewn triangle scarves for all the girls in her class at the convent because every one of them was in love with ’60s fashion, and, with her scarves, they always had something handy to put on their heads for mass.
Marti took her elbow and pointed. “Let’s find a café with a view of the Eiffel Tower and drink our weight in la citronnade. It’s one of the things I can pronounce.”
They headed west along the Seine. Ducking under an awning, weaving through crowded tables, and storing their backpacks under the tiny round table, they collapsed onto the rattan chairs. Marti examined the woven wicker of her chair. “I want a pair of these and a marble topped bistro table in my kitchen. Such a classic design.”
“And it will always remind you of Paris.” Claire plucked up le Menu and fanned herself. Hopefully your kitchen will be cooler.”
“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you.”
“You’ve met someone.”
They both laughed so loudly other diners scowled.
“I think I’m a bit punchy from the heat, you too?” Claire asked.
“Seriously. I’m not going to look for an interior design job when we get back to New York.”
Claire stopped fanning herself and stared at her dearest friend in the world. They’d been roommates since their first day at college. Would they no longer live together? “Okay…you’re not joining the circus are you?”
“I want to be a doctor.”
“Thatisa circus.” Claire dropped the menu. “How’re you going to do that?”
“I applied to NYU for a master’s pre-med program because I need to take a bunch of chemistry and biology courses. That’s the first step.” Marti gazed at something behind Claire, then looked back.
“But you love interior design. You love color and fabrics and wallpaper, and furnishings—” Claire patted the arms of her chair.
“I do. It’s fun, but it’s not fulfilling. I want to help people. I can decorate my own home and my parents’ and yours. I don’t know, maybe I can help people redesign their health.”
“Wow. That’s a huge shift. Why didn’t you tell me?” Claire battled the feeling of being left out with her happiness for Marti’s decision.
“The idea gnawed at me throughout our last year, but I figured I’d focus on finishing my undergrad degree and at least have that under my belt.”
“Maybe we should order Champagne. When do you hear back from NYU?”
“I was accepted!”
“How could you not tell me? Congratulations!” Claire slapped the table. “How did you keep that a secret? We’re definitely ordering Champagne.”
The waiter, tall, bored, not sweating somehow, stood holding a round tray at shoulder height. “Oui?”
“Let’s save the Champagne for tonight, okay?” Marti asked.
Claire nodded and Marti ordered two lemonades. “Let’s pray for ice. I told the waiter, ‘avec la glace,’ but I don’t know if I asked for ice or ice cream.”
“Either will be cold.” Claire squeezed Marti’s hand. “I’m so happy for you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to jinx it. I applied for a scholarship and a student loan. While you were still snoozing this morning, I called my folks, and they told me I got both.”
