When they’d recovered, he helped her to the floor as she regained her footing on unsteady, wobbly legs.
With a grin, he handed her a paper napkin as he wiped himself with another before pulling on his jeans. “I can’t get enough of you, Ella. I want you all the time.”
She tossed her used napkin into the trash, then wrapped her arms around his waist. Burying her nose into the dark hair on his chest, she inhaled his tangy, distinctly male scent deep into her lungs. “Me, too. I feel the same.”
He raised her chin with a curved finger and kissed her softly. “Let’s eat. I want to show you more of the hidden secrets of Paris.”
****
Rows of vines bursting with grapes lined the steep slopes ofla butte—the hill of Montmartre—as Jean-Luc led Ella to the summit. “This isLe Clos Montmartre,” he explained with a smile. “The vineyard of Montmartre. It dates back to the Middle Ages, but these vines were replanted in 1933, just before the French government imposed all the rules and regulations for wine production.” He gazed out at the leafy plants laden with fruit. “Every October, Montmartre has a huge festival –La Fête des Vendanges—to celebrate the annual harvest. There’s music, dancing, parades, exhibits… all sorts of revelry. And an auction to sell the wine, with the proceeds going to charity. I’ve bought us tickets to tour the museum today. It even includes a wine tasting. Come, let me show you another of the secret delights of Paris.”
As she and Jean-Luc accompanied the tour guide to view the collections of art inle Musée de Montmartre,Ella learned that this bohemian district of Paris had once been a mecca for revolutionary painters, rebellious writers, innovative musicians, and free thinkers. Beginning in the Romantic era with George Sand, Frédéric Chopin, and Victor Hugo, continuing throughla Belle Époque—when Impressionistssuch as Toulouse-Lautrec, Vincent Van Gogh and Pierre-Auguste Renoir painted here—and into the twentieth century with Picasso and Utrillo, Montmartre had always attracted the world’s most illustrious artists.
Renoir had lived and painted here, the guide explained as they strolled through the lush gardens where Ella spotted the swing which had inspired his famous painting,La Balançoire.The tour concluded with a delightful wine tasting and the gift of a glass engraved with the nameLe Clos Montmartre.
Another memorable souvenir of an unforgettable summer.Ella tucked the precious memento in her black velvet hobo bag, accepted Jean-Luc’s outstretched hand, and strolled with her bohemian artist back down the hill of Montmartre.
“Let’s pick up a couple sandwiches and go back to the atelier. I want to paint you.” Jean-Luc grinned, lifting her hand to his smiling lips.
“That sounds fantastic. But I need to be back atla résidenceby five. There’s a reception planned for us tonight atla Maison Rose—to welcome the teachers, allow us to introduce ourselves, and meet the directors of the program. They’ll give us the overview of classes, excursions, and expectations. It’s from six till nine.” Ella smiled as he squeezed her hand.
“Then I’ll come pick you up atla Maison Roseat nine. We’ll go to the cabaret, Au Lapin Agile.Tonight, they’re performing classic songs by Édith Piaf, Jacques Brel, and Charles Aznavour. A flashback to times gone by. You’ll love it. Another delightful secret of Montmartre…”
Ella’s spirit soared as they sauntered along the quaint cobbled stone street towardl’Atelier des Lumières.
I never want this unforgettable summer to end.
With a bittersweet smile, she sighed,swallowing a lump of sadness at the thought of returning home.
Of leaving Montmartre.
And facing the inevitable, unbearable sorrow of losing Jean-Luc.
****
A cordial hostess escorted Ella and Yelena into the private banquet room ofla Maison Rosereserved for the French teachers who had arrived for the summer language and culture program in Montmartre. As they sat at tables adorned with white linens and fragrant bouquets of spring flowers, the twenty-four participantswere greeted by the four professors who would be their instructors for the month of June while waiters served appetizers, fresh bread, and glasses of rich red wine.
“Good evening, everyone. Welcome to the Art in Montmartre Summer Immersion Program for Teachers of French as a Foreign Language. I am Jacques Dubois,le Directeur, and I wish to welcome you all. Tonight, we’ll inform you of the classes and planned cultural excursions…and have the opportunity to introduce ourselves and get to know one another. But first, let’s enjoy this splendid dinner prepared for us byla Maison Rose.Again, welcome, everyone. Enjoy the fine French cuisine.Bon appétit.”
Over the course of the evening, Ella learned that the teachers had been divided into two groups of twelve to attend alternating classes from nine to noon three days a week, with excursions to various museums on Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Afternoons, evenings, and weekends were free to explore Paris, with an optional trip to Giverny offered midway through the program. Amédiathèque—complete with books, magazines, computers, and Internet access—was located on the ground floor ofla résidence. All program participants would prepare a midterm and final multimedia presentation of art in Montmartre, to be used in their French classrooms upon return to their respective home countries.
After the reception, Ella said goodbye to Sofía and Carmen—two new teacher friends from Argentina— and promised to meet Yelena in the morning so they could walk to class together.
“Have fun with Jean-Luc,” Yelena whispered as she kissed Ella’s cheeks withla biseof farewell. “See you tomorrow.”
Her breath hitched at the sight of his handsome, grinning face as Ella exited the restaurant.He is by far the most beautiful man I have ever seen.Once again, the venomous voice slithered into her mind.He’ll lose interest, like Paul. It’s just a matter of time.Shaking her head to dispel the self-doubt, Ella waltzed into Jean-Luc’s awaiting embrace.
****
The first two weeks of classes flew by. As Ella learned more about the history of Montmartre, she remembered the trip tole Musée de la Vie Romantiqueand the delightful vineyard visit with Jean-Luc. During the excursion to theMusée d’ Orsay, she was fascinated by the former train station transformed into a museum for Impressionist art, discovering the characteristic joy in the rosy, cherubic faces of Renoir’s famous portraits. The torturous twirls of fiery flames and the spiral swirls of starry skies in Van Gogh’s masterpieces. The ephemeral, incomparable water lilies of Monet’snymphéas.And, when she finally viewed the famous sculpture ofle Penseur,Ella marveled at Rodin’s incomparable ability to create the lifelike Thinker from a giant slab of hard white marble with a mere chisel.
And yet—as much as she enjoyed immersing herself into the French language and culture, Ella constantly thought of Jean-Luc. She compared every work of art to his. The flamenco dancers whose passion and pain evoked the intensity of Van Gogh’s emotion. The vivid colors and bold shapes of Matisse and Picasso. The intimate portraits of performers, like the famed ballerinas of Degas, or the burlesque cabaret singers of Toulouse-Lautrec.
Indeed, her talented bohemian artist was always on her mind.
They spent as much time together as possible. During the week, he picked her up atla résidenceafter classes, and they’d share lunch, strolling along the shady streets of Montmartre, returning to the apartment to make love in his luxurious bed. On the evenings when he sketched portraits onla Place du Tertre,Ella did aerobics in her room, studied in themédiathèque, or went souvenir shopping with Yelena. On the nights when Jean-Luc danced, Ella met him at theTablao Flamencoand went home with him after the performance. They had afternoons, Wednesday nights, and weekends together. And all day every Sunday.
Today, while Ella and Jean-Luc sharedsandwiches au pouleton a pretty park bench under a canopy of leafy trees, she told him about the midterm presentation she’d given that morning about Renoir’s famous works. “I talked aboutla joie de vivrein his portraits. The happy faces and joyous ambiance ofla Belle Époque. I mentioned our guided tour ofle Musée de Montmartre,” she said between bites of her chicken baguette sandwich. “And compared the two paintings Renoir completed while living there. I think it went very well.”
