[Twenty-Somewhere] Episode 32: Paris, City of Fights

The plan is simple: Sophie will use the invitation from Forward Fashions to fly Claudia and herself to Paris for Fashion Week. MJ will join them from England. Then the 3 best friends will spend 5 fabulous days together — together! in person! for the first time since graduating college! — and it will be a perfect little holiday.

Perfect. That is the plan.

Unfortunately, the reality is anything but.

…

Claudia and Sophie have just checked into the hotel when MJ walks in, wheeling her suitcase behind her. As soon as they see each other, all three begin to jump and squeal and hug, and generally act a bit like monkeys at the zoo. “Eeeeee!” they shriek. The desk clerk merely raises a brow.

They quickly drop their things off in their hotel suite and then head out to experience Pah-ree. Only, they can’t quite agree on what to do first…

“Let’s go to the Eiffel Tower!”

“No, I want to wait and see the light show there at night. Why don’t we do the Louvre now?”

“I don’t want to start with some stuffy museum. Can’t we just walk around and soak up the city?”

“I’m hungry. Let’s find a crepe stand!”

“France is famous for their bakeries. That’s where we should eat.”

“But doner kebabs are so cheap… I’d rather get one of those and save my money for the sights.”

The three friends stare at each other, clearly at an impasse.

In the end, MJ decides to go with the flow. She’s just happy to be with her two best friends — and away from her two troublesome men, Felix and Dr. Storm.

That leaves Sophie and Claudia to duke it out. Metaphorically, of course.

They smile sweetly at one another. Claudia thinks, Sophie lives alone and gets to do things her way all the time, meanwhile I have to compromise with Eli every day. For once I want to do what I want to do! Sophie, on the other hand, thinks, I’m footing the bill for this little vacation, so shouldn’t my preferences have some extra weight? It’s not like I want to jump into the Seine, for crying out loud.

Their internal monologues rage on, but neither of them says anything aloud for over a minute. Tired of the silent showdown, MJ suggests, “Rock Paper Scissors?”

Reluctantly they agree.

“One, two, three, go!”

Sophie produces a rock, Claudia holds out paper.

Sophie frowns. “Best two out of three?”

…

Even with Rock Paper Scissors guiding their agenda — or maybe because of it — the three girls end up seeing a good deal of Paris. They visit the Arc de Triomphe and then go for a shopping spree on Champs-Élysées, the 5th Ave of Paris. A window shopping spree, that is. Louis Vitton, Chanel, and Dior are still a little out of their price range.

Next they tour the Tuileries Garden and then continue to the Louvre, where they spend the afternoon in the company of Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo. They finish the afternoon with a visit to Sacré-Coeur Basilica and its breathtaking white domes, and then explore the surrounding Montmarte area, strolling in and out of the many studios and cafés.

Along the way they take a handful silly snapshots next to or with the city statues; Claudia snags not one but two Nutella crepes; and as a group they attract no less than fifteen catcalls, whistles, and “Bonjour, cheries!”

It’s a long, eventful day, and for the first time they all agree on something: it’s time to go back to the hotel and take a nap.

…

The second thing they all agree on is to go out dancing that night. After a refreshing hour in bed and a restorative dinner, their room becomes a flurry of discarded outfits and mismatched shoes. They each take turns around the bathroom sink, which is covered with makeup of every kind and color. When they finally walk out the door, Sophie is showing off her long legs in a dark blue mini dress, Claudia has jazzed up her jeans with stilettos and a sparkly silver top, and MJ has traded in her in usual white lab coat for a flowy teal blouse and fitted cream-colored skirt.

The girls look fan-freaking-tastic, if they may say so themselves. And they’re ready for a fun night on the town.

Is the town ready for them?

They get their answer quickly. Just seven minutes after arriving at the first club, they are approached by a young Frenchman named Jacques. “‘Allo,” he says with a charming smile. “My friends and I noticed you lovely ladies from across the room. Per’aps you would care to join us for a drink?” He takes MJ’s hand and kisses her fingertips.

She pulls her hand back as quickly, but politely, as possible. “Merci, but no merci. We’re taken.”

Frowning, he moves away.

“Hey, I’m not taken,” Sophie protests.

“Oh, right, sorry!” MJ glances over to where Jacques now sits with his two friends. One is picking his teeth and the other has a unibrow. “I think I did you a favor though.”

At the second club, two young men don’t even bother with introductions. They simply buy the girls a round of Appletinis from the other side of the bar. Claudia declines hers.

“Still don’t drink?”

Claudia shakes her head. “Never had a good reason, and never liked the taste.”

Sophie and MJ hold up their glasses in a thank you toast to the young men, but after they finish drinking, the girls leave because the music is bad and no one’s dancing.

The third club is playing a combination of American pop and European techno, and the dance floor is packed with people in their 20s and 30s. The girls look at the scene, look at each other, and nod. Excited at last, they head straight into the middle of the crowd.

After an hour of shaking, rolling, and twisting on the dance floor, the girls sheen lightly with sweat, and their feet are starting to ache. Claudia says uncle first and signals that she needs a break. Her two friends are happy to follow. They all head to the bar to grab a drink and a seat.

“Mm mmm. Talk about a tall drink of water,” MJ says appreciatively.

“Water? I thought you ordered a Cosmo.”

“I did. I’m talking about him.” With a nod of her head, MJ indicates a dark-haired god sitting six seats down. His profile suggests perfection: straight nose, strong jaw, and gently sloping brow. His button-up shirt and pleated slacks are stylish but comfortable. His gold watch speaks to maturity and wealth.

“Ooh!” Claudia and Sophie exclaim at the same time. He hears them and smiles and waves. They giggle nervously and look away.

When they look back, he smiles again.

“Oh god, someone go talk to him,” Claudia says. “Before he disappears!”

“He’s not a mirage,” MJ says, though they all think, He might as well be. “Why don’t you go?”

Claudia rolls her eyes. “I’m practically married.”

“I don’t see a ring…”

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s invisible, and around my neck. You go.”

MJ shakes her head. With a sigh, she leans in and whispers, “Felix said he loves me.”

Sophie and Claudia gasp. “No!”

MJ nods.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. I panicked. And I’ve been avoiding him ever since.” MJ bites her lip. “There’s more.”

“More?”

“Dr. Storm–”

“Your hunky boss?”

“Yeah. My hunky, inappropriate boss. He kissed me.”

Sophie and Claudia gasp. “No!”

MJ nods again.

“Eesh,” Claudia says. “Yeah, that’s rough. You definitely need to go talk to this guy.”

“No, she needs to talk to Felix,” Sophie corrects. “And maybe slap Dr. Storm.”

Claudia chuckles. “Okay, then you go talk to this guy.”

“Yes! Go!” MJ agrees.

Sophie rolls her eyes. “Y’all are just trying to live vicariously through me.”

MJ and Claudia look at one another, then back at Sophie. “So?”

Sophie shakes her head at her hopeless friends. “Actually I was thinking we should head back to the hotel. I’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow.”

“Work?” Claudia laughs. “What work?”

“Uh, Fashion Week? The reason we’re all here?”

“That’s not work! I mean, what do you have to do? Show up? Make some comments about it online?” She looks to MJ for support, but MJ doesn’t look amused. In fact, MJ looks like a deer caught in headlights.

Just before the trip, when Sophie finally told them about Capital S, MJ had detected a note of insecurity, despite their show of support and the blog’s obvious success. Unfortunately Claudia had just stumbled onto that button and pushed it. Hard.

“Claudia,” Sophie says, struggling to remain calm and reasonable. “I’m expected to give a comprehensive account of the event. I need to research the designers, the models, the clothes, everything. Plus, I don’t just type whatever I’m thinking and press ‘publish.’ I revise my drafts just like any writer. I thought you of all people would understand.”

“Well, you’re not a real writer. You’re a blogger. It’s different.”

Sophie’s jaw clenches. “Oh yeah? Well at least I get paid for my words. At least people read and care about what I write. At least I have fans.”

MJ nearly chokes on her Cosmopolitan. Before Sophie can decide whether or not to apologize, Claudia stalks off into the crowd.

“Claudia, wait!” MJ calls out.

But there’s no answer, just the steady pulse of a techno beat.

…

To be continued…