Tales From a Broad (10 page)

“I’m sorry,” I said, crinkling my nose. “I’ll
definitely be nicer, but...” I paused to sigh. “I’m not so sure we
should take their room.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know.” I frowned and paused for a
moment. “I don’t want to feel ... oh, you know ... obligated.”

“Obligated?” Tess stared at me in disbelief.
“Obligated to what? Oh no,” she gasped and placed her hands on her
cheeks. “Are we going to have to have sex with them now? I mean,
clearly if you take his room, you’re going to have to marry him,
right?”

I looked at Tess and chuckled. “I’m being
silly, aren’t I?”

“Just a tad.” She pinched her thumb and
pointer finger together. “Aunt Lu, this isn’t the 1900s. No one is
going to label you a whore or expect you to put out. Unless, of
course you want to.” She winked. “Simon’s pretty cute, huh?”

I rolled my eyes and looked away, only to see
Simon heading towards us. He held the key out like a peace
offering. “Last chance, ladies. I would like to head to my room.
Whichever room that may be.”

“Thank you.” I smiled through gritted teeth
as I took the key. “We appreciate it.”

Twenty minutes later, Tess and I eagerly
opened the door to our new room. I dropped my backpack on the floor
and strode over to the window.

“Shall I?” I dramatically placed a hand on
the curtain. This time, when I ripped it open, the view really did
take my breath away.

Tess made a gasp. “Aunt Lu! Now
this
is a view.” She jumped up and down with excitement.

The city seemed to go on for miles, and
seeing my first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower over the Seine, I felt
overcome with emotion. I think it was a combination of joy for
going where I’ve always dreamed, pride for breaking out of my
comfort zone, excitement to share it with Tess, and gratitude that
Simon and Mark allowed us to enjoy such a wonderful view.

I opened the French doors and leaned on the
railing, lost in thought.

Tess appeared next to me, snapping pictures
on her phone, fast and furiously. “I can’t wait to update my
Facebook, Instagram, Twitter ... Oh my God, this is amazing!” she
sang, jumping up and down. “Ok stand here.” She pushed me up
against the railing and stepped back to take my picture. After she
examined it with a critical eye, she nodded with satisfaction.

“What’s this?” she asked.

I followed Tess’s gaze and watched her walk
over to a wrought iron table and pick up a book.

“Looks like a guidebook of Paris. Someone is
going to be very bummed.” Tess thumbed through the book. “It’s
filled with notes.”

“Is there a name on it? Maybe it belongs to
Mark or Simon?”

“No,” Tess said with conviction. “Mark said
they barely set foot in the room. Besides, you heard Simon. It
didn’t sound like he logged in any time appreciating
this
.”
She swept her hand across the balcony. A used airline ticket flew
to the ground.

I bent down to pick it up. “Simon Anderson,”
I read, standing back up.

“Wow, he’s quite the details man,” Tess
murmured. She handed me the book and disappeared inside the
room.

“No kidding,” I murmured.

I opened to an earmarked page, which happened
to feature our hotel. It had notes all over it about the beautiful
view and historical buildings nearby. He obviously enjoyed the view
way more than he cared to admit. The back jacket listed all the
things he hoped to do while visiting Paris. Feeling as if I had
violated his privacy, I quickly slammed the book shut and
instinctively hugged it to my chest.

Chapter
Five

Café au lait and a croissant. Twenty euros.
Eating the overpriced breakfast in a chenille robe and fuzzy
slippers. Priceless.

Facebook Status June 9 at 7:00am

Fifteen hours and two long hot baths later, I
ran downstairs to get an extra toothbrush from the front desk. I’d
had to use my old one to clean my iPhone charger port. Remnants of
the hash brownie were so embedded in the crevices that I’d started
to get a little paranoid. All I needed was for a drug dog to come
sniff me out at one of the major tourist attractions.

It was a pretty humbling experience to check
into a four-star hotel looking and feeling like a sloth, and then
have to ask for a hygiene kit. Thankfully, Claude was nowhere in
sight.

On my way back to the room, I stopped by the
concierge desk to pick up a map of the area. That’s when I noticed
a sign-up sheet for a day trip to work on a local farm in Bordeaux.
Picking grapes sounded like the perfect French adventure. I figured
we could try something different, broaden our horizons, and spend
the day outdoors in the majestic French countryside. Yet when I
called Tess from the lobby, she said she’d rather stay in Paris and
had no interest in seeing Bordeaux.

Okay, I could do this alone. At the very
least, I’d have a good idea to pitch to Janice. Sure, I would’ve
loved to stay in my cozy robe, but who wanted to publish an article
about a lazy woman in a robe? I signed up at the desk and ran
upstairs to get dressed.

My plan was to perfect my pitch on the bus
ride to Bordeaux, and I had to remind myself of that when my mind
began to wander for the tenth time.

Focus, I told myself. Get something on
paper
.

I shifted in my seat to make room for a
rather large man who was trying to squeeze himself through the
tight aisle. After one of his thighs threatened to take my journal
with him, I slid onto the empty seat next to me. I looked out the
window for inspiration.

“How’s the view?” A voice interrupted my
thoughts.

I turned, and my eyes widened as I realized
the owner of the voice was Simon, who was staring down at me. I
immediately straightened up in my seat. I felt a surprising frizzle
of excitement and tucked my hair behind my ears. Dressed in khaki
shorts and a navy blue Polo shirt, he looked as if he were headed
to the golf course.

“View’s not bad.” I paused and looked at
Simon thoughtfully. “I mean, you do clean up pretty nice. I almost
didn’t recognize you without the Yankee hat.”

Simon flashed a boyish grin.

“Oh wait ... did you mean that view?” I
pointed out the window. I couldn’t believe how smooth I
sounded.

You hand a girl an assortment of top-notch
beauty products and a blow dryer in a luxury hotel room, and bam—a
confident woman is born. It was either that or I was channeling a
flirtatious French spirit.

“May I?” Simon said. He pointed toward the
empty seat next to me. “Or would you rather be alone?”

“Please.” I couldn’t waste a blowout.
Besides, I had promised Tess I’d be nicer to him. I slid my bag
over to make some room and patted the seat.

When Simon had settled, he gave me a sideways
look.

“What?” I heard the paranoia in my own
voice.

That morning I had tweezed a lone piece of
wiry hair sticking out of my chin. Thank God for magnifying
mirrors. Please, please, don’t tell me I missed another.

“Nothing,” he smiled. “It’s just that ... you
clean up pretty nice, too.”

I sighed inwardly with relief and blushed.
Good thing I put on my dressier tank top. A little ruffle goes a
long way.

“In fact, I’m kind of surprised to see you
here.”

“I must’ve sounded like a real diva
yesterday, huh?” I cringed and waited for Simon’s response.

“Nooo. Why on earth would you say that?”

“Ugh. I’m so not like that,” I said with a
grimace.

“Actually, you sounded more like a woman who
had hit her breaking point. No judgment here,” he said, holding up
his hands. “The fact you’re choosing to roll up your sleeves and do
a little manual labor ... well, that says a lot.”

“You’re here, too,” I reminded him.

Simon waved his hand and smiled. “That’s only
because I saw your name on the signup sheet at the concierge
desk.”

“Oh, yeah right.” I laughed, but I was
blushing. “What guy would choose to spend the day with a woman he
witnessed having a nervous breakdown?”

“And,” he said, holding up a finger, “let’s
not forget the attitude you copped in London.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’ve gotten such a bad
impression of me. I really am a nice person.”

“I’m sure you are. I asked my brother about
you and he gave you a good report.” Simon winked and I blushed
again under his gaze.

“You did?” For a minute, I forgot I was
trying to play it cool.

“Mm hmm,” he nodded. “What can I say? You
intrigued me. Although ... I’m not so sure about those mood swings
of yours.”

I chuckled. “I swear those were just
backpacking side effects. Let me tell you something, a dirty youth
hostel is no place for a forty-two-year old woman.”

Simon’s jaw dropped.

“Oh, yeah. Mark didn’t tell you?” My heart
sank, just a little. I felt ancient.

Simon shook his head.

“We’ve been staying in youth hostels. See?
I’m not a diva.” I sniffed. “As a matter of fact,”—I sat up a
little straighter and continued—“you’re talking to a member of
Hostelling International.”

“Wait. I need to get something straight.
You’re forty-two?”

I clenched my teeth. A woman should never
divulge her real age. Did I just reveal mine unsolicited?

“Yep.” The cougar’s been let out of the
bag.

“It’s not a big deal or anything.” Simon
shrugged. “You just happen to look a lot younger. I thought you
were around my age.”

“And you’re...?”

“Thirty-two.”

I had to laugh out loud at that one. “Aren’t
you quite the charmer? I wish I was your age.”

“I’m only ten years behind you. That’s
nothing.”

“Maybe in dog years,” I snickered.

“Well, I’m still intrigued by you.”

My palms were sweaty. “Speaking of intrigue,
I think this belongs to you.” I reached into my bag and fished out
his book. “I didn’t look in it,” I lied.

It wasn’t like I had any idea this volunteer
program was on his list of things to do. Nor did I know he wanted
to climb to the top of Notre Dame. Or bring home healing waters
from Lourdes. Or see a sunset from the top of the Eiffel Tower. I
especially had no clue he planned to take an evening bike tour that
night. I swear I hadn’t read it.

Simon took the book. “Oh man, I was looking
all over for this.” The bus suddenly made a sharp turn, and my
journal slid from my lap into his hands.

“Good catch,” I exclaimed.

“That’s what the ladies tell me.” He winked.
“I know you’re vacationing with Tess, but are you also traveling
for business?” He looked down at my book, and our fingers brushed
as he handed it back to me.

I hesitated. “No. This is just a little
writing book, and if I were here for business, I’d be up a creek.”
I flipped through the empty pages and laughed. “However, as of
yesterday I may have become a freelance travel writer.” I told
Simon about the recent email from Janice and also filled him in on
my previous job at the parenting magazine.

“A-ha,” Simon said. “Sounds like a little
inspiration is in order. Another reason why you needed a good
view.”

“What about you?” I smiled. “You mentioned
you work at a camp? Are you a counselor?”

“Something like that.”

“What do you do during the year?”

“Oh, you know ... the summer takes up so much
time and mental energy that I kind of need to take the rest of the
year to recharge.”

I couldn’t tell if he was joking, but he
looked pretty serious. Who knew that a camp counselor ranked high
on the list of America’s most stressful jobs? I didn’t. And I sure
as hell didn’t know anyone over twenty-one in the field. I hated
that I was judging him, but I couldn’t help it. What thirty
two-year-old man still worked as a camp counselor? I bit my
lip.

“How long do you plan to travel?”

“Camp starts in three weeks, so we’ll hit a
few more places and then head back to reality.”

Maybe you should step into reality, Mr.
Hardly-A-Care-In-The-World. I politely smiled back. But as I
listened to the world’s oldest camp counselor talk about his life
in Chicago, I actually began to enjoy myself. So much so, that I
began to open up as well.

As we rolled onward, I found myself telling
him about my own life in New York City. I told him about my
apartment, my obsession for romantic comedy films, my addiction to
Chinese take-out, and my love-hate relationship with the treadmill
at the gym. I confessed that I ended up in physical therapy after
running a half marathon with zero preparation, and Simon admitted
to needing shoulder surgery after doing a triathlon without swim
training.

“Ok, so basically we both rush into things.”
I laughed, as the bus finally pulled into Chateau Les Artistes. I
heard the sound of gravel crunching underneath the bus tires.

“Good one.” Simon poked me in the ribs and
smiled, deepening a dimple in his cheek.

My face flushed, and I bent down to adjust my
shoelaces, which didn’t need any adjusting, whatsoever. “So, there
you have it,” I said, once my composure returned. “You now know my
life story. The abridged version, anyway. Lucy-Lite.”

“You know what?” Simon said as he stood up
and stretched. “I like Lucy-Lite.”

“Thanks.” I smiled and looked at him in
earnest. “Have I redeemed myself?”

“Oh, about two hours ago.” Simon winked as he
held out his hand to help me out of my seat.

I walked ahead of him, suddenly
self-conscious that he had a view of my rear. I quickened my pace
and hurried off the bus steps. Once my feet hit the ground I gasped
at the idyllic scenery that lay before me.

“Wow,” Simon exhaled as he approached me.

I nodded and looked around. The vineyard
could’ve been used as a set for a movie. An eighteenth century
castle stood off in the distance, and rows and rows of grapevines
stretched on for as far as we could see. The trees were all the
same height and were filled with green leaves and purple grapes
that stood out against the clear blue sky.