The Best Kept Secret In Normandy (2 page)

"I
always thought being a Christmas baby was a huge bummer," she said. "But in France, it has its benefits. Ooh la la."

*
* *

Our hotel room was quaint and cozy, furnished with two full beds and quaint French furniture with fleur de lys prints and crystal lamps.
We parted the curtains and stared out at the River Seine. It was three o' clock in the afternoon in Paris, but nearing midnight in Oklahoma. "I'm sleepy," I said as I lay down on the bed.

"Let's
get coffee," she said.

We sat at a cafe at the edge of the Bois de Boulogne, watching the dark waters of the Seine river. The air smelled crisp and clean. Little girls in dresses, ribbons tied in their bouncing curls, laughed as they threw a ball from one to another as another little girl hopped in the middle, trying to catch the elusive toy. Tammy glanced at them, narrowed her eyes, and yawned. After my third cafe latte, the heaviness of sleep lifted completely from my eyes.

Tammy's gaze darted around hungrily, taking in the beauty of the grove, and the Parisians strolling by with flushed cheeks peeking out of thick cashmere scarves. "
Mon Dieu
," she said. "I love this place."

We scanned a travel book for restaurants, making plans for dinner, when the shadow of a man fell over us. "Good afternoon, ladies. A pleasure to see you again, Miss Tamara Lee." It was the Pierce Brosnan look alike. She squealed and leaped up, enveloping the man in a huge hug, and hastily introduced me. He kissed each of her cheeks in turn, and lifted up my hand to plant a kiss upon the top. I expected him to grimace with repulsion but he smiled with grace and charm while next to Tammy.

"
Francois," Tammy said. "Any recommendations for my friend and I for dinner tonight? Oh, and do call me Tammy." She smiled and ducked her head demurely, her chin almost resting on her shoulder.

"There
is an excellent restaurant on a rooftop with a view of the Eiffel Tower. It just so happens that I have reservations there tonight. The business partner I was to dine with came down with an illness and needs his rest."

"Ceci
and I would love to join you in his stead."

"I
shall call the maitre' d, and ask if I may add another to the reservation." He pressed a button on his cell phone and spoke in musical, lilting French that made my heart squiggle. A tone of persuasion lilted in his voice, and Tammy met my gaze, her eyes wide and excited. His mouth turned downward as he attempted to persuade them some more, and the sound of profuse apologies carried over the speaker of the phone.

He pressed the hang up button. "I am so sorry, ladies, but they are unable to add another person. They are fully committed. I assure you, the experience of dining there is reserved for the highest society in France. Reservations are made months in advance." He gave Tammy a regretful, longing look. "Perhaps I may escort you to a local bistro."

"Go,"
I said to Tammy. "The restaurant sounds wonderful, and it's almost your birthday." She shook her head. "Please go, as a gift to me."

Francois hooked his arm through Tammy's. "My lady, you should not pass up this opportunity, as your kind friend says. Tonight will be a birthday experience like no other. Ceci, I realize you will be spending your first night in Paris alone." He gave Tammy's arm a light squeeze as he spoke, her mouth opened in a passionate throe as if her underside just imploded. "I shall make it up to you. The day after tomorrow we shall go to a Christmas party at the Palace of Versailles, and you shall be in the company of Parisian socialites, world famous entertainers, and descendants of royalty. Au revoir, Ceci." He didn't wait for my answer as he whisked Tammy away as she waved wildly back at me. I was left wide awake and sipping coffee, watching ducks quack as they floated by on the river.

*
* *

The
next morning, I woke up to a text from Tammy, which read
Francois is taking me sightseeing today. Should we come pick you up?

Need
to find something fancy to wear to the ball
, I texted back.
I'll see you later
.

Go
Cinderella
, she wrote and typed in a winky face.

I
strolled along the Right Bank, feeling grotesquely obese under the stares of the thin and fashionably dressed French. Passing by the high fashion boutiques, my feet froze to the ground when I contemplated entering. My stomach growled with hunger, but I was afraid to walk into a cafe and order anything without Tammy. Waiters always avoided looking at me. I picked up a chocolate éclair at a pastry stand and asked for directions to the train station.

*
* *

When I arrived in Normandy, I removed the address from my purse and hailed a cab driver. The cigar chomping cabbie drove me a whole of two blocks before pulling up to dingy building with a wooden door reinforced with iron slats. I pressed a button on the callbox for M.N., and a pleasant female voice answered. "Bonjour."

"Um,
I'm here to see Madame Noir." Silence. "Jacques the flight attendant gave me your address. Jacques from Chesley. Said you could find me something that fits."

The
door buzzed and I pulled it open, walking up a flight of narrow steps. A woman opened the door at the top. She was slender and beautiful in an ancient, chiseled way. Her skin was smooth and taught, and her face was expertly made up with dark blue eye shadow and pink lips. She wore a flowing gown of purple and white, with an assortment of chunky bracelets and dangling earrings. "Jacques of Chesley," she said. "He who fell far, now sends one. Very well. He has done as asked. How does he fair?"

"He is...sweet," I replied. "Handsome and well."

"As he deserves. Welcome," she greeted with a wide smile. "Please look around and let me know what you like." The shop smelled like Coco Chanel lurked on the other side of the wall, brewing up a batch of Shalimar mixed with whatever concoction was passed over on the way to discovering formula number five.

Her shop was filled with antique swords, trinkets, and kitchenware. "I'm sorry," I said. "I was looking for a dress."

She alit upon an ornate chair and a fluffy white poodle jumped onto her lap. "You'd be hard pressed to find a dress in France that will fit you, unless you see a dressmaker to fashion it."

"So
I've heard." I turned to leave.

"Before
you do that, come and take a look at my stock." She stroked the dog with her hand, as she sauntered around the room. She pointed to clay chalice atop the mantel of a roaring fireplace. "This is the cup of mythical lore, said to give eternal life to the those who drink from it. But eternal life, my dear, never turns out to be such a...
bénédiction
. How do you say in English?"

I
withdrew my electronic translator from my purse and typed in the word. "Blessing."

"
Oui
." She ran her hand along the wall, where an engraved sword hung in a glass case. "This sword once belonged to the Executioner of Calais, who was the bringer of quick, merciless death to the royals. This is the very sword that beheaded Anne Boleyn after she displeased Henry the Eighth. Some say when they hold this sword and imagine who they would like to leave them, in less than a month, they are gone from their lives. Wives, husbands, girlfriends, amis terribles. Gone."

I shot her an incredulous look.
"Were they...killed?"

"I would never allow such a thing."
Her nose wrinkled. "They go away from those who wish it."

"Ah.
That's good. You got anything to make someone special arrive?"

"
Ask and you shall see. This," she said as she came to a glass case, "is a glass slipper. The only one remaining from the story of Cinderella, what Americans believe to be a fairy tale, but was indeed a true occurrence here in Normandy. The daughter of Duke Phillipe de Moreau, forced to work as a slave in her own home, was given these slippers as a gift from the gods and transformed into a princess. And that is what she became."

I
snickered. "Yeah, sure. I suppose you want a thousand dollars for me to try to squeeze that shoe on my fat foot."

"Not
a single Euro. Not one." She gestured to a chair. "Please, try it on. You have nothing to lose."

"Except
my pride. But I lost that a long time ago after seeing myself in the mirror, so I guess I will." I sat down and slipped off my shoe, embarrassed of the pungent way my feet smelled even though I tried my best to scrub in between my chubby toes everyday. She wiped my foot off with a moist cloth. Removing the slipper from the glass case, the shoe mesmerized her gaze as the glass caught the light and sent a thousand sparkles dancing on the walls of the room.

"There
is no way a shoe that small is going to fit my foot," I said.

"Try
it. You will see."

She
carefully handed me the glass slipper. I groaned inwardly as I bent down to reach my foot. My belly rolls impeded the movement. I pulled my leg up and placed my ankle upon my opposite knee and slipped my toes into the shoe. The shoe didn't look like it would fit over my heel. I removed the glass slipper from my foot and gave an exasperated sigh.

"Try,"
she insisted. "Try harder."

I pulled and pulled at the shoe, until miraculously, the glass grew warm and the shoe molded to my foot. I placed my slippered foot down on the ground with a loud clack. "Now," she said. "Behold."

She
led me to a mirror. At first I hobbled, but as I balanced, the shoe began to feel comfortable. I gasped as I looked into the mirror. Staring back at me was a slender woman with blonde hair and blue eyes just like mine, but with a chin, cheekbones, and a long, lean body. She disappeared slowly, and there I was, my fat, pudgy old self. My shoulders sagged with disappointment, and yet the glass slipper still fit.

"Do
not despair," she said. "
Demain
. Awaken with the rise of the sun, and you shall become the true beauty you are inside. But when you forget that true beauty lies within, the spell will be broken, and all shall be as it was. I will take the slipper from you now. "
S'il vous plaît
, do have a look at the beads." I purchased a trinket necklace and a few pairs of earrings and left to board the train back to Paris.

The
alarm clock on my cell phone jingled at seven in the morning, Parisian time. I opened the window shades, letting the sunlight in. I pulled up a chair and sat at the mirror. Same old me. I got up and took a shower, dried off and slipped a plus size shirt over my head. I must've slipped a dress over by mistake as it hung from my body. I tried to belt it, and found that my belt was too large to cinch properly around my waist.

The belt dropped to the ground as I ran to the mirror and threw off the dress. I was thin and beautiful. My body had changed into the shapely body of a real princess in fairy tales. The lock on our hotel room door jiggled and Tammy walked in. Her mouth fell open. I stammered about Normandy and Madame Noir.

She stared at me, open mouthed. "
Honey, we have got to go shopping," she said.

*
* *

That
evening, at the Christmas ball at the Palace of Versailles, the first man to ask me to dance was a handsome, dark eyed gentleman named Louis, who was an investment banker for a descendant of French Royals. We laughed and talked, and went out onto the balcony and sipped champagne. I ran my hands along the solid gold balustrades and marble fixtures as we strode together.

"You're right at home, aren't you?" Louis said. "This place is a relic, but it's good enough for a princess like you."

"I don't know," I said, looking around at the elaborate moldings and six foot tall bouquets of fresh flowers. "It's a little too busy. Okay for one night, though."

"Not your style, huh?"

"Nah. I'm kind of a country gal at heart. This," I said as I patted my Cinderella bouffant, "takes some getting used to. I plan to let my hair down tomorrow." I placed a hand on my chest, still in wonder at the feel of my collarbone.

"I'm a bit of a jeans and T-shirt guy myself. Don't tell the finance wizards over there, though."

"Your secret is safe with me. So," I purred as I gave him a sidelong glance. "Where are you from, Louis?"

"Glamorous
Oklahoma," he said with a smile. "Let me guess. You're probably from Los Angeles or New York."

"Nope," I laughed. "
Tulsa, Oklahoma."

"Good old Tornado Tulsa," he grinned. "I just moved to
Oklahoma city from Chicago. I've got a cousin in Paris. That's how I got hooked up with the LeJouet account. Well, Ceci from Tornado Tulsa, sure is a pleasure meeting a hometown girl here in France. Hey, wait a minute. Is your dad a baker?"

"He's an insurance salesman at Eastern Policy."

"Then why are you so hot?" he grinned. "I'm just wondering, did it hurt when you fell from heaven because you are an angel."