Chapter 4: June 8, 2006, Continued

Ego Exposed

The buildings surrounding us were ancient to my American eyes. Their gargoyles peered down at us from every rooftop, their neatly preserved stone almost crumbling in front of us. It was such a strange contrast to look down from these monuments to see motor vehicles frantically speeding past, and super-fashionable French people hurrying to work.

Madame Jones was suddenly next to me. She gestured at the building I was facing. “This is the old Paris Opera House,” she said with a know-it-all smile. “What Phantom of the Opera was based off of.”

I practically melted. “Can we go inside?!” I asked at once.

“Désolée*, mademoiselle,” she said. “It’s not really open to the public.”

I gawked at the building, taking endless pictures, some with Jocelyn and Stephanie. Everyone else seemed to be getting antsy, so we moved on.

The exchange station was a necessity if we were going to be shopping, and it took a good half an hour out of our morning. Noreen was happy to bore us all into the fine details of exchange, which she was wrong about nevertheless. I didn’t even want to correct her.

We had to trek another block or so to get to our first real destination, Les Galleries Lafayettes. We stopped under the portico of this giant building, given instructions to shop to our heart’s content for three full hours, and meet at the top level for lunch.

If any of us thought that three hours would be far too much time, we were very much mistaken. As soon as we walked in, everyone’s attention was drawn upward to a marvelous stained glass circular roof that had to be at least seven stories high. Each of the seven levels were open, like balconies spiraling up to the magnificent ceiling.

In essence, the place was one giant department store. The first level was cosmetics and jewelry, and Jocelyn, Stephanie, and I were drawn to the enticing perfume samples. We collected all the ones we could find.

Floors one through three were women’s clothing. It was a staggering amount; the selection too wide to even attempt in one day. Yet we were still drawn to the fascinating clothes. We covetously ran our fingers through the most expensive clothing we would ever touch, taking pictures with wildly avant-garde mannequins.

The fourth floor was the biggest toy store I had ever seen. Most of our classmates were found here, playing with the various French toys. We joined along in the fun, pulling ourselves away only because our time was limited.

The fifth floor was men’s clothing, and though the fashions were suave, we did not spend any time there. The sixth floor seemed to be a giant gift shop, where we encountered some more of our classmates. Just for tourism’s sake, I bought a black hoodie with “Paris” embroidered on the front.

Jocelyn and I wanted to go back through the women’s clothes in the time we had left, so Stephanie stayed behind in the gift shop with Jade and Noreen. I could only hope they would keep an eye on her the way I did.

Trying on clothes was somehow extremely cathartic. In order to experience all the excitement of Les Galleries, I think I pushed my struggling thoughts to the back of my mind. This familiar action of checking prices and finding fitting rooms was letting those thoughts creep back to the front.

As I placed a daring tube top back on the shelf, knowing I’d never have the guts to wear it, James’s face came to my mind’s eye. I felt so stupid to let my subconscious get away with such a slip. I never really had “crushes” on boys…I was holding out for something real. What was more transparent than this, a boy I had barely met?

It killed me to think that I was going to make a call home that night.... “Oh, Paris is great…and there’s this amazingly cute boy and I’ve been trying to get pictures of him when he isn’t looking…”

That was even too ridiculous for me. I hung a flowing black dress back on its rack, my mind buzzing. I felt like a decision was weighing on my brain like a seesaw: I could force myself to avoid him, as to not let his comfortable good looks get in the way of my sight-seeing; or I could make him the object of my sight-seeing…

No, no, no. I was telling myself how wrong it was to treat a guy like a piece of meat, when suddenly, I stopped in my tracks.

I had just pulled a soft gray dress off of a rack, and it was so unique, so…me, that I just stood and stared at it for a moment. It had a complicated set of knots in the front that turned into delicate straps over the shoulders, and a gorgeous beaded flower in red and gold on the side. Jocelyn looked over, and urged me to try it on.

It was obviously made for me. It fell gracefully to my mid-thigh, and hugged every curve in exactly the right place. Clothing never looked this good on me.

“Ellie, you have to get it,” Jocelyn said when I modeled it for her.

Though I knew she was right, I had to look at the price tag. “Ugh, 60 euros*…”

“Whatever, I’ll lend you some if I have to, but you have to get it!”

I squealed happily and brought it to the nearest register as soon as I could. I practically screamed “Merci!” at the cashier as she handed me the merchandise.

The time was just about right for us to head upstairs for lunch, and I made a split-second decision not to show the dress to anyone. This was easier said than done. I didn’t count on the bag with the store’s name being so gigantic, and of course Madame Jones took sight of it. After Jocelyn and I had gotten some food from the buffet, Madame beckoned us over to hers and Senora’s table to see what I bought. Both teachers loved the dress, and it unfortunately led Madame to relapse into memory of the first dress she bought in Paris. After she described the outrageous amount she paid for it, and the fact that it still rests in her closet, untouched, Senora Diaz suggested I wear it sometime on the trip. I was keen to agree with her, and told her I wanted to wear it right then.

From what I could tell, most of our group had joined us and were eating close by. I saw Stephanie sitting safely with Jade and Noreen; they were all putting in matching earrings. The three Georgia girls were near them, and took up two whole tables with their shopping bags. Of course James and Mike were there, making me realize that I hadn’t quite made up my mind about anything yet…

And then I saw something that surprised me in a pleasant way. At the table beside Mike and James was their classmate Scott, sitting with none other than Danny. This Danny was again different; not the obnoxious joker or subdued boy, but now a genuine-looking, delightful guy. He seemed to be bringing out the best in his timid roommate Scott, who was laughing and looking more confident than I had yet seen. James and Mike looked congenial, as well.

Madame drew my attention back to our table. She looked at me in a way I recognized; it was how she looked when she thought she was going to be giving me a treat. “You wanna see something cool?” she said in her artificial teenage voice.

It was all I could do to not slump my shoulders and say, “I guess,” but I summoned the courage and tried to look excited.

She led me, Jocelyn, and Senora Diaz up a flight of stairs behind the buffet line, and I at once realized it was cool. All around us was an awesome view of Paris, and though it was far off, we could finally see the Eiffel Tower. Stephanie had snuck up to join us, I guess she had gotten used to following me. I asked Madame to take a picture of the three of us and Senora went to gather everyone else.

It took over an hour for everyone to take their picture with the Eiffel Tower. This was mainly because Callie insisted on getting twenty different angles, and then realized she needed just as many with her jacket off.

The mood among us was light and happy. Madame was in her best mood thus far when she told us she was taking us on her own kind of tour. The Metro was not nearly as crowded as it had been in the morning, so it was a much easier process boarding, in which Gio did not almost lose fingers.

Everyone was cheerfully chatting about their purchases as we sped town the tunnels. Stephanie was again resting her head on my shoulder, and Danny was on my other side, looking content.

“Hey, Ellie,” he said to me, “you’re a singer, right?”

I was slightly taken aback by the question. He saw my expression and quickly explained my unasked question, “I saw you in the musical at the end of the year.”

“Oh, wow. I’m glad you came out to see it.”

“Definitely. You were good. But you like to sing, right?”

“Yeah, it’s my favorite thing.” There was no denying.

“Then let’s sing something. Right now.”

I laughed. So many people, upon finding out that I am a singer, will try and force a song out of me, which is probably one of the most embarrassing instances to admit to. But Danny asked it in such a way that he made me want to do it.

“Okay,” I said. “What do you want to sing?”

“Oh, I dunno. How about…the Chili Peppers?”

I laughed again. I tried to keep my gaze away from James, who was sitting right across the aisle from us. “Chili Peppers sounds good. What song?”

He started bobbing his head, “Scar tissue—“

I joined in. “That I wish you saw…”

And we both stopped at the same time, paused, and laughed. “Do you know the words?” he asked.

“No! I thought you would!”

“Let’s try it again. Maybe it’ll come to me.”

“Scar tissue that I wish you saw…push-up bra…”

And I cracked up again. Danny kept going.

“Scar tissue that I wish you saw… Bathroom stall…broken jaw…”

“How could I know and love that song and never know the words?” I said.

I was incredulous at the answer I got. A low, smooth voice was singing the right words under his breath. “Scar tissue that I wish you saw, Sarcastic mister know it all, Close your eyes and I’ll kiss you ’cause, With the birds I’ll share…”

I stared blatantly at James, who was grinning, and Danny joined in. “With the birds I’ll share this lonely view…”

All I could do was smile, slightly open-mouthed, as they finished the chorus and moved onto other Chili Peppers songs. Could anything surprise me after this?

The answer to that was a resounding “yes.” Madame unloaded us all at some random stop halfway across the city and had us walking down an unnamed busy street. On every side of us were darling little outdoor cafes, and ahead of us was a monument of some guy on a horse that I assumed was the first stop of our tour.

Little sidewalk stands full of touristy items began to appear as we headed to the statue. Madame was in a wonderful mood, and didn’t even mind when half of our group stopped to buy tacky little souvenirs from the stands. She didn’t even notice the Kama Sutra stand that Sheri and Callie were perusing. I hid my disgust to avoid a scene.

We were now pretty close to the statue, and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out who it was modeled after.

“Is it Napoleon?” I ventured a guess out loud. I was the only one still stuck on this; I though four years of French would help me to come up with more than just “Napoleon.”

Madame Jones called my name, and I turned to my left to face her. But instead of exasperatingly asking if the statue was Napoleon, I got a face full of Eiffel Tower. It took me a second to figure out how I had missed it in the first place: the street was lined with tall buildings that suddenly broke off to give the breathtaking view of the tower, the closest we had been yet.

Soon everyone was shouting and pointing. The rest of our group had caught up. Our first group picture was in order.

The rest of the afternoon was spent milling around the little square we were in, checking out the vendors and just walking around. Almost everyone tried crêpes and loved them, except for Angelica, who claimed the chocolate and banana one made her sick.

Seeing that we were all tired, and that Angelica really wanted some Tums, our dutiful chaperones led us back to Mister Bed with a few hours to go before dinner. The time was perfect for making phone calls home and organizing new purchases, and of course, napping. Having received so little sleep last night, Jocelyn and I were especially up for the last option, but somehow time was spent so quickly showering and phone calling that by the time we could just lie down and sleep, I only had half an hour before leaving for dinner.

*Désolée: sorry.

*From what I can remember, 60 euros converted to about $45 US in 2006? I think?