21 Steps To Happiness

“You are very, very lucky.”

“Really?”

“Really, you are. You were supposed to have an executive suite but then we found out who you were,” he says with a you-know-what-I-mean smile. “We upgraded you, of course! It’s a magnificent suite. André will show you.”

André, my porter, grabs my card key and I follow him to the elevator. I can’t stop staring at him. He is such an elegant creature, with a funny walk. His body remains perfectly still while his legs go wild.

It has to be some kind of professional trick.

“A magnificent suite…” I repeat, trying to imitate the French accent of the receptionist.

“Oh, yes, floor seven. The English Suite. Very beautiful, mademoiselle,” André says and does his funny walk all the way to the door to open it for me.

Mama Caramba!

I take my first step into the room. It’s clotted with antiques, drapes and fancy material, yet an awesome sense of refinement strikes me through and through.

“That will be fine,” I whisper because I want André to go away before I faint.

I find a five-dollar bill in the deepest darkest part of my jacket pocket and pass it to him.

“Merci et bonne journée, mademoiselle.” André hands me my card key and closes the door behind me.

I’m still standing in the entrance. I cannot grasp the fact that this is my room. I feel that at any time the real guests will come in and call the police to escort me out.

Because, let’s be honest: I don’t deserve any of this.

Jodie just said, “I made a couple phone calls. You’re going to work in Paris. It will be good professional experience for you. And please, take off that dress. I cannot be seen with you in that dress.”

She didn’t say anything about being treated like a freaking New York princess.

But then again, that’s how Jodie is.

I slide like a ghost toward the bed. It’s huge and truly beautiful, but I wouldn’t dare touch it. I can see the door to the bathroom. I am like an insect attracted by the light. I push open the door to have a look inside.

I clap a hand over my mouth not to scream. It’s so gorgeous! I have never seen anything so beautiful as this bathroom. All the silver and tiles are shining like diamonds. The towels look so warm and cozy. I need to touch them. I approach them. I reach for them. My skin feels the comfort of them. I turn to the mirror.

Ah!

Something is wrong in this bathroom.

It’s me.

I see my reflection in the mirror and I am the odd one out. Not only do I look exhausted, I look like an ugly little duckling with a mad hairdo.

I can’t believe that I have been seen by all those people dressed like this.

André the porter looks ten times more swish than me. Roxanne must have had a hilarious time with me. I must be her best joke since the invention of the whoopee cushion. She must be talking about me to all her friends—she might even phone Jodie. “Guess who I met on the plane? Your ridiculous daughter. Isn’t she common! She was wearing this ugly dress and hideous jacket!”

I am about to leave the bathroom when the sound of an alarm stops me. I look around and locate the source of the noise. There is a phone above the toilet seat.

Wow, you can sit on the toilet and still talk with your friends and family.

Disturbing.

I pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Lynn?” a man’s voice says.

That’s me, so I say, “That’s me.” No, no, that’s not assertive enough. “This is Lynn Blanchett speaking,” I say loud and clear.

“Oh, hi! My name is Nicolas Bouchez. I’m the human resources manager at Muriel B,” the man says with a slight accent.

Oh, God!

First instinct: hang up, run away.

Second instinct: hide under the bed.

Third instinct: change your dress, don’t add disgrace to disillusion!

“Is everything okay? Are you…satisfied with the room?” he asks.

“The room?”

“Muriel wanted to be sure you’d be happy with the room.”

“It’s…okay.”

I have to sit down on the toilet. It’s quite comfortable for a chat on the phone.

“Muriel asked me to welcome you. Check on you. I am downstairs, at reception. You must be starving. Should we meet over lunch? Is there anyplace you’d like to go in particular?”

I try to think, but I can’t remember any restaurant name from my travel guide.

“Somewhere vegetarian,” I say.

Yes, I’ve just decided to be a vegetarian!

Just like Jodie!

Anything wrong with that?

Step #4:

Silence is your finest conversational tool.