21 Steps To Happiness

“Vous avez reservé?” the maître d’ asks while staring at my mad hairdo and, yes, I also do stink of petrol (I’ll come back to this later).

“Une table pour deux, au nom de Bouchez, ou Muriel B,” Nicolas answers.

I nod. Whatever those people are saying in French, I’m just going to nod.

“Muriel B, mais bien sûr, une table pour deux.” The maître d’ is not surprised anymore. The fashion industry is full of crazy-looking, crazy-smelling people just like me.

Nicolas smiles at me. You see, not a problem, he seems to say.

Nicolas takes my jacket and hands it to the maître d’.

Nicolas waits for me to be seated before sitting in turn.

He fills my glass with water before the waiter beats him to it.

Nicolas jumps on the table, gives me an extravagant French kiss and orders our appetizers (yeah, okay, I made up that one, too).

Well, my original plan was to change my dress, meet Nicholas in the lobby and convince him I’m Miss Perfect.

It didn’t happen quite this way.

I walked down the monumental staircase and there he was, standing right in the middle of the lobby.

“I am dressed all in black, you can’t miss me,” he had said on the phone.

He was dressed in a tight black suit all right, tight black shirt and black tie.

Tight, tight, TIGHT!

I mean, even from a distance I could already see how slim and athletic he was.

I walked a few steps closer and all of a sudden, whoosh, he turned to me.

Wait a minute!

This was not a regular human resources manager. They sent me…an angel!

He was looking around as if trying to find me. Which one of these magnificent women is the extraordinary Lynn Blanchett? Surely not this small creature walking straight toward me, with her mouth wide open and drooling.

I ran through what to say in my mind. “Hi, I’m Lynn Blanchett…Lynn Blanchett…Hello? Ha ha ha!”

That’s not going to cut the mustard. I can’t deal with people like him. Bright blue eyes, dark blond hair and lips already forming into a gentle smile.

“Nicolas Bouchez?” I asked him.

He smiled some more. Some tiny wrinkles formed around his eyes. Late twenties, maybe early thirties.

“Yes….”

“It’s me. I’m Lynn Blanchett.”

Disappointed?

“Oh…Lynn! Sure…. How nice to meet you…finally!”

He shook my hand delicately. I looked up into his very large blue pupils and started to melt.

“Are you…”

“Me?”

“Are you hungry? Tired, Lynn?”

No, I’m speechless, and fascinated by you. You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen! And you are actually talking to me.

“I…” I began to stammer.

“We will take it easy today. Tomorrow starts the real circus!”

“I…”

“I have booked a table at a nice place, Le Club. It’s not strictly vegetarian, but they have vegetarian options. Will that do?”

You are perfect! I want to fall on my knees and just look at you.

“I…Perfect,” I finally managed to say. “Absolutely, completely perfect.”

“I came on my scooter. I’ll get a taxi for you. I just got this new BMW model. It’s very convenient in Paris.”

I followed him out to a sleek scooter like those I’d seen people riding in movies and TV commercials.

“They are very fashionable,” he said. “And so much easier to park than a car.”

“Can you fit two on them?”

“Well, there is a back seat, but…”

At the rear of the seat is a little space for an attaché case or a Lynn Blanchett.

“So forget the taxi. I’ll take a ride with you,” I said.

He gave me the are-you-sure-about-that-you-silly-woman look.

Yes, I’m sure. Absolutely sure. Like I’ve never been sure before. I’m a scooter-riding Parisian!

“I don’t have an extra helmet for you.”

“That’s all right. I don’t mind.”