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“I saw that movie!” Gina squeals.
“Hold your horses, kids.” I raise my hands. "You don't get it. The man has a heart of steel. He's come down so hard on his staff to get them into ship shape. Don't you remember what he did to me? The trick he played on me the first day he came to the restaurant? All he cares about is the restaurant and its success. All the rest of us are just means to that end."
The tiny apartment is silent—something that doesn’t happen often.
"Then appeal to his emotions through a business mind," Laura says. "That is something we can do."
"We?" I don’t know how I feel about this.
"Yes," Annelise finally participates. She’s not good with feelings. Tears usually send her running in the other direction. "I've been jotting down notes. I have some ideas for how you could pitch it to him. It’ll take some prep, but we can make it happen."
I start bawling again.
“Don’t cry, they’re good ideas,” Annelise insists.
"Why are you crying now, honey bunny?" Gina squeezes my arm.
I wipe the teary slobber from my face. "Because I don't know what I would do without you."
"That's it," Chrissy cries out. "It's time for a hug the size of Texas."
"Huddle up," Jess hollers.
Next thing I know, there's five of my hometown girls on top of me, crushing me with their friendship.
* * *
Our tiny apartment is set up for business. The bit of space between where we all sleep has been cleared and re-equipped with magazines, two iPads, and newspaper articles about Olivier.
No matter where I look, he is what I see.
If it weren’t for my present situation, this would be my adolescent dream. My stomach flutters at the sight of him across my floor. There are pictures of him surfing, laughing, and listening intently. I don't know if this feeling in my belly bodes well for tomorrow if I’m supposed to reason with him—because if the reasoning doesn't work, I'm pretty sure I'm going to end up begging on my knees.
Jess comes back into the apartment. "I've found one more. I think we're all set."
"I'll make lunch," Gina says and grabs a bag from Jessie's hand.
"Let's take a look," Laura says, crossing her arms and marching through the different articles as though inspecting a military detail. "Jess, you take the business-related publications. Chrissy, you're on iPad number one. Annelise, iPad two. I'll analyze the social magazines."
"I can help with social media," Gina calls. "Just let me finish chopping this saucisson.” She puts all her weight on the knife as she attempts to slice the dried sausage that has become a mainstay of our diet. So, so good.“This is tougher than any jerky I’ve ever had. How do the French eat such hard meat?"
"What about me?" I ask Laura. “What’s my job?”
Laura pulls the notebook seemingly out of thin air and drops it in front of the place where I'm sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"You write down every single thing you know about Olivier. First-hand, second-hand, third-hand—whatever it is, it all goes down here. We've got two hours, and then we'll take a working lunch."
"FYI, that's very un-French," Annelise jumps in.
"Then we’ll go out for a two-hour long coffee break," Laura adds, hands on her hips and looking very pleased with herself.
"Ooh la la." Annelise purses her lips. “That is very French. I approve."
The rule is no work over coffee, so after our intensive research, silent but for the sound of flipping magazine pages, we go to our favorite local café. It's nothing like the Bouchon Noir, but Veronique who runs the place is an absolute doll. At least one of us comes here every day, and Veronique has gotten to know us better than anyone else in Paris. I just might adopt her to be my French mom.
"Bonjour, bonjour," Veronique calls out as we enter. "Ah, my girls look so lovely today. Have you ever been so beautiful? I think you are becoming very French."
Veronique says that every time with a glint in her eye and a wink.
