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"Great!" He grins. "It is my favorite song. Do you prefer that we do the group dance? Or are you prepared to follow my lead?"
"Uh…" my turn to hesitate.
"I'm sorry, is my English not good?" he says with a very worried look on his face.
"No, your English was perfect. I'm just not sure that I know the difference in the dances."
"Don't tell me this is your first bal musette.”
"I thought this was a bal populaire?"
"It is!" He throws his hands in the air with glee, and I have to say he's probably the happiest Frenchman I have ever met. "A bal musette is a type of bal populaire. And I would say it was most—how do you say—forgotten for a very long time. We are making a revival."
"We? Are you part of the group organizing this?"
"You could say that. Others would say I am the man in charge."
"Oh, wow," I say, taking a step back. "Then we'd definitely better not dance together, because I would just make an absolute fool of myself in front of theman in chargeof the whole bal musoot.”
"Bal musette," he corrects me with a wink. "And that is the joy of the bal musette. There is no rule, we just dance simple. We move in a way that is dynamic. I can show you and you'll see, it is very easy. However—" he stops just as he's about to take my hands. "There is one thing you must know, if you are to dance at the bal musette."His face is serious.
"Okay, what's that?"
He throws his hands in the air before grabbing mine. "You must have fun."
"Fun? Now that I can do!"
He whisks me left and right, and amazingly, I'm able to keep up. There's something about it that feels familiar, a little bit like square dancing, but lighter on the feet. And fewer cowboy boots. In fact, there's a lot of people around here dancing in bare feet, despite the cool air and, frankly, the filthy pavement.
The song ends but the music keeps beating inside me. Why don't they put more bal populaire in the movies about France? This is glorious. Everyone's smiling and laughing. Even Annelise, though I see she hasn't taken to the dancefloor. Annelise is the least cheerful of the bunch, so to see her having a good time, toasting, and smiling as she watches the dancers fly by, it's a good feeling. Maybe, just maybe, they're all beginning to warm up to living in France.
"I am Julien," the man in charge says as he walks me back to the group of friends. "And I hope this is only our first dance of many."
He winks at me again, and then runs his hands through his thick, dark hair. Turns out Julien is handsome. But I mean,reallyhandsome. How did I not notice that before? It's like having been sequestered at that estate made me completely forget that there are other men in this country. Olivier does not have exclusive rights to French charm. Nor rock-solid abs, as I sure felt on Julien as he was spinning me around the esplanade.
"I’m Natalie," I say.
"Natalie," he repeats. "Such a French name. Do you have French heritage?"
"Ha!" I laugh, but it again sounds more like a bark. Why can I never laugh like a classy French woman? "I am a Texan girl through and through, but I will take that as a compliment."
"And what would bring a Texan girl all the way to France?"
"That is the wrong question."
He cocks his head.
"The right question would be 'What would bring six Texan girls to France?' Girls, this is Julien."
"Hi, Julien," they all reply in unison, giving little waves and winks.
"But…” Julien pauses, putting his hand under the chin. "Isn't Texas the land of cowboys...with uh, rodeo and, uh, how do you say?"
He lifts up his arm and makes a muscle. I know he is trying to imitate the Texan cowboys, but Julien has got enough muscles of his own. He's practically bursting through his cotton shirt.
"I wouldn't worry about that, Monsieur Julien. I think the men of France are stacking up just fine compared to the cowboys back home. Wouldn't you say, girls?"
"Mm-hmm," they all reply, while deeply nodding their heads and giving Julien a look up and down. That makes him blush, which makes him even cuter.
