Chapter 38 Present Day
PRESENT DAY
OSCAR
It might have been the wine, or Elle’s beauty, or Oscar not knowing what to do for the extra days that Doctor Jō had gifted everyone, when he said “yes” to her invitation for a tour of Paris.
He thought other teammates would want to go along, but Oscar found himself in the uncomfortable position of being the sole focus of Elle’s attention.
When he saw her standing outside the hotel, Oscar thought it wouldn’t be such a bad deal after all.
Looking like a French model, she wore a white linen sleeveless blouse that fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, skinny jeans rolled up past her ankles, red pumps that matched the color of her beret, and large sunglasses.
An expensive-looking black leather purse dangled from her bare shoulder by a gold chain.
Oscar realized all the dangers of a rebound relationship, but it was impossible not to notice her perfect figure.
“Good morning,” Oscar said from behind.
She spun around and smiled. “Yes, it is such a beautiful day in Paris. I was just enjoying the warmth of the sun,” she said and hugged herself. Elle then leaned in and kissed him on each cheek. “Bonjour, Oscar.”
It took him by surprise, and he knew his face flushed with color.
She patted him on the chest. “You Americans, I forget how rigid you are,” she said and laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m quite harmless.”
He tried to think of something witty to say, but she had already spun around again, lifting off her hat. “You like my new beret? I just bought it from a secondhand store,” she sang, making Oscar laugh. Then she finished the verse, “If it was warm, she wouldn’t wear much more.”
“I think I loooove her,” Oscar warbled the next line.
Elle giggled. “Well, we’ll see if that holds true by the end of the day. Did you enjoy dinner last night at the La Closerie des Lilas? Did you know Hemingway wrote The Sun Also Rises at that restaurant and Paris’s famous impressionist artists met there as well? It has much history.”
“The food was so amazing.”
“We will find more deliciousness today.” She spread her arms wide into the sun.
“Where do you want to go on this beautiful day? I am thinking we should walk down to Notre Dame before the crowds get too big. It has just reopened.” She looked at the gold watch on her wrist surrounded by jangly bracelets.
“You told me last night that you are an artist, so we must then go to the Louvre, of course.”
“Well, graphic arts.”
“Yes, a modern-day artist. Now, come. We cannot waste one moment of this day. It is a short walk along the Seine to the cathedral,” she said, wrapping her hands around his biceps and pulling him toward the path along the river.
As they strolled, Oscar didn’t know what to think about this beauty hanging on his arm. However, he didn’t try pulling away and asked, “Are you in school?”
“Oui, I graduate this year with my degree in art history from Sorbonne University.”
“Impressive. What will you do with your degree?”
She laughed. “My parents ask me the same question. I think I would like to teach someday…but we will see. There is lots of life yet to be lived.” She squeezed his arm. “And you…what will you do with your life?”
“Oh man…I kind of thought I had it all planned out. Now it seems open to new possibilities.”
“Oui, and how refreshing that must be. You are too young and handsome to be tied down.” She flashed a wicked smile and whispered, “Unless you like that kind of thing.”
Oscar chuckled and nodded to an older couple passing by, walking arm and arm. He’d heard the French were direct, but yikes, he felt a tad intimidated by this girl.
“Do you like to travel?” she asked.
“Hmm…I hate to say this, but besides Canada and Mexico, I have traveled little. Someday, I would love to go to Japan. I’ve just met my biological father, and he gave me a samurai sword. Someday, I hope to return it to its rightful family.”
“You just met your father?” she said, ignoring the sword comment.
The two stone towers of Notre Dame Cathedral came into view, with the taller wooden spire behind them. Oscar hesitated to go into his weird family history with Elle, but said, “It’s kind of messed up…but yeah. I just found out the dad I grew up with is not my biological father.”
“Oh, a little, rendez-vous amoureux?”
“I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds about right. But, in defense of my mom, the tryst happened before they were married.”
Elle shrugged. “Sounds like a normal French family to me,” she said and laughed.
“Well, it’s funny you would say that. I have just now found out that some of my ancestral roots are from France. My great-great-grandfather emigrated from France and started a successful winery in California—the Hoshed Winery.”
Elle cocked her head. “That does not sound very French?”
“Oh, yeah…he changed his name. Hoschedé, Jean-Maurice Hoschedé.”
“Now that is a proper French name and a famous one at that…at least in my world.”
“Really, why?” Oscar asked.
“The Hoschedé family is very connected to art here in France. In fact, I wrote a paper last year on Blanche Hoschedé. We may even see some of her work in the Louvre. She has a museum in Vernon named after her.” Elle looked at Oscar.
“Her father was Ernest Hoschedé, a Parisian department store magnate and art collector.”
Oscar shrugged, but Elle’s eyes danced with delight at telling her story.
“You thought your family is scandalous, you will now learn how the French do it.” She laughed. “Ernest Hoschedé loved the impressionists and collected many of their paintings. He and his wife, Alice, had six children and lived in a beautiful castle, Chateau de Rottembourg in Montgeron.”
Oscar shrugged again.
“Well, here is a name I’m sure you know.
Ernest invited his friend Claude Monet to paint decorative panels and several landscape paintings for the chateau.
The story goes that there may have been some rendez-vous amoureux between Monet and Ernest’s wife, Alice.
People speculate that Jean-Pierre Hoschedé, the Hoschedé’s youngest child, became a product of this tryst.”
“Crazy.”
“Oui, and poor Ernest lost his great fortune and was kicked out of the chateau. And guess where they went?” She pulled on Oscar’s arm and answered before he could.
“They moved in with the Monets and their two children. Unfortunately, Monet’s first wife, Camille, was quite sick and died a year later.
Ernest departed, but Alice and her six children continued living with Monet.
Ernest died in 1891, so Monet and Alice married the next year. ..that is how the French do it!”
“What happened to this illegitimate child, Jean…? Did he happen to be a winemaker?”
“Jean-Pierre. I’m afraid I do not know, except this child was the subject of a few paintings. They called him Bébé Jean…he had bright red hair.
* * *
After a two-hour tour of Notre Dame, Oscar sat with Elle at the Café des Arts across the street from the Louvre.
Overlooking the Seine River with a beautiful woman and watching the world go by, the croissant with strawberry jam and un café au lait tasted that much sweeter.
Oscar relaxed his shoulders and decided to enjoy this excursion.
Even Elle seemed to enjoy the peace, not having to fill every second with words.
Perhaps it was the glimpse into the heavenly realm in the rebuilt cathedral. Both kept repeating the word “magnificent.” It truly was a marvel that the cathedral that had taken two hundred years to build had only taken five years to rebuild after the devastating fire.
Elle had told him, “All of Paris cried that day.” She had stood with the crowd and witnessed the burning spire fall through the roof.
“To see it reborn,” she said, “is just unbelievable, a true miracle. And the fact that so many of the treasures on the inside, including the priceless stained glass windows and the largest pipe organ in France, were somehow spared, had to be the hand of God.”
Raised Catholic, Elle said she believed that what was meant for evil, God turned to good.
For when you walk into the church today, the once grim and soot-covered walls, and black-and-white checkered floors now glow with newness of life.
Even the refurbished altar, with the simplistic design, brought Christ’s humility back to the church.
Behind the altar in the center of the apse sat the beautiful sculpture of The Pietà, the Descent from the Cross with Jesus draped across Mary’s lap—her arms raised in both sorrow and praise as angels attend to the Lord.
“Thank you for taking me there. It is unbelievable. I think I could have spent more time just sitting and taking it all in. Somehow, though, it makes my art feel so…” he searched for his words. “Small, I guess.”
“May it bring inspiration to your heart,” she smiled at him. “Just wait for what the Louvre will bring. We could spend days, but we’ll have to decide the main places you want to visit.”
Oscar smeared butter on the last bite of his croissant and crunched it between his teeth. “Oh my gosh, these things are the best.”
“Oui, everything French is better.” She winked at him and dabbed her lips with red lipstick. “Don’t you think?”
He chuckled with her and said, “But you must have a boyfriend?”
She tilted her head back and forth. “We are trying to figure that out. Maybe we are just good friends. He is a nice boy, but I am still waiting on that un coup de foudre, a bolt of lightning…love at first sight, no?”
Elle’s phone rang. She opened her leather purse, pulled out her mobile, and looked at it.
“Ha…here he is now. I shall tell him I’m with my handsome American lover,” she teased, but silenced her phone and set it on the table.
“And you? Your heart has been broken, la douleur esquise, the heartache of unrequited love. Are you ready to try again?”
Oscar blew out a breath. “Not in a million years, I think.”