Chapter 13
Frida Rodriguez ... En Route
March 7, 1992
Paris, France
Bonjour Pen Pal,
My fave Lip Smacker was Dr Pepper and I was going to marry Scott Baio and STOP talking about what you don’t know. I never heard of a barrel racer until I met you. And by the way sometimes things are TOTALLY AWESOME!
Yes – I was curious. You look like I imagined and kind of like Alice in Wonderland too with that headband. Kirby took the pic I’m sending at the Christmas market outside Notre-Dame. That’s red wine down the side of my stirrup pants not blood – I should never wear light colors and vin chaud should never be served to go!
When I was reading about your family I got this vision in my head. It’s like you guys were on a boat that traveled from port to port. The ports were different but the boat was always the same. Now you don’t live on the boat anymore but you have sea legs so you feel wobbly on land. Think about it. Maybe the wobbliness is your anxiety. I know what I’m trying to say but I’m not sure it’s coming out right. The only self-help book I’ve read was Mom’s copy of The Woman’s Dress for Success Book , and I don’t think advice to carry an attaché case and only wear colorless nail polish is relevant.
Have you noticed you use a lot of details when you describe locations? I wonder if it’s because you moved around so much – it made you aware of your surroundings more – not like people who stay in one place and get used to what’s around them. I can see the bookstore. I can see Seattle in the snow. Angels having a pillow fight – totally awesomely vivid! I’m good at who what when and why but I could use more practice on the where. Ready for it?
I picked La Louisiane because it’s in my budget in the Saint-Germain-des-Prés quarter where intellectuals hung out back in the day. The building looks super Parisian. Typewriter screeches to a halt. Super Parisian? Seriously Frida! Would Martha write anything as gauche as that?
Be kind, rewind…
The hotel is more than a hundred years old. It’s six floors with a facade the color of bygone times. Does bygone times sound like I’m trying too hard? I know what you mean about searching for the perfect words. Sometimes a word is technically right but it doesn’t capture the true feeling of something. Like when I look at this building I feel history shaking loose and doing a cool jazz scat down in the streets. How do I find a word that captures that?
I thought I was moving into any old budget hotel but no! Jean-Paul Sartre lived here. Tell that to Old Sven. Simone de Beauvoir lived here. Juliette Gréco had her star-crossed love affair with Miles Davis here. He was in Paris doing the soundtrack for a movie called Ascenseur pour l’échafaud – I’ve practically worn out the cassette on my Walkman already. I heard that he wanted to be with her forever but it was the 1950s and he said he wouldn’t take her back to the U.S. because he loved her too much to make her unhappy being married to a black man there – and she was shocked because she said in Paris she didn’t notice his color. Can that be true? I’ve had a few people comment on my skin but I don’t know if it’s like America where color is everything .
A lot of people live here at the hotel like it’s an apartment building. They have paintings on their walls and shelves brimming with books. I inherited a hot plate from whoever had this room last – I don’t use it much – why would I? – Chez Lisette is less than five minutes away for my morning oeufs cocotte and café au lait. Lisette has been giving me free food because I help her clean up at the end of the night. I’d do it without the freebies. She always seems tired when it’s time to close up.
Did I tell you I read the Marguerite bio? She convinced the New York Herald Tribune to send her to cover WWII – when she was only twenty-four! – even younger than MFK when she wrote about purifying escargots. I don’t have connections so I’ve been wondering if I should just go someplace like Czechoslovakia or Croatia and let the assignment find me like Martha did when she went to the Spanish war – at only twenty-nine!
I also gulped down The Debut and Eugénie Grandet and have a bone to pick with Anita and Balzac. Sure it’s good to be prepared for this cold cruel world – but are they saying don’t even try to be a good person since life might give you the short end of the stick no matter what you do? That sounds like a Gloomy Gertie way to live. No thanks!
Have a Nice Day!
Frida