It Started in Paris

Chapter Ten: The Tour Was Not That Bad After All

It  was  an  awkward  bus  ride  to  the  Notre  Dame  Cathedral.  Leila  had  to  be  in  between  me  and  Jack  the  whole  time.  Inside  of  me,  there's  a  part  of  me  that  wants  to  apologize  for  what  I've  said  earlier,  a  part  of  me  is  triggering  my  pride  and  is  telling  myself  to  let  him  apologize  first since he's been a jerk and I have been trying to be nice the entire time.

We  arrive  in  front  of  the  famous  landmark.  When  I  thought  he  was  finally  going  to  give  us  a  tour,  he  led  us  to  a  winding  road  of  humongous  Greek  eats  across  the  street.  We  ate  an  "Extra  Pita  Grecque"  for  4.50  Euros,  and  mind  you,  it was his  treat.  He  said  it's  a  "peace  offering"  for  how  he  acted.

Leila  discreetly  nudged  me  and  flashed  me  an  "I  know  you  like  him"  look.

A  large  pita  is  stuffed  with  predominately  chicken  shawarma,  cut  from  a  rotisserie  of  meat  at  the  window,  then  lettuce  and  tomato  are  added,  and  finally  the  pita  is  filled  to  the  top  with  French  fries.

"If  you're  lucky,"  he  looked  at  me  and  Leila.  "You'll  get  extra  "sauce  blanche,"  or  tzatziki."

"A  cha-what?"  I  giggled  at  the  sound  of  the  word.

He  chuckled.  "It's  Tzatziki.  It's  a  creamy  yogurt-based  cucumber  and  garlic  sauce."

We  walked  along  the  boulevard  as  we  ate  the  massive  sandwich.  To  fit  in  like  a  true  European,  we  had  to  eat  fries  with  a  fork. We  strolled  along  the  street  and  spotted,  which  looked  like  an  angry  mob,  outside  Boulanger  Patissier.

Leila  took  a  shot  of  the  crowd  with  her  camera.

"What's  that  about?"  I  asked  Jack.

"Oh,  the  hand-held  viennoises  are  brimming  with  chocolate  for  only  1  Euro,"  he  said  it  as  though  to  tempt  me.

I  giggled.  Then,  stood  up  straight,  hands  on  my  hips,  head  up  high  and  spoke,  preventing  myself  from  laughing.  "So,  Mr.  Tour  Guide,  where  are  we  headed  next?"

Jack  cleared  his  throat  and  mocked  a  French  accent.  "We're  'eaded  to  Street  Crêpes  of  Montparnesse."

The  three  of  us  divulged  in  laughter  as  he  led  us  to  the  boulevard.  We  tried  over  five  crêpes  and  I  don't  know  if  this  will  give  me  extra  pounds  but  I'm  sure, I'll  get  able  to  get  rid  of  these  in  time.  It  was  a  long-day  food  trip.  I  forgot  the  rest  of  the  things  we  ate.  I  don't  know  what  made  him  think  that  we'd  enjoy  this  but,  apparently,  we  did.

One  French  woman  of  our  age  flirted  with  him.  The  lady  smiled  and  said,  "Hi."

Jack  rolled  his  eyes  and  muttered,  "Girls."

When  the  woman  left,  completely  disappointed  that  Jack  wasn't  interested,  I  asked  him,  "That was rude, don't you think?"

He  spoke  as  he  put  spicy  sauce  on  his  felafel.  "Because women are selfish."  Then,  he  glanced  at  me. "No offense."

I didn't feel offended so, I just shrugged. "What  made  you  say  that?"

"It  started  with  my  great  grandmother,"  he  said.

We  started  to  walk  from  the  street  stall  and  ate  as  we  talked.

"Grandpa  has  told  me  his  story  over  and  over  again,  whenever  I  visit  him  here,"  he  spoke  without  looking  at  me.  "She's  always  thinking  about  herself."

"He  said  that?"  I  looked  at  him.

"No,"  he  glanced  at  me  then  looked  away.  "But,  it's  obvious."  He  paused.  "She  only  thought  of  herself.  She  made  grandpa  marry  a  French  woman  he  doesn't  like  just  for  the  sake  of  her  ego."  He  took  a  bite  of  his  felafel  sandwich.  "My  mother,"  he  said  in  the  middle  of  chews.  "Always  nags  at  my  father.  She  demands  a  lot  from  him.  They  always  fuss  and  fight.  That  night  when  my  parents  died  of  car  accident  in  New  York,"  he  paused  then,  glanced  at  me.  "I  was  at  the  back  of  the  car.  They  were  arguing  about  my  dad  having  another  woman."  His  gaze  shifted  back  to  his  path.  "My  dad  loved  my  mother  very  much.  He  never  cheated."

"How  would  you  know  that?"  I  said,  biting  my  sandwich.

He  turned  to  me.  "I  can  see  it."  Then,  looked  away  again  as  he  continued.  "And  grandpa,"  he  paused.  "He  loved  Helen  very  much  even  though  he  has  married  grandma.  Even  during  his  wedding,  all  he  could  see  was  Helen  right  there  with  him  in  the  altar."  He  took  a  bite  of  his  wrap.  "Helen  never  wrote  back,"  he  said,  with  felafel  stuffed  in  his  mouth.  "She  left  my  grandpa  heartbroken  and  lovesick  for  sixty-six  years."  He  chewed  then  swallowed.  "He  still  loves  her  until  now."  He  shook  his  head  as  if  he  found  it  amusing.  "True  love,"  he  scoffed.  "That's  what  my  grandfather  and  father  believed  in."

"Have  you  ever  been  in  love?"  I  said,  biting  my  felafel.

He  shook  his  head.  "I  haven't  and  I  have  no  plans  to  be  in  love."

Somehow,  that  made  a  painful  tug  at  my  heartstrings.  I  don't  know  if  it's  because  he  hated  women  or  he  didn't  have  any  plans  to  fall  for  a  girl. Maybe  he's gay? Well, at least he'll be in love.

Leila  continued  to  take  shots  as  we  walked  along  until  the  tour  has  ended  at  sundown  and  he  finally  escorted  us  back  to  our  apartment.

"Look,"  Jack  said  before  I  closed  the  door.  "I  know  what  my  grandfather  is  doing.  He's  a  very  wise  old  man.  He's  setting  me  up  with  you,  I  know  that.  But,  I'm  not  interested, okay?  I'm  just  doing  what  I  was  told  to  do  and  that  is  to  show  you  around  Paris."

I  nodded  with  an  understanding  smile.  "I  know  that."

He  nodded.  "So,  uhm..."

"Good  night."

"Good  night."

I closed  the  door  softly.