DESTINATION Hotel Costes, Paris
INSPIRATION “Grey’s Anatomy” star Ellen Pompeo encourages me to check out Hotel Costes in Paris.
“Je suis désolé. Je suis désolé. Je suis désolé.”
I repeated the phrase, despite the eye roll of my cabbie as he sped toward La Plage for my second night in a row there. I had asked him to teach me “I’m so sorry,” in French, to which he had replied matter of factly, “The French do not say, ‘I’m sorry’.”
“It doesn’t matter. Just tell me.” I insisted, although I believed, based on experience, that he was right.
“But in Paris there are no apologies.” “Please!” I pleaded.
New phrase memorized, the cab pulled up and I jumped out, 30 minutes late for my second visit to La Plage. I was prepared to work hard to win over Toto, the owner and friend to Eva Longoria. In fact, I already had. Aside from my French lesson, I had bloodied a toe in my Jimmy Choos racing to get on the road.
I spotted Toto immediately. He was strikingly blonde, one of few I’d seen in Paris, and dressed in a crisp, button down shirt, fitted pants, and expensive French shoes. He stood in perfect form, leaning against the bar like he owned it. I mean, he did own it. Toto had his territory marked.
He hadn’t seen me yet. I watched as he checked the time with a preoccupied glance and his brow crinkled. In that moment, I knew Toto was used to having his way. His powerful presence was disarming. Still, he was too old to be my type, although not any less attractive than men far younger, with his deep blue eyes and lean muscled body. Woof.
My ruby red-soled slippers clitter-clattered as I rushed toward him. I felt my nerves tighten and my stomach twirl. The adrenaline began pumping—for as many times as I’d been late, I still hate disappointing people, especially attractive older men.
“Toto, Je suis désolé!”
He looked up, and I saw the frustration visibly fade into puppy dog eyes. My work was done! My nerves immediately calmed when, with a poised bonsoir, he kissed cheek number one, then cheek number 2, while I repeated my new French phrase throughout. And then in English, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we had a firm time. I thought you’d be here all night and you just meant for me to drop in, and then I….”
My long-winded explanation and nervous energy were cut short as Toto laughed.
“Drink. What do you want?” French men don’t waste time.
“Hmmm. I don’t know. You pick for me!” His piercing blue eyes were distracting.
“Peach Martini. You didn’t remember I owned this place? I do not work here.”
“Well, I just assumed….”
“We will drink here and then go to meet my friends at my other restaurant—since we are off to a late start. Yes, okay?”
“Uh, ok. You own another restaurant?”
I’m not good with surprises—well, with men anyway. New men. Especially new French men, given how many of them had harassed me since I’d been in town. But perhaps this night I didn’t have to keep such a short leash. Why not let Eva’s dashing Toto take the lead? I sipped my drink and sputtered my new French phrase again and we both laughed and chatted on. Flirtation came as readily as the peach martini.
“Your friends were right. You speak English better than them!”
“Oh, my friends told you this?” Toto’s eyebrow raised. He played it cool but clearly enjoyed the compliment. Meanwhile I wondered what his friends had in mind.
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30 Before 30
Non-Fiction30 Before 30. Thirty days in Europe. Thirty inspired moments of adventure to live it up before my 30th birthday. Just the idea of it gave me purpose. Here was a reminder that I could choose a new path, even if it was only for 30 days. A little backg...
