Page 52 of Under the Shade of the Sycamore

“Ah, yeah, that tracks,” I said, watching a few people eyeballing us with recognition. The show was just now going into editing but the promo for it had been huge. It felt weird. Like, I knew that we would be known. People had tagged me as being a contestant on the plane ride over so yeah no surprise there. I guess it was the shock of stepping back into the real world after being sequestered for so long. “Guess every reality show needs a bad guy.”

“True, and it was easy for me to play since I really felt lots of jealousy over your designs. Sorry for making things so terrible.” He offered me his hand. Obviously I took it. “You did well. I hope you have much success.”

“Thanks you too.” His family called his name with some added incentive in Italian to get moving, or so I assumed.

“Right, our flight is coming up. Again, sorry to be a dick. I hope you and Claude have a good life together. Ciao!”

He jogged off to join his family. They melted into the throngs. I looked around for Zara but never did see her. I would have liked to settle things a bit more with her before she returned to Uganda but that didn’t seem to be in the cards. Perhaps someday…

The villain. Huh. Yeah, that sounded like a reality show set-up. Drama sells. Shrugging off the actuality of how programming for the masses worked – ask any gladiator in Roman times about entertainment for the crowds - I made my way outside.

My Uber driver was waiting to take me to the train station. I was down to my last few Euros to spend. The show had arranged a roundtrip airline ticket so once I was ready to leave France I could get home. There was no cash prize for runners-up. Which sucked since I was about a hundred Euros from being flat broke. What I did get for coming in second was lots of exposure. Once the show aired. Incredibly I’d been contacted by four fashion design houses, the heads of which had been at the taping of the finale and had contacted me through the show. Offers, offers, offers. Yet as I boarded a high-speed train to Avignon all I could think of was seeing Claude.

We’d not spoken since I’d been given back my phone. Claude was doing his best to keep his word and not sully the show any further. Not that I considered two men tumbling into what I hoped would be a lifetime love affair something disgraceful. Still the school board had to be appeased. So we would, if he still was inclined, be hermits of a sort. Two bears denning up for the winter and not emerging until spring when the show aired. Which sounded fucking amazing to me. Of course this was all my daydreaming. Claude may very well have decided being with me wasn’t worth the cost to his name, his brand, and his career. If we didn’t date then there would be no scandal unless the other contestants blabbed. Which was something we had no control over. I wondered if the NDA’s we’d signed would cover this delicate situation. Perhaps I would reach out to Soline to ask. She would know it seemed.

Once I had my ticket and was seated, I got lost in the sights of the French countryside as we raced out of Paris on the way to Avignon. I’d set up a pickup at the train station on my phone so I’d be at Claude’s cottage in a few hours. I removed my dad’s hat, placed it on the empty seat beside me, and opened up my sketchbook from the show. Paging through my drawings I felt pride surge through me. I’d made some damn good clothes. Could they have been better? Probably. That was what schooling would teach me. If I accepted the scholarship at the academie. Turning it down would be stupid Ivy had told me last night before she’d gone to bed. Stay she’d told me. Learn. Date Claude. Live my life.

Which was all well and good but my kicking up my heels in Paris wouldn’t help my family back in North Dakota. They needed my income. So how could I linger here in France while mom was working double shifts to put box macaroni and cheese on the table?

I couldn’t. Could I?

No. No. But damn I wanted to so badly it made my eyes water.

Shaking off the worry of something I’d not even decided on yet I opted to sketch. Something chic yet streetwise that would appeal to young Londoners. Just in case I settled on taking the offer from Mickey. It was a good call drawing. The ride flew past while I worked out a few of the knots of uncertainty in my head. Not all. Obvs not because some of those tangles wouldn’t be untangled until…

Until Claude. So much rode on what happened over the next few hours. For now I would just lose myself in creating. Fate would play out as it chose.

When the train slowed to pull into the station I packed up my pad, pencils and phone then placed Dad’s hat back on my head.

The station was very modern. It looked like someone had turned a ship with a thousand windows upside-down. Bumbling along with my eyes skyward I heard someone calling my name. Snapping back to attention I saw an Indian man in a blue pagri. He was holding a placard with my name on it while calling for me.

“Hi, hey, that’s me,” I shouted as I jogged over to him then pointed at his sign. “Bonjour. My French is…uhm…je parle très mal français. My French is very bad.”

He smiled a big toothy grin that pulled his heavy black beard up under his dark eyes. “My English is very good. Let me take your bag. My name is Kabir. Let me take your bags and we’ll head out to the country.”

“Oh, I’m good. Thanks though.”

He nodded then led me outside into a crisp cool day. The air was fresh with a hint of fall as we hurried to his waiting car. Once in the back I settled in with my bag on my lap fiddling with the zipper as Kabir talked about anything and everything. I did my best to be polite but growing nerves kept me reserved. Rolling through Avignon I was reminded of Paris in a way as the buildings looked similar to me. Of course I was a crude American so maybe I was off base. Probably so.

“We’re now coming into the village of Trones-sur-Gard,” Kabir informed me. We drove into a small town with a tall stone wall, cobblestone streets, and a vibrant farmers market filled with people. “This is a very popular town in the summer for the tourists but in this season they thin out a little.”

“It’s really pretty,” I responded halfheartedly. He glanced back at me in the rearview. “Sorry, no, it’s beautiful. I hope to explore it soon. I’m just…nervous. I’m going to the address I gave you to meet a man who…well,” I plucked at the zipper pull of my bag. “We kind of started something in Paris but he had to leave suddenly.”

“Ah, a romance kindling in Paris.” He smiled dreamily then made a right under an arched bridge which emptied onto a thin country lane shaded by large trees that were shedding their leaves to coat the roadway.

“Yeah, I know. It’s really cliché.”

“No, no, not cliché. Paris is the city of lights. La Ville Lumière. But it is also the city of love, n’est-ce pas?”

“Oui.” I could only agree. “Yeah, I fell pretty hard. I think he did too but then things, life, you know, pulled us apart.” I gazed out the window at wine vineyards sitting barren now, the harvest already completed for the year I assumed. “But we’ve not talked so I may show up on his doorstep and be told to hit the road.”

“Doubtful. Once you fall in love under the magic of Paris you remain in love forever.” That sounded really cheesy, delightful and kind, but cheesy. Still, it was nice of him. “Ah, here is the gate to your man’s home.”

We slowed then eased off the country lane to a huge metal gate that, when closed, had a large B in the middle. Wow. Kabir pulled up to the intercom set into a brick pillar that began a wall which ran for miles in both directions. Wow again.

I sat in the back, tugging on my zipper pull as Kabir pushed the call button. This was it right here. If Claude turned me away it would happen here. My guts clenched when a man responded to the gate chime. Not Claude. I’d know his voice even over an intercom. Kabir announced me by name. The gates opened smoothly to permit us entrance. I released a breath held far too long.

My eyes drank in the scenery on this side of the brick walls. The creeping drive snaked through rich pastures with horses out grazing in the fall sun. Beautiful dark brown thoroughbreds with black manes, long tails and glossy coats. After yanking my attention from the horses my gaze landed on what Soline had called a cottage.