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Penny is none the wiser, which is as it should be.
She looks up into the bright sky, shading her eyes, and a little smile appears on her lips.
“Wow,” she says. “I had no idea that it was so nice today. I guess I just got really wrapped up in forging that painting.”
I offer her my arm and cock a brow. “Come on. I have a place in mind. I called ahead for us.”
Her brows draw down in puzzlement. “A reservation? You’re taking me to a restaurant?”
I pull her down the street, giving her a teasing glance. “You’ll have to wait and see, won’t you?”
Knowing Paris as I do, I am able to give her a somewhat meandering tour of the city. We leave the quarter we are in and head to the heart of the city, where all the great cathedrals, the Sacré Coeur, and the Eiffel Tower are.
Penny is all wide eyed as I take her by the Arc de Triomphe and the Sacré Coeur cathedral. Notre Dame is just down the street, but I want to be on time. So I decide to play tourist later and had for our final destination, a place that I know that Penny will enjoy more than anyone I can think of.
When we get to the building, it’s obvious enough where we’re going. Two blocks long, made of gray marble and a stately blue gabled roof, it is quite majestic in its own right. I look at Penny, raising a brow. “Have you been here before?”
She shakes her head. Penny looks up at it, her gaze trying to decipher what this magnificent building is. She read the words to herself, silently sounding out the letters in French.
“Musée d’Orsay?” she says at last. “Oh. Oh, my god.”
I assume that she knows what this museum is. It’s the premier exhibition of impressionist art in the whole city. And it so happens that I am owed a favor from the museum director, Rene DuBois.
Persephone’s eyes widen. She looks at me, slapping my arm lightly and mouthing her surprise. “You brought mehere?”
I nod, smirking. “Not just that. I got us a private tour. They have closed the whole museum just for us. That is, assuming that we hurry.”
“Ohmigod,” Penny repeats, seeming dazed.
Checking my watch, I realize that we’re very nearly late.
“Fuck. I promised we would be on time.”
We rush up the steps to meet the tour guide, who is waiting at the entrance for us. She is a black woman in her mid-fifties, wearing a light blue uniform that indicates her status as a docent.
“Bonjour,” the tour guide says. Very matter-of-fact, no-nonsense. She nods at both of us. “Je suis Julia. I am Julia. I am going to give you a private tour today.”
She switches from French to English incredibly fluently and I can see why she was assigned to give us the tour. She is likely the best at her job, which makes me feel that the museum director did in fact come through on his promise.
I make a note to scratch his name out from the long list of people that owe me.
As soon as we step inside, Penny digs her fingers into my arm and looks around, completely in awe. I can’t help but feel the same as she does looking at the many tons of steel that make up the rib cage of the building. All around it are stretched thin pieces of glass, allowing light to stream down from above in a beautiful pattern. Lower down, heavy pieces of marble form the walls. The building itself is a thing of true beauty, almost on par with the art we came here to see.
I’ve been here before of course, but I play the quiet visitor, accompanying Penny as our guide shows us around.
“This is the museum's clock,” Julia says. She points up at a huge gold clock that is set in the wall. She proceeds to talk about how the clock was put in and why it is a sign of incredible luxury to have such a large time piece.
“You see, it was in 1908 that they built this entire building for the World Exposition. It was the height of fashion and technology at the time. Much like we have fashion week now, the city hosted the World Exposition then. The whole world showed up to marvel at our great works.”
Persephone nods, mesmerized. She never lets go of my arm as we walk, a fact that I have to admit I like. Being her guiding light and her protector, all in one. That’s something that she not only brings out in me, but also a role she allows me to fill for her.
Julia coaxes us onward, through several Renoir and Degas-filled rooms. Lots of ballerinas and water lilies. Honestly, it’s not to my taste, but it’s clear enough that Penny is soaking up every moment.
She even asks Julia several questions about the artists’ painting process, impressing even Julia.
“No, I am not sure whether Renoir used crushed beetles to make his paint red. I will ask for you before you leave, though.” The look on Julia’s face is one of slight surprise. I doubt if she gets very many true artists here.
In total, we spend almost two hours browsing through the museum's many rooms. Penny even revisits a few of the galleries, gazing at some of her more favorite works.
