Chasing Sylvia Beach Read Online Free PDF Page A

thread of normalcy. A plane, far and high, floated across the sky and Lily had a flash of her own flight, of chatting with the bob-haired woman seated next to her, and of trying not to cry. The image passed and Lily lay quietly on the bed, trying to remember if it was an actual memory or just a dream.
    Finally, she sat up, still wearing the clothes she’d woken up in the day before. Her mouth was terribly dry and hunger snarled through her belly. She rose and took up the pitcher on the table but it was for washing, not drinking. Pouring some water into the basin, she splashed her face. Hands wet, cheeks dripping, she searched for a towel. Not seeing one, Lily ran her fingers through her hair, drying them on her curls. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she groaned. Her eyelids were puffy from crying, and wrinkles creased her blouse in the wrong places.
    She took up the jacket she’d shed the night before and wrestled herself into it. The wool jacket fit snugly. Lily noticed an interior pocket and tucked her fingers inside. Maybe there was more money. And there was something—a piece of paper. Pulling it out, she found a cream-colored card, slightly bigger than a business card, creased in half. Unfolding it, Lily’s scalp and neck tingled. The card was from Shakespeare and Company, the drawing of Shakespeare and the shop’s address on the left. In tidy handwriting, it said:
    ERNEST HEMINGWAY and STEPHEN SPENDER who are in Paris for a few days will read—Hemingway
    from his unpublished novel, Spender some poems—at the Shakespeare and Company bookshop on
    Wednesday, May 12th, at 9 p.m.
    Please let us know as soon as possible if a seat
    is to be reserved for you.
    Lily turned it over. The back was blank. A rush of emotions coursed through her. Delight—Hemingway and Spender, reading in a few days, and she held an invitation—how cool! Excitement—she could see Hemingway in person! Fear and confusion—how had she come to have this card? And how had she come to be in Paris in 1937?
    She dropped the card and fell back on the bed. Something from Sylvia Beach’s bookstore—in Sylvia’s own handwriting, no doubt—giving her access to this very special reading. She was reaching to pick the card up when two knocks at the door startled her from her thoughts.
    “It’s me, Paul.”
    “Ah!” Lily squealed. She tucked the invitation in her pocket. After quickly checking her hair in the mirror, she unlocked the door. Paul held a wooden tray aloft, arranged with a bowl of milky coffee and a lumpy package wrapped in brown paper. Tucked under his arm was a paperback book.
    “Did you pass a good night?”
    “Uh, hi,” Lily said. He came in and nudged aside a stack of books to set down the tray. The smell of coffee pierced through Lily. Paul pulled the chair out and gestured to the food.
    “Go ahead. It’s all for you.”
    She approached and took up the bowl. Sipping the coffee, she made a small groan of relief.
    Paul smiled. “But you can sit down. I bought you croissants, too.”
    Lily sat down and opened the package. Two croissants nestled inside, butter darkening the paper. She pulled the end off one of the pastries and ate it. The buttery croissant melted in her mouth. She nearly moaned with the simple pleasure of eating. She devoured it and drank half the bowl of coffee before noticing that Paul had sat down on the bed and was watching her. He smiled, encouraging Lily to take the second croissant. She ate more slowly, peeking at Paul. Calmed by the food, Lily noticed that he seemed to be in his twenties, too, and was cute in a studious kind of way, with brown hair waved up and back from his forehead. His kind, hazel eyes smiling, he questioned her, his English not quite perfect.
    “Where do you come from? You are English?”
    “No, American.”
    “Ah, l’Amérique,” Paul said. “Where in America?”
    “Denver.” Lily replied. She hated these “where are you from?” conversations, and it was even worse