We'll Always Have Paris Read Online Free PDF Page B

out what they want. And I know the four words that will answer their question. I answered, using exaggerated gestures just in case my remedial French didn’t do the job.
    “Shit, did you understand her?” the young woman asked her friend in English. “She was talking too fast for me.”
    “Are you Americans?!” I asked.
    “Omigod!” She laughed. “Let’s do this in English then, shall we?”
    We laughed much harder than the situation warranted, a release of tension built up from not knowing what the hell is going on, then realizing that there are others who were in the same boat. The girls had just arrived in Paris that morning and asked if we wouldn’t mind giving them some advice. We told them not to turn up their noses at the one-hour cruise up the Seine River as I had done for our first few days. Yes, it was touristy as hell, but Katie and I fell in love with it and treated ourselves to at least one ride every evening.
    The Seine River cruises quickly became one of our two evening rituals in Paris. The motor of the boat purred like a kitten and lulled us into the night. The Paris skyline scrolled beside us on each side, enveloping us in its magic. “We still need to climb the Eiffel Tower,” Katie announced as we rode past it. The second ritual was calling William so he could tell Katie a goodnight story. I imagined him in his white shirt and tie, closing his office door and taking off his suit jacket. “Then what happened?” Katie asked. “No way!” They laughed for nearly a half hour until Katie’s questions became less frequent and her voice stopped completely. Thankfully, William had purchased an overseas calling plan to keep these marathon sessions at just a few dollars.
    “How’s it going?” William asked when Katie fell off.
    “The only bad thing is missing you.”
    ***
    People often asked why William didn’t join us on our travels. One day he will, and it will be wonderful. But he has a solo law practice and cannot get away to Europe even for a week. There are too many weddings and family reunions that eat away at his travel time. Plus, he’s been all over the world already, so for now it’s just Katie and me. Another wife might wait until William could come along, but my game clock is ticking. If I had known my father’s was too, I would have stowed away in his duffel bag and joined him in Europe for a summer.
    My father spent about half of his time in Europe pursuing his music career, and my mother did not allow overseas travel with him. I can’t say I blame her. As much as he loved me, it would’ve been only a matter of days before he mistakenly left me at a hash bar in Amsterdam, his favorite of all cities.
    Holland was the country of my father’s greatest career success. His song “Only a Fool” went gold and ranked number three in the 1970s, beating the John Travolta–Olivia Newton-John duet “You’re the One That I Want” from the movie Grease . His writing partner Norman tells me that today the song has been covered more than sixty times and has been translated into dozens of languages.
    The only overnight visit I had with my father was a weekend in the Catskill Mountains when I was twelve years old. This part of New York typically evokes images of young Woody Allen and Joan Rivers doing their shtick at Borscht Belt comedy clubs. This was not the case at the Sunshine Ranch, which was owned by my father’s friends Morgan and Gayle. Their eight hippie houseguests described the couple as “together” because they owned a hair salon and had auto insurance. As business owners, they could have been labeled bourgeoisie, or worse, establishment. But Morgan and Gayle were members of the tribe and therefore spared of any such judgment.
    They were a groovy bunch, a joint passing among them as they sunbathed nude by a small, marshy lake and talked politics, discussed music, and dissected various conspiracy theories. Some guy who called himself Treetop sat Indian-style strumming his