In the Bag Part 2

CHAPTER 8"Daisy".

I had to find Coco's bag. Either that or put=up with a pouty teenager for a week.= A =quick =Internet =search =yielded =the=following information: If an airline loses a=bag, the pa.s.senger can claim up to twenty-=eight hundred dollars. But approximately=98 percent of all bags reported lost or=stolen are eventually found, so pa.s.sengers=rarely get more than the two- or three-=hundred-dollar =pittance =the =airline=provides to compensate for the ha.s.sle of a=late bag.= That wasn't going to help. The camera=alone was worth three hundred dollars.=And I really didn't feel =like schlepping=back to the airport again to fill out the=necessary paperwork.= I knew if I told Coco the airline would=give her five hundred dollars, she'd be=happy. Yes, it would mean =lying to my=daughter. But it would be worth it to get on=with this vacation and not have to put up=with her sour att.i.tude. Besides, it'd be fun=to go shopping in Paris. I could buy Coco a=few nice pieces that she could take with=her to college in the fall.= I =liked this approach, but I wanted to=mull =it =over =for =a =minute =before =I=committed myself to a five-hundred-dollar=fib.= By habit, I went to my e-mail account,=where I deleted the junk without reading it.=I then skimmed messages from friends and=former colleagues. A waiter I'd known a=few years earlier had sent me a link to a=newspaper article.= Chicago Tribune, Sunday, April 1o What Does Daisy Sprinkle Wants

View full text of storl I couldn't resist. I clicked on the =link=and read the story.= What Does Daisy Sprinkle Wants Chicago's Favorite Chef Quits-AgaiW Less than a month after winningthe coveted James Beard Awardfor Outstanding Chef, DaisySprinkle has left Bon Soir, thetrendy French restaurant that luredher away last year from MaisonBlanche, which lured her away from. . . Well, who can rememberanymore?

Sprinkle's m.o. since arriving inChicago almost two decades agohas been to flit from restaurant torestaurant, transforming each as ifwith fairy dust into the city's "it"place to eat. But as soon as she'ssucceeded-and sometimes withindays of that success-Sprinklemoves on, usually without notice or,it seems, reason.

In an interview last year withCelebrate Chicago! magazine,Sprinkle compared her work insome of the city's finest restaurantsto parenting. "Both require hardwork, long hours, good luck andendless loads of laundry," quippedSprinkle, a single mother who isknown to demand in her contracts a"clean, quiet, private room in therestaurant" for her daughter tostudy while Sprinkle works hermagic in the kitchen during thegrueling 3-till-midnight dinner s.h.i.+ft.

But the chef who has made an artof launching new restaurants hasbecome increasingly talented atleaving them.

All of which begs the question:What does Daisy Sprinkle want?And what will it take for her to stayat one eatery long enough for us todine there more than I =couldn't =read =a =word =more. =The=ba.n.a.lity of it made my teeth hurt.= Fairy dust? Is that what they thought my=secret =was? Flitting? =Magic? G.o.d help=me.= If anyone ever bothered to watch me in=the =kitchen, =they'd =know =my =secret: =I=worked =like a dog, especially in a new=kitchen =where =there =was =an =enormous=amount of work to be done to establish=high =standards =and =perfect =protocol.=Everyone had to know what was expected=and what wouldn't be tolerated.= I was best at beginnings, when I could=teach my colleagues in the kitchen, as well=as the waitstaff and even the owners-it=was =shocking =how =little =people =who=owned restaurants knew about food-how=it wasn't magic that produced an exquisite=meal. =It =wasn't fairy dust. It was hard=work. And when you did it right-that=meant mastering the techniques, using the=best and freshest ingredients, and having=the right equipment-it was as gloriously=predictable =as, =well, =a =perfect =creme=brulee.= But a good meal should be surprising,=too. =In =every =dish, =there =should =be=something =you =can't =quite =identify.=Something that pulls you in for another=taste. That's what makes cooking an art.= And what I had said to that reporter=from Celebrate Chicago! was that the long=hours, hard work, good luck, and laundry=were the only things cooking and parenting=had =in =common. =In =all =other =respects=cooking was the ant.i.thesis to parenting.=You could do all the right things with a=child, use all the best ingredients-private=schools, expensive summer camps, cello=lessons, chess club-and still turn out with=something you wouldn't want even your=closest friends to see.= Food =obeyed =me. =I =understood =it.=Teenage girls were a different story. As if=to remind myself of this fact, I glanced=over =at =Coco. =She =was =typing =away=furiously with a wild grin on her face.= One minute she was in tears, the next she=was giddy with joy. She was the most=unpredictable creature on earth. But one=thing was constant: she was a perfectionist,=like her mother, which meant she wasn't=happy when life didn't go her way.= I logged off the computer, grabbed my=purse, and walked over to Coco. "Are you=ready to- "= "Mo-om!" Coco shrieked.="What?"="You're reading my e-mail!"=She said it with the sense of righteous= indignation =she'd =perfected =when =she=learned to drive and became an expert on=that and everything else.= "I promise you, I am not reading your e-=mail," I said. I resisted the urge to tell her I=couldn't give a rat's a.s.s what petty drama=was =unfolding =back =home =among =her=friends. (They are all very nice girls, I=should note. But my G.o.d in heaven, the=never-ending drama cultivated by these=young =women =exhausted =me =on =every=level.)= I =closed =my =eyes =and =recited =the=following information: "The airline will=give you twenty-eight hundred dollars if=they've really lost your bag. But it's more=likely that they've simply misplaced your=bag. And for that, they'll give you, uh, let's=see. Five hundred dollars."= "Okay," Coco said, turning her back to=me. "Actually, I need five more minutes."= "Actually, why?" I was trying to break=her of this actually habit.= "Moth-ur!" =she =yelped. ="I'm =in =the=middle of something. Can't you see that?"= "Fine," I said. "I'll be outside."= As I waited, I reminded myself what=Nancy, my therapist, always said. How=important it was at times like these to=breathe. How deep breathing really did=help to slow the heart rate and prevent=anxiety =attacks. =How =simply =breathing=could make you feel better.= Still, I had to wonder if I'd made a=major blunder in bringing Coco with me on=this =trip. =Was =her =constant =emotional=whiplash a result of hormones? Or was it=becoming who she was?= Senior prom was Sat.u.r.day night, and=Coco hadn't been asked. She purported not=to care. "n.o.body goes to those dances,"=she'd informed me recently. "Dating is for=losers." But I knew many of her friends=were going to the dance with dates-not in=a group, as Coco had as a junior. I could=only =guess =that =this =e-mail =emergency=concerned a friend who had recently been=asked-or axed-by a boy.= Coco was a leader in her peer group. As=frustrated as I was with her at the moment,=I was glad she was the friend other girls=could confide in. I resolved to try to be=more patient with her in the name of the=sisterhood.= Meanwhile, =the =newspaper =headline=waved in my brain like an enemy flag.="What Does Daisy Sprinkle Want?"= Should I make them a list? I could've=rattled =off =a =whole =menu =of =things =I=wanted: Good health for my daughter and=me. =A =fulfilling =career. =A =comfortable=home. Financial security.= Of =course =I =wanted =those =things.=Everybody did. The problem was, I had all=of them. So what else did I want? What=else were women like me supposed to=want?= I looked in the window at Coco typing.=Now =she =was =laughing =with =her =eyes=closed and both hands cupped over her=mouth. =My =daughter, =the =human =teeter-=totter.= Clearly =she =was =in =the =middle =of=something. Is that what I wanted? To be in=the middle of something complicated and=dramatic? =To =be =a =cheerleader =for=someone else's romance? Or to have a=romance of my own?= No, thanks. I'd done that. I'd been doing=that for years. The last time was a year and=two restaurants ago. (Or was it two years=and three restaurants ago? Time flies when=you're not having s.e.x.) In any case, it was=with the owner of a French restaurant in=Oak Park who had convinced me to leave a=bistro in the Loop. The guy, Chuck ("Why=were you even taking calls from a man=named Chuck?" my friend Solange later=demanded), =insisted =he =couldn't =live=without =me =and =my poulet roti l'amiLouis, otherwise known as roast chicken.=For what it's worth, any moron can make=it. You just rub a chicken with poultry fat=-goose fat is best, but chicken fat will do=-before roasting.= I =stupidly =took =a =job =at =Chuck's=restaurant and more stupidly started dating=Chuck-only to be told by a waiter six=months later that I was just a side dish. The=hostess (the hostess!) was his entree. And,=oh yes, I also learned that Chuck was=married to a woman who =lived in New=York.= Solange put it best: Chuck that.

So what did I want? Another ridiculous=and humiliating relations.h.i.+p? No. Another=seventy-hour-a-week =job? =No. =Not =yet,=anyway.= I =wanted =to =visit =museums =and =lose=myself in art for a glorious week. I wanted=to eat fabulous food for seven whole days=without worrying about price points or=profit margins. I wanted to spend time with=my daughter without the interruption of cell=phones-hers or mine. Some new Chanel=makeup would be nice. Shoes? Only if I=found =a =pair =I =couldn't =live =without.=Clothes? I could always use another silk=blouse =or =two =and =some =lovely =new=underwear.= It was settled, then. During our week in=Paris we'd shop, museum hop, and dine in=the finest restaurants. And that, right there,=was the answer to the question posed by=the =headline. Never mind what DaisySprinkle wants, I thought. I know I need asmall vacation.

Was that so much to ask?=

CHAPTER 9"Webb".

I was responding to her first message= when I got her second:= = =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Your bag= h.e.l.lo again, Mr. Nelson.= My mom has done a little research=and says the airline will reimburse=$2,800 for a =lost or stolen bag and=$500 =for =a =late =bag-that =is, =one=that's delivered to a pa.s.senger days=after he/she arrives.= Your =thoughts = =(Still =can't =find=the question mark on this keyboard. I=miss my iPhone. Sad. . . .)= Coco Sprinkle= I liked girls who were polite and sort of=stiff like this. I could tell without even=seeing her that the gypsy blouse was all=wrong for her.= I also liked that she thought that I was a=mister. Had she really not looked inside=my bag and seen that I was a teenager? It=didn't seem possible.= I wiped the potato chip grease from my=hands =onto =my =jeans =and =fired =off =a=response.= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Your bag=Attached: =Keyboard =conversion=download= Okay, =Mizz =Sprinkle. =Fess =up.=Have =you =really =not =examined =the=contents of my bag closely enough to=realize I'm not a Mr.? Or are you just=being polite?= For the record, I'm 17 years old. I=live in St. Louis. I'm an Aquarius.= My name, you ask? It's my s.a.d.i.s.tic=dad's =tribute =to =his =favorite=songwriter, Jimmy Webb. Need I tell=you =what =my =nickname =was =in=elementary school? Charlotte.= (And if you think my first name's=bad, my middle name's even worse:=Gaudi. My dad's favorite architect is=Antoni Gaudi.)= But back to the business at hand:=$2800 for a missing bag? Cool. And=no wonder all the airlines are going=broke. A person more evil than I (or=me?) might suggest we file claims for=stolen bags, pocket the money, and=then exchange the bags when we get=home =by =UPS =or =FedEx-=whichever's cheaper.= It'd sorta be =like Strangers on a=Train. =Have =you =ever =seen =that=movie? Two guys who don't know=each =other =meet =on =a =train. =(You=probably =could've =figured =that =out=from =the =t.i.tle.) =Anyway, =they =start=talking =about =how =they =have =these=difficult people in their lives. And=one =guy =(who =turns =out =to =be =a=crackpot) =suggests =they =kill =each=other's problem person because no=one would suspect a guy of killing=someone he didn't know. It gets better=from there.= Of course I'm not a crackpot. Or a=murderer. Or a bag thief. How 'bout=you?= =Webb= P.S. Sounds like you're using a=European-Arabic keyboard. I'll attach=a keyboard conversion file for your=convenience.= P.P.S. For the record, I'm cell free=this week, too. Left it in my locker on=Friday.=

CHAPTER 10"Coco".

Mom was giving me the skunk eye from= the sidewalk, so I had to write fast:= = =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Your bag= Webb,= Thanks for that converter file. I can=now ask questions with a?b?a?n?d?o?=n.= I =can't =believe =you've =seen=Strangers on a Train. I wrote a paper=on that book/movie for my Art of Film=cla.s.s last year. It's such an elegantly=crafted story. Did you know Patricia=Highsmith =also =wrote =the =Talented= Mr. Ripley books, which were made=into movies? Totally worth seeing, if=you haven't already.= As for Walden, we read that last=year in English. I liked it a lot until I=learned that li'l Henry went home to=his =mother's =house =for =lunch =most=days. And didn't his aunt have to bail=his b.u.t.t out of jail? Hmm.= Now, about your idea of "stealing"=each other's bags: You are one clever=lad. And I hate to sound like a total=drip, but . . . I'm trying to get into an=honors college program, and I need a=luggage-stealing charge on my record=like I need herpes. So what do you=think =about =just =finding =a =way =to=exchange bags when we get home? I=live in Chicago (that's the CHI in my=e-mail). My mom and I fly back on=Sat.u.r.day. =(That's =this =coming=Sat.u.r.day, six days from now.)= In the meantime, I'm all for taking=the $500. You should, too. This IS an=inconvenience, after all. (No offense=to you or your clothes.)= Gotta go. Never heard of Antoni=Gaudi. I'll Google him when I have=more =time. =Right =now =my =mom's=standing on the sidewalk, tapping her=foot, =and =glaring =at =me. =Roll =on,=graduation. . . .= Euros truly,=Coco (We could talk at length about=s.a.d.i.s.tic parents and how they name=their children) Sprinkle= P.S. Almost forgot: I only peeked=in your bag =long enough to know it=wasn't mine!= P.P.S. Hey, the left-the-cell-in-my-=locker line is cute. But how do I know=you're not really some creepy 50-=year-old international playboy trying=to chat up a high school girl? Answer=at your leisure. I probly won't be able=to check e-mail till tmw.=

CHAPTER 11"Andrew".

The exhibit was at the Palacio de Cristal,=also known as the Crystal Palace, in the=center of Retiro Park. The building itself=was gorgeous. Built in 1887 to showcase=exotic flora and fauna from the Philippines,=then a Spanish colony, the Crystal Palace=still felt like an imperial greenhouse with a=fanciful domed roof.= But all that natural light made it the=exact wrong place to stage a postmodern=exhibit that relied heavily on darkness.=How were visitors supposed to see the=digital =images =on =the =screens =and=monitors? Plus, someone had neglected to=notice =that =the =Crystal =Palace =wasn't=exactly =rainproof. =The =roof =included=several =spans =of =mesh =screen =for =air=circulation. Fortunately, it didn't look like=rain. But it was one more thing to worry=about.= I was never invited to serve on site=selection =committees. =My =job =always=began after a venue, usually the wrong=venue, had been chosen. My challenge,=then, was to design temporary rooms-=walls, ceilings, lighting grids-to display=a particular exhibit to its best advantage.= For =this =show =I'd =designed =a =dome=within the already domed Crystal Palace to=create a more intimate s.p.a.ce. Even with=that, I'd still had to devise a system of=electronic =blinds =for =the =windows =that=would block out the exterior light.= Much of my job was monkey work. I=always =subcontracted =out =anything =that=involved =running =cables =or =hanging=drywall. But I saved for myself the job of=placing art. To my mind, that was the most=important part of any job. If I had any talent=at all, it was knowing where to put things.= It was an instinct, I guess, this ability to=know where something belonged, how it fit=in with the whole, why it belonged in one=place and not another. I suppose that's why=I'd felt compelled to hide the note in Ms.=6B's bag. It belonged there. I belonged=with her.= Okay, so maybe I didn't. Maybe that's=why she hadn't responded to my invitation=to strike up an e-acquaintance. I was still=trying =to =shake =off =her =rejection =as =I=walked through Retiro Park.= When I finally arrived at the Crystal=Palace, I saw a dozen grim-faced men in=coveralls, =marching =in =and =out =of =the=building =with =armloads =of =cables =and=power tools. Solange was standing inside,=dead center in the middle of the antiquated=greenhouse.= She =was =a =small =woman-I =bet =she=didn't weigh a hundred pounds-but feisty=as h.e.l.l. She was close to sixty years old=and still the most sought-after freelance=curator in Europe. Museum boards paid=her hefty sums to put together temporary=shows intended to generate a lot of revenue=and good publicity. We'd worked together=on =several =shows. =I =respected =her=enormously-and =liked =her, =too, =except=when she was on a tear, which she clearly=was when I arrived.= Instead of the traditional kiss on both=cheeks, =Solange =welcomed =me =with =a=barrage of complaints.= "The =electronic =window =shades =are=stuck," she began, clicking a remote device=repeatedly as if to demonstrate its futility.="You said they would go up and down. Up=at night when it is dark outside. =Down=during =the =day =so =people =can =see =the=exhibits. They are not working."= "We can fix that," I said, rubbing my=neck. I was sore from the hours I'd spent=on the plane, craning my neck to see Ms.=6B.= "And =the =circuits, pouf! =They =keep=blowing," =Solange =continued =with =her=signature staccato delivery.= "I'll take a look at-" I started to say.= "And the caterer called," she went on.="His father died."= "That's terrible."= "He cannot make food for the opening=reception. Oh, and there is a bad smell in=the lavatories. And-"= It was no use. Solange didn't want to=discuss the situation. She wanted to vent.=At me. So I let her, making sure to nod=from =time =to =time. =The =song ="Wichita=Lineman" started to play in my head.= =.

I am a lineman for the county and Idrive the main roadSearchin' in the sun for anotheroverload.I hear you singin' in the wire, I canhear you through the whineAnd the Wichita Lineman is still onthe line. I know I need a small vacation but itdon't look like rain.And if it snows that stretch downsouth won't ever stand the strain.And I need you more than want you,and I want you for all time.And the Wichita Lineman is still onthe line.

I'd always loved that Jimmy Webb song.=The image of a guy driving down a county=road, longing for someone, had always=resonated with me. And the line about=needing more than wanting? It never failed=to break my heart, even though I wasn't=exactly sure what it meant.= Truth was, I'd never fully understood=the song. Who was he listening to? Why=was he still on the line? I'd never known.=But to me this song represented art. It=begged questions. It packed an emotional=punch. There was a tension between the=parts of the song I understood and the parts=I didn't. =Plus, there was the necessary=touch of sadness that all true art demanded.=The ache of living and the comfort of love:=that's what I heard in "Wichita Lineman."= As Solange talked, I looked around at=the =postdigital =nonsense =trying =to =pa.s.s=itself =off =as =art. =The =most =prominent=installation =was =called Spin the CellPhone. =The =artist =had =created =an=interactive =obstacle =course =designed =to=replicate the art of finding love via textingc Who were these artists? Had they everbeen in love? These were people who=would prefer to sit in front of a computer=rather than under a tree with another human=being. =People who had no idea what it=meant =to =drive =along =a =county =road,=yearning for someone. People, I hated to=admit, very much like my own son.= Solange had stopped talking.= "Are =you =even listening?" she asked,=her balled fists wedged against her bony=hips.= "Yes," I said. "We should . . . um . . .=We should maybe consider . . ."= "What?" she inquired. "What should we=consider?"= "We should consider sending flowers to=the =caterer," =I =said. ="For =his =father's=funeral. Let's do that. And then we'll get=this other stuff sorted out."= "Listen =to =me," =she =said, =shaking =a=skinny finger in my face. "The opening=reception is in two days. I am not telling=you how to do your job. I am simply telling=you what your job is. And that is to have=everything a la perfection when the doors=open on Tuesday night."= And with that, she marched off.=

CHAPTER 12"Daisy".

Maybe it was the lunch. Or the thought of=a five-hundred-dollar shopping spree. Or=the fact that she'd had a chance to connect=with her friends in the Internet cafe. I=didn't know, and I didn't have to know. I=was just glad to see Coco grinning when=she joined me on the sidewalk.= "Thanks for waiting," she said. "Oh,= Mom. Look!"= We were standing in front of Cour du=Commerce =Saint-Andre, =a =lovely=cobblestone pa.s.sageway. It was at number=9 =that =Dr. =Joseph-Ignace =Guillotin=allegedly =perfected =the =decapitating=device.= "Believe it or not, =Dr. Guillotin was=opposed to the death penalty," I told Coco.="He hoped the guillotine, which he didn't=invent by the way, would replace more=gruesome forms of execution, like hanging.=And =that =it =might =be =the =first =step =to=abolis.h.i.+ng executions altogether."= Coco stared at the building. "Actually, I=would love a picture of that. I wish I had=my camera. Or my phone."= I could feel my chest tightening. Were=w=e actually =going =to =spend =the =whole=week lamenting every missed photo op? If=so, I would need an appointment with Dr.=Guillotin.= "But it's not like this is the only time I'll=ever be on this street in my whole life,"=she countered, as if reading my mind. "I=should write about it. Or sketch it-with=colored pencils. I bet I'd get extra credit in=French cla.s.s."= "That's a great idea," I said. "I'm sure=we can find colored pencils. We're in=Paris, the city of art and artists."= "And =executioners!" =Coco =said,=laughing =wickedly =and =tucking =her =arm=through mine.= "Don't be too hard on Dr. Guillotin," I=cautioned. "He was a humanitarian and a=reformist. =Executions =in =his =day =were=public spectacles and almost unimaginably=brutal. =That's =what =he =was =fighting=against."= "Oh, =I =just =love =gruesome =stuff =like=this," =Coco =purred, =pulling =me =closer.="Let's =wander =around =and =look =at=everything creepy and cool."= And we did. The entire afternoon.= We should've been back at Solange's=apartment, taking naps and trying to shake=off our jet lag. This was still our arrival=day. But it felt wonderful to wander the=narrow streets, admiring the beauty that=enveloped us.= Hours later, when we weren't hungry for=dinner, we decided to get some pastries to=take back to the apartment. We chose a=patisserie =based =on =the =spellbinding=window =display =of =pastel =meringues=stacked with architectural precision.= "The French know how to do sweets=like n.o.body else," I told Coco. It was the=reason I'd studied in =Paris twenty years=earlier. I was heartened that I could still=remember =most =of =the =names =of =the=delicacies: opera, tropizenne, castel,mille-feuilles, eclair au chocolat ou cafe.

"Mom, what do you want?" Coco asked=when we were inside.= "Hmm," =I =said, =mulling =over =the=possibilities. =The tartes des pommeslooked =lovely. =So =fresh =and =light =and=unlike =the =morbidly =heavy =Death =by=Chocolate monstrosities I saw on too many=American menus.= "Mom, =what =do =you want?" =Coco=repeated.= And with that question, the spell was=broken. Because instead of delighting in=the edible art in front of my eyes, I was=remembering that idiotic headline in the=Chicago Tribune.= "What do I want?" I asked, feeling my=blood pressure rising. "I want people to=stop asking me what the h.e.l.l I want."= I =caught =myself. Don't take yourfrustrations out on Coco, I could hear=Nancy =the =wonder =therapist =telling =me.=Anxiety is unexpressed anger. Breathedeeply. Are you angry at Coco? No. Butyou are angry. Who are you angry with?I'm not angry, I'm just tired. I need a small=vacation.

I took a deep breath and tried again.="I'm =sorry, =sweetie. =I =want =whatever=you're having."= Coco smiled mysteriously and ordered a=small, =hideous-looking =thing =called=seduction.=

CHAPTER 13"Webb".

Dad was going to be busy with work stuff=for =hours, =so =I =could've =responded =to=Coco's =message =right =away. =But =that=would've seemed =lame, especially given=her "Answer at your leisure" suggestion.=Wasn't that code for "Dude, don't e-mail=me for a while"?= I =logged =off =and =left =the =hotel. =The=concierge was still at his post. He smiled=and lifted his chin at me.= "Luego," I said with a wave. I felt like a=dope using my c.r.a.ppy high school Spanish.=But it seemed ruder to expect everyone in=the world to speak English.= It was six o'clock Madrid time. Eleven=o'clock St. Louis time. I'd been in the=same clothes for twenty-four hours. I knew=I needed a shower, but it felt good to be=outside in the fresh air.= I liked Madrid. =Dad had brought me=with him twice before on work trips. We'd=stayed both times at the Palace Hotel, so I=was =familiar =with =the =neighborhood.=Standing outside the hotel, I could look to=my right and see the fountain with Neptune=and his seahorses. The Prado Museum was=just down the street. So was Retiro Park,=home of the Crystal Palace, which sounds=like a casino, but it's more =like a huge=antique =terrarium =that'd =been =converted=into a museum. That's the place Dad was=working, and where I was headed when I=left the hotel.= I walked down Paseo del Prado, losing=myself to the sights, sounds, and dense=magic =of =the =city. =There's =something=weirdly calming about being alone in a big=city. It made me feel like the universe was=hugely generous, and that my species was=so d.a.m.n smart to have constructed such a=beautiful city. If it were up to me, we'd=still be =living in huts and roasting meat=over an open fire.= I remembered a recent conversation I'd=had with =Dad. He asked if I'd thought=about what I might like to study in college.=He wanted to know if I had any careers in=mind. I told him I'd love to be a modern-=day caveman. He almost started crying,=poor guy. =Parents have it so hard these=days.= I wandered for an hour or so, feeling=freakishly =tall =among =the Madrilenos.=After a while, I discovered I'd made a=giant =loop and was back at the hotel. I=wandered through the marble lobby and=back to the business center. Once again I=had the whole place to myself. I settled in=and started writing.= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your bag= Proof I am not an old creep and/or=a globe-trotting internat'l playboy:= 1.I have no hair growing out of my=nose or ears.=2.I =rarely =begin =sentences =with="You should . . ."= 3.Almost everything I own comes=from either Goodwill or the Salvation=Army store. (Exception: my Chuck=Taylors.)= 4.I've never written a real =letter=that requires a stamp.=5.I =don't =think =Casablanca =is =a= masterpiece.=6.Or It's a Wonderful Life.=7.Or The Wizard of Oz.= But I do =love Hitchc.o.c.k movies.=And the Mississippi River. And the=St. Louis Arch. Have you ever seen=it? The official name is the Gateway=Arch, but n.o.body in St. Louis calls it=that. =It's =just =the =Arch. =It =was=designed by an architect named Eero=Saarinen. The cool thing about the=Arch is that it stands 630 feet tall and=is 630 wide at its base. On nights=when the moon is full, it knocks you=out.= But back to your question (which=was delightfully sa.s.sy, I might add):=One way that I *might* be confused=with an old guy is my musical taste,=which runs mainly toward older stuff.=I have a thing for Nick Drake, Elliott=Smith, Kurt Cobain-all those genius=singer-songwriters =who =wrote=brilliant =songs =and =then =killed=themselves.= "What's with this sad sack and all=his talk of double murder plots and=suicide?" Miss Sprinkle asks herself,=stepping =away =from =the =computer=slowly.= Don't worry. I'm harmless.= OK, your turn now. =Prove to me=you're =not =some =45-year-old=transcontinental =cougar =who =pours=herself into her daughter's jeans and=looks great from the back-until she=turns =around =and =reveals =her=shriveled-up dried apple face, like=that freaky scene from Lost Horizon.=Another cool movie, btw.= =Webb=

CHAPTER 14"Coco".

Back at the apartment Mom brewed a pot=of hot tea while I enjoyed my pastry.= "Ready for bed?" Mom asked. She was=paging through a stack of Solange's art=magazines.= "It's only eight o'clock," I said. "I'm not=at all tired."= Actually, I was exhausted. I hadn't slept=much on the flight. =Plus, I'd spotted an=Internet cafe at the end of Solange's block.= "Can we take a walk?" I asked. "I need=to check my e-mail."= "Are =we =going =to =spend =our =entire=vacation in cybercafes?" Mom said, not=looking up from her magazine.= "No, =but =I =really =need =to =check =on=someone."= So =we =walked =down =the =street =and=reserved twenty minutes on two terminals=that faced each other. I signed on to my=account and read Webb's message. Then I=started writing.= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your=bag= Dear Mr. Superficial,= Have you ever seen The Graduate?=If so, you'd know from witnessing=Anne =Bancroft =(G.o.ddess) =just =how=100% GORGEOUS older women can=be. But no, I'm not a cougar. You=require proof? Okay, here goes.= Unlike my mother and her friends, I=fail to see the attraction of Brad Pitt.=Or George Clooney. Or Will Smith.=However, I think Sean Connery and=Denzel Was.h.i.+ngton are hot hot hot,=even though they're ancient. And I'm=totally in love with Clark Gable and=Gregory =Peck, =even =though =they're=dead.= Further proof that I'm only 18: My=clothes are stylish (sorta) but cheaply=made. My mother, by contrast, wears=pseudo-stylish s.e.xy librarian clothes,=like =$250 =silk =blouses. =Granted,=everything she wears she's had for=years. So maybe it pays off in the long=run. Still, you should see how she=freaks whenever she spills something=on herself or pulls a random thread=from one of her favorite "pieces," as=she calls them.= Speaking =of =fas.h.i.+on, =it =might=interest you to know that I'm wearing=your white oxford cloth s.h.i.+rt even as I=write these words. Don't worry. I'm=going =shopping =tomorrow =with =my=$500 airline money.= Yes, I've seen the Arch. It's totally=cool. In fact, I was in St. Louis a=month ago. I had a second interview=at Was.h.i.+ngton University. I've been=accepted there for next fall, but I'm=trying to get into an honors program.=(Did I already mention this? If so,=sorry. It's on my to-stress-about list.)= Hope you're having mucho fun in= Madrid.= Adios, amigo.=Coco= P.S. Oh, here's one way I'm sort of=a lady geezer: As much as I miss my=phone and texting, I don't really mind=using =e-mail. =It's =retro =cool =and=vaguely Victorian, y'know? Plus, you=can add groovy things, like P.S.= =Two minutes later, I had a response:= Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Your bag= Agreed. =Texting =is =for=monosyllabic morons. I don't really=do it that much. Mainly b/c I lose my=c/phone =a =lot. =But =wait: =You're=planning to go to college in STL? I=want to go to Northwestern. That's=your 'hood, si? And you're wearing=my =white =s.h.i.+rt? =That's =muy =odd.=Because =I'm =wearing =your =gypsy=blouse. Ole!= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Your bag= Dog! Are you pawing through my=clothes? =(Btw: =It's =not =a =gypsy=blouse. It's a *peasant* blouse.)= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Your bag= Peasant =blouse. =Gotcha. =And =no=pawing =here. =The =saucy =thing =just=flew out of the bag and wrapped itself=around me, like I was Gregory Peck. I=have that effect on blouses.= (You know I'm kidding, right? Are=you mad? =Do you think we should=start seeing other people? I hope not.=Because I was just thinking how cool=it'd be to meet you.)= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Re: Your bag= Are you serious? About meeting?= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Re: Re: Your bag= Si. Muy serioso!=I'd love to show you around STL.=Wearing matching peasant blouses,= of course.= It was all I could do to keep from=howling. Why didn't my school have any=guys like this who were smart and funny=and who could write complete sentences? I=wondered what he looked like. He seemed=like a b.u.m from the way he packed his bag.=But maybe he was just rumpled in a totally=adorable sheepdog way.= I wanted to ask if he had a Mys.p.a.ce=page or was on Facebook, but that would=be a total giveaway that I wanted to know=what he looked like. And here I'd just=called him Mr. Superficial.= So I fired off something just to keep the=conversation alive.= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Re: Re: Re: Your bag= P/blouses. Of course!= His next message to me arrived at the=same second.= Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your bag= Hey, do you tweet or do FB or any=of that c.r.a.pola? I don't. Just thought=I'd mention it so you don't waste time=looking for me. I did FB for a while.=But it was so much work. Seemed too=much like a job, y'know?= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your bag= IKR? =It =starts =to =feel =like =an=obligation. Who needs that?=We have a lot in common, Spidey.= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Your=bag= Spidey?"

=Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Your bag= Spidey = short for Spiderman = He=who spins a Web(b).= =Fr: [email protected]=To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re: Re:=Your bag= Ah, she's a witty girl. Me like.=Okay, gotta sign off. My dad wants=to go to dinner.=Later, Blouse Girl.= Wow. I needed to digest this back at=Solange's apartment, where I could think.= "Mom, are you ready?" I asked.= "Give me five minutes," she said. "I've=got some business to take care of."=

CHAPTER 15"Andrew".

What a day. The only good news was that=Webb told me he'd tracked down his bag,=but =probably =wouldn't =get =it =until =we=returned home. It didn't matter. He could=pick out some new clothes in Madrid, if I=could ever tear him away from the hotel=business center.= I probably shouldn't have brought him=along. He would've been happier spending=his spring break at home with friends. Just=as I was feeling grateful that he'd always=managed =to =make =nice =friends, =my=BlackBerry signaled a new message.= =.

Fr: [email protected]= To: [email protected]=Subject: Today= Andrew: Thank you for your hard=work today. We will have everything=perfect by Tuesday, yes?= I =was =starting =to =respond =when =I= received another message.= = Fr: [email protected]: [email protected]: FYI Seat 13C: I found the note youplaced in my bag without myknowledge or permission. Normally Iwouldn't respond to such asoph.o.m.oric prank, but I feelcompelled to tell you how offensive Ifound your gesture, given the factthat you were traveling withsomeone else. I hope for her sakeshe wasn't aware of your little note-pa.s.sing hijinx-or the fact that youwere trying to pick up at least onewoman (who knows how many othernotes you tucked away in women'spurses) on the flight from Chicago toParis.

You wrote in your note that I am"first cla.s.s." I didn't have theopportunity to see you, but I can tellfrom your behavior exactly what youare: a first-cla.s.s a.s.s. If you contactme again, I will inform the airline ofyour unwanted, unappreciated, andcompletely unacceptable behavior.

CHAPTER 16"Daisy".

It felt good to get that off my chest. Nancy=was right. Better to express anger at the=guilty party than keep it inside and let it=fester until it becomes anxiety.= "C'mon, Mom, let's go," Coco said.="Just a sec," I said.=A new message had arrived from one of= my oldest friends in the world, the woman=whose =apartment =Coco =and =I =were=borrowing.= "Fr: [email protected]"To: [email protected]"Subject: A favor, please"

Bon soir, Daisy!= I hope by now you and Coco have=settled in, yes? Please let me know if=you cannot find something you need-=or =if =you =have =forgotten =how =the=shower =works, =etc. =I =stocked =the=refrig with your favorites (the cheese=you call "stinky" is in the green gla.s.s=container) and left an extra key on the=desk for Coco. Did you find it? I wish=I =could =be =there =to =welcome =you=properly, but I am up to my eyebrows=with this Madrid job.= This is why I am writing to you. I=called =the =apartment =several =times=today, but either you are not there=(possible) or you are not taking my=calls. (You are always the wonderful=guest!) But I really need to talk with=you. I will not go into details about=what =a =f/ing =mess =this =job =has=become. But everything has turned to=merde in the final moment. I have=technical problems, artistic problems,=angry board members . . . and just=today I learned the caterer I hired for=the opening gala (Tuesday night) is=cancelling because of a death in the=family. =Do =you =see =where =this =is=leading?= Daisy, =chere, =I =am =begging =you=(and yes, I know how desperate that=sounds, but . . .), yes, BEGGING you=to =come =to =Madrid =on =Tuesday=morning and cook. I do not care what=you make. I do not care how you make=it. =I =only =need =to =feed =250 =of= Madrid's most important art patrons.=Can you help me? Not a full meal.=Just hors d'oeuvres. Sweet or savory.=You decide. Think about this, please,=and call my cell phone. The number is=on the desk.= Of course the museum will pay for=your services, plus travel and hotel=expenses for you and Coco. =Did I=mention that I am desperate?= Hopelessly devoted,= xx Solange= Merde, indeed. I was looking forward=to a relaxing week in Paris. But Solange=was a dear friend. I met her the year I lived=in =Paris. I was twenty-six and attending=culinary =school. =She =was =forty, =which=seemed ancient to me at the time, and=studying art.= Solange was the second person, besides=me, to know I was pregnant with Coco.=When I told her the news over a weepy,=two-bottle-of-wine dinner, she gave me=three orders: Stop drinking. Stop smoking.Stop feeling sorry for yourself. She also=told me, as only a forty-year-old childless=woman could tell a twenty-six-year-old=pregnant and unmarried friend, that she=regretted only the things she hadn't done in=her life, not the things she had.= More than anyone else, it was because=of Solange that I became a mother. (Well,=Solange and Coco's father, of course.) It=was the best decision I ever made-not=just having a baby, but raising Coco on my=own. I had the =luxury of making enough=money to do so, of course. But I also had=the const.i.tution to be a single parent. It was=so much easier this way. No compromises=or competing parenting styles. No anger at=having to a.s.sume more than my share of the=parental =responsibilities. =Only =on =rare=occasions did I envy my married friends.=Christmas mornings and Father's Day. That=was it.= I =printed =Solange's =e-mail. =Walking=back to the apartment, I read it to Coco.= "I hate to =let her down," I said. "But=then again-"= "Mom," Coco interrupted, "we should= totally help her out on this."="Really? You wouldn't mind going to= Madrid?"="No!" she said. "Actually, it's fine."=I let the "actually" go.="Honey," I said, "it would cut into our= Paris time. We might not have a chance to=do all the things you-"= Coco stopped walking. "Mother," she=said, grabbing the e-mail printout from my=hand and holding it in front of my face.="You =don't =understand. =We have to do=this."=

Day 2: Monday"

CHAPTER 17"Webb".

When I woke up the next morning, I found=a note from Dad.= Had to get an early start. Call when=you wake up.= He left a local number, which I a.s.sumed=was =the =Crystal =Palace. =I =dialed =the=number from the phone on the nightstand.= "Digame," said the person on the other=end of the line.="Uh, puedo hablar con Andrew Nelson,= por favor?" I asked, feeling like an idiot.="Quien?"="El =americano," =I =explained. ="Muy= grande americano."=In =trying =to =describe =my =father, =I=sounded like I was ordering coffee. But it= worked.="Si, si," replied the voice on the phone.="h.e.l.lo," Dad said a minute later.="Hey, it's me."="Everything okay?" he asked. "I was= beginning to worry."="Yeah. I didn't even hear you leave this=morning."= "Good," Dad replied. "Do you want me=to come back to the hotel and get you? Or=you could walk over here. You remember=the way, don't you? Whatever you want to=do."= I =wanted =to =check =my =e-mail, =but =I= couldn't tell him that.="I'll come over there," I said.="Okay, grab some breakfast first at the= hotel," Dad said. "Charge it to the room.=And then ask the concierge to draw you a=map of how to get here, just in case. Be=sure to tip him. I left some euros on the=table for you."= I saw the pile of bills on the table. Then=I spotted my dirty clothes in a heap on the=floor.= "My clothes are going to get pretty ripe=this week," I said.= "Don't =worry. =Everyone's =in =work=clothes here. But we'll get the clothes=situation sorted out =later today. See you=when you get here."= We hung up. I liked that Dad trusted me=to get myself to the museum. Then again,=there's a fine line between being trusted=and being ignored. I often wondered if Dad=planned our vacations around his work=schedule so he could avoid spending long=stretches of time with me. Then I felt guilty=for second-guessing Dad's motivations. He=really did the best he could, which wasn't=half bad, considering how old he was. He=was a single dad way back before it was=the hipster thing to do. And he never once=complained =about =having =to =raise =me=without any help from my mom. But he did=manage =to =see =her =most =Sat.u.r.days-=without me.= I got dressed and stuck the euros in my=pocket. =When =I =got =downstairs =to =the=lobby, =I =saw =my =concierge amigo. =He=greeted me with a hearty "Buenos dias."= "Hey, buenos dias to you, too," I said.="So, donde esta la . . ."= I =couldn't =remember =how =to =say=restaurant so I made the universal sign for=a person feeding himself with an invisible=fork. I'd always felt a weird repulsion to=mimes. Now I was becoming one.= "Ah! =La =restaurante," =the =concierge=sang, pointing down a hallway. "Esta por=alli."= "Gracias," =I =said, =fully =intending =to=follow Dad's instructions. But I couldn't=resist stopping first at the business center=to check e-mail. I smiled when I saw that I=had a message from Coco.= "Fr: [email protected]"To: [email protected]"Subject: About your bag"

Bon jour, Mssr. Spidey.= Interesting news here. My mom and=I are traveling to (wait for it) Madrid=tomorrow. It's a long story, but she's=going to cook for a friend. (My mom's=a =chef. =Have =I =already =mentioned=that?) Anyway, we'll fly to Madrid=early tomorrow morning and return to=Paris the next day. So we'll only be=there for one night. But one night is=one night, right? I was wondering if=you'd like to:= a) meet=b) exchange suitcases=c) enjoy a cafe and/or some tapas= (yummy)=d) see a bullfight (please say no!)=e) rescue a bull from a bullfight (Si= ! Si ! Si !)=f) all of the above=g) none of the above=Think about it and LMK, okay?= Hopelessly devoted,=Coco= P.S. =I'm =wearing =your =someone=still =loves you boris yeltsin T-s.h.i.+rt.=(Is that a band-or a joke?) =Don't=worry. =I'm =going =shopping =later=today. =My =clothes-borrowing =ways=will soon be a distant memory.=

CHAPTER 18"Coco".

I felt a little guilty stealing Solange's="Hopelessly =devoted" =line. =But =I =liked=how it sounded funny and silly and a tiny=bit flirty.= I sent the message from the Internet cafe=after telling Mom that I wanted to get some=croissants for breakfast. She said fine. She=had a phone date with Solange, her friend=and my G.o.dmother.= When I got back to the apartment, Mom=was still on the phone, rattling off a list of=things =she =needed: =two =stoves, =twenty=cookie sheets, a driver who could take her=shopping, a translator, blah blah blah.= I put a croissant on a plate and slid it in=front of her. She barely noticed.= "That's right. Gas stovetop and electric=oven," she was saying. "And I'd really like=an oven thermometer, if you can track one=down."= I tuned her out as I tore off a piece of=croissant =and =started =eating. How crazywould it be to meet this Webb guy inMadrid? And how was I ever going toexplain him to my mom?

I watched her talk on the phone while I=waited for Solange's electric teakettle to=heat =up. =Mom =was =wearing =her =s.e.xy=librarian =gla.s.ses, =but =her =eyes =were=closed. She was rubbing her forehead with=her free hand.= "No, no, no," she said. "You don't owe=me anything. Solange, please. This is what=I do. It's not a big deal at all. All right?=Okay? Don't worry. We love you, too. See=you tomorrow morning."= She =hung =up =the =phone =and =sighed=dramatically. It was her "My life is so=complicated =and =important" =sigh, =but =I=knew in her heart of hearts she was thrilled=by =this =new =development. =My =mother=thrives on coming to other people's rescue,=especially if it can be accomplished with=food. =Watching =her =expression =as =she=talked to Solange reminded me of how she=looked when I was a kid and she brought=my lunch to school on the rare days I forgot=it. It made her feel like a good mom.= I know I should try harder to make her=feel necessary in my life. It totally freaked=her when I said I didn't need her anymore.=But isn't that the whole point of growing=up? A healthy bird can fly the nest? Roots=and wings and all that Hallmarky c.r.a.p?= "I =got =a =croissant =for =you," =I =said,=blowing on my tea. "Hope it's the right=kind."= "Let me see," she said, inspecting the=roll with her eagle eye. She took a bite.="Oh yes, this is good. Flaky, not chewy."= As she pulled apart her croissant, she=continued to worry aloud about the Madrid=event, telling me all the things she could=bake and wondering which would be best.= "Do =we =still =have =time =to =shop =for=clothes today?" I asked, picking at the=crumbs on my plate.= "Sure," =she =said. ="You'll =need=something to wear in Madrid."= No kidding! I need to look freakin'fantastic.

After we were both showered, we took=the Metro to Galeries Lafayette, which is=this totally cool department store with a=colored-gla.s.s =domed =roof. =It =feels =like=you're shopping inside a Tiffany lamp.= I =hadn't =realized =how =seriously =the=French take fas.h.i.+on. Women get dressed=up, even just to go shopping, which made=me feel like a complete b.u.m given the fact=that I was on day three of my jeans.= "Let's start on the third floor," Mom=said as we studied the store directory.= Of course that's where she wanted to=start. That's where all the fancy schmancy=designer stuff was.= As soon as we got off the escalator,= Mom stopped to admire an Anne Fontaine=black silk blouse. She grabbed a cream-=colored blouse, too.= "I thought we were shopping for me," I=said. I didn't mean for it to come out=snotty, but it did.= "We are," Mom replied, carrying the=blouses on hangers in front of her. "C'mon.=Let's get some lovely underthings."= The =lingerie =department =on =the =third=floor of Galeries Lafayette was as big as=two or three Victoria's Secret stores. But=instead =of =teenyboppers =giggling =over=cheesy =Wonderbras =and =fake-out =foam=jobs, this place was filled with old ladies=-like =in =their =thirties =and =forties =and=fifties-buying silk bras, underwear, and=weird-a.s.s garter things.= "Here," =Mom =said, =handing =me =a=midnight-blue bra. "Try this on. Oh, and=this one's nice, too. See if it fits. And this=is pretty. Try this. And this . . ."= I slunk back to the fitting room. Before I=even had my (or, actually Webb's) s.h.i.+rt=off, a saleslady was poking and prodding=me.= "American?" she asked.= "Oui," I answered. I tried to think how I=could avoid undressing in front of this=woman. "Um, comment dit-on . . . ?"= "No, no," she said, waving away my=question with her hand. "This you must try=on. There is no other way."= So I did. I tried on at least twenty-five=bras. =There's =something =funny =about=shopping in Paris. The women who work=in stores will absolutely not let you buy=something, not even a bra, unless it fits=perfectly and =looks great on you, which=was half humiliating but half helpful, too. I=walked out of that dressing room with=three of the most beautiful silk bras I'd=ever seen in my life, along with matching=underwear.= "This place is amazing," I told Mom,=who'd also picked up some silky stuff for=herself.= "Didn't I tell you?" she said in her=singsongy voice. "Do you know how much=French women spend on lingerie?"= "Mother," I hissed as we were getting=on the escalator. "People can hear you."= "Women in France spend twenty percent=of their clothing budget on underwear," she=continued, =undeterred. ="Now =do =you=understand why I told you to pack your=worst bras and undies? I always do that=when I come here. That way you can wear=your old stuff once, throw it away, and=replace it with prettier pieces."= "Keep =in =mind =I =don't have =any=underwear to throw away because I don't=have my bag, remember?"= "Well," =Mom =said, =pointing =to =my=shopping bag filled with bras and matching=underwear, "now you have some =lovely=new things to wear."= We =took =the =escalator =down =to =the=second floor, home of Mode Tendance,=which I translated as cool clothes that=were hipper than the designer stuff on the=third floor.= Mom and I both found things we liked=and =retreated =to =side-by-side =dressing=rooms. I was trying on jeans with short,=fitted jackets. I decided maybe in Madrid=I'd wear a jacket with a camisole under it,=if I could find one in Solange's closet.=Would that look cool or s.l.u.tty? I wanted to=wear something super Euro chic when I=met Webb.= "Do you think Solange would let me=borrow a scarf to wear with this?" I asked= Mom, showing off my jeans, T-s.h.i.+rt, and=linen jacket ensemble.= "Sure," Mom said. "Turn around. That=jacket looks great on you. Would you wear=it back home?"= "Of course!" I insisted, unsure if I really=would or not.= "Linen =wrinkles =like =crazy," =Mom=warned.= "Wrinkles are cool," I claimed. "I could=totally wear this to school next year. And=I've got five hundred dollars coming from=the airline, remember? For their =luggage=screwup?"= "Right," she said. "We need to get you a=nice pair of black slacks, too."= "Black pants? Why?"= "Because you're going to wear them=with one of my white blouses when you=help =me =serve =at =Solange's =exhibit=opening."= Whiskey tango foxtrot2 I tried not to freak visibly. "Actually-"=I started to say.= "Stop using that word," Mom snapped.="Just say what you want to say."= "Okay," I snapped back. "Here's the=thing: I don't want to be your server in= Madrid."= "We'll talk about it =later," Mom said=firmly.= Oh, great. This means it's a done dealin her darkened brain. I'm going to beforced to serve food at Solange's stupidevent in Madrid. Which means the onlyway I'll be able to meet Webb will be atthe d.a.m.n event. And then he'll see me in adorky waitress outfit. This is NOT goingto happen.

I had to switch gears quickly. I had to e-=mail Webb and tell him this meeting thing=wasn't going to work out after all.= While Mom was on the ground level of=Galeries Lafayette, shopping for makeup, I=snuck up to the electronics department on=the fourth floor and found a demo laptop=with =an =Internet =connection. =I =honestly=planned to log on to my e-mail account and=send Webb a message, suggesting we try to=meet in St. Louis sometime in May. I was=going to use "Meet Me in St. Louis?" as=the subject line.= I wasn't prepared for the e-mail I found=waiting for me.= =Fr: [email protected]= To: [email protected]=Subject: Re: About your bag= My answer:=(h) fall madly in love.=Your move, Blouse Girl.=

CHAPTER 19"Andrew".

I had enough on my mind. I didn't need to=worry about Webb, too.= But after waiting two and a half hours=for him, I gave up and walked back to the=hotel. There I found my son, alone, in the=business center, hypnotized by a computer=screen. A half-eaten sandwich sat next to=him on a grease-stained napkin.= I didn't know whether to be relieved or=angry. We were in Europe, for G.o.d's sake.=He should've been at the Prado, soaking up=art. He should've been at the Plaza Mayor,=sneaking a beer. Or he should've been at=the =Crystal =Palace =with me, =where =I=G.o.dd.a.m.n told him to be.= But if he was going to disobey me, I=would've preferred that he do so in at least=an =interesting =way, =rather =than =playing=mind-numbing =computer =games =or=whatever =the =h.e.l.l =he =was =doing. =Why=wasn't he admiring beautiful young women=and falling in love like I did at his age?= Before I became a first-cla.s.s a.s.s.= I had to stop thinking about that stupid=note.= I tried to focus instead on Webb. Ever=since he became a teenager, my son had=done everything he could not to spend time=with =me. =That =was =okay. =That =part =I=understood. But if he didn't want to be=with me, why couldn't he be with someone=or =something =more =interesting =than =a=computer? Why must the compet.i.tion for=my son's attention be something so dull=and ba.n.a.l? I was prepared to tell him=exactly that when I opened the door to the=business center.= "Hey, Dad," Webb said. "What's up?"= The feral smell of dirty socks mixed=with chorizo sausage and teenage boy hit=me like a club.= "Jesus Christ, Webb," I said, covering=my =mouth =and =nose =with =both =hands.="We've got to get you some clean clothes.=Now."=

CHAPTER 20"Daisy".

It was worth five hundred dollars to make=Coco think the airline was buying her such=lovely things. Somehow, it made shopping=more enjoyable for her.= But I confess a part of me-the part of=me I don't like very much-thought: Openyour eyes, Coco! I'm the one paying forall this. There's no Santa Claus and nofive-hundred-dollar check from theairline!

But of course I couldn't say that, just=like I couldn't stop myself from buying a=pair of nice black pants for her when she=wasn't =looking. =Solange =wouldn't =want=Coco in jeans for the exhibit opening. And=they were beautiful slacks. Coco could=wear them for years. Somewhere down the=line she'd thank me for buying them for=her.= Or would she? Would I ever get credit=for the ten zillion little things I'd done for=her that she didn't realize I was doing? Or=was parenting as thankless as it seemed?= Of course it was.= It didn't matter. We were in Paris and=having =a =good =time-finally. =I =was=relieved that she was being flexible enough=(not her usual strong suit) to agree to go to= Madrid. =I =really =couldn't =let =Solange=down. She'd been so generous over the=years =about =letting =me =stay =in =her=apartment. And how hard could it be to=whip up hors d'oeuvres to satisfy a few=hundred art patrons?= The only problem was trying to decide=what people might want. Oh yeah, that.Not my strong suit.= I asked Coco over a late lunch what she=thought people wanted. We were eating=moules frites at a cafe near Solange's=apartment. I'd always had a weakness for=the =Parisian =combination =of =steamed=mussels served in a heavy enamel pot with=a side of salty french fries and a beer.= "What do people want?" Coco repeated,=prying =a =mussel =from =its =black =sh.e.l.l.="Well, you really can't talk about wantsuntil you talk about needs. And for that,=you have to start with Abraham Maslow=and his hierarchy of needs."= "Hmmm," I said. "Remind me what that=is again?"= I had meant what people might want to=eat at the exhibit opening, but I was happy=to take the conversational detour. At home,=Coco and I could go weeks without really=talking. It was refres.h.i.+ng to hear what was=on her mind.= "Well, I had the cla.s.s last year," Coco=said by way of disclaimer. "So I'm not=sure if this is exactly right. But this guy,=Abraham =Maslow, =had =a =theory =about=human needs."= Coco was interested in psychology. Like=all girls her age, she was drawn to the=study =of =psychoses =and =neuroses. =She=enjoyed memorizing the warning signs of=each disorder and determining whether any=of them was attractive enough to suit her or=unattractive enough to describe her mother.= "He said," Coco continued, "that our=needs are like a pyramid that builds upon=itself. =First, =you =have =to =satisfy =basic=needs, =like food, water, air, sleep. Then=you move up to the need for security. And=then you have social needs, which are like=family and love and stuff. And then esteem=needs. And then the highest need is what he=called the self-actualizing need, which is=where people have the need to fulfill their=potential. Or whatever."= I stopped listening when she got to the=need =for =family =and =love. =I =was=remembering =a =professor =I'd =had =in=college. He was a Jesuit priest. I wished I=could remember his name. He said Ma.s.s at=ten o'clock on Sunday nights at a tiny stone=chapel =in =the =middle =of =that =cold=Wisconsin campus.= In his homilies, this old Jesuit always=talked about desire, and how we were=connected by our desires. He said the most=basic human desire was the desire to be=desired by one you desire. I remembered=how the priest almost cried when he talked=about it.= G.o.d, were we all so lonely? I sipped a=second beer. I didn't even like beer, but it=traditionally came with moules frites, and=I had appropriated for myself the beer that=arrived with Coco's meal.= Coco was still talking. "So this Maslow=guy said you could tell who was self-=actualized-meaning, who was at the top=of the needs pyramid-because they were=the =people =who =were =spontaneous =and=unconventional =and =really =into =peak=experiences."= "What's a peak experience again?"= "Mo-oooom," Coco said, exasperated=by my ignorance. "You know, like when=you have just a supergreat time, and it=makes you feel really happy and inspired=and totally, =like, transformed. Like this."=She leaned across the table so close that=our faces were almost touching. "This is=totally a peak experience."= I felt =like reaching over and covering=her with kisses. She seemed so happy. And=hopeful. This was my daughter. I loved that=she had the capacity to feel such joy.= "And Madrid will be fun, too, right?" I=added =cautiously, =knowing =that =I =was=pus.h.i.+ng my luck. "Won't it be fun to see=Solange?"= "Yeah," she said softly. Then she took a=deep, =theatrical =breath. ="But =I =actually=have to tell you something."= Never mind the "actually." I was too=focused on what might follow. Oh, G.o.d.=Was this why she was so moody? She=wasn't even s.e.xually active. (Was she?)=She couldn't possibly be pregnant. (Couldshe?)= "It's really important," she said.= I knew I didn't like that Jack kid she was=spending time with over winter break. Her=gay =guy =friends =were =so =much =nicer,=smarter, and more mature than her straight=guy =friends. =Or =did =I =think =that =only=because I considered them safer?= "What is it, honey?" I asked, holding her=hand. I did so more to steady myself than=her. =My =breathing =was =becoming=increasingly =shallow =as =I =searched =my=brain, trying to think who it could be. I'llkill him. Whoever it is, I will kill him withmy bare hands.

Coco sighed deeply. "I can't help you=out on that serving thing in Madrid."= I =was =equal =parts =relieved =and=infuriated. "Why not?"= "Because I look like a dork in black=pants =and =a =white =blouse," =she =stated=unequivocally.= "Coco, don't be ridiculous."= "Mother, please! Don't make me do it.=You can't make me do this. It's totally bad=for my self-esteem."= d.a.m.n her and her self-esteem! =Of=course it'd be easier for me to let her off=the hook. But didn't she owe me a few=hours of light labor for bringing her to=Paris? And what about Solange? After all=the thoughtful gifts she'd sent Coco over=the =years-cashmere =sweaters, =signed=museum prints, the Harry =Potter books.=First editions! Only to be rewarded now=by this relentless self-absorbed brooding=and =vain =preening? =This =boorish =self-=involvement?= "Coco, I'm sorry. But I really do need=your help. And so does Solange."= She slouched resentfully and stared at=her plate. Her eyes were moist with tears.="You're trying to ruin my life, aren't you?=You =want =everyone =to =be =alone =and=unhappy. Just like you."= Be nice to me, I was tempted to say. Iam all you have.

Sure, she had grandparents-my parents=-who =spoiled =her =rotten. =But =they=wouldn't be around forever. And I was an=only =child, =so =there =were =no =aunts =or=uncles. Or cousins.= Maybe I should've adopted a child so=Coco would have someone to lean on or=collapse against when life turned cruel.=But I didn't. So she was stuck with me.= Me! Didn't she get that? I'm all you have.

Me and my wonderful friends like Solange.=But mostly me. And you treat me like this?I attempted to remain civil. "What does=my being single have to do with anything?"= "It's all =related, =Mom," =she =said,=slamming =her =fork =on =the =table. ="The=universe is all one. You know I'm tryingto be a Buddhist!"= Oh, G.o.d. I finished Coco's beer in one=gulp.=

CHAPTER 21"Webb".

I could tell =Dad was thoroughly fed up=with me.= "This is our second day in Madrid," he=said. "And this is the first you've been out=of the hotel?"= We were at El Corte Ingles, which is=Madrid's equivalent of Macy's. Dad was=watching me dig through a pile of jeans on=a table in the men's department. I was=trying to find something that didn't have=decorative st.i.tching on the back pockets.=What was with these Spanish guys andtheir disco jeans?

"Look, Webb," he said. "Maybe you=didn't want to come on this trip. Maybe=you =would've =rather =stayed =home =with=your friends. But you're here now, and I=wish you'd make the most of it."= "Okay," I said, resigning myself to the=fact that I wasn't going to be able to find a=pair of plain Levi's. Would it be better to=meet Coco wearing the same jeans I'd=been in since we =left St. Louis or these=stupid rhinestone cowboy jeans?= "I can't do the job I was brought here to=do and worry about you," Dad continued.="All I ask for is just a little courtesy."= "Sorry," I said.= Maybe I could wash the jeans I was=wearing in the hotel sink and dry them with=a hair dryer. That'd be better than these=blingy jeans. I turned my attention to s.h.i.+rts.=At least they were normal. I grabbed two=plain blue T-s.h.i.+rts that looked my size.= "If you weren't going to come to the=exhibit =s.p.a.ce =this =morning," =Dad =was=saying, "you could've called and =let me=know."= "Sorry," I repeated.= This would be so much easier if I could=just tell him the reason I was at the hotel:=that I was planning to meet a girl I really=liked. But I couldn't tell him. He'd make=way too big a deal of it.= "I know you're sorry," Dad said. "But=. . ." He was staring at the clothes I held in=my =hands. ="You're =going =to =need=something nicer than that for the opening."= The museum exhibit opening. d.a.m.n. Iforgot. How was I going to get out ofthat?

"Look, =Webb," =he =continued.="Tomorrow =night's =going =to =be =crazy.=There are going to be a lot of people at the=opening: artists, patrons, museum board=members, and so forth. I have to talk to=them and be available for questions or=problems. I can't be worrying about where=you are and what you're doing."= "Right," I said. Then it occurred to me.="Want me to just text you every couple=hours? So you know I'm okay?"= His =face =looked =like =a =big =question=mark. "I thought you forgot your cell phone=at school."= "I did. But I can send you an e-mail from=anywhere. There are Internet connections=all over the place. At the hotel, in cafes,=probably even at the exhibit."= "Of course," Dad said, smiling for the=first time in hours. "It's a digital show. I'm=sure =there'll =be =places =for =you =to =get=online. Good thinking, Webb."= I felt like high-fiving Dad for agreeing to=this plan, which completely freed me up to=blow off the thing at the museum.= He wandered over to a rack of suits.= Minutes later he returned, holding a navy=blue Polo blazer in my size.= "Sorry," I said, shaking my head. "Ain't=gonna happen