Part 7 (1/2)
”Well, how long will it take me to walk there?”
Lindy bestowed upon me a look of sheer astonishment.
”Walk?” she asked. She appeared to consider the word, then repeated it again with the same level of bewilderment. ”Walk?”
”Well, uh...what do you suggest?”
Lindy turned and made a grand gesture toward the curb with her hand, like Moses parting the Red Sea. And then I saw it. How could I not have seen it before? It looked like an ocean liner with tinted windows docked in a marina full of rowboats.
”Get in,” said Lindy.
There may have been all sorts of reasons, environmental and otherwise, why I should not get into Lindy Sloane's stretch limo, but I didn't produce any of them. Time was of the essence, and who was I to look a gift celebrity in the mouth?
As we approached, a uniformed driver magically appeared and opened the back door. It didn't so much feel like getting into a car as it felt like going into someone's living room. There was a television, a fridge, a phone, a bar. Lindy Sloane's limousine could have provided ground support to a small army for several days.
”I so utterly and completely appreciate this,” I said to Tim as he climbed in next to me. ”You're a good guy.”
He shrugged, but I couldn't help thinking he looked a little...pleased.
Lindy slid expertly into the seat across from me. This was a person who'd had plenty of practice getting into limousines. Out of the sunlight, her face was almost entirely shadowed by her sungla.s.ses. When the driver got behind the wheel, Lindy spoke.
”Jean-Michel, nous avons besoin d'aller au Musee du Louvre tout de suite, s'il te plait. La demoiselle ici est bien en r.e.t.a.r.d.”
My goodness! While I was still relatively certain Lindy could not correctly name all the continents, I have to admit I was impressed by her French.
The limousine moved surprising fast through the traffic, in a t.i.tanic sort of way.
”What are you going to do when you get there?” Tim asked. ”I mean, isn't the Louvre supposed to be huge?”
”I don't know,” I said. ”I'm making this up as I go. Everybody was supposed to meet at this place called ze glesspairmeed. Do you have any idea what that is?”
”Glace means 'ice cream,'” stated Lindy.
”Pere means 'father,'” added Tim.
”So you think it's an ice-cream stand?” I asked eagerly. ”Called Father something?”
Tim pulled a small dictionary out of a little pocket by his door.
”Don't leave home without it,” he said, flipping through the pages. ”What's the last part? Meed? I don't see...there's a midinette.”
”What's it mean?” I asked.
”Uh...silly young townie.”
”Father's Silly Young Townie Ice-Cream Stand?” I asked.
”It's catchy,” said Lindy.
”Keep looking,” I said to Tim.
”The only other thing that sounds close is midi. It means noon.”
”Father's Noon Ice-Cream Stand,” I said thoughtfully. ”I don't know. It could be a French thing.”
”I've never heard of it,” Lindy said. At this point I was willing to accept her opinion as expert.
”Well, do you have any ideas? Do you remember any ice-cream stands from your photo shoot?”
Lindy wrinkled her nose. ”We had an on-set buffet,” she said. ”You don't really think I'd go to some ice-cream stand with all of the Other People, do you?”
As one of the Other People, I felt mildly offended. But this was not a good time to launch a gra.s.s-roots Other People movement.
”I just thought you might have noticed something,” I responded diplomatically.
”I have people whose job is to notice things FOR me,” Lindy said. ”I have a STAFF. Hair guy, makeup guy, Pilates guy, nutrition guy, color consultant guy, life coach guy. You know.”
Uh-huh. Well, I had Charlotte. So I could kind of relate.
”Voila, nous sommes arrives au Louvre,” the driver was saying.
I perked up at the sound of the word Louvre. I looked out the window. This must be the place. Victory! Yay!
Jean-Michel hopped out of the car and opened the back door. I started to slide out, then paused.
”Listen, I seriously want to thank you. Both of you. You're, like, saving my life here.”
”Whatever.” Lindy shrugged. She pulled out her cell phone and began to fuss with it.
But Tim kind of smiled a little, which seemed as dramatic a change as Helen Keller at the pump spelling out w-a-t-e-r for the first time. Progress.
”What are you going to do now?” he asked.
”I'm not sure,” I replied. ”Once I'm inside the museum, at least I'm there. It may take a while to find everybody, but we'll be in the same building.”
Tim nodded thoughtfully.
”What about you?” I asked.
Lindy had called someone on her cell and was chattering away about a stylist whom a friend had fired. She sounded outraged and bored at the same time.
”We'll drive around, maybe go over to the Tuileries or Versailles or something. Except for you, n.o.body's recognized her yet. Maybe we'll get lucky and stay anonymous.”
”Definitely,” I told him. Secretly, I have to say the chances of Lindy Sloane's remaining incognito for long, even in her monster hat and bug gla.s.ses, were slimmer than she was. And that's saying something.
”I'll be back at the VEI before you guys,” he said.