“It eez so good to see you,” she said as I plunked down in armchair next to her bed.
“I’m in New York on a business trip.” There was no way I was going to divulge the real reason behind my visit. “I’ve brought you all your favorite magazines.”
I handed her the bag full of fashion magazines. Her face lit up as she removed the contents, one by one. “Mes favorites!” She examined the cover of a Vogue featuring Jennifer Lopez. “But why do les américains always put those Hollywood célébrités on the cover?”
She made me laugh when I wanted to cry. Even our Gloria’s Secret catalogue now featured celebrities like J-Lo on the cover. The bottom line: celebrities moved merchandise.
As she flipped through some of the magazines, we spent time chitchatting, catching up. She complained about the food—way too nouveau for her taste. And why couldn’t she have more than one glass of wine? I, in turn, told her about how well Gloria’s Secret was doing.
“Beezness shmeezness,” she muttered. “Are you in love, ma chérie?”
I flushed. Jaime Zander’s gorgeous face unexpectedly flashed into my head. I tried my damnedest to make it go away. No luck.
“No,” I replied.
Madame Paulette studied my face with her intense cappuccino eyes. “Ma chérie, you cannot fool me. Your glow geeves it away.” Signaling with her index finger for me to move in closer to her, she said, “You must tell me everything about zee new boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I protested as I slid my chair up to her bed railing.
“What eez his name?”
“Jaime.”
“How do you spell that?”
“J-A-I-M-E.”
“Ah, like ‘J’aime.’ In French, that means, ‘I love.’”
Of course. I suddenly remembered Madame Paulette telling me “Je t’aime beaucoup.” I love you very much…when I thought love had abandoned me.
“So, ma chérie, are you in love with him?”
In love? I blushed. “I just met him.”
“AH! Zee best! Love at first sight.”
I still couldn’t get Jaime Zander’s beautiful face out my head. My heart pattered. No, it was not possible.
A melancholic smile flickered on Madame Paulette’s face. “Always remember, ma chérie, it eez better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.”
I wondered—had Madame Paulette ever been in love? While she always referred to herself as Madame, she had never mentioned a spouse, and I’d never been comfortable asking about her love life or her past. I’d always had a hunch, however, that she had once been married and had tragically lost the great love of her life. Once a year, on the eve of the Jewish holiday, Yom Kippur, the Day of Remembrance, she lit a candle that burned for twenty-four hours. I had asked her about the significance of the candle, and she had told me it was to commemorate someone special. While she always had dashing suitors who brought her flowers or French bonbons, she dismissed them all with a roll of her eyes. Whoever she had once loved couldn’t be replaced.
A cheery Nurse Perez entered the room, carrying a tray. “Your lunch, Madame.”
“Merci,” growled Madame Paulette.
Smiling, Nurse Perez placed the bed tray over her lap, setting out the cutlery and linens. “Bon appétit,” she said before parting.
“Bon appétit,” Madame Paulette mock-mimicked. She was as feisty and as brutally honest as ever. “This eez French TV dinner,” she grumbled, reluctantly digging a fork into the mishmash of food. “Gar-bahge!”
Stifling a laugh, I reached into my large designer purse. “I’ve brought you something else.” I handed her a medium-sized, gold-foiled box that was sealed with a wide red ribbon. She opened it with her still long and elegant fingers. The fingers that had adjusted thousands upon thousands of bra straps to bring out the best in women.
Her face lit up. “Ah! Bonbons. Mes favorites!”
I pecked her cheek. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”
“Ah, zee day of love. So silly! Every day should be a day of love.”
A bittersweet smile tickled my lips. I was going to miss Madame’s words of wisdom.
She popped one of the rich chocolate treats into her mouth and savored it. “Merci beaucoup, ma chérie. You must have one.”
I helped myself to one of the chocolates and let it melt in my mouth. It was pure deliciousness. After swallowing the last morsel, the sweet taste of the dark chocolate dissolved into the bitter taste of dark memories. It was time.
“Madame,” I said hesitantly. “I must tell you something.”