The term had finished, and the season was about to start; this meant Summer parties, the Hamptons, beach, speed boats, more parties and beautiful sunsets.
As my grades were not ideal, the Principal called my mother for a meeting. When we arrived, Mr. Pritchard was waiting already for us in his office. No use to make a Vanderkerk wait.
–Dear Mrs. Vanderkerk, it is very nice to have you both here. Another bootlicker that almost did a curtsy thinking my mother was the Queen. It is sometimes ridiculous how people react: a rich American from one of the hundred patrician families in New York will still feel outranked by someone with European aristocratic blood. This was the case.
–Maths and English are well, but French and Geography are a disaster. Excuse me, Jason needs to improve.
The reason I was getting bad grades was not only the fault of French Régisseurs, but also of Map illustrators that gave me the feeling I could be living in Europe travelling from city to city and changing countries in less than an hour. When the map was open, every other thing was less important. Population, activities and demographics were forgotten and replaced instead with a colorful view of the Amalfi Coast, me sipping a wine in Capri or getting lost in the old city of Prague. Of course, I did know where all those countries and cities were, the only thing was that I didn't care much for numbers and my approach was more romantic.
What do you suggest? –my mother asked.
Let's see, –answered Mr. Pritchard. If you could send Jason to a European Tour… especially to France, so he could be there and get a like of the language "in situ". Latin expressions were very posh.
My mother answered: –we were planning to go to Cornwall this summer to visit my parents anyways. I guess we could send him first to spend a month at the Riviera like I did when I was younger. The La Tour family owns a house there. I will discuss it with my husband.
The idea was not bad. We discussed it in the car as we travelled back, but suddenly a strange feeling started to possess me. This would mean I would not see Mme. Lagalice the entire Summer.
On the next class, my mother told Mme. Lagalice about the idea, and she said it was the perfect choice. She was going to travel anyway to France for two or three months, and she could meet me there and be my chaperone. I could not be more delighted.
That day, we went out again for a peripatetic lesson around the park, and she took me to a French café. Un café s'il vous plait, she asked the waiter. I took, as a nerdy American boy, a Mountain Dew. It was getting warm already, and she opened two buttons of her blouse. I could see some freckles on her neck, and when a weak breeze came inside the café, I could smell the violets emanating from her body. That night I had the strongest wet dream ever.
Everything was all set, and the La Tours send their help to prepare the house near Nice, so I could arrive in June.
Dear Mom, Dad,
I am very pleased to have come to Paris. Mrs. Lagalice picked me up at the airport as planned, and she left me at the hotel. I will meet her tomorrow again for our first museum tour. The city is wonderful and there is a lot to see. I think I will change my plans and stay here a little bit longer before going down to the Riviera.
Yours,
Jason