“

I want more than anything to be Gigi. To meander, feather-light, down the boulevards of belle epoque Paris in a little blue sailor dress, my sweet face framed by a flat, disk-shaped hat with two ribbons dangling mischievously past my bangs. And I would be squealing, “Maman! Regardez! Maman!” And my room would be paneled and perfect and cluttered with overstuffed pillows and a Victorian chaise and my bed, meltingly soft, with embroidered silk sheets, and everything would be warmly lit by sconces and table lamps whose globes were painted with buds and floral themes. And I would sit and brush my hair and put it up over my eyes, trying out new styles and giggling. And dinner would consist of a cup of thick chocolate beaten up with the yolk of an egg, some toast and grapes and for breakfast, soft-boiled eggs with cherries in them. (I would awaken refreshed each day in a nightgown and stretch like a kitten, rubbing the sleep from my saucer eyes with my tiny fists.)

And then, joys of joys - Gaston (who had delighted in me as a young girl but never dreamed that eventually I would blossom to stunning womanhood) would come to visit and, unable to believe his eyes, would suddenly realize that I am no longer the innocent, frail wisp of a child he has known but I have, obeying destiny, ripened into a creature of breathtaking loveliness. Now I toss my head, allowing my hair to bounce from shoulder to shoulder, offering Gaston the scent of perfume from my neck. Unable to resist, he cups my delicate face in his hands and asks me to go with him to Maxim’s. From here it gets a little vague and the image of my black-rimmed glasses and shopping bag from Zabar’s intrudes but by then I’m usually radiant and sobbing.