Stranger Danger? Or Italian Stallion?

I decided to revisit one of the drafts that I mentioned in my previous post.  This story is certainly not about one of my finest moments, but nonetheless, enjoy!

The year was 2000, and my mom and I had just arrived in Paris via the Chunnel from London.  We checked into our tiny hotel room, and while I was anxious to wander the streets and catch a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower, my mom was tired and was ready to curl up in bed with her book, postponing any sightseeing until morning.  There didn't seem to be a compromise between my plans and her plans- I didn't have a book to read, or a magazine.  TV shows were in French.  I was bored.  And just as I was about to throw a fit in hopes of getting my way (as my own daughter is doing at this very moment), I remembered that I was 20 years old.  An adult!  I didn't need permission from my mom!  I could go walk around the streets of Paris on my own!

I was out the door before my mom could argue or reason with me.  Did I care that I didn't have a map, or that I didn't know the city, or that I didn't speak French, or that it was dark outside?  Nope.

As I type this, my 31 year old self wants to slap my 20 year old self across the face.  I've seen the movie Taken.  I now know what can happen to American girls in foreign countries!

I walked through the lit streets, looking up, left and right, for the Tower.  And then I saw it, and it was beautiful.  It was enormous- far larger than I'd expected.  And it was in the shape of an A, which is my favorite letter.  And it sparkled.  It was lit up as usual, but then extra sparkle lights came on every so often, along with the digits of the new millennium- 2000.

I walked a few more blocks to get a bit closer.  The streets were pretty empty and some were not very well lit, so I came to my senses and turned around to go back to the hotel.  I was giddy about seeing the Eiffel Tower, and I couldn't wait to tell my mom that I'd seen it!

On my walk back, I noticed a cute boy standing outside of a nice hotel.  He was in full uniform.  A bellhop, is that what they are called?  He said "Bonjour," and asked if I was American, and our very strange conversation began.  His name was Stefano, and he was from Italy but was in France to study and learn French, and though I don't speak Italian or French, I do speak a bit of Spanish, which is kinda close to Italian, so between his English and my Spanish, we were able to communicate.  Kind of.  Did I mention he was cute?

"I met a boy!  Stefano!"  (you have to say it like Stef-aaaaano)

The expression on my mom's face read that she was both furious that I'd left alone and relieved that I had returned alive.

"No way."

"Oh, and I saw the Eiffel Tower, but I have to tell you about Stefano!"

The next day as we left on foot to see the sights, we passed Stefano's hotel, and THERE HE WAS!  He was working again (or working still?).  I introduced him to my mama (you have to say it like mmmmmamma), and her jaw was down on the Parisian street, shocked that I had indeed met a cute Italian boy.

He asked us if we knew Elle magazine in America.  He ran inside for a moment and returned with a current issue of European Elle, which had a whole spread on Paris, including a full page picture of an adorable bellhop standing in front of a nice hotel- yes, it was Stefano!

Our agenda suddenly changed.  We had to find a copy of that magazine!  Forget visiting Versailles or riding a river boat down the Seine.  We spent all day looking for that magazine.  My mom wanted to kill me.  (Have you ever seen me when I'm determined?  I'm super annoying.)  We walked for miles, all around the city, stopping at every street cart that sold souvenirs, snacks and magazines.  We finally found it.  Oh, and we managed to visit Notre Dame too.

We returned to Stefano's hotel so that he could sign his picture for me, but he wasn't there in his uniform as I'd hoped.  The guy on duty made a quick call on his mobile phone and almost instantly Stefano appeared at the curb in his car.  He was waiting for me to return.  He asked me to go have coffee with him, and I said "Sure!" and hopped into his car.  "I'll be back in a bit, mom!"

I'd like to interrupt this story to say Mom, I am so sorry!!!!!! and also Where was my brain?????

At the coffee shop, he lit a cigarette and proceeded to blow smoke in my face.  While we struggled to bridge the language barrier, he explained that he'd like to move to America to make movie trailers.  I later pieced the clues together to figure out that he was interested in making thriller movies, but at the time I just couldn't make sense of "like the trailers that movie stars lounge in while making movies?" or "like the trailers that are shown before movies are played in theaters?"  Gosh, I was dumb.

Communicating with Stefano was so much work.  Sitting in the small cafe, drinking tea and inhaling smoke, I knew that  our love would never blossom.  It was over before it began.  Like a bolt of lightening, it suddenly occurred to me that I was with a stranger in a foreign city.  Just as he was asking if I wanted to go to the disco that night (you have to say it like deeeeesco), I said, "Oh, I have to go.  No car- I'll walk."  I turned to walk away, but not before he was able to plant a big kiss on my lips. 

I ran back to the hotel, and I found my mom praying for her daughter's safety.

I got into a hot shower as fast as I could, desperate to wash off the smoke and that kiss.

My autographed copy of European Elle magazine must be in a box under my bed at my parents house, because I can't find it here in the house that I share with my sweet husband who speaks perfect English, but I remember that Stefano's autograph translated "many kisses." 

Uh, no.

Now that I am a mother, I am able to look into that metaphorical rear view mirror and see my life from a different perspective.  The perspective I use now is the I-shouldn't-have-done-that-then-because-I-don't-ever-want-my-children-to-do-it-someday perspective.  While my experience in Paris was harmless, thank God, it was dumb, and if Lucy ever tries to pull a stunt like that, she will have to actually have to step over my dead body to  get past me!

So, sorry about that whole Stefano thing, mom.  I owe you a day in Paris :)