We had 16 days of sightseeing ahead of us and used them to visit many of the places one wants to see on a trip to Europe. Our next to last destination was Milan where we stayed in the most luxurious hotel I have ever been in and had a remarkably sumptuous dinner the night before we were to leave to return to Paris. The next day when we arrived at the train station we were informed that all of the compartments had been booked by previous reservation. We had never had this problem up until then so we inquired about another train and were told that there was one leaving an hour later but it was not an express and it too was almost full so we were only able to get second-class space on it. That didn't seem like too much of a problem so we decided to take it.
Apparently trains to Paris were in demand that summer and the only compartment we could find was in the next to the last car and it was for six persons. That meant we would be on a slower train and could not rearrange the seats to form something resembling a bed, as we had been able to do in the first class compartments. We were not scheduled to arrive in Paris until 9:30 the next morning so the prospects for a good night's sleep were dim. In addition to the problem with the accommodations, we had not bothered to have lunch before boarding expecting that we would be able to get something in the dining car as we had on previous trains. We were due to leave in a few minutes and the hallways of the passenger cars were full of people looking for a place to sit and put their luggage, so I got off the train and ran forward to see if I could locate a dining car. I finally found one fourteen cars further up toward the front. I ran back toward the back and stopped long enough to buy what looked like a couple of submarine sandwiches but the only thing they had to drink were bottles of Chianti. So, wine and subs for lunch; could have been worse.
The other two people in the compartment left as soon as they put their bags in the overhead rack and returned about an hour later and took them out. They said something to us in Italian that none of us understood but we guessed they had found better seats somewhere else. This allowed us to at least slide the seats into a reclining position so we didn't have to sleep sitting up. About ten o'clock the train stopped at the Swiss border and changed crews. When the Swiss conductor checked our tickets and passports we asked him about the possibility of moving to a first class compartment and he said there might be one available when we stopped at the French border to change crews again but it would be in the front of the train and we would just have to go up there and see.
At half past midnight the train pulled into a little station with only two platforms in a small town just inside the French border. My mom, brother and sister-in-law were all asleep so, since I was next to the door, I quietly slipped out and got off and hurried to the front of the train where I saw the French crew getting aboard. I asked the conductor if there were any first class compartments available and he told me that they were going to be taking off and putting on additional cars and that one of them would be a first class passenger car so when they were finished, we could move up. I asked him when this would be and he said we were due to leave at 2 AM. European trains, at least back then, were extraordinarily punctual so when he said 2 AM you could literally set your watch by it. I then asked him if there was any place I could get something to drink, sodas or even just bottled water since you were advised not to drink from the basins in the bathrooms on board. He told me that there was nothing on the train until 6 AM when the dining car opened for breakfast but I might be able to find something in town though he doubted it since it was so late. "We just stop here to do a little rearranging so we can move on," he said.
I had ninety minutes so I figured I'd check out the little town and see if there might be something still open even if it was only a vending machine. I walked past the darkened station and looked up and down the street and saw a light at an intersection about a block away. I headed for the light and as soon as I got to the corner I saw a couple coming out of the door of what looked like a bar so I went inside. There was a small foyer with a wide doorway to the right and a flight of stairs to the left leading up. I went through the doorway into a larger room with a bar and about twenty tables with chairs around them scattered throughout the room. It was exactly what you would expect a little French bistro to look like; even though I had never actually been in one, I had seen many of them in the late night movies I had watched with my aunt. Cozy lighting and still relatively clean given the late hour although it did smell faintly of cigarette smoke. There didn't appear to be anybody around so I walked up to the bar to see if they might have something to drink that I could take back to the train.
As soon as I got to a space between two stools near the middle of the bar a swinging door started to move at one end of the counter and as I looked up, a woman walked through from what I guessed to be a kitchen behind the bar. My life was about to be changed forever. She had some glasses in her hand and, when she saw me, said something to me. My French was not very good but it sounded pretty much like "We're closed" to me and began to walk toward the middle of the bar where I was standing.
I watched her walk the short distance and was again struck by her appearance. She, like the bistro itself, looked exactly like she had walked out of a movie made during WWII. She was wearing a black beret and had a small, delicate red scarf or handkerchief tied around her neck. A blue and white broad striped boat necked t-shirt came down to the top of a black skirt that was split up one leg from the hem just above her knee to almost her hip. The strap of a black garter belt holding up real nylon stockings with seams in the back showed through the slit. A pair of black leather 4-inch heels completed the outfit. Her hair was dark brown, a little short of shoulder length. She wore it in a pageboy style with bangs. Her make-up was perfect. Red lipstick on pouting full lips, mascara on lashes that framed beautiful blue eyes and a hint of blush on her cheeks.
She had turned away from me to put the glasses on a shelf behind her and before she turned around I thought I had better say something before she decided I was some sort of pervert standing there ogling her. I tried to ask her in my poor French if she had any bottled water and as soon as she heard me she turned around and smiled at me. "American" was all she said. Her English wasn't any better than my French but she asked me what I was doing there, as they didn't get many visitors, especially this late. I told her I was on the train to Paris. "The train doesn't leave until two so you have time to have a real drink" she said as she reached down and picked up two champagne glasses and put them on the bar between us. She then moved over and picked up a bottle from an ice bucket and proceeded to pour the bubbling wine into the glasses. No sooner had I asked her what we were celebrating than I noticed what was left of a cake at the end of the bar with candles on it. I also saw a makeshift banner with writing on it hanging across one of the mirrors behind the bar that must have said 'Happy Birthday Yvette' though I had never seen it written in French before. I almost started to ask her how old she was but remembered my manners before I spoke. She looked to be in her early thirties.
I looked at her and asked, "Yvette?" "Oui" she answered. Then added "Et vous?". I gave her my best French translation of my middle name; "Francois" I answered back. I asked if she was the proprietor of the bistro and she said that she was, along with her mother and father who had just left. I lifted my glass and said "Happy Birthday Yvette, thank you for inviting me." She gave a little giggle and said "il n'y a pas de quoi, de rien, Francois". The way she pronounced the name made me feel as though I had been called that all my life instead of hearing somebody say it for the first time. She gave me a look as she said it that made me feel comfortable and that she was happy I was there.
I told her that since I had not been thoughtful enough to bring her a present perhaps I could at least offer to dance with her at her party even though I had arrived late. Her eyes lit up and she moved to the other end of the counter where she picked up a record and placed it on a turntable. With a flick of a switch music started flowing out of speakers on the shelf behind the bar. Once again I knew I had heard the song before in some typically French scene where two lovers were swaying in each other's arms. Edith Piaf or somebody like her, soulfully singing a romantic ballad that seemed to perfectly fit this moment.
