It was now December and I prepared myself to spend my first Christmas away from home. Since I had moved into Ronny’s, I had more contact with my parents because they could now call me.

“I told you I wouldn’t come home,” I reminded my father of his airport prediction.

“Why don’t I buy you a ticket to come back for a visit?” he replied. “That’s my Christmas present to myself.”

After some convincing, it was settled that they’d send me a ticket and I’d spend Christmas week at home.

The next day, I received another call on Ronny’s line. Louise signaled me to the phone.

“It’s a man named Jack,” she whispered, covering the receiver.

I took the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s Jack. How did things go with the prefecture?” he asked.

I immediately assumed something was wrong. Did he want to retract the domicile papers?

“Oh, it went well. I got my temporary Carte de séjour.”

“Great, that’s great.”

Huh? What did he want?

“Thank you so much for your help.”

“Yeah, no problem. Hey, look, we’re having a company Christmas party at my flat. I thought I’d invite you.”

I was stunned. “Ah, wow. That’s very nice. When is it?”

When I hung up, Louise was still standing in the kitchen. We were becoming friends.

“Who’s Jack?” she said slyly.

“He’s just some American business guy.”

“Are you going on a date with him?”

“Oh, God, no! He’s like an old guy.”

“I don’t know,” she continued. “He doesn’t sound like an old guy.”

The following weekend, I walked to the apartment on Quai des Célestins. It was only a twenty-minute walk from my place. I wore my leather mini skirt with the usual: a men’s blazer, black tights, and boots. And I splurged twenty-five francs on a nice bottle of wine.

The party was filled mostly with older European men—Italian, German, French, Scandinavian, and Spanish. On the dining room table was a spread of hors d’oeuvres, glasses, and dozens of bottles. I set down the wine I had brought.

There was a pretty American woman who worked for the company, and a gorgeous young German girl who spent the evening dodging Jack and the others. I found a seat on the couch, and the small Italian immediately started conversing with me.

“So you’re still in university?” he asked loudly, speaking over the music.

“No, actually, I finished college. Right now I’m studying French at the Sorbonne.”

“I see. And what did you study at university?”

“Marketing,” I said, converting my ever-useless advertising degree into something that sounded more substantial. Somehow, marketing sounded better.

“That’s interesting. We are only just opening a subsidiary office in Milan. We could use marketing.”

Until that moment, it had not occurred to me that I would have anything of interest to say to anyone at the party. I perked up. I knew enough to speak somewhat intelligently about marketing and advertising. The German guy joined in. They were all in the same situation, about to establish subsidiary offices for this American company. That I was American could not hurt my credibility.

I walked home that night along the Seine, admiring the golden lights cast upon the centuries-old architecture that glistened in the moving current. I had just been to a party of adults, and I had held my own. I felt good.