21 Steps to Happiness by F. G. Gerson Page A

wonder…”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œIf—”
    â€œÃŠtes-vous américains?” the lady sitting next to me interrupted.
    Damn!
    I turned and realized that she was no lady. She had huge hands and she seriously needed a shave. She would always need a shave.
    â€œNo, I’m American,” I said. “He is French.”
    â€œÃŠtes-vous des amoureux? Elle comprend pas, hein? Lovers?”
    â€œNon, non, seulement des collègues,” Nicolas answered her—I mean him.
    â€œYou look like lovers,” he/she pronounced.
    I blushed so much that the room turned red with the glow from my face. The drag queen leaned over to speak into my ear.
    â€œThe young man, he is in love with you,” and he/she blinked at me as if it was a done deal. “And you are a lucky girl, because he is like an angel. Comme un ange!”
    God, don’t I know!
    â€œWhat did she say?” Nicolas asked when the drag queen went back to her own conversation.
    â€œShe said…she said we make a handsome couple. Ha ha ha!”
    He blushed, too, I swear, he blushed!
    Â 
    We were the last ones to leave the bar. I asked if we could walk back to the hotel. Nicolas said that it would be quite a long walk, but that was exactly what I was after. Quite a long walk. A long, long, long walk. A walk that would take us forever.
    I told him about my childhood. I told him about growing up away from Jodie. And it felt good to talk about the real me, the girl that used to hold daisies under her chin, and if they shone yellow on your skin, it meant that you were in love.
    The girl that used to hide in Jodie’s room and pretend to be locked into the tower of a castle, waiting for Prince Charming to come and free her.
    But the prince never came, no matter how long she waited. He was too busy playing video games at the mall, I guess.
    We fell silent. We were getting closer to my hotel and I was getting anxious. Should we part? Should I ask him to come up to share a bag of peanuts from the minibar, and a bottle of champagne and my bed?
    We stopped in front of the Georges V.
    I was about to say something, but he stopped me.
    â€œI want to tell you…”
    Yes, yes!
    â€œI was wrong and I’m sorry. I think you are great.”
    Mmm?
    â€œYou’re great for Muriel B, I mean. And…”
    And?
    â€œI think we all made up our minds about you. And…”
    Okay…And?
    We looked at each other. Oh, yes, we were getting closer. My lips were almost reaching their ultimate goal when…he kissed me. On one cheek and then the other. Like a brother or my best gay friend.
    That was so…gay.
    Then he made a funny face, turned his back to me and walked away. That was it. All I ended up with was a lousy pair of kisses on the cheek and red-purple lips from cheap wine.
    Â 
    â€œHey, it’s Lynn,” I say on the phone.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you? Do they ever sleep in freaking Paris?”
    â€œWe kissed!”
    â€œGoddamn it!” Delia wakes up in a flash. “Is he a good kisser? It’s very important that he be a good kisser.”
    â€œIt’s hard to say, I kind of stole our first kiss. But we just spent the night together.”
    â€œGod, you’re fast!”
    â€œI mean, we went on a date. Nothing definite happened!” Okay, maybe it wasn’t exactly a date in the traditional sense, but it still counts.
    â€œOh. False alarm, then. I’ll go back to sleep and you call me back after you do him!”
    â€œDelia!”
    She sighed but I could hear the squeak of her bed as she sat up. “Okay! A date! Did he walk you home?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid he kiss you?”
    â€œYes…”
    â€œNo, no, no! You don’t sound right. Where did he kiss you?”
    Delia knows me too well.
    â€œOn the cheek. But it was quite close to my lips.”
    â€œUh-huh…”
    â€œDelia! I said almost on my lips! A very, very