Chez Georges



Paris, May, 1953 – Woke with beastly head again, Charlie beside me, again! This must stop. Something about that darned Chateau Latour he keeps pouring down our throats. As I say, it must stop and I shall tell him so, today. (God only knows what our tab at Marcelle’s must look like!)

On that note, must wire papa today and beg for a teensy advance. Charlie says the market is quite ‘buoyant’ right now (Charlie loves using words he doesn’t really understand) so, not such a bad time for begging, apparently.

Had a quick glass of bubbles with Fritz and the pretty Cuban girl, (Celeste, Celine, can’t remember) before dashing to meet Charlie at Trocadero. Such a silly romantic boy, wanted to ride the childrens’ roundabout under the Eiffel Tower at the ‘purple hour’. I go along with these things, but really truly!

 I think I saw the painter, Yves Tanguy dining at Chez Georges last night. He was sitting with a couple of other men (all in black, so dramatic these French artists), one maybe Braque, hard to tell..wearing a big hat.. indoors. Such arrogance. I adore it! Next to them was an old couple, perhaps in their thirties. He was plain and portly, she pretty, touch of the Jane Russells about her, curly dark hair ( die for!), darling three quarter blouse with broderie anglaise and a Capri pant. ‘Casual chic’ as everyone keeps saying here. (Must partake when finances arrive. Sometimes I feel like I’m wearing a hessian sack next to these Parisian glamour pusses. Honestly.) Any hoo, strangest thing. Every time her husband left the table or spoke to a waiter, which was often (he spoke at the waiters, I could tell) or read his Match (Papa does this and I deplore it. Mother seems oblivious), this Tanguy fellow would casually lean his arm back around his chair (whilst facing the opposite direction, mind you) and tickle her foot. Odder still was the fact that she would actually extend her unshod foot (game!) in expectation.  It was all in the darkness, Chez Georges is very,... what does Baby call it? ‘Glowy’, yes, and it is. But I saw what I saw. She kept a hand obscuring her face, like a Chinese fan, attempting to cover her mirth. Most unusual. Her husband...oblivious.

I seemed to be the only one who noticed.

Paris is divine!