When Alice woke up on Saturday morning, the Paris sunshine was pressing through the long curtains into her and Tally’s suite at the perennially cool Pavillon de la Reine Hotel in the Place des Vosges. It was seeping across their soft, billowy duvet and over the gigantic feather pillows into which they’d sunk their tired heads the night before.
“Time for le petit déjeuner!” Alice chirped, flinging off the covers and jumping out of their four-poster bed.
“Urrrgh,” Tally groaned. “No breakfast. Just a little longer…”
Alice prodded her. “You can’t. Otherwise we’ll waste the whole day.”
“Sleep isn’t waste,” Tally yawned, regretfully kicking herself free of the duvet. She sat up, her white-blond hair flying out like a firework, and blinked round their room. Dark antique beams lined the ceilings, fragrant flower arrangements popped out of glass vases on the tabletops, and custom-made black-and-white paper adorned the walls. She and Alice could have got separate rooms, of course—this was a no-expenses spared type of weekend—but they’d decided to share. After all, the whole point of being here was girly bonding, and what better way to have fun than to stay up till five in the morning, giggling, gossiping, and ordering room service champagne before falling asleep across one gigantic bed?
“Hurry!” called Tally, bouncing up and down as Alice vanished into their massive tiled bathroom to brush her teeth. “I need the bathroom.”
Half an hour later, dressed and armed with their credit cards, the girls strolled hand in hand out of the Pavillon’s courtyard and into the Place des Vosges, the city’s stunning square of sparkling lawns and fountains. They fitted in seamlessly with the chic crowd of breakfasters and shoppers. Tally was wearing skin-tight jeans with knee-high boots, a cropped leather jacket and a scarf, while Alice had on a dark green wool minidress and ankle boots with gloriously high heels. Her whole outfit was totally mod. She considered herself, like the French, to be an expert in dressing simply yet elegantly.
Underneath the Place des Vosges’ covered arcade, next to one of its cafés, a string quartet was playing Pachelbel’s Canon.
“Ooh, let’s sit near the band.” Alice ran daintily over. Recently, she’d been trying to cultivate a taste for classical music so she could add it to her cultural repertoire. “Dinnerparty ammo,” she called it, and you could never have too much.
“Smile, darling.” She produced her tiny camera. “You’re looking stunning this morning.”
“Much obliged. How’s this?” Tally placed her index finger to her lips and gave a sultry wink.
Click. Her face froze on the viewfinder, framed by the sunny square.
“Now take one of me,” Alice commanded, fluffing out her hair and sucking in her cheeks. This was her favorite spot in Paris; it had been ever since Tristan had first shown it to her when they were thirteen and she’d come to stay in his family’s town house over a long weekend. She felt a momentary pang, remembering why she and Tally had made this trip in the first place, but quickly cheered up as their waiter deposited a fresh, crusty pain au chocolat onto her plate.
Alice lifted it with both hands and opened her jaw as wide as she could.
“So, shall I ring Miguel?” she asked, spraying crumbs from the corners of her mouth. Miguel was her half-French, half-Spanish friend whom she’d met two summers ago in France’s most celebrated nightclub, the Caves du Roy in St. Tropez. He was twenty, gay, drop-dead gorgeous, and knew everyone there was to know in Paris. Whenever Alice came here, she relied on him to organize their dinners and get them into the VIP rooms of the hottest clubs.
“Actually, I had a different idea,” Tally said. She dropped three sugars into her cappuccino, stirred them, and added a fourth. “I vote we don’t call anyone at all while we’re here.”
“Why on earth would we do that?” Alice hungrily considered her pain au chocolat and went in for another bite.
“Don’t you think it’d be fun just to have a girly weekend of shopping and doing our own thing? Miguel’s an absolute sweetheart but his friends can get a bit much. Remember last time, when he took us to dinner with that bunch of random Italians? The one who liked me got so wasted that he threw up on my Proenza Schouler shoes.”
Alice cackled, nearly spitting out her mouthful. “Fine, fine, but how are we going to know where to go? We can’t just wait in line at places. That’s like, so not done.”
Now it was Tally’s turn to laugh. “Let’s throw ourselves to the winds,” she gushed. “We’ll roam round and find somewhere to go, some brilliant party somewhere. It’ll be all our own. Go on, we’ve both got such a nose for that kind of thing. I’m dying to have an adventure!”
Alice broke into a grin. Tally’s sense of fun was irresistible.
“All right, you win,” she agreed. “But if you haven’t found a party for us by suppertime, I’m calling Miguel. Now let’s hit the shops. I’m in need of some serious retail therapy.”
Plunging their way into the pristine streets of the Marais—the old area whose sandstone buildings and stylish boutiques made it a magnet for Paris’s young, fashionable crowd—the two friends set to work. They rifled through the racks at A.P.C., Barbara Bui, Isabel Marant, and Zadig et Voltaire, picking out winter wardrobes of coats, dresses, skirts, shoes, and handbags. It wasn’t until six o’clock, drained and stumbling under the weight of their haul, that they hailed a cab home. Alice stuffed her shopping bags in, then slid onto the seat next to them. Not that there was much room. Breathing a sigh of relief, she slipped off her ankle boots and rubbed her aching feet.
“Hurry up, I’m not waiting all night!” she called, as Tally stooped over something in the street. The girl was always pouncing on dirty things and bringing them back with her, like a cat dragging in its prey.
“You’re gonna love me! Look what I found.” Tally was clutching a scrap from a magazine.
“What, trash? Yeah, it’s all over the pavement. I can pick some up too. Look, there’s another bit.”
“No, silly. Read the back.”
Alice flipped the piece of paper over. On the other side was some kind of society column. The lead item was about the grand opening of a new club in Pigalle, once a red-light district, but now red-hot. The date was tonight, September 27.
“See?” Tally gushed. “I told you we’d find somewhere fabulous to party. This is going to be amazing! I can wear that silver sequin dress I just bought. Oh my god, I can’t wait!”
“But we’re not on the list,” Alice pointed out. “It says it’s a private event. How will we get in?”
Tally looked at her, a confident smile shining from her face. “Oh, we’ll get in, darling,” she proclaimed. “Have I ever been wrong?”