Gandhi's Guide to Getting By

chapter twenty

Stella finally calls. She's in Paris, supposedly.

"Paris?"

"Yup," Stella says, "Greg had some meeting and here we are."

Hmm, so what does one say to this? It makes me think I should forget law, go into psychology instead because how many psych. students can boast they will have an entire clientelle waiting for them as soon as they graduate? Between my family, my students, and the people over at Young's office, I have enough patients to build a serious practice and pay off a mortgage. Not to mention the groundbreaking work I'd be doing. Assuming there even is a manual entitled, How to Deal with the Lunatic Fringe, I'm certain the chapter, What to Say When The Lunatic in Your Life Pretends They Are in Another Country, hasn't been written yet.

Stella tells me to hang on, someone's asking her a question. "Pardon?" she says in what she imagines is a French accent.

"Macy's," whoever is talking to her says. "How do you get to Macy's?"

"Non," Stella says, "Non parler English."

Whoever she's talking to says something rude followed by, "I just heard you talking English on that phone." Stella tells them to, "Fuckez vous." Whoever she's talking to says, "No, f u." Stella says, "NON, Fuckez vous." It goes back and forth, the No/Non getting louder with each exchange. For one crazy moment I actually find myself hoping Stella is in Paris, because 98% of New Yorkers don't usually react graciously to people like Stella. Not that Stella seems preoccupied by getting her face punched in. She's back and forthing it with whoever. I know Stella well enough to know she's probably pointing her finger at whosever's face.

I try to interject, but to no avail. Her phone suddenly goes dead.

Okay, now I'm worried. One thing to hear her screaming, "fuckez vous" and another to hear complete silence. I try phoning her back. No answer. I try again, A woman's voice answers. I recognize the voice as the same one of the back and forth exchange.

"Umm, can I speak to Stella? Please."

"She's not here."

"That's strange because this is her phone you're using."

"You mean it was her phone before I grabbed it away from her."

"Yeah, well... Is she there? Maybe you could just hold it for her, you know, without actually giving it back. Just close enough for her to hear and speak."

"Too late. I jumped into a cab as soon as I grabbed the phone. Listen, would you have the password to this phone?"

"Umm, no."

"In that case I don't have time to chit chat. I only answered because I was hoping you'd know the password."

"Yeah, I don't think I can help you."

Click.

Ten minutes later I get a call from the nutcase herself. It says Blocked on my screen. "Honestly," she says, "The weirdos you meet in this city."

"Stella, where are you?"

"I already told you. Paris."

"Where in Paris are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean where in Paris are you because I'm almost certain there isn't a Macy's in Paris."

"It just opened. I'm surprised you didn't read about it. Want me to pick up anything for you while I'm here? They've got these cute little Macy's-Paris bags."

"Tell me what street you're on. Also, whose phone are you using?"

Stella mumbles something. I tell her I have no idea what she just said. "That's because you don't understand Parisian," she says, "They mumble everything here."