Queen of Babble

The year 1848 (aptly nicknamed the Year of Revolutions) saw many peasant uprisings throughout Europe and the fall of the monarchy in France, as well as the potato famine in Ireland, and fashion responded to the unrest by requiring women to look as covered up as possible, with “poke” bo

This was the age of Jane Eyre, whom we all remember refused to accept Mr. Rochester’s generous offer to make over her wardrobe, preferring merino wool to the silk organzas he ordered for her. If only she’d had Melania Trump to set her straight on this wrongheaded attitude toward fashion.

History of Fashion

SENIOR THESIS BY ELIZABETH NICHOLS

14

Never to talk about ourselves is a very noble piece of hypocrisy.

– Friedrich Nietzsche (1844-1900),

German philosopher, classical scholar, and critic

And okay. I know this is Europe and people here are much more laid-back about their bodies and nudity than we are (except that Dominique isn’t European. She’s Canadian. Which I guess is sort of like European. But still).

It’s just very hard to sit and talk to someone whose bare nipples are sort of…pointing at you.

And Shari’s no help at all. She’s keeping her gaze resolutely on the pages of the book she’s reading. Though I notice she’s not actually turning any of those pages.

I realize there’s nothing I can do except try to act normal. I mean, it’s not like I’m not used to seeing bare-chested women, considering the gang showers back in McCracken Hall.

Still. I knew all those girls.

Plus, Dominique’s knockers are-how can I put this?-a bit more suspiciously perky than even Bria

And Bria

“So,” I say, casually, “have you mentioned all these ideas you have for, um, improving Mirac to Luke?”

Because I can’t help wondering what he thinks of Dominique’s plans.

“Of course,” Dominique says, lifting a hand to slick back her long blond hair. “And to his father as well. But the old man is only interested in one thing. His wine. So until he dies…” Dominique gives a metaphoric shrug.

“Luke’s waiting for his father to die before turning this place into a Hyatt Regency?” I ask, my voice cracking a little in my astonishment. Because I simply can’t believe the Luke I met yesterday would ever do such a thing.

“A Hyatt?” Dominique looks scandalized. “I told you, it will be five-star luxury accommodation, not part of a cheap American hotel chain. And no, Jean-Luc is not entirely enthusiastic about my plans. Yet. For one thing because he would have to move to France full-time to see them implemented, and he isn’t interested in giving up his job at Lazard Freres. Although I’ve told him it would be a simple thing to transfer to their Paris offices. Then we could-”

“We?” I’m on the word like Grandma on a can of Bud. “You two are getting married?”

“Well, certainly,” Dominique says. “Someday.”

It’s ridiculous that this statement sends a shaft of pain through my heart. I barely know him. I only met him yesterday.

But then I’m the same girl who traveled all the way to England to see a guy I had only spent twenty-four hours with three months earlier.

And look how that turned out.

“Oh,” Shari finally pipes up, “you and Luke are engaged? That’s fu

“Well, nothing so formal as an engagement,” Dominique says with obvious reluctance. “Who even gets engaged anymore? It’s so old-fashioned. Today’s couples, they form partnerships, not marriages. It’s all about combining incomes and investing in a shared future. And I knew, from the first moment I saw Mirac, that this is a future I wanted to invest in.”

I blink at her. Today’s couples form partnerships, not marriages? They combine incomes and invest in a shared future?

And what’s this about from the first moment I saw Mirac? Doesn’t she mean from the first moment I saw Jean-Luc?

“It is a beautiful place,” Shari says, turning a page of her book that I know she hasn’t read. “Why do you think it is that Luke doesn’t want to move to Paris?”

“Because Jean-Luc doesn’t know what he wants,” Dominique says with a frustrated sigh.

“Does any man?” Shari asks mildly. And I can tell, from her tone, that she is highly amused by the conversation.

“Maybe he doesn’t want to be that far away from you,” I offer-very generously, in my opinion, considering my little crush on her boyfriend. Since that’s all it is. Just a crush. Really.

Dominique turns her head to look at me. “I have offered to transfer to Paris with him,” she says tonelessly.

“Oh,” I say. “Well. His mom lives in Houston, right? Maybe he doesn’t want to leave her.”

“That’s not it,” Dominique says. “It’s that if he puts in a request to transfer to Paris and it goes through, he’ll have to go. And then he’ll be stuck there. And there’ll be no chance for him ever to pursue the career he really wants.”

“What’s the career he really wants?” I ask.

“He wants,” Dominique says, picking up the bottle of water she has by her chaise longue and raising it to her lips, then swallowing, “to be a doctor.”

“A doctor?” I’m thrilled. I can’t believe Luke didn’t mention this on the train when I said all those bad things about investment bankers. “Really? But that’s so great. I mean, doctors…they heal people.”

Dominique looks at me as if I’ve just said the most obvious thing in the world. Which, of course, I have.

But she obviously hasn’t figured out that I routinely say the first thing that pops into my head. Seriously. It’s like a disease.

“What I mean is,” I hasten to add, “doctors are so important. You know. To society. Because without them, we’d all…be a lot sicker.”

I look over at her to see what she thinks of this stroke of deductive brilliance on my part. Dominique has leaned up on her elbows-though the movement, mysteriously enough, did not cause her breasts to move at all-to look past me, over at Shari.

“Your friend,” she says to Shari, “talks very much.”

“Yes,” Shari says. “Lizzie does have a tendency to do that.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, feeling myself blush. But it’s not like I’m going to shut up. Because I physically can’t. “But why doesn’t Luke go to medical school? I mean, if that’s what he wants to do? Because it can’t be that doctors don’t make enough money.” The Luke I know-the one who let me, a total stranger, cry on his shoulder on that train yesterday-and shared his nuts with me-would never choose a career based on what kind of salary he might earn in said career.

I mean, would he?

No. No way. Hugo instead of Hugo Boss! Come on! That is the choice of a man who prefers personal comfort over style…

“Is it the cost of medical school?” I ask. “Because surely Luke’s parents would support him while he was in school. Have you thought of talking about it to Luke’s mom and dad?”

Dominique’s expression changes from one of mild disgust-with me, apparently-to one of horror.

“Why would I do that?” Dominique looks completely perplexed. “I want Luke to transfer to Paris with me and work at Lazard Freres so that he and I can turn this place into a five-star hotel, turn over a considerable profit, and come here on weekends. I don’t want to be a doctor’s wife and continue to live in Texas. Is that so hard to understand?”

I blink at her. “Um,” I say, “no.”

But inwardly, I’m thinking, Wow. This is one lady who knows what she wants. I bet SHE wouldn’t have any reservations about moving to New York City with no degree, no job, and no place to stay already lined up.