I awoke Saturday morning well-rested and, as usual, before the Loved One. I put on my Hotel Fauchere white bathrobe and curled into the arm chair by the window with A Confederacy of Dunces. I read it once, in high school, and I can't even begin to fathom how much of it was lost on me at the time. However, now, being a devotee of New Orleans and (like Ignatius Reilly) a misanthrope, I understand it on every level. I'm not, actually, a misanthrope. I just think most people aren't as smart as they could or should be, and fewer live up to their potential.
When the Loved One woke up, we immediately celebrated the impending day by scarfing down the complimentary chocolate from the Patisserie Fauchere. It was perfect and stirred my already building hunger. I like to eat pretty much the second I wake up in the morning. Or from a nap. Or anytime at all.
We had a light, lovely breakfast in the Delmonico's porch. I was had one of the croissants I had read so much about in reviews online. It was light, buttery and crispy. It was also about half the size of a regular croissant and I wanted more. But Loved One and I split some eggs and fruit instead. As we ate, the Long Island or New Jersey couple came in looking as miserable in the morning as they did at night. They shot us both a withering look and then took a table in the corner by the back. I watched people run in and out of the patisserie next door and said that we should stop by later for coffee and a treat. The Loved One agreed. A party of older women came in and sat back by the miserable couple. They were too far away for me to hear their entire conversation but I heard talk of scripts and screenplays and a film festival as well as the name Rockefeller dropped, and I wished I could hear more. I'm a notorious eavesdropper. I will listen to any and all of a close-by conversation and then try to whisper what I'm hearing to the Loved One. His hearing is so hot so he usually can't hear what I'm saying and we have to talk about other things instead.
After breakfast, I made the Loved One pose for some pictures around the hotel. He begrudgingly obliged. I've become a big fan of capturing the moment on film and often regret not taking enough photos after an event. And from there we went to explore the town. Our first stop was, happily, Books & Prints at Pear Alley. The moment we opened the door and a huge white poodle came galloping out from around the front desk, I knew we were in the right place.
"That's Molly," the owner said. "I hope she isn't bothering you."
Are you kidding? I love it.
"Well, have a look around and let me know if you need any help."
The Loved One drew my attention to the glass case in front of me. On the second shelf, for $200, was a small piece of paper with a pencil sketch of Archie Andrews on it, signed by Dan DeCarlo who illustrated the comic book character throughout my formative years. In the early 80s I became an Archies Reporter and fan club member by writing in to the comic about my experience playing clarinet in the school band. I won first prize ($6)! My dad made a copy of the check before I cashed it, probably spending it on more Archie comics. It was my first, and only, byline. So far. A few years ago I found the issue I was published in and cut out the article, framed it and put it in the bathroom. The number two article was from a guy who worked part-time in a fast food joint and I couldn't help but wonder how old he was and how we felt getting beat out for first place by a 10-year old....
So I made a pass around the Archie and went, as I normally do, right to the fiction section. I am always in search of 1) a first edition of Patricia Highsmith's 'The Talented Mr. Ripley and 2) any Daphne DuMaurier novel I don't yet own. I rarely find either. After that, I head over to the drama section and look for out-of-print plays. Here, I was blessed with a collection of Random House plays from the 50s, 60s and 70s. I began pulling them off the shelf and making a stack. Before long I was over the $100 mark and I realized that I couldn't/shouldn't buy all of them. So I started going through to see which ones I did not need. I had to buy 'No Time For Sergeants' because it was the third time in three weeks that I had come across it. I had to buy the book of 'Happy Hunting', an Ethel Merman musical I had never heard of. The Loved One ran over with a copy of an original Playbill for "Little Me" in his hands. I was the AD of the Broadway revival. But I barely keep paraphernalia from shows I do work on, so I don't want any from shows I didn't work on.
The Loved One took a look at the stack of books by my side. I told him I couldn't afford them all and was weeding through to see which ones I really wanted. He said he would buy them for me, especially if they were out of print. I said, no. Not necessary and picked up my pile and proceeded to the front. Molly came out and sniffed the stack of books, happy with my purchases. I plopped them down on the counter and, straightforward, asked the owner if she would give me a discount for purchasing in bulk. She didn't even bat an eye. She calculated the price of the complete purchase and then knocked $15 off of it. And that's why you have to ask for what you want!
Then I pulled out my wallet to pay and realized that my ATM card was missing. I frantically looked through my wallet, to no avail. I had paid for dinner with it the night before at Bar Louis so I knew it was in Milford. Beyond that, I didn't know where. The Loved One pulled out his ATM card and saved the day. So he did end up buying the books for me after all.
"Let's drop these off in the car and then ask in the hotel for your card." Also, between the book buying and the stress of no ATM card, it was time to stop at the Patisserie Fauchere to refuel. As we approached the hotel, the female half of Miserable Couple was sitting on the front porch talking loudly on her cell phone. She didn't even glance up as we walked by. The male half was in the reception area where a new woman, a pretty redhead by the name of Kenda, was trying to arrange something for him. He was not happy with having only one time choice as his option and stalked out of the room.
I sheepishly walked up and introduced myself. "Oh, I have your directions to the llama farm!" she exclaimed.
How does everyone here know that I made arrangements to go there?!
I explained about losing my ATM card and she checked in the safe but it wasn't there. Bar Louis wasn't open yet. So it was off to Patisserie Fauchere! I shrugged my shoulders in defeat when I saw the Loved One and we headed next door. The smell of freshly baked...everything greeted us the minute we opened the door. Breads lined the shelves. Pastries shimmered behind the glass and wooden cases. My stomach rumbled. The Loved Ones eyes lit up at the sight of hot cross buns. I wanted everything but decided to get a pain au chocalat, as my croissant desire wasn't particularly satiated that morning. Again, the pastry was delicious but could have benefited from a bit more chocolat in the pain.
We enjoyed just sitting there and watching the locals come in and make conversation with the staff. IN my secret heart of hearts I sometime wish that I could spend the day in a kitchen baking away and making conversation with my fellow bakers and the community. So I was envious of these people who both lived and worked here. It seems a simpler way of life to me. Perhaps that's naive. Whose life is simple?
Coffee and pastries complete, we took off -- once again -- to explore the town. From small antique shops, to trendy stores, to the Velveteen Habit (which we couldn't stop making fun of) we walked the small town. Our favorite place was Old Lumberyard Antiques. They use the word "antiques", I would use the word "junk." But I love looking at it. I was overwhelmed by the amount of racist antiquities I was finding; a postcard with a young black child on it, running and written in "black slang" from the 20s; two cards obviously used as placecards at an event because the names Dr. and Mrs Simcox were handwritten at the bottom, again depicting poor black children referred to as "coons" in the sentence below. I was (and still am) so shocked by them I can't even remember the rest of the sentence. But does it matter? Really? And only $25 for the pair? Tempting. Never too soon to plan the next dinner party. I called the Loved One over and his jaw literally dropped when he saw them.
All of this racism and antiquing obviously made us hungry so it was time for lunch. I ran into the Bar Louis but still no ATM card appearance. And we decided on the Milford Diner for lunch. Our waitress was wonderful. She had dyed brown hair with white roots piled on top of her head and a face filled with deep wrinkles from smoking. She eyes us cautiously at first but took our order. I was wondering if I wasn't sensing some homophobia until she came over with her drinks while I studied a large map of the Pennsylvania area with antiquing locations mapped out.
"What are you looking for, honey"" she asked in a husky smokers voice.
Oh, nothing in particular. We were thinking of possibly going to New Hope and I was trying to figure out how far it was.
Her eyes lit up. "Oh, I just love New Hope. It's so beautiful. And artsy. I was just there a few weeks ago to visit a friend of mine..." and on and on she went. Asking where we were from and why we were here. She was very kind. By the time she was done questioning us the Loved Ones lunchmeat salad (a chef's salad but c'mon, really, it was slices of lunchmeat and cheese rolled up and plopped on top of iceberg lettuce) and my Greek salad (feta cheese, olives and a side of pita does not a Greek make) were ready. Our waitress left the check on our table and went out to smoke.
We had to finish our lunch quickly because we had a date with some llamas!
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