The grandmother said she’d once had a drink with a famous American writer, in a Paris cafe. It was La Palette, she remembered, which was known to be frequented by artists. This was after the war. The grandmother didn’t know who the woman was at first, but when she heard her speaking English, she was relieved.
She asked the writer what she was doing in Paris.
“Getting drunk,” the writer said.
Then she went into a long story about her husband, who was still in Germany, and how they hoped to spend a weekend in Paris before returning to Florida.
She asked the writer if she was married.
“Like I said.”