Green Card, Blue Shoes
Tired of waiting tables at the Yacht Club, in June, she writes a romance novel. In July, just before she leaves for Paris, she meets a Frenchman who would like to marry her and who she would like to marry—each has fallen in love with the other’s country. They spend a week in Provence together, cherries and hazelnuts being sold in the markets. He’s like a pair of shoes I once bought, she says. Little blue Italian sculptures that went with nothing in my wardrobe or any future wardrobe. When Harlequin rejects her book—not enough sex, she is told—she doesn’t despair but begins rewriting it, switching genres, replacing love scenes with murders.