Chapter 5

Two million Americans

  1. Monday morning in the kitchen: Gérard, Monique and Chloé, haggard, have not slept; Papy René snores on his chair, his one tooth showing.

    Rrrrhh…

    Monday morning. Nobody slept. Except Papy René, who hasn’t woken up since Saturday.

  2. Chloé holds out her phone to Monique, who squints at it, a hair roller hanging loose.

    Mom. Maddie filmed Dad at dinner Saturday. Two million views.

    Two million what?

  3. In the farm kitchen, Maddie, Chloé’s best friend from college, reads the comments off her phone, a giant coffee in hand; next to her Gérard has frozen, ear stretched, a hand on his heart.

    “This man is the most French thing I’ve ever seen.” Two million of those.

    …Read it again. Slower.

  4. Maddie holds out her open hand to Gérard, one eyebrow up; Gérard crosses his arms and turns his nose up at her.

    So. A little credit? “Filmed by Maddie”?

    In France, the artist takes everything!

  5. Gérard presses his nose against the screen of the old TV and fogs it up, thinking very hard; Kévin gives a thumbs up behind him.

    They watch me through the TV… So when I yell at the TV…

    You are the TV now, bro. No, wait.

  6. Seen from inside the TV: Gérard yells straight at us, mouth wide open, finger pointed at the viewer.

    HEY, AMERICA!

    Somewhere in Ohio, two million people drop their fork.

  7. Gérard points triumphantly at the gravy stain on Monique’s apron; Monique’s nostrils flare and her hand looks for a baguette.

    We’re famous! Put on your good apron! The one without gravy… ah, you don’t have one.

  8. Monique brings the baguette down on Gérard’s head, his beret flies; Papy René, awake, looks straight at us, hugging a camembert to hide it.

    BONK!

    Two million Americans? Hide the cheese.