Ever since she was nine, Beverley had wanted to go to Paris. So finally, after college, she did. She bought a one-way ticket and lived there for three and a half years. These pages tell of those days in the 50s when she lived in a garret, studied at the Sorbonne, attended tea dances at the American Club, bought francs from a black marketer named Freddie. To support herself, she wrote for UNESCO Features and a small news service and filed top secret, but boring, documents for the US Department of Defense. For fun Bev skied in Switzerland and Austria; youth hosteled on the Riviera; dressed up for fashion shows at Schiaparelli and horse races at Auteuil. Along the way, she drank long coffees at the Dome, the Select and the Deux Magots; toured the Tabou and other dark, damp caves; and sipped onion soup at the old Les Halles at 3 a.m. Meanwhile she hung out with various writers and artists, and or course fell in and out of love several times. Finally, after those three and a half years, she sailed back to the US, landed a job as a reporter for the San Francisco Chronicle, then for several more years lived and worked in New York, where she met and married a dashing, martini-loving, New York writer. They had two spirited sons and moved to Bainbridge where Beverley taught ESL. Then, at 70 and solo, with a backpack and laptop, she began going back to Paris, again and again.