Matching Pantone While Shopping

“It’s more a dusty plum, rather than a pink,” she explains to him. They had spent at least thirty minutes walking around. Picking out Pantone colors online and assigning it to rooms was far easier than walking around the store with a physical sample to see what would work. There was nothing immediate to purchase, it was more planning of what was to come. The better stores they would go to once established. This location was more for ideas and having a place to walk around that would end with a reward of an ice cream cone and other treats.

“The other color is definitely an ecru,” he said while smiling. Ecru. He was definitely flirting. She wanted to throw a barb to trip him up, but he looked too cute to tease.

“Ecru is definitely a good color for linens. In fact, let’s head over there.” That was another half an hour. She threw at least half a dozen duvet covers in his direction. “Of course the color of the duvet matters. It matters more than most life decisions.” She was laughing, but she was also dead serious.

“How can it possibly matter that much? Pick a color and go with it,” he countered.

“The duvet cover can be multi-colored. You can also pick solid colors that match the theme of the rest of the room. Think of the carpet in the bedroom, the liner in the hallway, the bathroom rug, to the shower curtain. Do they all match? Do they create a story for the room? What does it convey? How does it make you feel?”

“How does it make you feel?” He had a way of cutting through her grandiose soliloquies and getting to the point. It was a very strong trait of his, but she would never let him know. She paused a moment, giving the question enough room to breathe so as not to let on that the conversation had strayed from the surface to something deeper.

“Order calms me, from the layout of a room to color schemes.”

He looked at the duvet covers and answered simply, “I like cool colors for the walls, but maybe warmer colors for sheets.”

They continued through the store and arrived at the food court. It was time for treats. Not much had been accomplished other than gathering inspiration, but sometimes, that’s enough of a win.

“Are you just getting an ice cream cone?” he asked.

“I’m indecisive, but I think so. You should get the meatballs while we’re here.”

“I don’t know if I want to eat,” he said.

“You’ve been trim your entire life, get the meatballs with the ice cream.”

He laughed and did as she suggested.

Seated with their spoils they ate in silence.

He finished his meatballs and looked towards her. “I do have a question.”

“Go for it.”

“Real answers only.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“Why New Orleans?” Again, he didn’t elaborate, but he had a way of getting straight to the point.

“I love Edith Piaf. La Vie en Rose reminds me of my grandmother, but people mistakenly believe I gravitate to Paris because of my love of 1940’s French music. Not the case. New Orleans is my town. Reading of Lestat walking the streets of the Garden District for a century definitely drew me to the town.

I’ve yet to make it there, but I can hear the music that would be playing when I finally walk down Bourbon street. I quit smoking years ago, but I will allow myself one cigarette when I’m finally seated somewhere in the Big Easy with a bourbon blackberry smash. You’ve heard me go on about songs and sliding doors. I also believe places hold the same kind of power. The French Quarter holds that kind of mystique and power for me.”

His features were unreadable. He took in her words, but he gave no hint of what he thought. “Who are you in New Orleans with?” Again, with getting straight to the point.

“That’s two questions,” she said jokingly. He didn’t laugh. She guessed she had to explain.

“Am I eating at Broussard’s by myself? Is someone passing me that ashtray for my one cigarette? Who’s sitting out on the balcony of Lafitte while I’m watching everyone on Bourbon street trickle home? After paying my respects to Akasha’s statue and I return to my table, who’s next to me at that banquet? I don’t know. I can’t see the future.” If she was good at anything, it was saying everything while burying the lead.

He looked at her and then out at the store. “I don’t think you should drink that bourbon blackberry smash alone.”

“J’t’ai attendu 100 ans dans les rues en noir et blanc. You don’t say.”

2025 update - dear readers, she in fact drank that blackberry smash alone with her cigarette. New Orleans is still hers alone.