I dressed in my most exotic hippie party attire, including huge, floppy, bell-bottomed pants, psychedelic-colored tablecloth top with fluorescent orange burlap fringe, and headband to match my shoulder-length strawberry blond hair. "P-A-R-T-Y" just oozed from the image I examined in my mirror. The other American girls were so impressed, they begged to borrow some of my things so they could look like that, too!

Christian picked us up and drove us to the party which he said was being held somewhere out in the country. We arrived to find they had rented the basement of a castle! We entered a room dimly lit by indirect lighting which beautifully reflected off the ancient vaulted ceiling of stone above our heads. I remembered pictures I had seen of old European wine cellars. The room was already filled with students dancing to the music played by a band secluded in one corner.

In another corner, I found Dominique seated behind the refreshment counter serving drinks. "Well," I thought with some satisfaction. "I'm not the only one who got dressed up tonight." He not only had on a shirt, but a suit jacket as well. And he had shaved off his beard! I quickly decided to use the excuse that I was thirsty, to let him know I was there. As he served me the drink I asked for, a closer look confirmed my suspicion that he could actually be handsome when he made an effort!

All night long, I tried to get that young man to ask me to dance with him. I danced with all of his friends. I made certain we danced close enough to the refreshment area that Dominique could surely see me dancing. I laughed and flirted to the best of my abilities, casting side-long glances to see if he noticed. At one point, I was absolutely certain I caught him watching me, but he remained steadfast behind his refreshment counter and I remained frustrated in all my girlish efforts to entice him.

When I finally saw him leave his post behind the counter to sit in a chair at the edge of the dance floor, my frustrations won. I saw an empty chair beside him and boldly walked over and sat down. We talked for quite a while, but suddenly (as though he had just overcome a life-long fear) Dominique stood up before me and asked me to dance with him.

I was thrilled! It seemed I floated in the enchantment of the moment as we walked onto the dance floor. My bubble burst, however, when he stopped abruptly and said, as he took my hands, "I don't know how to dance. If I hurt you, you must tell me!" What is a girl to do in a moment like that?

I remember thinking, "Whatever happened to the American girl's image of the debonair, suave Frenchman who sweeps you off your feet, saying, 'Let me take you to zee Kasbah'?"

The band was playing a slow song, but it took only a few steps to realize Dominique was right. He did not know how to dance! But we danced, or I should say we "plodded" around the dance floor together for the rest of the evening. We enjoyed each other's company so much, that we soon became oblivious to everyone else and all that was happening around us. If the band played faster songs, it didn't matter to us. We continued our slow plod, talking and laughing together.

It wasn't until Dominique's sister came to remind him she needed a ride home that we realized nearly everyone else had left and we were on the dance floor alone. My spirit soared in triumph when Dominique offered me a ride home and put his arm around me as we walked to the car. "He likes me!" was the thought at the pinnacle of my mind. That conviction began to wobble slightly when we arrived at the car, and Dominique opened the door to put me in the back seat while he climbed into the driver's seat with his sister beside him! That same conviction crashed off its pinnacle entirely when he pulled up in front of my dormitory, stopped the car, and simply said, "Goodnight" with his hands still on the steering wheel, looking straight ahead!