**Paris, November 10, 2020**
For days, Claire Vidal's card rested in the pocket of my worn jeans, pressed against my thigh like a treasure too precious to reveal. I often touched it with my fingertips, ensuring its reality. The Élysée. The presidential palace. Those words echoed in my mind like an unreachable dream.
Yet, each return to the Vilepin apartment reminded me of my urgent plight. Jacques-Cartier's gaze grew heavier, more insistent. His silences turned into mute accusations. Even the laughter of my cousins Jeanne and Vinette seemed muted by the surrounding tension.
One morning, after stowing my broom and cleaning supplies following an exhausting night shift, I gathered my courage. Seated on a deserted metro platform bench, I pulled out my phone and the crumpled card. My fingers trembled as I dialed the number.
The same voice, Claire Vidal's, answered almost instantly—professional and clear.
—Cabinet of the Presidency, good morning.
—Good morning, Madam… it's Maya. Maya from the metro. Charles de Gaulle…
A brief pause, then her voice softened slightly.
—Maya. Of course. How are you?
—I… I'm fine. Listen, madam, I know it's bold… but you mentioned job opportunities… at the Élysée?
I spoke quickly, fearing my resolve might falter.
—Indeed, she replied without hesitation. We're organizing a major diplomatic reception next week. We need extra staff for logistics and hospitality. Discreet, reliable people.
My heart quickened.
—Would you be interested? It's temporary, of course. Two weeks. But the pay exceeds standard rates, with fixed hours.
—Yes! Yes, madam, I'm very interested!
—Perfect. Come to the service entrance on Rue de l'Élysée tomorrow at eight. Ask for me at reception. We'll handle security formalities.
Security formalities. The phrase rang ominously. My papers. My precarious residence permit.
—Madam… I… I have a student visa, but…
She cut in, her tone reassuring yet firm.
—Don't worry about that. It's a temporary contract. The subcontracting firm manages those details. Your honesty is your strongest credential.
I hung up, breathless. It was real. I would work at the Élysée.
The next day, at precisely eight, I stood before the discreet service entrance of the palace, clutching my bag with my CV and papers. I'd dressed my best: black trousers and a white blouse borrowed from Vinette, a bit loose but clean and carefully ironed.
The security routine was as daunting as I'd feared: metal detectors, a thorough bag check, questions about my identity. The stern-faced officer scrutinized my residence permit at length before nodding and returning my documents.
—Wait here. We'll notify Mme Vidal.
Minutes later, Claire Vidal appeared, as impeccable as before, in a navy suit. She offered a brief smile.
—Maya. Welcome. Follow me.
She led me down a corridor lined with ancient paintings and creaking parquet. The air carried the scent of wax and aged wood.
—You'll join the team preparing the reception for African heads of state. Your tasks will include checking seating arrangements, assisting the protocol team, and ensuring guest comfort. You'll receive a list of names and titles. Your Senegalese background could be an asset.
She paused at a door, turning to me with a piercing gaze.
—Discretion is absolute, Maya. Here, we see everything, hear much, and repeat nothing. Understood?
—Yes, madam. Absolutely.
—Good. Go to office 214. They're expecting you for training.
She left me at the door, striding briskly down the hall.
I pushed open the door to office 214. A dozen people, all in sober, professional attire, sat around a table, listening intently to a woman outlining the seating plan.
All eyes turned to me as I entered. Curious gazes, some kind, others reserved.
The trainer, a woman in her fifties with stern glasses, pointed to an empty chair.
—You must be the new one. Mme Vidal's intern. Sit. We're on protocol seating. You'll need to catch up.
I sat, heart pounding, yet an inner smile illuminated my being.
Intern of Mme Vidal.
I was no longer just Maya, the metro cleaner. I was Maya, working at the Élysée.
Life had offered me an unexpected gift. And I was determined to prove myself worthy.