Sometime ago, while just getting my feet wet at the Sorbonne, scared out of my wits, and working for a tour company that paid me in tips, I got an email. A production company in New York was looking for a host for a travel series they wanted to produce about Paris. They heard about me through a series of grapevines and reached out to ask if I’d like to work with them.
The fee? Some meals and the chance to be filmed with all of my clothes on. Already about as down and out as I could get, I said, sure, why not? Fancying myself an Anderson Cooper or Barbara Walters, I met the two producers and things got under way. Plus, I was at the point where I’d do most anything for a free meal. The clothes thing I wasn’t too picky about.