Trouble With Gaspard

After talking to Lu the other day, I thought she had calmed down, recognizing she was now with a man who appreciated her, and she could finally relax and enjoy the finer things in life. Lucia had grown up suspicious. If you were nice to her, she thought there was an ulterior motive – why are you being nice, what do you want from me, what do you want me to do for you, so on and so on. (When we first met, she was stand offish, until she realized there wasn’t a damn thing I wanted from her. Hoo boy, was that a process!)
Anyway, around 4:30 this morning my phone rang. I was in a deep sleep and answered the phone in a barely coherent voice. It was Lu, sobbing. Lu never sobs; she barely eeks out a tear at sad movies (Old Yeller made her cry. That’s about it)
“What’s wrong, are you okay, what do you need?” the words came tumbling out of my mouth, as I was now wide awake and slightly alarmed.
“No, I’m not all right. He lied!” she sobbed.
“What did he lie about, Lu?”
“D’arcy, I feel like such a fool!”
“Lu, tell me. Do I need to get on a plane and come there? I don’t even know exactly where you are, but I’ll meet you, if you want.”
“You’re going to think I’m stupid for running off with him. He’s a liar!”
She’s wailing now.
“Lu – tell me what the problem is.”
(Deep breath) “He’s not French!”
“What do you mean he’s not French? I’ve spoken to him in French.”
“No, he’s not. I saw his passport!”
I waited.
“He’s BELGIAN!!”
I dropped the phone.