|New home in Menlo Park||
That summer, François analyzed oil prospecting data in a firm in Paris.
He had gotten the summer job from his brother's girlfriend's father who was a bigwig in the company.
Then, back in the U.S. with a first real work experience and some nice money in the pocket, his next objective was to find a new place to live.
In the meantime, his friend Harry invited him to stay in the room he was himself temporarily occupying in a fraternity.
Harry was an American student in the French department. He looked like Proust in the painting by J.-E. Blanche and was homosexual.
The first night, sharing a huge waterbed with his friend, François had to straighten some things out.
In this situation, François understood better how girls suffer from boys who don't understand that a girl can be friendly with you without meaning sex.
He and Harry decided nonetheless to live in a villa, sharing it with two or three other roommates to form a small community and split the rent.
In Menlo Park, near what was to become Facebook campus, they found a one floor five bedroom house with lemon and avocado trees in the garden.
They put ads on various bulletin boards across campus looking for roommates.
Harry got all excited with one candidate, a forty years old truck driver with tattoos currently living in Ashbury Heights in San Francisco.
François: Look, Harry, we are not auditioning for your next lover, but for people we're gonna live with.
Eventually, they selected Wayne, an engineer in a startup in computers, Belinda, a doctoral student in Education, and Sophia, an opera singer with no engagements, temporarily working as a waitress, all in their twenties.
Wayne was a burly guy who had grown up in the Midwest. He was speaking a lot about what seemed to be his main feat in life: to have befriended Joan Baez, remaining vague on how far it had gone.
Belinda was a small and private person, leaving in the morning and coming home at night, participating very little in the life of the house aside from her part of the chores.
Sophia, tall with long wavy brown hair and thick glasses, turned out to be a nymphomaniac, who would step out of the bathroom yelling: « Please nobody watch, I'm coming out naked! »
Everyone would dutifully turn toward the wall until she had entered her room and closed the door.
Although kooky, she was kindhearted, and -- no question -- she sang beautifully in the shower.
In the coming years, the house would become a well-known place for great parties.
Harry had also been delighted to discover that the neighbor was cultivating a field of marijuana behind the garage.