A ROMANCE IN PROVENCE

March - Part 2

The next day, I was pulled out of bed by Danielle in top form.

“Get up! We have a busy day!”

I woke up with this alarm clock fanfare searching in my brain still clouded by sleep, what was the reason that I got this excess of morning activity.

Danielle opened the shutters of my room wide, letting in a chill draft. The weak winter sun was already virulent enough for me to feel attacked by its rays, I protected myself from its assault, a hand in front of my eyes.

“Can you explain to me why you’re awake at...”

I looked through my fingers for the red numbers on the clock radio.

“8:10 am,” I continued. “On a Saturday morning, when you never get up before 10 am? And why did you suddenly feel compelled to share this event with me?”

She sat on the edge of my bed, pointing a finger at me.

“You and I are going to Avignon today. Leaving in an hour, I don’t expect you to be late.”

“And why do we have to cross the whole department all of a sudden? It’s almost an hour’s drive,” I grumbled.

“Because today you have a date,” she replied as if it were the logical explanation, and especially too obvious to mention.

“Yes, a date here, not in Avignon.”

This little discussion annoyed me slightly, I had hoped to sleep in that morning, especially since we had reached our beds quite late the night before. Or rather very early today.

“You don’t put much into it,” she breathed, rolling her eyes. “Who says date, and especially a first date, says new dress, new underwear. Don’t you want him to discover you in the best light?”

“I have two or three things in my wardrobe that’ll do the trick,” I said, stretching out and wrapping myself in my duvet.

“No way, Cali! I know what’s in your closet, at best you have dresses fit for nuns out to have a good time!”

“Not at all!” I was outraged. “First of all, you have no idea what’s in the back of my closet.”

“Of course I do. I was late on my laundry last week, I searched the whole closet for something clean to put on, before deciding with a heavy heart to put my old clothes back on with questionable hygiene.”

“Traitor! I have super cute clothes and...”

“You don’t need cute Cali. It’s sexy. Hugo must see only you tonight. As if the other women had been wiped off the face of the Earth.”

I understood at that moment that the negotiation was in vain. She had an idea in mind and I wouldn’t change it.

“OK, give me time to shower and swallow something,” I grumbled.

Danielle raised her fist as a sign of victory and disappeared into her room.

The journey was joyful. My morning bad mood couldn’t resist the Danielle bulldozer. The music in the car, loudly singing old Oasis or Aerosmith songs, while abusing my mother tongue, at times it sounded like a groupie on amphetamines.

Arriving in the City of the Popes, she transformed herself into a tourist guide, making me discover the must-see papal palaces and Saint-Bénézet bridge. At noon, we had lunch in a pizzeria. She teased me that eating a large meal before going to try on dresses wasn’t very wise, but I replied with a shrug. I was lucky not to have to worry too much about my weight, so I might as well enjoy it.

The quest for the perfect dress for my date with Hugo, therefore, began in the early afternoon. Danielle proclaimed that I needed something both elegant and sexy, in her own words: you have to show a little more than usual, without looking like a w***e.

As someone who was quite used to the huge malls found throughout the United States, I discovered another way of shopping. We skimmed the little shops in the city centre, scattered in charming pedestrian streets. Unlike impersonal department stores and overworked sellers, we were dealing with merchants who cared for their customers, undoubtedly motivated by the hope of a sale, but always helpful.

I finally set my sights on a black veil dress, highlighting my assets bequeathed by a rather generous genetic heritage on the neckline. Danielle had campaigned for the purchase of another fire engine red design, but I couldn’t see myself taking the plunge. I argued that black went perfectly with my blond hair. Danielle decided to buy the red for herself, pointing out that her closet would always be open to me.

The way back seemed very long to me, as Danielle was driving. I was already exhausted by this day, and I had to make it through the night. I sank, my cheek crushed against the window of my door, in a restful nap.

“Wow! You look great! exclaimed my roommate when I left the bathroom after a good hour of preparation.”

Shower, scrub, waxing, brushing, makeup. I had pulled out all the stops. Hugo always seemed so perfect I had to be up to the task. I didn’t want to be stared at by strangers in restaurants, wondering what a girl like me was doing with a man like him.

Speaking of Hugo, the doorbell rang and as I got my purse from the kitchen chair, Danielle hurried to open the door.

Hugo greeted her a little awkwardly, certainly not used to entering the privacy of one of his employees. I didn’t depend on him at work, I didn’t have that problem. But I realized he was Danielle’s boss. She hesitated for a second before saying:

“Come in, Monsieur Ricard, Cali is almost ready.”

Fortunately, he broke the deadlock by answering:

“Outside the hotel, I’m just Hugo.”

She nodded in approval, and he turned to me.

From the expression on his face, I understood that he liked what he saw.

I had slightly curled my hair, leaving it free on my shoulders. My makeup was a little more pronounced than usual, enhancing my hazelnut eyes.

Hugo’s gaze went up along my legs, sheathed in black and wearing vertiginous shoes, then on my dress which, I had to admit, fell perfectly. He stopped for a moment on my throat then climbed up to my face, stretching his with a satisfied smile.

“You look spectacular.”

These few words were whispered so that I could be the only witness triggered a pleasant tingling up my spine. Not knowing what to answer I broke out a banal:

“Thank you.”

“Do you have your coat?” he asked, looking for it.

He grabbed it from the chair and slipped it over my shoulders like the perfect gentleman he was. He definitely scored points. I was seriously considering letting him kiss me at the end of the night.

We waved to Danielle who wished us a good evening, not without throwing me some suggestive faces hard to fathom.

I had no idea where Hugo wanted to take me, but I was surprised at his choice, taken to a small restaurant in the village of Lacoste. I quickly decided that stilettos were certainly the indispensable element for an evening out in Manhattan, but that on the cobbled alleys of a small village in the Luberon, they had no place. Fortunately, Hugo gallantly offered his arm to guide me and didn’t let go until he entered the establishment to hold the door for me. He would certainly have the right to kiss me outside my door.

Once the maître d' indicated our table to us, he made him understand with a glance that he would take care of pulling my chair himself. I sighed in pleasure at so much attention. I was certain that Hugo was a worthy representative of French gallantry. To reward him, I’d even let him feel me up in the car.

The maître d' brought us the menus; we were in one of these restaurants where a copy is handed out to the ladies. The dishes all seemed more appetizing than each other. I suddenly realized that being in the land of fine dining for almost three months, I had not had the opportunity to test good restaurants. I had certainly tasted some of the hotel dishes, but never during a real evening with pleasant company.

I scanned the menu, which was only in French. My level in the language of Molière was rather good. I had started to learn it in school, my parents being convinced that it would be useful for me. My studies in Switzerland, and my work within the Western group with many French-speaking Canadians, allowed me to continue to practice and to make my conversations more and more fluent. Even if sometimes I had trouble understanding certain regionalisms, especially with Quebecois.

I frowned as I read the dishes. For me, there were either errors in the menu, or I wasn’t aware of what was offered to eat.

“Are there really people who eat wolf?”

“Yes, of course, there are very good ones around here.”

I looked at him completely lost. I knew that sometimes abroad, people could have customs different from ours in the United States, but from there to eating wolf…

“It’s not a protected species?”

“I don’t think so, they are very common in restaurants in the region.”

“Have you eaten it yourself?”

“Yes, of course, haven’t you?”

“Uh, never.”

“You should try, their flesh is really tender. And I know that the chef here cooks them divinely well, it’s a treat.”

Hugo plunged his nose back into his menu, and I was confused. How could anyone eat wolf? It sent a chill down my back, this animal was not so different from Rowdy, my parents’ German shepherd. I took a look at the menu, I had to find something else. Eating wolf is out of the question, even if it had devoured a dozen children who made its flesh so delicate. My attention was drawn to a detail.

“Why is the wolf classified in fish?”

“Well, because it is one,” replied Hugo, surprised by my question.

Then his face lit up, and he smiled.

“Oh! I understand! You thought I was talking about the wolf that lives in the forest! That of Little Red Riding Hood?”

“Yes...” I stammered shyly.

“You don’t understand! The wolf is a fish!”

I sighed in relief.

“So you don’t eat...”

“No! What a horror! I thought you knew this fish, especially working in the hotel industry.”

I was a little annoyed by his remark, even if he hadn’t wanted to be mean.

“Your language is eccentric when you talk about food,” I grumbled.

“Not at all, what makes you say that?”

“You call one of your finest inventions: the baguette, bread. Admit that this isn’t at all what you feel when you eat it!”

“On this point, you’re right. But I doubt that the one who gave it its name at the time was English-speaking.”

“You give humorous names to very simple dishes. How can we foreigners understand that ‘the melting sweetness of the cocoa tree on its vanilla bed’ is a chocolate cake with custard! And then you eat really weird stuff.”

“Come on,” he replied, shaking his head

“Uh, snails, frogs’ legs, smelly cheeses…”

We continued for a moment to debate the originality of French cuisine in our two languages, for example, scallops and cutlets.

After this moment of confusion, if there was a perfect first date, this one would come dangerously close. Hugo was at the same time considerate, interested, asking questions about my life, my tastes without ever going beyond the limits of polite curiosity.

He got out of his elegant sedan to take me to my door, and the closer it got, the more I became anxious. During the evening, he had only caressed the back of my hand. Was he going to kiss me again? Would he like to come in for a nightcap? Is Danielle still up? How did the first date in France end?

We stopped at the door, and I pulled out my keys.

“I had a great evening,” I said, giving him a smile which I hoped would support my remark.

“So did I,” he replied.

I looked at him foolishly, twisting my sleeve. He came a little closer. His hand released a strand of hair from my face and rested on my cheek.

The beating of my heart quickened. We were there, he was going to kiss me. His face slowly leaned towards mine... And that’s where I saw it! A figure was lurking in the shadows just a few meters from us. Someone was spying on us? It didn’t make sense!

I quickly backed away from the surprise. Hugo’s eyes widened in amazement, clearly not expecting this reaction from me.

“Who are you?” I shouted in my mother tongue instinctively.

Realizing that there was little chance that the person was English-speaking, I resumed in French:

“Who are you? And what do you want?”

We heard a loud crash, coupled with a string of curses.

I drew my cell phone, finally finding a use for the flashlight function. I went around Hugo and pointed the light at the intruder. He was turned in my direction, but his hand in front of his face, prevented me from seeing if it was someone I knew.

“Cali! Lower your light, and come near without turning it off, it’ll be useful to me.”

“Vincent? But what are you doing hiding in the dark? It’s not okay, you scared the hell out of me!”

“In your opinion, do you think that I improvised a game of hide and seek and that I’m winning?”

I approached him and saw that he had a No. 9 face. He now had his arms crossed over his chest and was brooding in anger.

“Who’s he?” he asked, pointing to Hugo with his chin.

“Vincent, this is Hugo ... the manager of the Bastide Western. And Hugo I present to you Vincent, the charming cousin of Danielle who lives right next door.”

I voluntarily pressed the charming to make him understand that I had very little appreciation for his boorish manner.

Hugo, however, hastened to shake his hand and add a polite phrase like—delighted to meet you, or something like that.

I hesitated for a moment to introduce him, not knowing what label to give him: friend? Date? Boyfriend was a little too presumptuous at the moment. I had decided on the professional label.

“Are you coming home from work?” Vincent asked in a tone a little too inquisitive for my taste and accompanied by a proper examination of my outfit.

“How does that concern you?” I got angry, sighing. “You still haven’t told me what you were doing there in the dark.”

He glared at me. The door to our apartment opened behind us.

“What’s going on here?” Danielle asked. “Cali is that you? Vincent? What are you doing in the dark?”

“The fuses blew in my house and I was trying to put them back,” Vincent replied to his cousin, which finally gave me an explanation.

“Without a flashlight?” I couldn’t help but point out.

“Yes, Sherlock. Because you see I was looking for my torch, but without luck, because it was rather dark in my house.”

“Stop arguing with each other. Cali lend him your cell phone so he can turn on the electricity and go home, we’re freezing here.”

Hugo then approached me.

“I think I’ll leave you, it’s already late. See you Monday at work?”

“Oh. Uh... Yes, of course, see you Monday.”

I was disappointed that he abandoned me like that and that he didn’t even wait for Vincent and Danielle to go home, to say goodbye to me in a more… more intense way! He placed a nice kiss on my cheek like my father would have done, and walked away towards his car.

Vincent, who was still squatting while fiddling with I don’t know what in the electric cupboard, got up. He came over to give me back my cell phone, and when I took it, he grabbed my hand. Not understanding I looked at him unapprovingly.

“Thank you, Cali, and excuse me for a while ago, I know that I wasn’t very nice. I had a crappy day, not that it explains my behaviour, but being in the dark was the last straw.”

He then released my hand. I was stunned, the last thing I expected from him was an apology.

“It doesn’t matter, we all have our moments,” I stammered.

“Good Cali, hurry. We’re going to catch our death outside!” grumbled Danielle.

“Good night, Vincent,” I said to him before I turn around to go home.

“Good night, Cali,” I heard him answer me softly.

The next day, I decided to question Danielle.

“Why does your cousin have such a short fuse with me?”

“His fuse is that short?”

“Yes, he’s very sensitive with me, he doesn’t have much patience.”

“Ahh! I understand. You mean Vincent?”

“Yes, of course, do you see another cousin?” I replied, rolling my eyes.

“Well, actually, on my mother’s side I have four of them. There’s Livio the elder and then Matteo…”

“Great! We’ll review your family tree another time! Let’s focus! What did I do to Vincent to systematically deserve a look at the top of the boredom scale, and especially so that he always gives the impression that he would rather spend the evening listening to Death Metal than talking to me?”

“It wouldn’t be impossible for him to appreciate Death Metal, he listened to a lot of Hard Rock in his youth…”

“Danielle!” I interrupted her a little tired.

“Really! You think so? I think he likes you,” she said, shrugging.

“You think that he likes me? You didn’t listen to anything I told you. I swear to you that in my opinion, he can’t wait for me to take a plane and return home.”

“I don’t think you’re the problem.”

“Ahah! You finally admit that he’s not the happy fun-time guy that you’ve been trying to portray him as for two months.”

She gave me a murderous look.

“The past few years have been a bit harsh for him, but I assure you he hasn’t always been like this.”

“What happened?” I asked curious to learn a little more.

“Well, first of all, know that Vincent at the beginning wasn’t an auto mechanic. He left the region just after graduation at 18 and went to an engineering school in Paris. He worked very hard and was hired in a big American defence firm. He started to climb a few steps, and that’s when he met Melissa. She was the daughter of his boss, she also worked in the company. They went out with colleagues one evening, flirted, and you can guess how the evening ended. They didn’t see each other again, except at work. About two and a half months later, she came to find him and told him that she was pregnant. Vincent immediately took responsibility for ensuring his financial support and also for the child’s education. He even offered to marry her! She wouldn’t hear of it. It was out of the question for her to marry the son of a small provincial garage owner. For one night yes, but certainly not for life. They never lived together. And then Rose was born.”

When the little girl was mentioned, she smiled and continued.

“For Vincent, it was a revelation. As you could see for yourself, he became crazy about her from the moment he held her in his arms. Melissa, she wasn’t the maternal type. So that when they were all still living in Paris, Vincent took care of her a lot, he even changed employers to be able to devote more time to his daughter. Unfortunately, sometime later his father fell ill. He started to do a lot of back and forth between here and Paris, also trying to keep his father’s garage afloat while his father was in decline. You should have seen Vincent at that time, he was exhausted. It almost looked like he was sick too. Rose wasn’t yet in school, so he often took her with him. It was at this point that Melissa met someone and married him. They moved to the Côte d’Azur, and she discovered that she wanted to take care of her baby. So she took her daughter back. My uncle died, Vincent decided to settle here at the same time to help Mireille, take back his father’s garage and also get closer to Rose. Since then Melissa has regularly blackmailed him with the little one. At one point she blames him for having Rose with her all the time, the next time she doesn’t want her to leave. Yesterday, I think she told him that she wanted to take her on the next vacation and that he wouldn’t see her.”

“But he doesn’t have custody or anything like that?”

“It’s complicated, even though custody rights have been established, Melissa is stubborn. She blames him for getting her pregnant, and then she makes him pay for it. And as she’s American, she could decide to go back at any time to live there and take Rose away from her father. So he does everything he can to help her, especially for his daughter’s sake.”

“Well, I understand that all this isn’t fun every day. I had no idea it was so difficult with Rose’s mother. I don’t want to relate everything to me, but do you think he’s mad at me because I’m American like Melissa?”

“She’s indeed a blonde with hazel eyes like you and American, but I promise you the comparison stops there.”

“And since he has Rose, he hasn’t met anyone?” I asked.

“Why, do you want to apply? As far as I know, the way is clear, I’ve not known him in a serious relationship for years.”

“No, thank you, and I remind you that just yesterday I had a date with a charming man.”

“Yes, it’s true with all this you haven’t told me about your evening!”

I then began to describe in detail my date with Hugo.