A ROMANCE IN CANNES

Chapter 18

The day after my evening with Georges, I left the hotel a little earlier. I was tired. I had slept badly. I had spent a good part of the night rehashing everything we had said to each other, not to mention his last statement which had disturbed me. I also remember the happy coincidence that had meant that I hadn’t met him at work that day.

I come home and spend some time slumped on my couch playing with my phone. Common sense would have dictated that I started tidying up my den, for example, but I had no desire to.

However, after a while, I got bored. The idea of staying the whole evening alone with a salad and some series on TV didn’t thrill me more than that. I could have called Cali, but she told me she was going to a cooking class on Tuesday. I burst out laughing when she told me the news, joking that it would take more than one to not remain a walking disaster behind the stove. But, also not wanting my cousin to fear for his life every time he would have to swallow something she had prepared, I then warmly encouraged her to go.

I then decided to launch a dating app on my phone. Since I was in Cannes, I had spent very little time on the sites. It was certainly a wish on my part, but I quickly realised that I didn’t miss it either. To be honest, I still felt like I was going through a great desert crossing, sexually speaking, but I’d had a lot to do since my arrival and getting laid hadn’t been at the top of my priorities. Maybe it is time to broadcast now? So I spent a few minutes chatting with a certain Leo, who seemed charming. Until he confessed to me that his hairiness had caused him some problems in the past with women. Unwilling to find out if the fur on his back was to my liking, I managed to divert the conversation to the usefulness of IPL hair removal. Then I pretended to have to leave.

Still not wanting to spend my evening alone, I made the rounds of people I could call. Georges, no way, he was at the hotel for the evening service anyway. Some Emir was staying, and I knew he had reserved half of the restaurant. I doubted that Georges had left his second chef in command. Moreover, we had already seen each other yesterday, and it was, in my opinion, more judicious to wait a few days before repeating the experience.

Vero? The funny owner of the souvenir shop had messaged me to try to see each other. However, I didn’t want to go out again tonight. So I put this option aside.

The list of people I knew in Cannes and with whom I could share a meal wasn’t very long. There was only one person left: Victor. Apart from our brief encounter yesterday in the hallway, I hadn’t had the opportunity to see him. This might be the occasion.

So I took my carcass off my sofa, quickly checked my appearance in the hall mirror and went out to knock on his door.

As usual, he opened the door with the look of someone wondering what I could be doing there. But I quickly forgot his uncommitted attitude, because my brain was focused on something else. Victor was shirtless. And the least we can say is that, under his geek T-shirts, my neighbour hid his game well. And no hair issues like poor Leo. Just a little bead of sweat that rolled down his chest and slid down in the direction of…

“Can I do something for you?” Victor asked.

I looked up, ashamed to be caught in the act of ogling, because yes, given the little smirk he wore, he had clearly understood what I was doing.

“Uh… hi,” I stammered. “Am I bothering you?”

“No, I just did a little exercise, I was going to take a shower,” he told me.

Well done! Now I had a vision of him, in the shower, completely naked. What was wrong with me? Yes, I know what. Long months without s*x, and now I was exhilarated at the sight of the first naked torso that passed in front of me. In my defence, it was a very nice chest. The little exercise must have been slightly underestimated. I try to focus on what I came for, and forget about my neighbour’s pecs.

“I thought we could eat together? Well, if you’re not busy… otherwise I can… well, it doesn’t matter, we can do that another time.”

Now I was starting to stammer like a poor schoolgirl.

“Yes. With pleasure,” he added. “Let me take my shower and we can order pizza if you want.”

“I can also cook something during that time.”

And thus avoid thinking too much about the fact that the drops of water will be damn lucky.

“I’m not going to refuse a good home-cooked meal. I’ll join you at your place?”

“Okay, that’s good.”

I returned to my home and, once the door closed, I became aware of two things. First, I foolishly thought that we would eat at his place like the first time. My apartment was in no condition to receive people, especially someone who would come for the first time. Second, I had no idea what I was going to be able to feed him. I had gone to ring his doorbell without thinking about it. Since I haven’t had many opportunities to cook for anyone since I’ve been here, except for him the first time, my arrangements were pretty sketchy.

Help! Help! I needed a plan.

I quickly opened my fridge and cupboards, then decided on some pasta. It was the only thing I had in sufficient quantity. And men love pasta, right? Pasta, potatoes, steak and beer are their basic diet? And then he had just exercised. At least that would give me time to tidy up while it cooked.

I put a pot of water on the stove and then ran to the living room. I gather the more or less dirty clothes scattered here and there. I peeked under the sofa and found a thong which I added to my pile. It’ll save me a phenomenal shame if he stumbles upon it in the middle of the meal.

Arms loaded, I headed for the bathroom to put my collection in the bin dedicated to dirty laundry. It was already full to the brim. I thought that if he ever went there to wash his hands, he could see right away that I was far from being a housewife. So I turned back and went to the bedroom. I still had my arms full, I had to get rid of all this. I decided to put everything under the bed. I then went to open the windows of the living room to ventilate and quickly passed a cloth over the shelves and the TV cabinet. I put the pasta in the water and continued my improvised cleaning with a single watchword: do what is seen first.

He knocked at the door. I could have sworn he had taken the fastest shower ever. The ends of his hair were still wet, making it darker. He had unfortunately put on a T-shirt – or fortunately, for my sanity – and smelled clean. A smell of masculine shower gel without a doubt.

I invited him in and stared at him in my living room.

“It’s nice, what you did with the place.”

I had added curtains, a few cushions on the sofa, a plaid, photos of my family, just to make the place a little warmer.

“Did you see the apartment before I moved in?”

“Yeah.”

Pure Victor. Of course, he doesn’t say more.

“I hope you like pasta. I didn’t have much, sorry.”

“Danielle, I eat most of my meals in microwaveable trays. A homemade dish is a great luxury for me. Also, it smells divinely good.”

“Don’t expect too much, either. It’s simple tomato sauce.”

“I’m not picky, I like everything.”

“It’s good to know, next time, I won’t have to hesitate to serve you turnips.”

He made a small face.

“Ah! You see! You don’t like everything! Liar!”

“If you make them, I’ll eat them anyway. My mother raised me well.”

“Speaking of your dear mom, how is she?” I asked, handing him a beer I had just taken out of the fridge.

He took a sip and replied:

“Fine, except now that she’s retired, she has twice as much time to devote to me.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He sighed.

“My brother and my sister are married with kids, so when she’s not playing granny, her main concern is trying to set me up with the daughter of one of her friends, for example.”

“And it works?”

“For now, I can still say no to her incessant assaults, but I feel that she’ll eventually wear me out. I’m going to have to go out to dinner with a weird girl just to please her.”

“Why would she be weird? Come to think of it, your mother told me she had a son to introduce me to.”

“Why doesn’t that even surprise me?” he retorted, rolling his eyes.

“Something that would have been nice to say is: no Danielle, you’re not weird.”

Instead of going in my direction, he asks me:

“And why did you tell her no?”

“Well, I didn’t know she was talking about you.”

I realised that what I had just said could have a double meaning, that if I had known it was him, I might have accepted. Also, I hasten to add:

“Anyway, I don’t have dates.”

“You had one last night,” he counters.

“How do you know that?” I wondered.

When I met him, I didn’t say why I was going out.

“You weren’t dressed to go to the gym.”

“So what? I could have an appointment with a friend.”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t look convinced.

“Anyway, you just admitted you had a date,” he pointed out.

“It wasn’t a date! I was eating with a friend.”

“And that friend was Georges?”

“Yes! How did you guess?”

I was annoyed that he knew so much, but I also wanted to know why.

“Simple assumption. I saw that you seemed close last time.”

“We work together.”

“Is that what young people today call it?” he laughs.

“I’m not sleeping with Georges! And even if I was, I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m not asking you about your love life.”

He raised his hands in front of him.

“Hey, calm down! I didn’t ask you for any explanation. You’re right, it doesn’t concern me what you do or don’t do with Georges. I just wanted to tease you a little, like a friend. We’re friends, right?”

He was the second man in less than forty-eight hours to ask me to be my friend. I had few male friends. In truth, apart from Alexandre, whom I considered a kind of brother, and Vincent, my cousin, I essentially had no male friends.

“We’re friends,” I confirmed, raising my beer to toast the news.

He imitated me and then took a sip. I couldn’t help but notice the way his Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. Do friends have the right to find that sexy?

I chased that thought from my brain and tried to divert the conversation to lighter topics. Things that friends who seem to know each other exchange. The rest of the evening passed in a good mood. However, I had trouble pinpointing Victor. He could be funny and teasing at times, just as he could scowl and reply in monosyllables at others. I had the impression that, as soon as one touched on his personal sphere, he closed like an oyster. I hope that in time he’ll learn to open up to me. But for that, I had to earn his trust. I was ready to make this effort if, in exchange, I gained a friend. It was time for me to anchor my life here; connecting with the people around me seemed like a good way to do that.