A ROMANCE IN CANNES

Chapter 13

I spent my day playing the perfect tourist, except that I was missing the camera around my neck.

I started my visit to Cannes with the Forville market, as Edith had advised me, wandering between the colourful market gardeners’ stalls and admiring those of the fishmongers. Living so close to the sea was new to me, and I hope to take the opportunity to enjoy some fish straight out of the Mediterranean. I love to cook, I felt that this place would see me again very soon and, if it wasn’t to fill my fridge, it might be to buy some flowers there to brighten up my apartment.

I then went down in the direction of the sea, passing close to the town hall, then turned left to follow a quay in the Pantiero port, towards the Palais des Festivals. On the other side of the street, games of boules were being played. No doubt, we were in the South! The sound of balls crashing together was familiar. I immediately thought of my grandfather. Was he also enjoying the spring sun while clocking in with his buddies?

I continued my walk and arrived at the foot of the Palais des Festivals. It was much less impressive without a red carpet. The Japanese tourists replaced the stars on the famous steps, and I gladly helped them by taking some pictures with their cameras. I then have fun reading the names of personalities who have left their mark on the esplanade, like the Walk of Fame in Los Angeles. Everything was done here to remind us that, for two weeks in May, Cannes became a world of cinema. I was eager to discover this aspect of the city, but also a little scared. I had been warned that it would be the most intense fortnight of the year at work. Even if others weren’t far from it. Indeed, I had learned that hardly a month goes by without there being a major event that causes the hotels to be taken by storm. Moreover, the international market for television programs was to begin a few days later. As I arrived on the Croisette, I noticed that event company trucks were scrambling to unload equipment, and giant posters were plastered on the facades of hotels and a few buildings.

Although I worked every day on the famous boulevard, perhaps I rarely had time to come and stroll here. I passed in front of the Western Palace but paid no attention to it. I preferred to focus on the magnificent panorama that was on the other side. The sandy beaches in the centre, on the left, the Pointe Croisette, and on the right the red rocks of the Estérel, which fell steeply into a sparkling sea. In the middle, Sainte-Marguerite Island, one of the two main islands of Lérins, and its fortress which, according to legend, hosted the Iron Mask.

I decided to go eat at the beach. There were plenty of restaurants, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the sea. Before living here, I hadn’t realised it could have so many different colours. From turquoise to navy blue, it could turn grey when the skies clouded over, even brown when heavy rains were involved. On the same day, it constantly changed its appearance. It looked like a lake in the morning, calm and soothing, and sometimes turned into fury agitated by the swell a few hours later, with the foam streaking it white.

I ordered a salad. Far from being embarrassed by the fact of eating alone, I take this opportunity to observe the people seated around me. Active people who come to stock up on vitamin D before going back to work. Young women with neatly straightened hair, spending as much time chatting as taking selfies, mouths in pouts, probably immediately posted on social networks. Without forgetting the famous pensioners who took advantage of the Riviera sun. It was normal, given that we were in the middle of the week, that they represented the majority of the establishment’s customers. There was something for everyone: the group of girlfriends in flashy outfits, the classy, good-natured couple – the gentleman in his carefully ironed polo shirt and the lady with a huge diamond on her finger – the woman having lunch alone with her Yorkshire terrier, that wears the same pink bow on its head as its mistress.

After having swallowed a coffee and paid my bill, I continued my journey in Cannes. I was in the mood to spend some money. So I went to Rue d’Antibes, where most of the big names are. I had decided to treat myself to a little dress. Having in mind to spice up my evenings in the coming weeks with a date or two, I needed an adequate outfit. Not that my closet doesn’t have any. But, I’m a girl who loves shopping. And I also enjoy dressing up. I mean, not just wearing clothes, no. Getting ready for a special occasion, putting on an outfit that compliments me, putting on makeup, doing my hair, to please, but also a little for me. I’m lucky – or unlucky – to have a uniform at work, which prohibits improvisation in the morning, and above all leaves little room for my creativity. I’m not asked to be very original in my way of dressing, but I like to combine different pieces, to create a new style. When I’m not at work and I have to go out, I never put on the first choice that comes to hand. I prefer to spend time selecting my outfit.

I toured the shops and changing rooms one after the other to find a rare pearl. I was euphoric at the idea that I had such a choice only ten minutes from my home. In my hometown, that wasn’t the case. It had never really given me any problems; nevertheless, I was happy with the change. After rue d’Antibes, I went on to rue Meynadier. The signs of known chains gave way to small local shops. The street was pedestrianised and the atmosphere there was different, more typical.

I realised that I must not be far from Vero’s store, whom I had met at the bar one evening. I wondered if she would remember me. Shall I go see her? I looked up to find the sign bearing her name. After only several hundred metres, I found it. The shop was completely open to the outside. The walls were painted orange-yellow and accented with dark red. The products offered for sale also leave no doubt: here, people come for the authentic. At least, we hoped to find it. Because I wasn’t sure that, out of a lot of little trinkets, all had been made in France. In my opinion, a few originated in the Middle East.

“Danielle! What a nice surprise!”

Vero recognized me immediately. She wore an electric blue dress, again close to the body, as well as clogs with wedge heels. Her hair was slicked back, unlike the first time I’d met her; her make-up, on the other hand, was still as conspicuous: lips circled in pencil, eyeshadow matching her outfit and mascara in abundance.

She almost throws herself into my arms and plants two sound kisses on my cheeks.

“I was wondering if you would end up passing! I’m so glad you’re here! So what have you been up to?”

“Well, not much, to be honest…”

She clicked her tongue – or maybe her chewing gum – disapprovingly.

“My my my! I’m sure you’ve spent most of your time at work or at home since I saw you. Am I wrong?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Hey! There’s more to life than work! Look at me. Of course, I have a shop and I’m far from unemployed, but I don’t forget to have fun, either. Life is too short to do nothing but work!”

“You’re probably right,” I nodded.

“Of course, I’m right,” she said in a tone that meant I couldn’t for a second question that idea. “Come! I’ll show you a bit of the shop.”

She showed me around the place, which didn’t take very long, since it wasn’t huge. But Vero showed me its flagship products – who thought snow globes still had followers? –, her favourites and, of course, her little fashion corner, as she liked to call it.

“Look at this! Isn’t it so nice?”

She showed me a dress that I thought was just big enough for Rose. Except that, I doubt that we make dresses with such a neckline for children.

“It’s totally your style,” adds Vero, slapping it on my chest.

“I’m not sure... Isn’t it a bit small?”

“No! With high heels, you’ll be all the rage in the club!”

“You know, I don’t have much time to go out right now,” I objected.

Not to mention the fact that I couldn’t see myself going clubbing alone.

“Go on! Go try it on in the back!”

“I…”

“To please me!” she begged. “Afterwards, if you don’t like it, too bad. But I’m sure you’ll love it.”

I let myself be convinced by Vero. I was certain that the dress wouldn’t suit me, but it didn’t cost me anything to put it on, especially if, after that, she left me alone.

I take off the dress I’m wearing and put on Vero’s instead, then look at myself in a mirror on the back wall. To my surprise, it covered the essential parts of my body. I wouldn’t even go so far as to say it was good, but I could hope to go out into the street without provoking an indecency charge. Obviously, it hid nothing about my curves. My cleavage was generously exposed and my buttocks moulded like a second skin. I have to admit that the result wasn’t so bad.

“So?” Vero shouted through the door. “Come show me!”

I opened the door and came face to face with her. She emitted an appreciated whistle.

“It fits you like a glove! You see, I wasn’t mistaken. When I saw it, I knew it was made for you.”

I turned in front of another mirror in the shop and appreciated what I saw. I thought I was sexy and loved the feeling. I was already imagining myself wearing it on a date. What man could resist that? I have to admit that Vero had an eye; who would have believed it? Not me anyway.

“You know, with rhinestone stilettos, it would go great! And then, you should give yourself some blond streaks to give a little relief to your face. You know, my best friend Cindy is a home hairdresser. She could do something extra for you. And for less. If you want, I can call her and set you up an appointment quickly?”

“I’ll be fine, I’m willing to buy the dress, though.”

I certainly didn’t want to add blond streaks to my dark brown hair. I liked it as it was. As for rhinestone stilettos, that wasn’t my thing. Vero didn’t insist, too happy to learn that I was leaving with the dress. I approached the checkout to pay for my purchase when a strange noise to my left startled me.

“What’s that?” I asked, looking at the ceramic cicadas hanging on the wall.

“It’s a cicada, you have some in your house, don’t you?” she scoffed.

“Um yes. But why is this thing making a noise?”

“It’s the song of the cicadas so that tourists can listen to it on their way home.”

“And are there really people who buy them? I mean, it has nothing to do with the real sound of cicadas.”

“It’s one of my best sellers. You’d be surprised by what people will buy sometimes. But hey, about the cicada, we certainly don’t realise, in the South, what it’s like to live without the sun all year round. So, it doesn’t surprise me that they want to take a little piece of it, even if it doesn’t replace the real ones. At least it makes them dream until the next vacation. And the next year, they come back. It’s good for my business and yours too,” she said, punctuating her remark with a wink.

One thing was certain, Vero was good at business. For proof, I left with a dress that I didn’t even need.