4. LORAINE
2034 Words
“Girls, I think I met someone.”
“Do you think, or are you sure? Because it makes a difference,” points out Elena, my teacher friend.
The three of us are sitting at the Café de la Place, like most of the time when we decide to go for a drink. Romy, who’s sitting in front of me, frowns and questions me:
“Don’t tell me that you still hang out on that dating site filled with creepy guys!”
“There are a few that aren’t too bad.”
“Oh please! Like the one who lived with his mother?”
“It wasn’t that long ago that I lived with my grandfather.”
“You’re 25, he was almost 40, and you own your house. And that, believe me, makes all the difference!” replies the baker with long auburn hair. “And he wanted pictures of your feet, wasn’t he weird?”
“He was a podiatrist.”
“Well, don’t you think he should have had enough of seeing them all day?”
“You never eat cakes or bread outside of work, do you?”
“She’s got a point there,” says Elena, raising her index finger.
“It’s not the same.”
“False!” I exclaim.
I squint my eyes and add:
“And don’t even try to deny that you have fun looking at pictures of cake decorations! We’ve all seen you do it.”
“So what? Some like to look at kittens, I prefer icings and sugar flowers. Each to their own.”
“It’s almost like food p**n actually,” Elena remarks. “Especially when eating here.”
Her eyes widen comically to emphasise her point.
“Mark’s food is indeed delicious, and it’s not Loraine who’s going to contradict us,” Romy teases, giving me a deep look.
I suddenly feel ill at ease at the allusion to Mark. My crush on him is no secret. But I don’t like to talk about it. Suddenly, I come back to the original subject.
“Well, I was telling you that I had met someone.”
“Yes, go ahead, tell us everything about this man that you have, or that you think you have met,” Elena added.
I give her a sideways look and start:
“It was at the retirement home.”
“Are you into Sugar Grand-daddies now?” Romy asks.
“Would it be possible to tell a story without being constantly interrupted?” I grumble.
“Sorry,” Elena apologises, telling Romy to shut up with a look. “Go ahead, we’re all ears.”
In the minutes that follow, I explain my visit to Papi Gus. The few delicious moments of my meeting with Ethan Boyle. I describe to them his dream body, his charming smile, his sexy accent...
“Anyway, there you have it, you know everything. He’s as perfect as a man can be.”
“Yes, well, before you find out he has a micropenis, a bunch of ingrown toenails, foul breath, or an unhealthy relationship with his mother,” says Romy.
“You don’t know much about him, except that he has an impressive sum of physical qualities,” points out Elena. “And what was he doing with your grandfather?”
“You know what? I’ve no idea. It was lunchtime for Papi, and I don’t have to tell you how he gets around that time.”
My two friends give me tender smiles confirming that they understand exactly what I’m talking about.
I sigh and say wistfully:
“Well, I’m telling you all about it, but it’s not like this guy is going to be seriously interested in me. But it feels good to dream a little.”
“And why not?” says Romy indignantly.
“I love your optimism, but you know how it always ends for the three of us…”
Everyone here is aware of the way it systematically goes in love for my two friends and me: badly. Let’s say we have a certain natural gift for unwittingly repelling men. So much so that in the village, we nicknamed our little trio the clan of bachelorettes. Flattering, isn’t it?
“And as far as I know, he may be married.”
“Or gay,” adds Romy. “The best are. Look at Jack.”
“For the hundredth time, Romy, Jack isn’t gay,” Elena says.
“How can you be sure? After all, we’ve never seen him with a girl either.”
“And you, how long has it been since we saw you with a guy?” adds the teacher.
Romy frowns and I ask:
“Besides, where is Jack? Didn’t you ask him to come out tonight?”
“He was busy,” Elena said, tense again.
I feel like there’s more behind this information, but I let it slide, she doesn’t seem to be in the mood.
For the past few months, Jack has often been hanging out with our small group. He’s an oenologist at Verne Estate, a wine estate in our village of Locron. Our friend Leona who is currently performing in a play in Paris met him when she was working there herself. Jack is a cute guy who knows a lot about fashion, cosmetics and celebrity gossip, which makes Romy believe he can’t be straight. I admit I had doubts at the start, but then I realised that I was only responding to stereotypes. Just because a man knows exactly which shade of lipstick suits your skin tone doesn’t mean he’s necessarily gay. It’s as reductive as thinking that a woman who does a job like mine can’t be feminine.
“And to come back to your mysterious, handsome guy, would you have taken a picture of him by chance?” Romy asks.
“But of course, I often do that with people I just met less than five minutes before!”
“Look online,” suggests Elena. “You have his name, we must be able to find a picture or even some information on him. This is the first thing I would have done in your place.”
“It’s the first thing I would have done if I hadn’t decided to be with you tonight.”
While I defend myself, Romy is already typing on her phone before pinning it under my nose a second later.
“Is this him?”
A photo of a footballer appears on the screen.”
“Not at all!”
She took back her phone to continue her research.
She shows me several images in succession, but the Ethan that I met today doesn’t appear on any.
“It’s strange, what guy his age has no internet presence?” asks the redhead.
“Contrary to what you think, there are a lot of people who don’t see the point of spreading their lives on social networks.”
“Yes, but still!”
“So I think you’re going to have to do your investigation the old-fashioned way,” Elena said. “Starting by questioning your grandfather. He must know who he is since he was with him this afternoon. Or if not, can’t you type his name in one of your computers at the station?”
“I don’t work for the CIA, I don’t have access to top-secret databases that contain a lot of personal information on everyone. At best, I can see his car registration document, if he has a car. And how will that help me?”
“If he’s driving a minivan, you’ll know he’s unlikely to be a bachelor,” Romy suggests. “But, other than that, I have no idea.”
Luckily, Marie-Jo the waitress shows up to ask us if we want to stay for dinner, with a tone as friendly as that of a prison guard. As we answer in the affirmative, she brings us the menus.
“Since when does she work here?” Elena asks us, once she has moved away.
“I don’t know, she was here last week when I came to dinner with my disastrous date. I have no idea why Mark hired her.”
“Because she had already memorised the wine list?” Romy tries.
I give her a look that means that was mean, even though I don’t care that much for Marie-Jo.
“There have been changes here for some time. There’s a band on Saturdays now. Maybe we could come this weekend?” offers Elena.
“I work Saturday night,” I answer. ”Not possible for me.”
“Do you think they’ll be here on Singles Night? It’s the following Friday.”
The Locron Singles Night is organised twice a month. Suffice to say that we are the hardcore. Not because we’re sure we’ll find someone to suit our needs after all, it’s more or less the same people who come every time but rather because we end up hanging out with several regulars. It’s quite fun spending time together. They don’t all take place at the Café de la Place, sometimes there are bowling outings, picnics by the lake, and also a pastry workshop which takes place in Romy’s bakery. In short, a lot of events which are supposed to facilitate meetings, or failing that, to give us a good time.
When Marie-Jo comes back to take the orders, we ask her about the musicians. She gives a dismissive snort.
“Singles Night? Really? Does that still exist?”
Suffice to say that none of us bother to answer her.
“For the band, you have to ask Erik, I’m not the tourist office.”
She’s referring to her fellow bartender, a tall blond built like a Viking, who’s been working here for a year, I believe.
As she leaves, waddling towards the kitchen, I think that the Café de la Place is lucky to have a prime location and a more than competent chef. Because it is certainly not for its front of house staff that the Locronois are making the trip. If I were closer to Mark, I would say a word to him about it, but since I seem unable to behave like an adult with him, someone else will have to do it.
A little later in the evening, I ask Romy:
“By any chance, you don’t need someone extra from time to time at the bakery?”
“Not really. Why do you ask me this? Is it for you or someone else?”
“It’s for me. But forget it, it’s a stupid idea. With my schedules changing all the time, it’s too complicated to find a second job. And then the cop and the baker? People wouldn’t understand,” I joked.
“You need money? You know if you have any problems I can…”
“No no! It’s just…”
I sigh.
“I still have this dream of renovating my house, but between the bills to be paid every month and the expenses for Papi’s retirement home which are only increasing… But it doesn’t matter. I just need to be patient.”
I stir the rest of the mint and melted ice cubes of my mojito with my straw.
“Why don’t you take a roommate?”
“A roommate?”
This is an idea that never crossed my mind.
“Yes, you could rent your grandfather’s room. It would make you extra income for a minimum of effort.
“I’m not sure I’m able to live with someone other than Papi Gus. I… I never did that.”
“It’ll happen to you one day or another. You’re not going to be alone all your life.”
“Nothing is less certain.”
“Stop. Think about my idea. Your house is big, you wouldn’t even have to share the bathroom. You should do it.”
“But I can’t, it’s Papi Gus’ room.”
She looks at me with emotion. She doesn’t say the words, but I know we’re both thinking the same thing: he’s not coming back.
- Writer
