20. LORAINE
1843 Words
It was the end of a long day at work, and I couldn’t wait to be in the locker room to remove my uniform and go home. But without warning, at the corner of the corridor, I got caught by Anthony. I’m sure his desperate aura had something to do with my agreeing to go out for a drink with him.
When he saw me come through the doors of the Café de la Place, Mark smiled, then when he understood who I had come with, he stopped smiling and even frowned. I widened my eyes, sending SOS signals with blinking eyelids, and tried to make him understand that I was going to need a rescue operation quickly.
Discovery of the day: Mark Tuffin is zero in non-verbal communication. The proof is that I have been facing my colleague for half an hour and not once has he come to interrupt us. He deserves a bad review on Yelp for ignoring the emotional distress of his customers.
“You know, I had a great time at the game the other day. We’ll have to redo that one of these days!” says Anthony.
I conclude that Logan refrained from telling him that we’re playing again tomorrow. That’s good news.
“Hm-hm.”
Damn, Marie-Jo can’t bring us our order? The bar is half empty. How long does it take to serve two beers? I’ll say a few words to Mark when I get the chance. I have the feeling that she’s doing it on purpose.
“We should have dinner together someday too.”
“Uh…”
We’re only having a drink, and I have to stare at the table. I imagine if I have to do this for a whole meal. No thanks.
“Maybe not at a restaurant. Dining at home is fun too. It’s more intimate. Could you come over to my place next week?”
“Anthony, I don’t think that…”
“You’re right,” he cuts me off. “We should do this at your place instead. You cook?”
“Well…”
Does thawing lasagna count? But the truth is, I don’t want Anthony to come to my house. I’ll have to tell him, but gently. The poor man, he’s not that bad.
“Anthony, I don’t really cook…”
“Oh! It’s not serious. I can help you, or even bring what you need.”
He punctuates his sentence with a wink and a fat laugh.
“No, what I’m trying to tell you is that…”
“It’s because I cook at home,” interrupts a deep voice behind my back.
Anthony looks up and stares, surprised, at the author of this statement. I don’t need to look back, I know who it is. Moreover, he introduces himself:
“Hello, I’m Mark, I live with Loraine.”
As a housemate. He doesn’t specify that, but I don’t see the point of doing it right away.
“Ah, uh, hello, I’m Anthony. We’ve crossed paths before, haven’t we?”
“At the basketball game,” answers Mark.
And especially the night he broke his rival’s nose. But here, too, I keep my thoughts to myself.
“Ah! That’s it! I never forget a face.”
“No kidding,” I say between my teeth.
“So, Loraine and you…”
He points to us with the tip of his sticky finger one after the other. Mark answers:
“We cook together, yes.”
In truth, the rare times we eat together at home, due to our staggered schedules, he cooks. I set the table and do the dishes.
“Ah, I didn’t know,” says Anthony, looking a little annoyed all the same.
“It’s fairly recent,” I added. I don’t know why, as if I needed to justify this half-lie that we are serving him.
Suddenly, Mark’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder, and I freeze. It’s not the first time he’s touched me. But let’s say it’s usually more involuntary. Like the other night on the couch, when his leg brushed against mine when he tried to grab the remote from the coffee table.
His gesture doesn’t escape Anthony. His eyes widen, then he pretends to consult his watch.
“Oh! But it’s already late!”
Anthony stammers a few more excuses and slips away just as Marie-Jo finally brings our drinks. Mark, during all this time, hasn’t left me.
“Is this the second round?” jokes Mark.
“Not at all, it’s only the first,” I said.
Mark gives Marie-Jo an irritated look. She shrugs her shoulders and says:
“I had a job, and I’m all alone. I can’t do miracles.”
She waddles away, her head held high. Not at all the attitude of someone who has just been reprimanded by her boss. Although he said nothing, we can see on Mark’s face that he thinks the same.
“Do you mind if I sit down with you and drink poor Anthony’s beer?”
“Not at all.”
He drops onto the seat. He doesn’t look in great shape.
“You don’t blame me too much for having scared him away?”
“You’re joking? I don’t know how long I’ve been praying for you to show up.”
He looks surprised and amused.
“You mean you were counting on me to help you? But where’s the Loraine that I know, who needs nothing and no one?”
“Sometimes a little helping hand is appreciated,” I admit.
Mark puts his elbows on the table and leans over to me.
“Tell me, if you didn’t want to have a drink with him, why did you accept?”
I pout a little.
“I had a hard time saying no. He’s been insisting for weeks, and I didn’t want to hurt him.”
“But if you don’t tell him clearly no, guys like Anthony aren’t the type to read between the lines. You are too nice, Loraine.”
I look down and contemplate my hands on the table.
“What’s the matter? Did I say something wrong?”
I shake my head.
“No, it’s nothing, it’s me.”
As I’m still absorbed by the contemplation of my cuticles, Mark puts his index finger under my chin to raise it.
“Hey! Tell me please.”
There’s so much sweetness in his voice. His cerulean eyes are aimed at me like two spotlights. I feel a shiver run through my spine.
I open my mouth, close it. Then I start:
“If I didn’t decline Anthony’s invitation, it’s perhaps because quite simply I wanted for once to feel desirable. Even if I don’t like him at all, at least he’s interested in me. I’m ridiculous, I know.”
He doesn’t answer right away.
“No, you’re not ridiculous.”
Suddenly, I feel like we have opened a flood gate and I start explaining things to him that I’ve never said to anyone, not even my closest friends.
“Sometimes I need to feel wanted. My parents didn’t want me. I tell everyone my dad died when I was a baby. The truth is, he committed suicide. I was just a few weeks old. My mother didn’t want to keep me either. She dropped me off at Papi’s like getting rid of a troublesome package. Never a birthday card, never a phone call for Christmas. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. When I was little, as soon as the mother of a friend of mine paid attention to me, I fell in love with her immediately. This wasn’t always appreciated by my friends, who sometimes didn’t invite me over anymore. A little older, I discovered that I was strong at sports, I knew a lot of things thanks to Papi, and suddenly I was hanging out with the boys a lot. I wanted to be accepted. I ended up succeeding. I was happy, I was one of them. As a teenager, it was more complicated because boys didn’t necessarily want to hang out with me, and girls didn’t find me similar enough to them. I found myself on the sidelines again. Fortunately, I got to know Elena and Romy. They are also a bit like outcasts. That’s what sealed our friendship, and it’s one of the best things that ever happened to me. I’ve never had much success with men as a woman, as you know. I’m too tall, too masculine, I have a very crooked nose. So sometimes, when one of them takes an interest in me, I can’t help it. I have this old complex of the little girl who wants to be loved at all costs that comes out, and I agree to have a drink or dinner with a guy I don’t like. Besides, it’s not like I can be choosy.”
“Loraine…” he growls.
“I know what you’re going tell me. Please don’t talk about that tonight.”
He gives me a look that means: It can wait.
“And you? How’s it going?” I ask to change the conversation. “Has business been a little better lately?”
He sighs. My change of subject is perhaps not the happiest.
“A little, but it’s not great.”
I’ve been doing his accounts for the past few days, and although I didn’t find anything wrong, I still picked up a couple of things. I hesitated to tell him about it because I don’t know how he would take it.
“Why are you always open?”
“What do you mean?”
“The café is open every day and almost all the time. Why?”
“Well, because it always has been.”
“Just for that?”
“Well, yes. My parents opened it every day, and so did the previous owners.”
“And so you, you just continued like that because they were doing it?”
“Yes, and then people are used to it.”
“Um, I see. But what’s the point of being open on Tuesday afternoons in winter, for example, when the turnover won’t even cover your waitress’ salary?”
He takes a sip of beer but doesn’t answer my question. I understand that I have hit a sensitive point. That he doesn’t necessarily disagree with me, but he’s not ready to admit it either.
“I understand that the Café de la Place is a bit of an institution in Locron. But if something is bad for your business, you also have the right to take the necessary steps to make it run properly. No offence to your regulars.”
“Yeah. Well, I have a job, I have to get back to it,” he said, getting up. ”See you later?”
He doesn’t even wait for my answer and goes to the kitchen.
Looks like someone else doesn’t want to bring up the topics that annoy...
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