Chapter 10

Days passed and the fourth arrived. I found myself in the hotel room. It was a corner penthouse suite that overlooked the city. It wasn’t dark yet so I knew it would be a while before fireworks started. I had picked La Granier for two reasons. One, I had asked a friend who worked here if it would have a style that would impress a girl. Looking around I felt like I was in one of those fancy hotels that the gentleman thieves always use in heist movies. I hoped the girls would be impressed. The bill had certainly impressed me. On the rare occasions that I traveled I used Holiday Inns. The second reason was that I did try to make my way here about once a year to eat at the restaurant in the lobby, Ferme.

Leaving my night bag still packed I made sure I had my key with me and headed to the elevator. The hotel used some kind of short-range encrypted Bluetooth embedded in a physical key for that bit of old-world ambiance with modern technology. Keys were waiting for Melissa and Lavi at reception and I had texted them that they would need to show IDs to pick them up. The staff hadn’t even blinked at my request to have the keys picked up by two young ladies but I suppose that was another reason to pay these prices.

I walked into the restaurant and looked around. As I expected, even in a nice pair of slacks and a dress shirt, I lowered the average wardrobe cost by several digits. Standing at the maître d’ podium was a tall balding man with a severe face that made me think of a buzzard. I shouldn’t have been surprised to not recognize him but I had been expecting Phillipe, the old maître d’ though he had been well past retirement age.

“Hi.” I nodded to the fellow. “I made arrangements by email this morning. Robert Carlo.”

He looked blankly at me. “I’m sorry sir, you must have the wrong establishment. I take the reservations myself and we do not do any kind of... “ He looked distraught to even consider it, “online reservations. We don’t have any tables.”

I took an immediate dislike to this guy. I probably could have been more clear but now I wanted to return the favor and irritate him a bit. “Oh, I can just eat in the kitchen.”

“I ... I don’t know what makes you think...” he stammered only making a superficial effort to not be disdainful.

“I’m sure Helene won’t mind. She’s the one who told me I had a table.”

“Hel ... you mean Madame Latroude!?”

“Helene. I could call her or Mikal but since they’re probably both cooking I doubt they have their phones on.”

That was the moment when Herman walked by. Herman had been a waiter here longer than I had known Helene. He was an amiable and unflappable fellow who complained that he was getting fatter every year because of having to taste Helene’s menus.

“Monsieur Carlo!” Wow, he was loud, most of the restaurant turned to look. I took his extended hand and shook it.

“Herman, it’s a pleasure.”

“Why are you standing here, let us get you a table!”

“There is no table available.” That was the maître d’. “He claims to have made an online reservation.” The world ‘online’ was stressed to indicate it should be scrapped off a shoe and put into the rubbish bin instantly.

“No, I said I made arrangements. I emailed Helene and she said to come on down.”

Herman threw his hands up. “Then it is settled!”

“There are no tables!”

“Phaw, he can eat at the break table in the kitchen, now make yourself useful and get a bottle of the 2007 Black Coyote Reserve Cabernet. It’s sweetness and cherry hints will go perfectly with the meal.”

The taller man stared down at Herman and threatened death with a glare. “You work for me, do not presume!”

As if reading my mind Herman said with a laugh in his voice, “You can find a cathedral to perch upon and practice that on your own time. But, I work for Helene and if you want to interrupt her cooking to scold me for taking care of her friend you are welcome to. Now, wine. Scoot!”

With that he turned his back on the maître d’ and as I felt left out of the exchange I added. “I haven’t had the 2007 but it sounds wonderful.” I then followed Herman. Through the unobtrusive doors, we went from soft lighting to a blindingly bright kitchen with half a dozen people moving in quiet symmetry. I have seen cooking shows with chefs who scream and yell across a kitchen. But this was a small restaurant and Helene trained her staff to work like bees always aware of what each other needed to do. They spoke in casual tones and raised their voices only the amount needed to be heard. I knew that Helene was demanding of each one though. As I entered I earned a short wave from Helene who was indeed working. I sat at the simple plastic table in the corner that the kitchen staff ate at as time allowed.

Once we were out of the earshot of customers, Herman said, “You must forgive him. As my grandfather said, there are men who spend so much time with their noses in the air they can not smell when they step in turds.”

“If that’s the best you can do for a front of the house, maybe you should take the job.”

Herman reeled back in mock offense. “My dear Robert. If you insist on suggesting that I get a real job I’m afraid we can no longer be friends.” With a smile, he walked out. A few minutes later another waiter brought in an opened bottle and a glass.

“From the maître d’ with his regards.” He was grinning.

“I’m sure,” I said as I took them. I poured a glass and let it breathe for a few minutes before sipping. It really was good. Within moments a line chef I didn’t recognize showed up with a simple apple tart, a classic. It was only semi-sweet, awakened my taste buds and went perfectly with the wine. Next was a pair of baked chicken legs with mushrooms and wild rice, understated but showing the perfect moistness and flavor of the chicken. The mushrooms were in a thick wine sauce and tasted of damp earth on spring mornings. Damn amazing. Asparagus on the side was good but seemed like a secondary thought though prepared immaculately. Finally, not ice cream but a shaved ice with a homemade flavoring distilled from apple cider and it was cool and perfect and made me think of sitting outside on a summer day. It was served with coffee to drink, a cappuccino that took the edge off the sweetness while mixing caramel notes with the apple in the shaved ice.

I ate it all, and it put me in a calmed mood. I was nursing the cappuccino when Helene finally came over, a bowl of soup in her hand. The kitchen had slowed down and I saw several of the cooks drinking water and checking their phones. Helene was a thick woman, not fat but built solidly and thickly. She was originally from Paris but had lived here three decades and spoke perfect if accented English. I rose as she approached and kissed her cheeks.

“Helene, you are a treasure for the world. Still only one Michelin star? You should have two.”

“My grandfather said to be careful of bullshitters whose words smell like roses.” She smiled as she started on her soup.

“Between you and Herrman I get the impression that French grandfathers have a lot of sayings that involve excrement.”

She shrugged. “They do but I don’t think they actually ever say them until they have grandchildren to be an audience. Mine bribed me with sweets.”

“Well, I don’t know about Michelin stars but this is amazing. I always feel inspired by eating with you.”

She made a snorting sound while taking another spoon of soup. “You are a good cook but you tie your own hands by not going out more. Traveling and eating are mana of the soul for a chef.”

“I’m not a chef, just a cook. I’m more like your nana who never left the farm.”

“Ah my nana, lord rest her soul. You would have loved her cooking.”

“I can taste echoes of it in yours. Your best dishes make me think of a big family table and dinner served in huge servings.”

“When I got my first magazine cover I showed it to Nana. Do you know what she said?”

“No.”

“She said, why do you have such little things on such a big plate? Whose belly is that going to fill?”

“A wise woman.”

“So ... that brings me to my question. You’ve eaten my food, you are at my table, are you ready?”

I looked at her blankly. “Uh...”

“Her!” Helene’s face animated brightly. “Who is she? What woman would cause you to email me out of the blue and ask about romantic suites at the hotel? Why is she not here with you? You are blushing! Mon Dieu! I have to prepare for a wedding, how much time do I have?” Her soup was forgotten and she was talking with her hands making wide gestures.

“Enough, enough,” I was laughing and she was grinning. I held up my hands in surrender. “I give up, I’ll tell you.”

“Excellent.”

“Her name is Melissa, she and I met a few months ago. She actually took some work from me and I was seeing her every day and things kinda happened. She’s at an event with family and will be joining me here later.”

“Why are you not with her and her family then? As good a chef as I am I can’t make a man stop listening to his petite general.”

“They don’t know about me yet.”

“And this matters because...”

“She’s eighteen.” Silence sat between us as Helene looked at me. I felt like I was having my soul weighed outside the doorway to the afterlife. “What?” I finally asked.

“I have always thought of you as very American but maybe, just maybe, you have some French blood in you after all.” After she had successfully soaked in my stupefied expression she laughed.

“Don’t make fun of me, it’s complicated. Tonight isn’t even really for me. She’s coming with her girlfriend and tonight is for them.”

“Robert, you say, girlfriend, you mean as Americans sometimes mean a girl’s friend who is a girl?”

“No, as in lover, at least they will be as of tonight. Their first time. They’ve known each other for years and I am just standing aside.

“And one is your lover?”

“Yes, and maybe the other, later. She says so. I feel like I’m along for the ride.”

“And what are these girls to each other?”

“Best friends, they’ve known each other for years and this has blossomed and I’m getting them this place so they can have something special. It only seemed right.”

“And you will be with them?”

“No, no, this is for them. I don’t even think I’ll be in the room.”

Helene looked slack-jawed at me. “You are French, there is no doubt. I will have to teach you to sing La Marseillaise. However, I thought I was talking to a rogue, you are a saint, a saint of love. Can I have a finger bone to pass down as a relic to my descendants?”

“I’m glad I can amuse you.”

“No, no, it is beautiful.” She reached across the table and took my hand.

“You don’t think I’m a horrible old pervert?”

“I have seen these May December romances before. Even those that do not endure leave both the wealthier.” Those that don’t last. The words felt like little daggers and it must have shown on my face as Helene’s tone changed from casual to concerned. “I am sorry, I was indelicate. I was thinking of affairs, not love. Tell me about her.”

“I’m not sure what to say. Her name is Melissa, she’s eighteen, beautiful, blonde. Her hair catches the light and looks like a halo when it falls around her head. She’s smart and quiet and can be sarcastic but sweet even when crude. She’s never cruel though she can get angry. I feel more at peace with her and alone without her. Did I mention she’s smart? I never know what she’s thinking but she notices everything.”

“Your words are sweet but your voice is melancholy.”

“I’m more than twice her age. When people talk about love they talk about the future. Is she just infatuated, will she wake up and move on? Surely at some point, she’ll wish she was with someone who had more energy, who she shared more in common with, who there is a future with.”

Helene sighed. “You are definitely drinking deeply of the well.” I looked at her confused. “A saying of my mother’s this time. Did you know my father was a renowned chef in Paris in the 70s and 80s?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“He was. He was a rock star in his own right and partied with rock stars. I rode on Mick Jagger’s shoulders as a child! But that comes with a price. My father ... he fell in love easily and quickly with many women. My mother knew but she would say she understood because she married him knowing what he was and knowing that he only loved them in one way. She would say passion was like wine, it made you feel good but drink nothing but it and you would slowly wither. She would say their love was a well of pure water he had to come back to between bottles of wine. She said there were many kinds of love, of friends, of spouses, of lovers, of children and of memories. Americans talk about the strength of love but there is so much more.”

“Do all French mothers know this much?”

“Well, she was very understanding when she wasn’t wanting to cut his balls off. He made her so angry at times. But she said she knew what she was getting into and it was a fault she could live with if not like. It was hard on her at times. Love takes work, endurance, it challenges us to be worthy of it. It does not give its gifts for free.”

I thought about it. That might be my price to pay. I had thought it was letting Lavi in was my price but that really wasn’t it. Lavi had accepted me instantly. It had startled me but I could feel it’s sincerity. I was jealous of Lavi in some ways but it was shy jealousy. No, what ate at me was a wounded animal. I was afraid of Melissa leaving with Lavi or someone else but it was the leaving I was afraid of. My price might be living with that fear or finding some way to make it go away.

“You make it sound as easy as saying hello,” I said.

“It is not as if you have to drink the sea,” she said kindly, “just a well. A very deep one, apparently.”

“You are the second person to tell me recently that there is a price to pay for love.”

“Then they are wise too. It was probably a woman.”

I smiled. “It was.”

We talked more after that. She caught me up on her husband Mikal. He was her sous-chef but actually traveling and in Russia for a week to visit family. We talked about food a lot. We could have talked for ages but orders were starting to come back in and she needed to get back on the line. She patted my hand.

“You are a scandalous, terrible man and I am proud of you. Go show your girls what an older man can teach them about love.”

“Not tonight.” I smiled.

“Another kind of love, my saint.” She said.

I returned to the room and had taken my shoes off when I got the message from Melissa that they were on their way. Accompanying it was a photo of them leaning in together for a selfie while walking down the street arm in arm. A warmth kindled in me. Using the hotel phone I called the front desk and told them to send the champagne up. Then I went to my bag and I took the presents I got for them and put one in the bathroom off the main suite’s sitting area and the other in the bathroom off the bedroom.

I called up the Bluetooth sound system on the TV mounted in the sitting area and synced my phone, setting a John Coltrane playlist starting with a mellow piece from Blue Train. It was almost that instant that the door reverberated with a knock and I opened it to find a bellhop pushing a trolley that contained not only a bucket of champagne with three glasses but a covered dish as well. The bellhop announced that it was a gift from the kitchen and left. I uncovered it to find a dozen chocolate covered fresh strawberries. The bellhop in turn almost ran into Lavi and Melissa who were coming in as he was leaving, the near whiplash from him looking at them didn’t help him.

I hadn’t seen it well from the selfie but both were wearing light summer dresses. Melissa was typical for her in her simplicity, a white dress with red trim and she had paired it with some blue trainers. It ran down to the knees and her breasts stood proudly against the conservative hug of the dress that covered everything scandalous. But, it left no doubt she was the girl next door that Playboy would be honored to have in its pages. The only thing that broke the red, white and blue theme was her ever-present black and yellow earrings.

Where Melissa had gone subtle Lavi had ignored subtlety and ran in the opposite direction. Her hair was extra curly, the ringlets making her look like a dolled up vintage pinup. Her summer dress was patterned like the American flag complete with stars and stripes but was tailored to leave generous cleavage on display and where Melissa’s had been to her knees Lavi’s ended mid-thigh. Only the modern cut kept her from looking like a USO stage girl from WWII.

“Lavi loves that her birthday is on July Fourth,” Melissa said. I could tell she was enjoying my reaction, as was Lavi.

“Hey growing up in Israel, I didn’t get to celebrate the fourth, so it felt like half a birthday, even though I was American!”

“You just wanted to wrap your tits in stars and stripes.”

“Like you weren’t looking at them, slut.”

Melissa threw her arms around Lavi, “only because I was planning on seeing more of them.” Then she kissed Lavi. It wasn’t a friendly kiss, it was a passionate kiss and Lavi’s hands did not miss the opportunity to reach around and grab Melissa’s taut ass. I couldn’t blame her.

I cleared my throat. “Ladies.” They broke apart and both were flushed and I was more than a little affected myself. “There are gifts for you in the restrooms. You may want to get comfortable. Melissa,” I pointed at the door to the lavatory, “Lavi, yours is in the bathroom off of the bedroom. Why don’t you both refresh yourselves?”

Lavi looked a little disappointed to be uncoupling but I think they both realized they had been sitting outside in the heat. They gave each other a quick peck on the lips and then Melissa gave me a kiss before she disappeared. I poured us each a glass of champagne and drank one for myself quickly before putting another to drink more slowly.

Lavi came out first wearing the kimono style robe I got her. It was hand-painted pure silk with a scene of a sakura tree with its leaves falling. It flattered her curvy body. I handed her a glass of champagne. I noticed her hair was still dry so I guessed she had put it up in a cap while showering.

“Happy birthday m’lady.”

“This feels amazing.” She ran one hand over the silk while sipping from the glass.

“Good.” I smiled and sat on the couch.

“So, what are you doing tonight?” She sat sideways on the couch so that her legs crossed. They weren’t as long or toned as Melissa’s but still looked wonderful to run one’s hands along.

“I don’t know. I brought a book, but maybe I can find a movie.”

“I thought you were going to watch us?”

I was confused. “Then, why did you ask?”

“Well, I meant like, what are you going to do like, are you going to pull up a chair, or ... I don’t know, I just want to know what to expect. What do you mean, read a book?”

I shook my head. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ll probably look in. You’re...”. I looked at her, really looked at her, not just noticed her as I would any woman. “You’re gorgeous Lavi. And so is Melissa. And I’m not saying I won’t look in but just staying in there and watching ... I feel weird thinking about it. And I know what Melissa said but the more I’ve thought about it there are only two things I can see happening, either me being a distraction or me feeling like a third wheel.”

Lavi started looking down at the floor. “It’s not going to work, is it?” She said after a moment.

“Sure it will.” I forced myself to smile. “You love each other. It’s going to be wonderful for you.”

“But not you.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“God fucking damn it.” She stood angrily and put the partially empty champagne flute back way too hard on the trolley. Her hand missed the center and the glass broke against the edge of the cart. The glass shattered and a small piece of it embedded in her palm. I immediately saw the blood welling and terrified she would get it on her robe I grabbed the hand and pressed it to my shirt to soak up the blood and put pressure on it. That’s when I realized I was holding her bleeding palm to my chest.

“Just keep the pressure up. It looked like a small cut,” I said.

A bit stunned Lavi looked at me and then looked like she was ready to burst into laughter. “Is this really the best you could think of?”

“I also had the idea flash in my head of licking it up but I didn’t want you to think I had a blood kink.”

She raised an eyebrow, palm still against my chest. “Maybe I could have grabbed your arm though.”

“Fair enough. It was a kind of panicky thought. I didn’t want you to get it on the robe.”

“The robe is...”

“Irreplaceable.”

“Really?”

“One of a kind.”

“Expensive?”

“Ridiculously so. Don’t tell Melissa, she’ll get upset with me about the money.”

I looked down. So did Lavi. She looked at me and said. “This might not be what we want Millie to see when she comes out of the shower. Even she can only take so long to wash her hair.”

I made an awkward chuckle. “No, probably not. Let me look at it.” I looked at it and it was already clotting. I kissed it. “Sorry for grabbing you.”

“It’s OK. You can grab me, I told you that. Come on, let’s get that shirt in cold water.”

“And wash your hand.”

We walked over to the sink in the bar area and turned the water on cold, stopped the sink and let it start filling. Lavi rubbed the blood out and then left it to soak, then washed her hand. It had already stopped bleeding.

“No need for stitches.” She held it up.

“Good thing. Melissa doesn’t like blood.”

“I know! Did you know she talked about being a doctor for a long time? I can’t imagine it.”

“It’s easier to talk about Melissa isn’t it?”

Lavi looked at me. “Yeah, she’s what we really have in common.”

“And apparently Doctor Who.”

Lavi grinned. “Mellie told me about the jelly babies. So ... you’re a fourth doctor fan?”

“And Tenant. I feel like both of them really got the idea of the anger behind the humor.”

Lavi pointed at my chest. “Looks like some of the blood did soak through.” She took her wet hands and rubbed at my chest. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you really feel about tonight?”

“Honestly?”

“Completely.”

“Confused.”

“Confused?”

“I’m jealous of you and I’m not happy with myself for that.”

“Because of us excluding you?”

“No.”

“Huh? What else is there?”

“A lot more. Lavi, Melissa is amazing. I’m not surprised you’re head over heels about her. I don’t see how anyone couldn’t be. And I think you two would be wonderful together. I’m happy to be here to make this happen for you. I want you to have your Disney princess night.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen any Disney movies with two cheerleaders in a sixty-nine,” she said grinning.

I had to laugh at that. “Okay, fair point. I would have watched more if they did.”

“Me too!”

“But...” I tried to return to the point, “I’m not jealous of you in this room, I’m jealous of tonight before now.”