It was midafternoon when Lena fetched her laptop and settled in La Bohème to work on the translation she’d started the day before. It wasn’t a difficult poem, with one notable exception: the word careless. In Russian it implied a bit of recklessness, a touch of irresponsibility, and a dash of sweet silliness. All at once. Lena hadn’t been able to find a good French equivalent yet.
She ordered her third café crème—desperate times required desperate measures—opened all her thesaurus apps and dived in.
Rob stole a glance at Lena. She sat at her favorite table, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, eyeglasses on her forehead. He rubbed his neck. Should he finally introduce himself, now that he’d spent over a week blathering to her about everything and nothing? The dilemma had weighed on his mind for a couple of days now. On the one hand, he and Lena were clearly reaching a critical point in their acquaintance when people learn each other’s names—or go their separate ways. Actually, they were already way past that point. Had he spent half that time with any other girl, he would’ve found out not only her name, but also her phone number, her favorite music bands, and probably the flavor of her lipstick.
On the other hand, this was not a normal situation, at least not to him.
Talking to Lena is a job, Rob reminded himself for the umpteenth time.
Sure, and her being cute as a button is entirely beside the point, a sardonic voice in his head retorted.
He looked at her again. Her hand rummaged through her handbag—no doubt for her glasses—while she squinted at the laptop screen, oblivious to the world.
It’s just a job to pay my tuition, Rob repeated his mantra. I can’t screw this up.
He approached her. “I believe what you’re looking for is on your head.”
Communication had become so easy between them. One little remark would lead to another, and before they knew it, they would be knee-deep in an animated discussion about polar bears or Daft Punk. This time round, they ended up analyzing the latest twist in a TV show they both liked.
“I must say I didn’t find that turn of events entirely plausible,” she said.
“I agree, but I don’t think the director’s goal was to be plausible. It was to take everyone by surprise. Including himself.”
“Sorry to barge in on your cozy chat, but your time’s up.” Jeanne made big eyes at Rob and then turned to Lena. “This young man’s coffee breaks have been stretching beyond what’s decent since you began to frequent the bistro. He’d better get a grip before Didier tells the proprietor.”
She held out her hand. “I’m Jeanne, by the way, Rob’s sister in arms—or, rather, in plates. And you are?”
“Lena. Very pleased to meet you, Jeanne.” Lena shook hands with her and then turned to Rob. “So you would be Rob, then?”
He tried to sound nonchalant. “Robert Dumont at your service. Sorry for not having introduced myself earlier.”
Jeanne rolled her eyes. “Aren’t we all incredibly well-bred and courteous? Please accept my sincere apologies for being such a spoilsport, but you are expected inside, Rob. Duty calls. More specifically, the mop.”
Rob gave Lena a quick nod and headed to the kitchen. They had officially met now. It was inevitable and perfect for his purposes, but it somehow made his little deal with Boris a touch more unsavory.
* * *
In the cab from the train station to her place, Lena replayed her eventful day. Her meeting with Professor Rouvier had gone well, and she had left his office with lots of good advice on how to revise her thesis. After that she had a coffee with two classmates. Just before she left the university to visit Ivan and Marta, she ran into Gerhard. They greeted each other and then just stood there, not knowing what to say. The thing was . . . she didn’t have anything to tell him besides the academic stuff they’d discussed over e-mail. Lena wondered at how just a month ago she thought herself in love with him. Her feelings were so completely gone it was hard to believe they’d been real.
Distance is a truly powerful medicine, she thought. A little distance and time was all it took to free her heart of Gerhard and wipe him from her mind. Or was that all? If she was completely honest with herself, could she vouch that a certain Frenchman had nothing to do with it?
By the time she got home, it was around nine in the evening. After the mandatory call to her father to inform him she’d returned safely, Lena went down to La Bohème for a quick bite.
There wasn’t a single vacant table, inside or outside. She was about to leave when she heard Rob call to her.
“Hey, Lena, over here!” He was having dinner with his scrawny pal and a pretty woman Lena hadn’t seen before.
As she approached them, Rob pulled out a chair for her. “Come join us. I’m a free man tonight. Started earlier so I could keep them company for dinner.”
His friends smiled, the guy with enthusiasm and the woman tightly. Lena began to say she didn’t want to intrude, when Clothes Hanger stood up to exchange a cheek kiss with her. “Hi, I’m Mat, Rob’s flatmate. And this is Amanda. We all study together, and these two are poised to graduate top of the class.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Amanda waved “hi” without standing for a bona fide greeting. “And you are?”
“Lena. I live in this building.” She mouthed thank you to Rob and sat down.
“That’s it!” Mat clapped his hand on his forehead. “Now I know why you look so familiar. I’ve seen you here before.”
“You’ve got this tiny rustic accent. Are you from Switzerland?” Amanda asked.
Lena smiled. “You have a good ear. I’m from Russia, but I’ve lived in Switzerland for the past seven years.”
“Russia! How exotic. And what brings you to France, Lena?” Amanda asked.
Jeanne arrived to take Lena’s order, interrupting Amanda’s questioning.
When she left, Rob nudged Lena to look at Mat, whose gaze was locked on Jeanne, lapping her up as she walked away. “Mat here has been desperately in love with Jeanne for—um, let me see—an eternity? But she won’t go out with him. She prefers her bad boy biker. It’s a very sad story.”
Mat turned to face his friend. “Rob, what makes you think I can’t hear you when I’m not looking at you?”
“Touché,” Rob said.
Mat sighed. “I must sound like a total loser to you, Lena. I guess I am.”
“Most certainly not,” Lena said.
“Believe me, I’ve tried to move on, like, a hundred times. I try every day, as a matter of fact. But she’s bewitched me. Must be that lip piercing. It does something terrible to my brain chemistry.”
“You are so messed up, my friend,” Amanda said. “Have you considered seeking professional help?”
Lena was looking for something comforting to say, when she saw the old man sitting at the table next to theirs. She winced. “Oh no, not him again.”
Today, he was wearing cream trousers and a well-ironed blue shirt with a silk cravat tucked into its open collar. He had pointy shoes and a thin white mustache. He was dining in the company of a boy in his late teens, probably his grandson. Lena had nicknamed him GLL—the Geriatric Latin Lover. He was the plague of the bistro, the harasser of waitresses, and an embarrassment to whomever he dined with.
Jeanne approached his table, a notepad in her hand. “Has monsieur chosen his dessert?”
“No, monsieur hasn’t,” he replied, then looked Jeanne over, smiled a sleazy smile, and winked. “Can we ask the chef to put you on the menu?”
Lena couldn’t believe her ears. This was worse than the previous borderline comments she’d heard him make. And then he winked again, this time at his grandson. The boy looked so utterly mortified that Lena half expected him to dip under the table and put his head between his knees.
“Oh, but there’s no need to bother the chef,” Jeanne said far too sweetly. “I’m already on today’s specials. It’s written on the chalkboard over there.”
She pointed, and GLL instinctively turned a
nd squinted at the chalkboard.
Jeanne gave him a few seconds then said, her voice full of sympathy, “Is it too far for you to read? Or maybe too close? You must need a new prescription for your glasses.”
GLL had now turned to glare at her. His mouth twitched.
Jeanne continued. “What a bummer, old age . . . You hang in there, monsieur, it will all be over soon. You just wink like that a few more times, and poof! No more eyesight issues or any issues at all, for that matter.”
GLL looked like someone had hit him with a sledgehammer.
But Jeanne wasn’t about to give him a reprieve. “So,” she said, all businesslike. “Will you be ordering now, or shall we continue exchanging pleasantries while other customers wait to be served?”
“Canwehavethecheck, please?” the boy mumbled. He cleared his throat and repeated more distinctly, “Can we have the check now, please?”
“Sure—I’ll get it right away! No dessert then, I guess.” Jeanne produced a disappointed sigh and turned on her heel, finally allowing herself to smirk.
Mat, who’d followed Jeanne’s repartee as keenly as he would have watched Jesus walk on water, broke into a triumphant grin. “Did you hear that? Can you see now why I can’t put this woman out of my mind?” He began to clap.
Lena found herself wishing she had a friend like Jeanne—ballsy, witty, cool. She expected Jeanne to acknowledge Mat’s enthusiasm, but the waitress walked right past him without a glance in his direction.
Lena’s phone rang and Rob startled. His stomach clenched when he glimpsed the caller ID.
“Sorry, I have to take this,” she said and moved away a little.
The conversation was hushed but not enough to be unintelligible. Lena summarized her Geneva trip and said, “Daddy, how about I don’t go to Moscow in July, and you visit me in Paris instead?”
Her father didn’t appear to have jumped at that idea, because Lena was resorting to heavy artillery. “The climate here is great for my heart. And the summer is much milder than in Moscow . . . Come on, Dad, please? We can visit the Loire castles.”
Either the castles or the heart nailed it, because Lena beamed and said, “You’re the best! And early August is perfect.”
Rob texted Boris an hour later, after Lena had gone home.
Sounds like Mr. M. will be visiting Lena in early August. They are planning to travel in France. That’s all for now.
It wasn’t that difficult, after all, was it? He’d just made the fastest money he’d ever made in his whole life.
If only he could get rid of the foul taste in his mouth.
Why now, so much affection?
These aren’t the first caresses
I’ve known, and lips I’ve tasted
Much sweeter, my boy, than yours.
I’ve watched stars light up and dwindle,
Why now, so much affection?—
I’ve seen eyes light up and falter
Before my still hopeful eyes.
Marina Tsvetaeva
FOUR
The following morning Lena woke up with a sore throat. It was a bad sign. Next, she’d begin to sneeze, by midafternoon she’d get a runny nose, and by the evening she’d develop a fever. Which would lead to at least three days in bed, as was her usual pattern. The problem this time was that she had no one like Marta and Ivan to bring her chicken soup and make sure she didn’t run out of tissues. This meant that, unlike in Geneva, her options now were either to handle her cold alone, like the self-sufficient adult she was (hmm), or let her dad fly over and take care of her.
But in the middle of her growing panic she remembered about Martha’s favorite herbal remedy. It was a flower extract which, if taken early enough, could thwart a cold. She needed to locate some in this city, pronto.
At the bistro, she greeted Jeanne, who often worked the morning shifts, and ordered her usual breakfast. But she didn’t intend to linger. She had an important mission to accomplish. The problem was she had no idea where to look. Would a regular pharmacy carry echinacea extracts? Or would she need to find one specialized in herbal remedies? Or maybe a health food store?
When Jeanne reappeared with her tea and buttered tartine, Lena jumped on the occasion to ask a local. “Jeanne, would you happen to know where I could find echinacea around here?”
“Ecki—what?”
“An herbal remedy for colds. Do pharmacies carry herbal remedies?” It occurred to Lena that Jeanne didn’t look like someone who’d know about herbal remedies.
But to her relief, Jeanne did. “There’s a huge parapharmacy not far the Opéra, about a fifteen minute walk from here. They’ve got aisles and aisles filled with every alternative medicine you could imagine.”
“That sounds great. Thank you so much, Jeanne. I’ll check it out as soon as I’m finished here.”
“I’ll come along. My mom asked me to get her some kind of blood pressure regulating bracelet. I’m not sure it will work, but if anyone sells that kind of stuff in this city, it’ll be that pharmacy.” Jeanne looked at her watch. “My morning shift ends at noon. Do you think your cold can wait until then?”
“Sure. My colds are famous for their patience.”
The pharmacy lived up to its reputation. A fresh-out-of-school technician in a crisp white lab coat fetched the echinacea extract for Lena and the bracelet for Jeanne.
“Can I get you anything else, ladies?” he asked, his shoulders back and chin up.
“Actually, yes. I need some tampons, please,” Jeanne said.
The technician swallowed hard, blinked, opened his mouth, and closed it again.
“Do you have any tampons?” Jeanne asked.
“Yes, we do.” The technician looked as if someone were pulling out his fingernails. “I just need to know . . . Could you tell me . . .” He stared at Jeanne, unable to utter another word as his face and ears turned crimson.
Jeanne took pity on him. “Regular absorbency. I need the ones with two water drops drawn on the box. Do you think you can get those for me, please? Or maybe point to where they are and guide me by saying ‘colder’ and ‘warmer’?”
“I’ll get them.” The technician dashed off as if his life depended on it. Lena and Jeanne looked at each other and burst out in laughter.
They were still chuckling as they walked out of the pharmacy.
“I need to find a place where I can have a glass of water for my first dose of echinacea,” Lena said.
“It’s lunchtime and I’m hungry. Shall we grab something to eat and get your water, too?” Jeanne asked.
“Back to La Bohème?”
Jeanne stopped in her tracks and took Lena’s hand. “I’m so sorry to violate your innocence, but it’s time someone told you: There are other places in this city that serve food and drink. Some of them even manage to serve edible food and potable drink, and a few of those are still affordable. Come on, I’ll take you to one not far from here.”
As it turned out, the place Jeanne had in mind no longer served anything remotely edible or potable. It had been replaced, like so many other cafés over the past years, by a trendy, color-block white, optometry boutique.
“I can’t believe it!” Jeanne said. “Do the math—one hundred percent of Parisians need food and drink. Only ten percent, maybe twenty tops, need eyeglasses. How come all my favorite cafés and restaurants get supplanted by these lifeless concept stores that sell you a piece of plastic and glass for three hundred euros?”
Jeanne shook her head and then narrowed her eyes as she glanced at Lena’s elegant glasses. “Well, I guess it’s because there are enough people out there prepared to pay three hundred euros for a piece of plastic and glass.”
Lena smiled apologetically. This probably wasn’t a good time to reveal that her understated glasses with a logo so discrete it was invisible to the naked eye, cost over eight hundred euros.
“Why don’t we go back to La Bohème for lunch? You can violate my innocence some other time. I love the chef’s cooking, and
I want to profit from it while La Bohème still stands,” she said.
“Knock on wood. I hope La Bohème won’t go under anytime soon. In all modesty, it’s one of the best bistros in Paris. I would throttle Pierre with my bare hands if he ever decided to sell it to an optometrist.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were back at La Bohème, where the lunch service was in full swing, with the suit-and-tie crowd dominating the scene.
Lena held her palms out in dismay. “All the tables are taken.”
“Follow me,” Jeanne beckoned and led her to the backyard where a large teak table had been laid for six. “We set this up last week as the staff’s private summertime patio. Wait here, I’ll go get us food. If you’re lucky, I may even return with some chicken broth.”
Lena sat down, poured herself a glass of water and counted thirty drops of echinacea. As she drank the bitter-tasting potion, someone walked into the backyard carrying a steaming plate. Without even looking up, Lena knew it was Rob.
* * *
“Lena! What are you doing here?” Rob asked in a strangely coarse voice. He sat down across from her and looked at her attentively.
Lena felt her heart quicken. The effect he had on her was disconcerting. “I was going to have lunch with Jeanne,” she said, trying not to sound self-conscious. “And there were no free tables out front, so she brought me here.”
Thankfully, Jeanne showed up at that moment carrying Lena’s broth and a plate of seafood and mashed potatoes for herself. “Oh, I see we have company. What brings you to La Bohème at this early hour?”
Rob let out a heavy sigh. “Pepe is what. Or rather the absence thereof. He was supposed to help out Didier and Laure this afternoon but his noble intentions were thwarted by a plumbing emergency. At least that’s what he claims.”
What If It's Love?: A Contemporary Romance Set in Paris (Bistro La Bohème Book 1) Page 4
