by Lorna Lee
“What did you say?” Gratien thought Meri had spoken to him.
“I’m sorry. Nothing.” She blushed. “More customers came in.” She weaved her way into the crowd.
Meri noticed immediately upon his arrival, Joe is looking for someone. He scanned the crowed bar, adjusting his glasses and paying more attention to the crowd than to the men he arrived with. Joe is a homely little boy in a new school looking for a friend, Meri mused. When Joe caught Meri’s eye, his look of serious concentration melted into a relieved, nervous smile. It seems I’m not the only one who remembers our forgettable night together. Good. He’s still interested in me. I wish he wasn’t so disagreeable to look at.
Joe waved to her.
Meri smiled at him.
Joe motioned for her to come to his table even though a younger waitress was already taking drink and food orders from the men.
Unsure what to do, Meri took another table’s drink orders and shrugged at Joe. She knew the rules about grabbing another waitress’s table and tips. I need to be alone with him. She forgot they did not understand each other, although she had learned a little more English in seven months. Why must the Americans speak so fast?
Approximately two hours of glances and smiles passed between Meri and Joe. He had also consumed a fair amount of alcohol, giving him courage to once again wave Meri over to him. He also had a full bladder. Joe got up to go to the men’s room. Meri noticed. This is my chance to get friendly with him away from his friends.
Meri positioned herself near the entrance of the short hallway leading to both lavatories. She asked Gratien for a short break. With the atmosphere in the bar growing more riotous with every round served, Gratien had begun serving himself and the staff drinks—just like New Year’s Eve. Meri was grateful for her liquid courage and her boss’s lax attitude in the midst of the hubbub.
Joe and Meri met at the hallway leading to the lavatories. Joe’s voice slurred when he spoke. “Well, there you are, my li’ll French, um, Frenchie. Long time no see, Mary.” He gave her an awkward hug.
She patted his back and then pulled away. Regretting her stiff, unfriendly reaction, she admonished herself. Be nice to him, Meri! He’s flirting with you. “Ah. Hello. Nice to see you.” She spoke French-infused, stiff English as if a period punctuated each word.
Joe laughed. “Hey. I understand. I must be pickin’ up this here French language pertty good!”
Meri smiled and batted her eyes. She hoped he thought she was flirting and not wondering if she had something stuck in her eye. She could not think of anything more in English to say except, “New York City?”
“New York City?” He scratched his head. “Sure, Honey. I can’t believe you remembered I’m from New York. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re sweet on me.” Joe crossed one leg over the other and bowed his head. He nearly toppled over. “Oops. Guess I’m a li’ll loopy from the booze.”
Meri reached out and caught him by grabbing his shoulders. “Can I get you a drink?” This was an English phrase she used often.
“Sure! How about some more whiskey and supper with me some time?”
Meri nodded and smiled. “Coming right up!” She understood the whiskey part. The rest was gibberish. Supper? I need Gratien. He understands more English than anyone else I know right now.
When Joe came back from the men’s room, Meri took him by the hand and led him through the melee of drunken customers and tipsy waitresses to the bar. “Gratien, this is Joe. He only speaks English. Help us talk to each other?” Meri asked with such desperation in her eyes, her boss agreed to be their translator but only when things calmed down.
“I can’t keep up with the drink orders right now. I don’t even have time to take a piss. Your love life can wait. If he’s still here after these crazy Americans go to their barracks or are sleeping on the floor, I’ll be happy to help you. That’s if I’m still alive….” Gratien rolled his eyes back and pretended to keel over. He caught himself on the bar and chuckled.
Meri did not find her employer’s antics funny. Snagging this American was serious business to her and Jeannine. “Merci, Gratien. Could you tell him to stay here? Tell him I asked him to stay.”
The old man rolled his eyes again. “You can tell him that much yourself. He’s not an idiot!”
Meri gently slapped her employer’s arm and turned to Joe. “Here. Sit.” She pointed to one of the few vacant barstools.
Joe plopped down.
“Have drink. I be back, ah…oh, I be back.”
“Sure thing! Just make sure you don’t git lost and forgit to come back for me, you hear?” He winked at her. “Could you git me a whiskey while I got you here?” He smiled so broadly, anyone could count all of his teeth from halfway across the bar.
Meri patted his arm, ordered his whiskey from Gratien, and then turned away to face the rowdy crowd demanding more drinks.
§
Night passed into dawn. Finally, the last of the soldiers left Le Bonaparte.
“How can they walk after drinking so much?” An exhausted Gratien sat beside Joe and Meri. Joe was slumped over the bar. The few waitresses still standing also sat, rubbing their feet, lower backs, or necks. Unlike New Year’s Eve, most of them would be back in several hours—no day off for them after this night of insanity.
Drained, Meri still had unfinished business with Joe–New-York-City.
“Gratien, can you help me talk to Joe?”
At the sound of his name, Joe picked up his head. “What?”
Gratien groaned. “I suppose. A short one.”
“What’s happenin’?”
“Joe, Meri wants to talk and I say I help. Okay?” Gratien’s English was rough.
“Okay. Yeah. Sure. Bombs away.” Joe slowly lifted his head, which was resting on the sticky bar. “But better talk slow. I’m beat.” He sat slouched on the bar stool, resting his right cheek in his right palm—the picture of alcohol-fueled exhaustion.
Meri noticed that Joe had stopped drinking hours ago. Why? Is he out of money or does he want to be sober when he talks to me? He’s probably out of money. Meri got down to business, suspecting none of them would last very long after the chaotic night they all had. “Ask him his last name and if he wants to see me again. I mean for a date.”
Her boss raised his eyebrows. He asked.
Joe answered. “Trottier. Joe Trottier. And, heck yeah, if Mary wants to go out with me, I’d be pickled tink.”
Gratien furrowed his bushy eyebrows into a hedgerow. “What is this ‘pickled tink? I no understand.”
Joe began laughing so hard he could barely speak. “I…I meant…um…tickled pink. You know, real happy.” He took off his glasses to rub laughter-induced tears from his eyes and turned to Meri. In a valiant effort to compose himself, he said, “I’d be honored to take you out sometime.” He rubbed his hands along his thighs and put his head down as he added, “But you gotta give me some time to pull some money together. I don’t make much, being a private pullin’ mess duty and havin’ to send most of my wages home to my dad.”
“Mess duty?” Gratien scratched his head.
“Um, workin’ in the kitchen. Not the cook or nothing.’ Just helpin’ out.”
Gratien did his best to explain all of this to Meri.
Meri paused. He looks like a grown man, not a boy who lives with his father. Why is he giving his money to his papa? And why must he call me “Mary?” Not only is he unpleasant to look at, he’s annoying. But he lives in New York City…
Joe’s feet started thumping against the bar. “Hey, tell you what? How ʼbout if I come back here in a month? You serve food here, right? We can have a date right here. Lunch? That way you, mister,” Joe said, pointing a wobbly finger at Gratien, “can be here to help us, um, talk.”
Gratien turned to Joe. “My name is Gratien.”
Joe laughed nervously. “Ain’t no way I’m saying that and not insultin’ you.”
Gratien laughed and rubbed his eyes. “O
ui, you Americans have, how you say, trouble with my name. They call me Groucho. You can, too.”
“Works for me, Groucho!”
Meri understood a word here and there, but he spoke too fast for her to get much of it. Slurring his words did not help. She tugged Gratien’s sleeve. He explained lunch in one month with “Groucho” as their interpreter. Meri wanted to roll her eyes. She smiled instead. Then she said, “Very well. August 4, 2:00. Until then, Joe Trottier.” She offered her hand to him.
Rather than kiss it, as she expected, he shook it. Vigorously. Meri noticed his rough hands. Worker’s hands, like mine. I wonder what he does in New York City? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he had some connections with the fashion industry there?
Chapter 20: Bon Voyage
“Ignorance gives one a large range of probabilities.”
George Eliot
Meri and Joe had their first formal date—lunch at Le Bonaparte—on August 4, 1946. Like any proper social engagement between two virtual strangers, they had a chaperone who served as their translator. Gratien, or “Groucho,” did not know that his waitress and this American soldier had spent a night together. Meri did her best to forget that night and never spoke of it. She prayed Joe would have the common decency to avoid any mention of it, as well.
Meri had arrived early and busied herself in the back with Gratien.
The entire week had been unusually warm, but Joe came dressed in his neatly pressed uniform. He arrived early, too, and sat at one of the outdoor tables set for two. Several of his friends followed him, sitting at the bar.
“Hey, Spuds, you look awful impressive. What you fixin’ to tell your Frenchie?” One of them called out from the bar.
“Stop it, Deeters. For Christ’s sake, don’t call me Spuds.” Joe straightened his tie and waved his hand at the soldiers sitting at the bar. He could have been swatting at a fly.
“Whatsa matter, Spuds? You ain’t embarrassed by your ole buddies, are you?” Another one laughed as he spoke. “We came to give you…whatcha call it? Moral support.” The man exaggerated a wink.
“Yeah, you ain’t gettin’ any younger, Spuds. These French broads are aching to snag a good old U.S. of A. soldier and get a free trip outta here. This one must be real desperate to be flirting with you.” They all laughed.
“Hey, guys. You ain’t helpin’ me. I’m nervous enough without you sittin’ there like crows waitin’ to pick my sorry ass.”
Gratien appeared from the kitchen area, “What you boys like?”
“Hey, Groucho!” They said in nearly perfect unison.
Gratien leaned over the bar, as if to tell all four of them a secret. “Joe wants good meal. I help him. Let’s make deal, oui?”
The four soldiers eyed each other and shrugged.
“Good. I give you one drink. Free. Then you go. Deal?”
“A free drink just for leaving ole Spuds alone? Whatcha think boys?” Deeters nodded. The others followed his lead. “Looks like drinks are on you, Groucho!”
“You better scram after your drink.” Joe yelled to his friends. “Drink fast.”
The four soldiers burst into peals of laughter.
Gratien served the soldiers their drinks and returned to the kitchen.
Meri nearly assaulted her boss when she saw him. “What happened out there? Tell me everything!”
“Calm down, Meri. It seems Joe has some friends who thought it would be fun to come supervise your rendezvous. I took care of it. At least I hope I did. You know Joe is here, oui?”
“Oui. I heard him shouting.” Meri tugged at her skirt and started pinching the fabric, anything to keep her hands busy and release her nerves.
“Don’t worry. He’s as nervous as you are. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
“Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea…”
“You’ll be fine. I like him. His friends? Not so much.” He pushed her out of the kitchen.
Meri’s cotton dress hugged her in all the right places to accentuate her voluptuous breasts and ample hips. The three-quarter length sleeves and calf-length hem hid most of her slender arms and legs. Her fine, ash-blonde hair had a slight wave and was cut about two inches below her ears. All one length and brushed back, her hat held her hair in place. She borrowed the hat, a small brimmed bonnet with a half veil of black mesh barely covering her eyes and nose, from one of her roommates. She wore red lipstick.
The soldiers at the bar saw her first. They began whistling and making noises. Usually those sounds were directed at the younger women, Meri mused. She smiled and increased the sway of her hips ever so slightly. I like this attention.
One of them said, “For a Frenchie a bit long in the tooth, she ain’t half bad, Spuds!”
Joe bolted up from the table, face twisted and fists clenched. When he saw Meri, he melted like a marshmallow dunked in steaming hot chocolate. Peering over at the men at the bar, he said, “Fellas, I’m askin’ you nice. Please let us be.”
Meri whispered to Gratien, “What are they saying?”
“Joe is quite a gentleman, Meri. He’s protecting your honor. I think you two will have a nice lunch.” He grabbed a bottle of wine from behind the bar and escorted her to the table.
Meri eyed the wine.
Gratien smiled. “Free, of course.”
Meri smiled in silent relief and gratitude. I managed to find two kind men in Paris, Michel and Gratien.
“Hello.” Meri said and curtsied, regretting her habit the moment she did it. Stupid! I’m not his servant!
“Hello yerself!” Joe said with eyes almost as wide as his glasses. “My, oh, my, ain’t you a pertty sight?” All three of them stood there an uncomfortable length of time.
Gratien motioned for them to sit. Joe and Meri sat opposite one another at a small, round table tucked under the shade of Le Bonaparte’s canopy. Gratien pulled a chair from a nearby table for him and began to sit.
“Oh, glasses for wine and menus! I be back in little minute.” He hobbled away with a determined but somewhat lopsided gait.
Meri watched him leave with anxious eyes. She turned her attention to Joe, took a deep breath, and forced a smile as wobbly as Gratien’s tottering shuffle.
Joe’s silent stare both flattered and unnerved her. He moved his eyes from her face to her bosom and back. The steady smile on his face told her he liked what he saw. She shifted in her chair and adjusted her perfectly positioned hat. Meri composed herself and nodded at Joe, hoping he got her message: You look nice, too. Well, as nice as you can look.
His smile vanished. He doesn’t understand me! “You looking good today, Joe. Nice seeing you.” Meri spoke into her lap. I don’t know what else to say. Even if I did, I don’t know how to say it! Gratien, hurry up.
“You look great, Mary. I’m so proud to be havin’ lunch with such a beautiful gal.”
She understood, mostly from the tone of his voice, he approved of her appearance. His pronunciation of her name irritated her. I must look at this homely man. The least he can do is say my name properly! As sweetly as she could, she corrected him. “Mare-ree, Joe, not Merry.” She exaggerated the second syllable to bring home her point. “It Finnish name.”
“Sorry. Don’t know if I can say it fancy like you, but I sure will work on it.” Joe’s face, already flushed from the heat, reddened noticeably.
Gratien returned to the table, and Joe abruptly turned his attention to the old man. “Hey, Groucho! Thanks fer the wine glasses, but, um, I didn’t order any wine.” Joe smiled at Meri. He turned to look at Gratien and she could tell he was concerned about something.
“Free, Monsieur.” Gratien adeptly opened the wine and poured them both a generous portion.
“Oh. Thanks, Buddy. Real nice of you. I scrounged up just enough dough to buy us lunch. Don’t tell her, okay?”
“Dough?”
“Yeah, uh, money.”
Meri tapped on Gratien’s arm. “What?”
“Joe is thanking me for the wine.”
&n
bsp; Meri narrowed her eyes. A simple “Merci” doesn’t take so many words. “Please ask him what his job is.”
Gratien wiggled his eyebrows. “Why don’t you try and, if he doesn’t understand, I’ll help. If you want to have a relationship with an American, you have to learn English.”
Meri pursed her lips. She wanted to say, “Why can’t he learn French like I did?” but chose not to say anything more to Gratien. Enough French had passed between the two of them and Joe looked confused.
“What you doing for, ah,…how you say…money?” They both looked to Gratien.
“Your job?” Gratien filled in their blanks.
Joe took a gulp of wine. “Well, in the army, I pulled KP duty. I enlisted kinda late and the higher-ups didn’t want me in no action.”
Gratien put his arthritic hand on Joe’s arm to stop him. “Slower, Joe. And smaller words, please.” The old man raised both hands, palms up, as if surrendering.
“Okay. Sorry, Groucho. I’m thirty-three years old, kinda old for fightin’ Krouts…Germans. So the Army put me in the kitchen helpin’ the cooks feed the younger guys—the ones better at fightin’. Back at home, I’m trainin’ to be a plumber. It’s a right honorable trade.”
Gratien nodded and translated.
Meri did her best to take in the information. He was ten years her junior. How would he feel about her age—forty-two? He was obviously attracted to her, but knowing about the age difference might change things. What’s a plumber? How much money does a plumber make? Can he support a wife and a growing girl? Will he want to? Meri needed answers to at least some of these questions.
“Can you ask him what a plumber does and if his work is, what shall I say? Rewarding?”
Gratien again asked Meri to try first.
“Plumper do what? You like?”
Joe laughed. “Now I git to correct you. Plumber, not plumper. That’s funny!”
