by Maggie Way
“Of course,” Cécile said.
Mat smiled, pretending he knew what it was about, and followed Rob to a small patio at the back of the hotel.
“What’s the deal with you and Jeanne?” Rob asked as soon as they were out of everyone’s earshot. “Are you seeing each other?”
“No. Why?”
“Do you think I’m blind? You’ve been ogling her nonstop since we got here. And she you.”
“So you noticed.”
Rob gave him a what-do-you-think look. “I’m afraid everybody did.”
“Oh God.”
“What did Cécile say?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I was hoping she didn’t notice . . .”
“Maybe—I don’t know her well enough—or maybe she chose to turn a blind eye on it. Whichever it is, you’re walking on thin ice.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“Then why don’t you . . . avoid looking at Jeanne?”
Mat smirked. “I must have a self-destructive side, like my dad.”
Rob tilted his head to the side. “That’s a bit too easy, blaming it on your dad.”
Mat sucked in his cheeks but said nothing.
“How long has it been going on?”
Mat hesitated before confessing, “Since your engagement dinner last September.”
“Holy cow.”
Mat smiled. Despite his embarrassment, it was a relief to talk to Rob about it. “The moment I saw her something snapped inside me, and my old crush came rushing back.”
“You were profoundly pathetic back then,” Rob said.
“Thank you.” Mat curled his arms over his head. “You want the whole ugly truth? I crave Jeanne, even as I know it may ruin the relationship with the woman I love.”
“So, let me get this straight. You love Cécile but you can’t help lusting after Jeanne. Correct?”
“Pretty much, yes. A bit like when you hooked up with Amanda even if it was Lena you loved.”
Rob shook his head. “I never felt for Amanda what you feel for Jeanne. I loved her as a friend.”
“Are you telling me I should follow my lust?”
Rob gave out a cackle. “I would’ve said ‘follow your heart’ if it didn’t sound so cheesy.”
“You, my friend, are a hopeless romantic. I won’t hold it against you.”
“And you’ve become a bit too jaded lately. Must be the politics.”
Mat smirked and then his expression darkened. “I like to think I’m driven by a vision, not ambition . . . But sometimes the distinction gets fuzzy.”
Rob nodded.
Mat continued. “As for Jeanne, I have a lot of respect and admiration for her, but . . . Cécile’s the right woman for me.”
“Because Jeanne is a baker’s daughter?”
“Oh come on, you know me better than that. I’m not a snob.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Really? You think I’m a snob for preferring Cécile to Jeanne?”
“You tell me.”
Mat blinked. “It’s not about Jeanne’s background. It’s about who she is and what she wants to achieve in life. She’s a bartender whose greatest ambition is to own a bistro—”
“And it’s not how you imagine your future wife,” Rob finished for him.
Mat drew in a breath and nodded slowly.
“Then stay away from her.”
“I’ve been trying to.”
“Try harder.”
Mat held his palms up in frustration. “I lose control when she’s around.”
“Really? I’ve never known you to be the addict type.”
“I’m not. But with her, I turn into a junkie who’d kill for his fix.”
Rob put his hand on Mat’s shoulder. “Stay away from her, buddy. She’s not as tough as she’d have you think. You could break her.” He gave a sad smile and walked away, leaving Mat alone with his thoughts.
Chapter Eight
May
Didier’s remark that La Bohème wasn’t attracting the local bobos had stuck with Jeanne. She ended up convincing Pierre to start a “happy hour” between five thirty and eight in the evening, serving cocktails at half price. After three weeks the bobo customer stats hadn’t budged. But the measure turned out to be a huge success among office workers who now flocked to the bistro en masse for a quick drink and a bite before going home.
Tonight had been no exception. When, around eight thirty, the crowd began to thin, Amar joined Jeanne behind the bar for a short break and a cup of coffee. As they both closed their eyes, inhaling the aroma of their brews, Amanda walked in and headed straight to the bar.
“Working late again?” Jeanne asked.
“I don’t mind as long as you serve me one of your vodka Tatins at the happy-hour price,” Amanda said.
Jeanne grinned and turned to Amar. “Lesson number one hundred sixty-nine. Don’t let friends take advantage of your position. Your motto must be ‘Business is Business.’ ”
“Got it,” Amar said.
“And never mind what I charge her for her cocktail. This is a theoretical lesson.” Jeanne began to shake Amanda’s drink.
When Jeanne was done, Amanda took a sip and lifted her eyes skyward in appreciation. “Ah. I love it. You’re the best.” She turned to Amar. “Be a darling and fetch me some peanuts.”
“I’m off duty,” Amar said with a nonchalant shrug. “And business is business.”
“Cheeky kid. Anyway, tell me, how come you’re working on Fridays? Isn’t this the day when all immigrants go to the mosque?”
Amar looked her over and shook his head. “You’re one of a kind.”
“I know. But, please, enlighten me.”
“First, even though my parents are from Syria, I was born in France, which makes me French—not an immigrant. Second, I’m an agnostic.”
“So you don’t believe in God?” Amanda asked.
“I didn’t say I was an atheist. Agnostics reserve judgment until they can see proof of God’s existence or nonexistence. Atheists believe there’s no God. To me, they aren’t so different from religious fanatics—their philosophy is based on belief, not facts.”
“Wow. A Cartesian immigrant, um . . . immigrant-born Frenchman.” She turned to Jeanne. “I’m impressed. If it weren’t for your protégé, I could’ve died now knowing the difference between an agnostic and an atheist.”
Jeanne shrugged. “I’ve been telling the Ministry of Health people they should subsidize us.”
Amanda furrowed her brow. “I’m not following. Subsidize you for what?”
“For providing psychotherapy for the price of an espresso.” Jeanne sighed. “Now I realize the Ministry of Education should sponsor us, too. For spreading knowledge.”
Amanda gave her a dazzling smile. “So what else is up?”
“La Bohème is participating in the annual Paris Waiters’ Race tomorrow,” Amar said.
“That’s yesterday’s news, my boy,” Amanda said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Is it still you and Didier running?
Amar nodded.
“But hadn’t you sustained some kind of injury that made you quit professional sports?”
It was Amar’s turn to act surprised. He turned to Jeanne. “Wow. I’m impressed by your friend. She actually pays attention to what people tell her.”
Amanda tapped the side of her head. “I can’t help it. My brain stores everything I hear or read. Including the most useless and insignificant information. So, what about that injury?”
“It’s not a real race. Nobody can run with a loaded tray. I’ll be fine.”
“What about you, Jeanne? Why didn’t you enroll?”
“With those two participating and Pierre cheering, someone has to mind the shop. I’ll serve them chilled beer after they’re back.”
“Oh come on, can’t you leave that chubby waitress in charge? I’m sure she’ll manage like a pro.”
“Manon isn’t chubby,” Amar said.
Ignoring him, Amanda looked
at Jeanne with dreamy eyes and said, “We could do the American-style pom-pom thing.”
“Seriously?”
“What? We’re both still young and good-looking. I’ve always regretted we don’t have that tradition in France. I would’ve made a fantastic cheerleader.”
“Maybe you could ask Manon to join you?” Amar said, his face lighting up.
“We’re not doing it,” Jeanne said to Amanda before turning to Amar. “But I’m sure Manon will be there to support you.”
“I’ll be there, too, supporting La Bohème.” Amanda beamed.
Jeanne cleared her throat. “Um… Rob is going, too. With Lena.”
“You know what? I don’t give a hoot. I’ve decided I’m no longer going out of my way to avoid them. It’s too much hassle. It’s their turn to do the avoiding.”
“Makes sense,” Jeanne said.
“So, I’m coming tomorrow. And as a true cheerleader, I’ve made sure you’ll have as many fans as possible along the route.”
“You did?” Jeanne asked, a note of concern in her voice.
“Of course. I’ve been spreading the news for a week now.”
Jeanne narrowed her eyes. “In what direction?”
“Oh, everywhere. I told some colleagues at work, my mom, a few friends . . .”
“Who?”
“Karine—you’ve seen her here a couple of times. Patrick. Mat.” Amanda paused, thinking. “I think that’s about it. They all said they’d come.”
Jeanne smirked. I’m sure he will.
She tried to work up some righteous anger.
Instead, she grew annoyed with herself for feeling so ridiculously happy about the prospect of seeing him again.
“What makes you think you can win against two hundred professional waiters?” Didier arched an eyebrow at Amar.
They were downing their espressos before heading to the Place des Vosges where the Waiters’ Race was to start.
Amar shrugged. “My youthful audacity?”
“He’s faster than most,” Jeanne said.
“That may be the case, but he’ll be carrying a tippy tray with a bottle of Orangina and two full glasses on it.” Didier turned back to Amar. “You may be the first at the finish line, but if you’ve broken a glass or even spilled too much Orangina, you’re toast.”
“I know the rules, thank you,” Amar said, giving Didier a low-lidded look.
Jeanne rolled her eyes. “Men. I, for one, am happy both of you are running today. It doubles the chances for La Bohème.”
“By the way, why did you sign up for this? What’s your incentive?” Amar asked Didier.
“Same as yours—Orangina’s fat check. Three thousand euros is worth the ridicule.”
“Hey, loosen up, man. This thing is supposed to be fun,” Amar said.
“We may not have the same notion of fun,” Didier retorted.
The entrance door flew open and Pierre walked in, followed by Manon. The young woman wore a yellow wig and pressed a rolled-up white cloth to her chest. When she unfurled it, the cloth turned out to be a hand painted banner that read “LA BOHEME ROCKS.”
“Did you make it?” Amar gave Manon a bright-eyed look.
She nodded, a small smile on her round face.
Jeanne glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s time. Go get them, boys! And remember to wear your aprons and bow ties.”
Once everyone was gone, Jeanne lost herself in frantic activity. She tended the bar and helped the remaining waiter, Jimmy, during the lunchtime. Whenever she had a moment, she went into the kitchen to give a hand to Claude who’d been alarmingly morose for over a week now. She didn’t sit down until around four in the afternoon when things finally calmed down. Her stomach growling, she headed to the kitchen to eat the plate of cassoulet Claude had put aside for her. Halfway through her meal, she heard loud voices coming from the front of the bistro and went to investigate.
The La Bohème staff, Rob, Lena, Amanda, Mat, and a few other people were singing “We Are The Champions,” taking turns at tapping Amar on the back, and inspecting his medal.
“Our boy won the race,” Pierre shouted over the singing as soon as he saw her. “La Bohème came first!”
Jeanne opened her mouth to ask Didier about his result—and shut it upon seeing his sullen expression.
“I’m closing the bistro off until seven, and opening our best champagne to celebrate this historic event,” Pierre announced.
“Jeanne, you so should’ve come!” Amanda dropped on a chair next to Jeanne. “There were thousands of people at the Place des Vosges and along the route, everyone chanting and cheering. Great energy. I really enjoyed myself.”
“I’m sure I’ll hear so much about it I’ll end up feeling like I was there,” Jeanne said.
Amanda shifted in her seat. “Um . . . I’m not sure what the etiquette is when customers mix with waiters like this . . . Do you think I can ask Didier or the chubby girl to get me a glass of sparkling water?”
“How about I pour you some from the tap?” Jeanne offered.
Amanda sighed theatrically. “OK. I hate tap water, but these are exceptional circumstances.”
Jeanne handed Amanda her water and then moved closer to Amar, waiting for her turn to congratulate him.
She didn’t look at Mat. Not even once.
“I couldn’t miss the chance to cheer La Bohème during the race,” she heard him tell Rob.
Rob rolled his eyes.
She kept not looking at Mat.
Manon hugged Amar and gave him a peck on the cheek.
Amar grinned like a Cheshire cat.
Jeanne still didn’t look at Mat.
Lena walked over to Amanda. “Hi. It’s good to see you. Really.”
Amanda flashed one of her landmark not-quite-reaching-the-eyes smiles. “Yeah, well. I’d hoped you’d figure out it was your turn to take a rain check. I think I’ve skipped enough events over the past year.”
“I was hoping we could stop . . . skipping,” Lena said.
Amanda shrugged. “I’m not the forgiving type. But I’m willing to pretend I’m OK with being in the same room as you and Rob if you make sure to stay out of my hair.”
Lena nodded and left her in peace.
Jeanne kept her gaze trained on Amar.
“Come, I need to tell you something,” Lena whispered to Jeanne, heading down the stairs.
Jeanne followed her to the restroom.
“I’m pregnant,” Lena said without bothering with an introduction.
Jeanne blinked several times. “Oh. My. God. How far along are you?”
“Three months.”
“Wait a minute, so you were already pregnant during the wedding?”
“Yep. Only I didn’t know it. I missed my period in March, but I didn’t think much of it. My menses aren’t regular.”
Jeanne gave her friend a bear hug. “I can’t believe it. This is huge! How does it feel to be pregnant?”
“It’s weird, actually. I’m still having a hard time accepting there’s a living creature growing inside me.”
“Like in the Alien movies.”
“Oh no!” Lena grinned. “It’s actually a good feeling. Weird, but good.”
“You and Rob are going to have a sweet little family,” Jeanne said.
“You’re next. You caught my wedding bouquet.”
“Did I have a choice? You hurled it at me.”
Lena chuckled.
When they walked out of the bathroom, Mat was hovering by the door. Lena gave him a small smile and walked past him toward the dining room.
Jeanne followed in Lena’s tracks, her head down . . . until he moved in front of her, blocking her way.
Shit.
Slowly, she looked up.
Double shit.
He was even hotter than she remembered from a month ago.
Must be my imagination.
Mat stared at her in that fierce way that made her knees go weak.
“How’s life
?” he asked after a while.
“Same old,” she said.
They peered at each other for another long moment, and then Mat took a step toward her. His chest rose and fell, and his eyes turned the color of dark slate.
If I don’t say anything, he’ll kiss me.
It was tempting to let him.
And then she remembered something. She’d thought about Mat last night, but not in the way she usually did. She’d thought about him in connection with Daniela, and that horrible boyfriend of hers. In spite of his new job and promises, the fights hadn’t stopped. The concierge denied being battered, even as she wore big sunglasses inside the building. The woman needed help.
And Mat enjoyed helping people.
“I have a neighbor whose boyfriend is violent. I’ve heard them fight, and I’ve seen her with bruises several times,” she said.
He ceased drawing closer, but he didn’t retreat either.
“A friend of mine put her in touch with a Help Center, but it didn’t go down too well.” She threw her hands up. “I don’t know how to convince her to report him. And to jilt him.”
Mat took a moment before speaking. “She should learn Krav Maga.”
“What in hell is Krav Maga?”
“An extreme form of self-defense. Several martial arts plus a bunch of dirty tricks rolled into a technique that’s diabolically effective.”
“Wow. Sounds like something I wouldn’t mind trying myself. Are you an adept?”
“I’ve been practicing it for the past two years. In addition to the weight lifting.”
“I see.”
“If she takes a class twice or three times a week, in a month she’ll be able to knock him out.”
“No kidding?”
“I’m serious. Besides, it will do wonders for her self-confidence.” He smirked. “Remember me four years ago?”
“I thought you were Cécile’s handiwork,” she said archly.
“I’m a multivariate equation.” He counted on his fingers. “Cécile’s handiwork plus weights plus Krav equals the perfection standing in front of you.”
She burst out in laughter. “Why do I have the impression you’re only half joking?”
He whipped out his phone and scrolled through his contacts. “I know an instructor who gives Krav Maga classes in the 18th, just a few métro stops from here. I’ll send you his phone and address . . . if your number hasn’t changed.”
