Philippe brings me my soupe à l’oignon. The blond glares at me. I take a tiny pleasure in that glare. Philippe goes behind the bar now, takes a sip of his champagne and then a bite of something from her salad with his fingers! Quelle intimité! Am I truly turning as green as I feel?
Philippe makes his rounds of the restaurant, checking on everyone. At our table he spreads his arms, flutters his eyelids and sighs, as if to say “quelles beautes”. Now I am jealous of my friends! Guillaume brings Magalie and Stephanie’s meals, tuna steak for Magalie, boeuf bourguignon for Stephanie. Just at that moment Philippe passes and I gesture “where’s mine?” He rushes to the kitchen to see about it. I was kidding! Guillaume is doing an amazing job handling the throbbing restaurant. My salmon tartar quickly appears. We finish off our second bottle of wine. Magalie chirps on about l’Alliance Française. Yes, I promise I will go see them.
Digestifs are ordered, cognac for me and something green and minty for Magalie and Stephanie. I spy an impossibly handsome man at the bar. He is looking at me (it seems as if everyone at the bar is looking at our table… is it my imagination?) I try to send him “le regard”. A beautiful dark haired woman sits next to him. Soon they are touching each other in insanely intimate ways; he strokes her arm, lightly touches her neck, traces her fingers. They both wear wedding rings but I doubt that they are married to each other. When the band breaks between sets, they go out to the terrace to smoke. She perches on his lap and they share a cigarette. I play with the idea of taking up smoking.
A second round of digestifs appears. I notice that both Stephanie and Magalie have green teeth! I am very glad I’m drinking cognac. Magalie invites Stephanie and I to dinner chez elle in two weeks time. “Not on Wednesday,” I say, “it’s jazz night.” “OK, Thursday! I will cook you dinner. And we will only speak French because my partner does not speak English!” How much French can I learn in two weeks?
A third round of digestifs comes and I think this one is on Philippe. He must be feeling particularly gleeful tonight. The bar and restaurant are jammed, the music has been great, lovely women everywhere flirting with him. I am the only one without green teeth, but my skin must be glowing chartreuse by now.
The music ends. The check is requested and split. The very inebriated three of us pile on scarves, hats, coats. I can’t be sure but I think I am the only one who got bises. And I got very bold, planting actual smooches firmly on both of Philippe’s lovely cheeks.
Gareth
I definitely sold Gareth short at the girls’ night out. Maybe I didn’t think he had any business being there. Gay or not, he wasn’t a girl. After the dinner we texted each other that we should get together for lunch or dinner. The ball was in my court and I kind of let it drop.
At the Wednesday jazz dinner Gareth somehow came up and Stephanie and Magalie both said “Yes, we know Gareth well!”
“Let’s see if he would like to join us tonight.” I suggested. They both agreed.
I shot Gareth a text to which he eventually responded “Tonight I’m not free, but let me know in advance and I will be.”
“Two weeks from tonight?”
“If I’m still here in two weeks. I normally will leave next week on Wednesday unless I have some really good news from my past job interviews.”
“How about lunch tomorrow? Le Clou, Avenue Trudaine, at 1:00?” I ask.
“That’s good with me!”
Ms. Toujours en avance arrives at Le Clou at ten to one. Sweet Thierry seats me at my usual inside table and I tell him I will wait for my friend to arrive before ordering something to drink.
Then all hell breaks loose outside. An unruly mob of dozens of students just let out from the high school around the corner, all in various stages of cheering on and trying to prevent a fight. The melee looks like it will unfold right in front of the restaurant. Lovely Thierry rushes out to break it up. Fifty something unruly teens vs one handsome Thierry. I think it says a lot about my Thierry’s character. I hope it does not say he is foolish.
Soon the familiar police klaxon sounds. Then another. Then a mass of police and pompiers descend on the area. The teens are invisible as quickly as they appeared.
Again the timing thing. 1:15 came and went and no sign of Gareth. I buried my nose in my book and pretended not to be concerned. How long should I wait until I decided he wasn’t coming and admit to Thierry I had been stood up. AT 1:20 I texted Gareth: “Are you still coming?”
“Yes, I’ll be there now.” He texted back. And there he was.
Handsome and stylishly dressed, all six foot four of him. He apologized for being late; he had come from the 12ème. Le métro… bien sûr.
I asked him if he would prefer red or white (wine) and he politely deferred to me. I recommended a bottle of the Walden. It’s what I’ve been drinking at Le Clou since it opened.
Thierry opened the wine and poured us both a taste. “Nice!” said Gareth, admitting he really prefers red and we both briefly grimaced over the seven bottles of white we took part in consuming at the girls’ night out.
We made small talk and then perused the menu. “Tartare de boeuf au couteau!” he got very excited. “When it’s au couteau, I never pass it up!”
I had recently been involved in the au couteau debate and hadn’t realized that I was having the good stuff all this time at Le Clou. “Moi aussi” I told our waiter, pushing my craving for a hamburger out of sight.
“Tell me about your interview.”
For the next two hours we ate and drank and talked about Gareth’s frustrations with his job search. He had been working in fashion merchandising for Collette for five years before they closed their doors in December. Before that he worked for Chanel for five years. Job searches in Paris are evidently slow and painful. The story was very much like that of Aimee. In Gareth’s case he did not lack confidence and indeed contacts. It just seems to be a very slow process. He had a very good headhunter working enthusiastically with him and had generated interest from Louis Vuitton, Adidas and Hermes. He had set a target date for himself that he would have to return to Finland if he hadn’t gotten something and that date was Wednesday!
“Don’t go!” I said, “You are very close. You need to be in Paris. This is where your future is! I’m sure of it!” I told Gareth about my recruitment background which seemed to give him confidence, hopefully not misplaced, that I knew what I was talking about.
We talked until we were the only ones left in the restaurant. Thierry had gone home for the afternoon. The poor waiter had cleaned all the tables, the glassware, and set up for the dinner service. We asked him if he wanted us to leave. He assured us we were fine. We kept talking while the cook left. We talked about our lives and loves and hopes and dreams. At one point I even confided to him that I was pretty sure that Thierry and I were involved in a past life, some 400 years earlier, in Paris. He believed me.
Finally we put the beleaguered waiter out of his misery. I insisted on paying (I have to stop doing that!) He protested but I assured him that when he landed that perfect job he would take me for a grand lunch, with champagne. We toasted to that with his coffee and my water glass.
When I got home I got a text.
“Thank you K for a great lunch! I’m so happy to have met you (see you again in this life) This is just the beginning of our friendship. Bisous et à très bientôt.”
I think I have made a new real friend. Not French. Not really an expat. Identities in Paris are fluid.
So today I’ve been here six weeks. It’s really flown by. I think it’s a good time to take a brief inventory of where I’ve been and what I’d like to say I’ve accomplished at the end of the next six, when I “go home” for a short while.
For the positive, I’ve written some 28,000 words, a good chunk of a 100,000 word novel. I’ve learned that if I sit down and start writing it will come. I’ve learned that if I’m patient and live my
life, things happen that I can write about. I’ve made friends. Making friends in Paris is on fast forward. Friends that I expected would be important to me turned out to be less so. People who I didn’t expect seem to play a more significant role. I’m certainly connected with a huge number of people. If I invite someone for a drink or coffee that network keeps expanding.
I’ve learned not to waste time with people not worth my time. Caroleen. I’ve been clever about balancing expats and locals. Expats can suck you in and they offer loads of entertainment and you can learn from their experiences. But they can also trap you into an “other space”, not really Parisian and not helping my language skills, although oddly they all seem to speak excellent French. French people take much longer to get to know, certainly longer than the high-speed expat relationships. I have discovered that French people who have lived abroad, particularly in non-EU countries are a bit more open to vraiment friendships. French people who have only lived in France can be very reserved. I’ve learned that because someone has some sort of business relationship with you, whether they are a restaurant owner, a waiter, the Boulanger or the fromagerie owner, no matter how friendly and welcoming they are to you, they are not your friend. That is not to say that they might not someday become a friend. But the likelihood seems quite remote. You are a financial opportunity, perhaps a pleasant one, maybe even their favorite client. But they will never take you as a permanent fixture on their landscape.
Paris is a melting pot. The French are slow to integrate outsiders into their world. Muslims are a large portion of the population, but are sadly and generally distrusted by many. Concerns might be understandable given the recent attacks in Paris and Nice. French are not appreciative of this American’s inquisitiveness and questions. I am yet to crack the code of having someone honestly and frankly tell me how they feel. But then, it’s only been six weeks.
French men flirt. All the time. With everyone. That doesn’t mean they see you as a potential bonafide domestic partner. Americans are simply not used to that. I would imagine that the experience for American men with French women is completely different. French women don’t flirt. They expect to be pursued all of the time. They ignore. I think an American man would simply give up. And what about gay men or women. I have no idea.
Where am I going? At the hearty encouragement of Magalie, I have signed up for French classes with l’Alliance Française. It’s very expensive so I’m allocating an expenditure of no more than 1,000 euros; 8 weeks, 3 days a week, 3 hours a day. Let’s see how much I have improved by the time I leave on May 12. In the meantime, I’m going to try to speak only French. That means getting out more with fewer English speakers. When I’m out with friends, I will try to speak only French. That should work with Magalie and Stephanie, who encourage me to speak French. With Philippe, of course. In every café and restaurant, no problem. But how about with the expat dinners with Siobhan, Charlotte and Elizabeth. Can I convince them to speak only French? They all speak it perfectly.
All F’ed Up
My mind is abuzz and I can’t even really get my arms around how I feel. So I decided to work and do the five employee evaluations that were requested from me. The hotel in the corner of my building is undergoing renovation and for the past two days the incessant drilling is sending me around the bend. Although it is technically only Spring, Parisians are declaring Summer is here and it’s too nice to sit inside anyway. I took myself and my laptop to Cépage to do the evaluations. Dumb idea! The drilling just got closer. So as much as I said I wouldn’t, I packed things up and headed to GCA.
About last night… Stephanie wanted to come with me to jazz night. Great! I got there first, as usual, and took the seat facing out, where I could see up close and personal the musicians.
“One of these days I’m going to get here before you and I can sit there!” she said when she came in.
“Would you like to sit here?”
“Yes!”
So we switched. The windows were open and the terrace seats full. I could see the people on the terrace. Period. I couldn’t see the musicians at all. (It never occurred to me that was the case for her!) I could see Philippe every time he buzzed out to the terrace to see how things were going.
Like that the night progressed quickly. During the third set a trumpet appeared from somewhere and I twisted my seat to watch. It was a bit awkward since Daniele and I have clearly acknowledged each other in the last couple of weeks.
The blonde girl was at the bar, without her kid this time. Philippe talked to her a bit but it didn’t seem as intimate as before. Stephanie commented that he had an admirer. But where it got weird was Stephanie’s clear interest in Daniele. And her assumption that he was her game now, not mine. I love Stephanie and her friendship means a lot to me but this was just weird. And I didn’t like competing. But two and a half years it too long for me to give up the chase, when I’m finally making progress!
He looked over at our table a lot and Stephanie was certain he was looking at her.
Fast forward to the end of the music. Daniele came over to our table. I can’t even really remember what I said but I was a bit drunk and I did melt a bit into fits of giggles.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked. (Stupid American stereotype… laughing about nothing)
“I’m not laughing” dumb… I was laughing. But I stopped.
None of the rest of the conversation makes any sense and I can’t even re-enact it to get some kind of order. I just remember in no particular order; “Je suis Katherine” (I know) “Je suis une grande fan” (I know, I see you here a lot) Stephanie: “She comes every week.” “This is Stephanie” (OK) “I really enjoyed Larry Browne last week. He and I are from San Francisco” (He’s a good friend of mine) “ You speak English, right?” (Yes) “Parle Italiano?” (Yes, do you ? Are you Italian?) “No but I speak a little” (My mother is Italian).
At some point he corrected my French telling me it was very important that I get it right. “I need a tutor. Would you like to be my tutor?” (Yes, but you have to be willing for me to be very tough) Oh heck yes! (How many languages do you speak?) “Just English well” (English is not a language) “Of course it is!” (Not really) And there must have been some more but I can’t remember it. All I remember is that I felt like a total idiot! It was not a good feeling.
And Stephanie’s teeth were green again. She said, “Magalie is wrong. Philippe obviously is interested. He looks at you a lot and comes to say things throughout the night.”
Is this the consolation prize? Is she throwing me a bone? You can have Philippe but I get Daniele (who by the way directed his entire conversation to me).
Time to go, Uber arrives fast for once. Philippe comes outside to say goodbye. Instead of la bise I give him another big old kiss smack on his cheek.
And now I’m working in the restaurant. He commented that my book must be progressing well. If he only knew.
Honor Among Thieves (and French Girlfriends)
Wednesday rolled around again and I happily found myself with plans to go to Wednesday night jazz night alone. The last few weeks I’ve been buried in friends; friends from outside of Paris, and Magalie, Stephanie and Siobhan. So I haven’t done an evening alone in over a month. I’ve missed it. The nights with others have been lively (Philippe said “you have a lot of friends!”) But they’ve changed the nature of my interactions with Philippe and Daniele. It seems so odd to me to think that eating alone ever felt awkward. I am missing it.
Early Wednesday morning I found an email from Stephanie who has been on a petit vacance in the South.
“I might see you tonight. I go with my girlfriends to Comptoir d’Anvers tonight so we might see you I guess?” Bisous. PS: Did you book your stay at the Terrass Hotel?
OK, I’m not exactly sure what this means. Maybe I’ll see you from across the room? Feel free to wave? Let’s all sit together? Shall I up my reservation?
> One thing was very clear. She was coming for Daniele. I don’t know about thieves but there is no honor in French girlfriends!
I showed up at 7:30 and took my usual table. A smile from Daniele who was well into his first set. Guillaume set my table with a white tablecloth and a bottle of red. He knows what I like. I was texting with my daughter in California and didn’t notice Stephanie and friends, along with Bob (Bub) the newly adopted dog) at the bar right in front of me. They had evidently been there for awhile because they were sipping their drinks when Stephanie came over to say hello.
I heard her friends say “Oh! Katherine’s here!” although I only had met Tara. After introductions, a bit of fuss over Bub and some discussion with Philippe it was agreed that I would join them at a table Philippe was getting set up in the other part of the restaurant, out of the line of sight of Daniele.
The table was declared ready and we all moved. Guillaume brought my wine, which was quickly decided would be the group’s wine (which was followed by four more bottles through the night).
I have to admit, the friends were lovely and I enjoyed getting to know them, two Irish girls and one from the UK. What’s with all of these Irish girls? So far my expat circle seems to be weighted heavily with Irish girls, at least half a dozen. Mary Murphy (seriously!) is loud and gregarious. She declares herself to be Stephanie’s wingman tonight and will grease the skids and make this thing with Daniele happen. WTF?! Clearly Stephanie has brought the group up to speed on all things Daniele, except for the fact that I like him and have for years!
Mary Murphy, God love her, is no slouch when it comes to being a wingman. As soon as the band took a break she was out of her seat and across the room having a conversation with him. Her own boyfriend/life partner/father of her three year old child is evidently a guitarist and she knows a thing or two about these musicians. A short time later she is back with a report on the conversation. It’s not positive. She thinks he seems defensive.
Ninon and Me at the Grand Comptoir Page 11
