The Greatest Mind I Ever Knew

Chapter 4: Pure Bliss

I kept scolding myself in the shower for the decision I'd made. All I'd wanted for weeks now was to have some time alone with Lotan, but he'd always been too shy to ask for it and I wasn't any good at being that subtle, patient, flirty-from-across-the-room sort of person. I liked him, and I was tired of him not knowing. I was tired of feeling lonely.
               So as I scrubbed the sweat off my skin and shampooed the stress off my head, I purposed myself to tell him. No nonsense, blatantly, holding nothing back, I wanted to tell him. I wanted Lotan to know how much I'd come to like him over the last few weeks, and how attractive he was, and how talented he was, whether he felt the same way about me or not. What was the worst that could happen?
               But after I left the shower, dried myself and put on some clean clothes, I crept around the ballet house and couldn't find Lotan anywhere. Madame Favreau was alone in the studio, dancing elegantly in front of the long windows where passers-by could see her from across the street, her phone playing something by Debussy or such the like. I knew if Lotan was still in the building he'd be playing music for her instead, so after some more searching I resigned myself to the fact that he must have gone home. And that made me miserable. Waiting even one more day to tell him I liked him was an agonising idea! I was nervous enough already: what kind of panicked state would I be in by tomorrow morning!?
               But there was nothing else I could do. I didn't know where Lotan was or how to contact him, so all I could do was leave the building, step out onto the busy London street, and start my long, quiet walk home.
               However, life has your back sometimes. Most of the time it knocks you down, or makes you feel like crap, but very, very occasionally, if you're a decent person and incredibly lucky, fate throws you a bone. This was mine.
               Before I'd gone far from the exit of the ballet house, I heard my name being called very gently. At first I thought I'd imagined it, then I thought it might have been some old friend, or perhaps a ballerina buddy, or maybe even a fan, but then I heard the accent of the voice and whipped around in its direction, grinning. My head lifted up to see the face of tall, dark, handsome Frenchman.
               'Hi, Lotan!' I greeted him just as I had that morning. He smiled back at me, happy too and equally as relieved.
'Bonsoir, Olivia. I, I was nervous you leave already. I come out from work, but I was waiting here a few minutes, and now you are here also.'
               My heart whooped for joy. He'd waited for me! He wanted to see me! That meant he liked me, right!?
               'I was actually looking for you too, inside.' I confessed to him. 'I, I...'
'Oh. It's not as easy as I thought it would be.'
'I,' I kept trying, but couldn't think of a single other word. 'I... -'
'I am hungry.' Lotan said then, trying to relieve me of the burden of conversation. I relaxed.
'Me too! So, um, do you want to get dinner somewhere?'
'Yes.' He nodded, looking down at me as if he wasn't sure whether I was offering to go with him, or simply asking if he was going to eat tonight. So he clarified, 'I found a French restaurant, finally. Would you like, er, to try? Together - me and you?'
               He seemed so nervous that I wanted to reach out and kiss him there and then! But I restrained myself, smiled and said,
'Yes, I would like that. Very much.'
'Ah.' he smiled broadly. At the sight of a full smile on his lips, all my tiredness drained away and I suddenly felt like I could dance Giselle a dozen more times. 'For me it is good. Er, is this way, not much far away, but if your feet hurting I ask a taxi -'
'No, no.' I quickly said. I wanted this evening to last as long as possible. 'I'd like to walk.'
               Lotan seemed concerned for me but nodded anyway.

'So.' I said as we started walking through London. The busy streets pushed us together, but I like to think we would have kept that close to each other even if we'd been alone. Our hands grazed each other's every now and again but they didn't hold one another's. I suppose we were still getting to know each other. We were still nervous.
               'Tell me more about your music, Lotan.' I said, flashing the tall man a smile. He looked at it, then at my eyes, then back ahead, and said,
'I like to write music. Waltzes and nocturnes, er, few concertos, a few symphonies. They, the music, come to me in, er, er, er, other times. - Random times, this is what I mean to say. Like when I should sleeping.'
               He smiled down at me weakly. I chuckled.
'I can imagine it must be hard for such a clever mind to rest. Are you always thinking up new songs?'
'No.' Lotan said attentively. 'Sometimes I am thinking of people, and places, and, er, normal things. But when I feel, er certain, er, mood, I think of certain music. Like, when I am happy I thinking of Vivaldi, when I'm sad, I think of Chopin.'
               I nodded a little cluelessly. I knew of Vivaldi, and I'd danced to some Chopin but I'd never learnt about them like a professional pianist would have.
               Lotan looked down at me, sensed I wasn't following him completely, and said, 'Er, Vivaldi, he is, he is more lighter, and happy, and he, er, er, celebrate, seasons, for example, but Chopin is sometimes very sad, and er, heavy. So when I feel like this ways, I play songs by this people...'
               Soon my smitten mind lost all grip on what Lotan was talking about, too stricken by the way he spoke. His voice was lower than most's, and his face stayed serious when he spoke like he was searching for every word he said. His manner of conversation was incredibly courteous and gentle, but best of all: he was French. So words like 'lighter' on his tongue sounded like 'lighterre', and 'heavy' became 'evvie', and his rolled r's in almost every word made me feel weak! - Do French people know how ridiculously, unattainably sexy they are? Lotan certainly didn't, which was why he kept glancing at me after every word longer than five letters, as if to check he'd said it correctly. Occasionally he forgot a word so he waved his hand in the air while saying 'ah, er, ah, er,' until it came to him. Those little filler noises were such a rich sound that I sometimes hoped he'd never find the word he was after.
               'Ah, we are here.' Lotan said after a short while, making me 'wake up' and blink a few times. I cleared my throat.
'Oh! Thank you.' I said as he pulled the restaurant's door open for me. Truthfully I'd forgotten that was where we were going!
               I stepped into the dim, classically romantic place and smiled. The smell of fresh bread and garlic greeted me seconds before the waitress did. She was French too, so she and Lotan spoke in their native language out of convenience: not because Lotan realised how charming it made him sound. He seemed a little bit more confident in French: his words flowed more easily, although his head still stayed low and he didn't make eye contact if he could help it. Even so, he was never impolite.
               If the waitress had been younger and prettier I would have been insanely jealous, but she was a plump, mumsy sort of woman who showed us to a nice little table and got some fresh candles to light, before leaving us alone. Lotan immediately turned his attention back to me and smiled.
               'Do you like?'
'Yes, it's very nice.' I said. I didn't confess to him that I'd actually been here once before after a show nearby. 'Is the food good?'
'For me it is good, yes. I hope you like.'
'I'm sure I will.' I said reassuringly. 'I'm not a fussy eater. - And right now I'm so hungry I could eat anything they cook - even snails!'
               This made Lotan loosen up a little and even laugh. I don't think I'd heard him laugh fully before then. It was a lovely, low sound.
               We fell quiet after that, just looking at each other, not really sure what to say next. We were in a restaurant: you'd think one of us would have thought to say something like 'so what are you going to order?' or 'don't these candles smell nice?', but in that moment our minds were so excited, so blank, that neither of us could utter a word.
               But after a while, when the looks and smiles and glances were getting a little awkward, Lotan inhaled and said,
'In France, we kiss by now.'
               My eyes widened at him.
'...Oh. Er, okay. Do, do you mean like the cheek-to-cheek kisses? Because they do that in Italy too. - My family's Italian.'
'Really?' Lotan asked, intrigued. 'From Italy? This mean you like food and wine and kisses too, yes?'
               I laughed.
'Yeah, something like that.' Then I paused to see if he'd explain why he brought up kissing so suddenly. He did.
'Well, er,' he said, glancing down at the table where his hands fidgeted on a napkin, 'In Grigny, where I was growed up, I was, er, kiss people four times, on the cheek. But I did not like it. But now, I am with you, here, and I want to kiss your cheek, and I don't. Is er, not making sense to me!'
               I watched Lotan speak again, melting with every word like I was ice cream on his tongue.
'I wish.'
               'It doesn't make sense to me either.' I replied after a moment, when I could calm my brain and find the words. Lotan looked up at me, relieved. I smiled.
'Then, er,' he said, 'Olivia, can I? Kissing your cheek?'
               I bit my lip and nodded excitedly. Lotan stood up from the table after that, so I did too, then he slowly approached me, put a hand on my arm and kissed me four times, cheek to cheek. I could feel them blushing darker with every brush of his lips against them! By the time he was done I was flushed with heat. How did he have this power over me?
               Afterwards Lotan lingered in front of me for a second, looking down at my face, smiling shyly. Then his hand slid off my arm and he went back to his chair. I sat down too, my legs trembling a little.
'That was nice.' I said. Then a sudden thought came to my mind and I cursed myself again:
'Why I didn't I kiss him back? I'm supposed to, right? Damn it!' But instead of beating myself up over it, I decided to just blurt out my thoughts as I quite often do: 'Lotan?'
'Yes?'
'I forgot to kiss you at the same time.'
'Ah.' he said, nodding a little. 'This is okay.'
'No, it's not.' I said. 'I, I think we should do it again.'
               Lotan looked up at me, his brows rising in surprise.
'Pardon?'
'The, um, kisses. Can we do them again, please? I didn't do it right.'
               Without another hesitation, Lotan smiled and stood up once more. So did I. He approached me more quickly this time, put his hand back on my arm, and leaned towards my head once more. But before his lips reached me he said quietly,
'Bonjour, Mademoiselle. Vous êtes très belle. On se fait la bise?'
               I had very little idea what that meant but I quickly put my hand on his arm too and pulled him in for the kisses, afraid he'd otherwise notice my suddenly, uncontrollably lustful eyes.
               I focussed this time - or tried to, at least, but his charm and gentle kisses made me pretty hopeless. However I did manage to brush my lips against his skin once or twice: and that was a very nice feeling indeed.
               'Is good now?' he asked me afterwards. I nodded happily.
'Yes. Thank you.'
               Lotan nodded too and we both sat back down again.