THE ROSE PERFUME

Chapter 48

 Nickolas rolls a cart out along the left side of the room and I weave through the tables to get to him.

"Careful. This is heavy," He tells me and balances a large tray with several plates on it in my hands. He does not let go until I have it. I carry it through the crowded room and pass them out.

Paul waves at me from across the room and points to Emmeline's table. I pull the notebook out of my apron pocket and go and stand next to her. She is still in a conversation with Raina.

"This is an ideal place for a celebration, what with all these big cats," Emmeline lets out a pretty laugh, "Next time we should bring the house down."

Emmeline's soft blue eyes shift in my direction and soak me in, "I'd like a white wine and cassoulet."

"Merci," I tell her and move to the woman sitting beside her. Her hair is so long it is touching the floor. "And what will you have?"

But the woman does not hear me. She is laughing and joking with other people at the table and I can not seem to get her order. I sigh with impatience and look up at Emmanuel who is singing behind me under the overhead lights. There are beads of sweat glistening down the sides of his face. Three small tables with six giggling girls dressed up in second-hand heels and costume jewelry sit next to the stage. Two of the girls are dancing and bumping into one another. One girl reaches up for Emmanuel's hand as he bends low. Try as she might she can not quite reach him and emits a high-pitched squeal when she does.

Vinzenz pulls the strings loose on Raina's dress as she passes and grabs her gateau. "Any hot muffins for me in the back?" He asks her.

"Miss?" I look down into the sincere brown eyes of a balding black coat. He is sitting beside the long-haired woman, "What do you recommend?"

"The fish," I tell him, "It's today's specialty."

"I think we'll all have that then," He says and the others at the table quickly agree. I look around at each person as I take back their menus to be sure.

I notice Greg is sitting there and smile at him. Beside him is a woman who is also in a military uniform. She puts her hand on his arm the possessive way a girlfriend or a wife will do and she is wearing an engagement ring. That is when I realize they are together.

As good as things are with Greg and Aimee at home, perhaps he does not think about her much while he is working. The woman beside him looks happy. And they are together at a party with familiar friends. Announcing their commitment in public is not a good sign.

"I'll be right back with your order," I shuffle the menus and go.

I thought the sweet moments Greg shared with Aimee were intimate. How annoyed she used to be with all of his musical advice and how over the last three years they learned to get along. It was difficult not to like him because his conscious is simple and motivated only by his extraordinary intelligence which blew us away. He is always tapping away on advanced logic neither Aimee nor I had ever heard about before. Living with him is easier than we thought it would be. Other neighbors complain the soldiers occupying rooms in their homes do not clean up after themselves and expect maid and chef service. But we never have that problem. Greg does the laundry, washes the dishes, takes out the trash, and mows the lawn. He knows how to cook and goes to the ration market for extra supplies. He fills our stove with coal to heat the house, brings us extra blankets, movie tickets, and magazines.

My understanding is that Greg is romantic in unusual ways. One time he saw Aimee outside working in the garden. He left and came back with more seeds. They spent the afternoon planting. Other times he brings her records, storybooks, and a pink scarf she always wears.

He is always there with his tea and his paperwork each morning when she practices. Or sitting next to her on the piano bench explaining earth's own musical vibrations in the air. In fact, whenever he is home he is with her and their conversations are often private. I go to my room and shut the door. I used to be worried about what people would think and say. They might call Aimee a collaborator. But I realized soon off their love was not ordinary and she may never find it again. I wanted her to live a long happy life and grow old with someone she feels this way about. Someone who looks out for and cares for her.

Now, standing here and seeing Greg with this other woman, who frequently touches his arm, I am not sure what to make of it.