You're the One (a Bistro La Bohème novella)

Chapter 7: Adrien

What if there was a perfectly logical and innocent explanation to Fred's behavior? Natalie had pondered this question for a good part of the night, unable to find sleep. Maybe he had enrolled in an evening class at Le Louvre, and the waitress was his classmate. Or maybe he was envisaging a complete change of career, like becoming a chef or a café owner and didn't want to tell her yet because it was such a long shot.

That thought had cheered her up a bit before falling asleep. Even though Fred had clearly kept a secret from her, perhaps it wasn't what she thought. Anyone in her place would have thought that. She could, of course, just ask him. Only . . .she wasn't ready for his answer. What if his secret wasn't about a career change or self-improvement, but good old two-timing? She needed to be sure before confronting him.

She finally dozed off just before dawn and woke up a couple of hours later to a dark and chilly morning. At least it wasn't raining.

Fred was already awake. 

"Are you working again this weekend?" she asked.

"I'm afraid so," Fred said with an apologetic smile. "And in the evening, I'm having drinks with an old friend. He's in Paris for only two days."

"Do I know him?"

"No, it's a classmate from Valence." He began to fumble for his slippers. "You've never met him."

"Maybe I could join you?"

"You'd be bored silly with our reminiscences."

"I rather enjoy—"

"Listen, why don't you and Marie go to the movies? With me out of your hair, you can see any dumb romantic comedy you like."

Of course. That's exactly what she'd do.

"Good idea." She turned to look out the window. "It's a perfect day for a dumb romantic comedy."

Fred left at midday, saying he had a brainstorming lunch with his colleagues before the work session. As soon as he was out the door, Natalie donned the Uma Thurman wig and shoved a newspaper into her handbag. Thirty minutes later, she entered the bistro and went straight to her side of the room.

She looked around furtively. There he was, saying something to the blue-haired waitress. She said something back, making him smile, and went away. The bistro was full, and Natalie couldn't make out their words. But it didn't matter. She was going to tail them when they left and get answers.

Fred wasn't going anywhere though, at least not yet. The waitress returned to his table, carrying a tray with sliced bread, a pitcher, an appetizer, and a glass of wine. This could only mean he was going to have a full meal. He probably had to wait for the waitress to finish her shift.

Very well. I have time to kill this afternoon.

Natalie moved to the other side of her table and opened the menu. This was a perfect spot—she could see Fred in her peripheral vision, but he could only see her back. In this way, she'd be able to eat without having to hold the newspaper in front of her face.

When a waiter asked her for her order, she picked grilled fish.

"I recommend Chardonnay with it," the waiter said.

Anything to make me feel better. "I'll have a glass, please."

She folded the menu and looked around. The baggy sweater guy from the other day sat at a table placed so close to hers they could have been having lunch together. He smiled at her and opened his mouth as if to say something, but then didn't.

The waiter brought her grilled fish a few minutes after Fred got his main course.

Impeccable timing.

"You must have moved into this neighborhood recently. Am I guessing correctly?"

The baggy sweater had finally made up his mind and spoke.

"Not exactly," she said with a polite smile.

"So much for my attempt to play Sherlock Holmes. I was actually quite proud of my power of deduction," he said.

"How so?"

"You see, I live nearby, and this bistro is a favorite haunt. I'm sure I haven't seen you here before Thursday. And now it's the second time within a week. Hence my deduction."

"Nothing's wrong with the deduction," she said, pleased to be distracted from her misery. "I'd have concluded the same thing in your place."

"How do you like the food?" he asked after a short silence.

"It's pretty good for a neighborhood bistro."

"Don't let its casual air fool you. This place is known from the Grand Rex all the way up to Montmartre."

Natalie found the exchange entertaining. Or at least educational. "Owing to what, may I inquire?"

"Several reasons. Number one is the chef's cooking. Claude is legend. If it weren't for his occasional bouts of depression, he could have been a chef at one of the finest restaurants in this city."

She stopped chewing her fish, closed her eyes, and resumed much more slowly. "You should've told me earlier. I'd have enjoyed my food in an entirely different way."

He smiled. "The second reason is that the owner, Pierre, encourages his staff to be friendly to the customers."

"No kidding?" She raised her wine glass. "I'll drink to that. I never thought I'd live to see a proprietor who didn't encourage rudeness. You know, to uphold the age-old Parisian tradition."

He raised his glass of sparkling water. "Cheers."

She took a closer look at him while he was drinking. His friendly face was rather easy on the eyes, notwithstanding the tousled hair. It wasn't a fashionably styled tousle, but an artless one of a person who didn't think looks were important. He appeared to have broad shoulders, but the rest of him was fully camouflaged by his enormous sweater and the table. He could have been any size and shape. Well, outside the extremes.

"Is there a third reason?" she asked.

"Yep, and a good one, too."

"Do tell."

He beckoned, as if about to tell her a big secret. "They let you stay for hours without asking every ten minutes if you'd like to order something else."

"Really? So you spend hours here with one espresso?"

"Well, no. I do have some decency. I'm happy to reorder . . .I just don't like being interrupted."

She narrowed her eyes. "Precisely what is it that you do with your laptop? I saw you the other day. You mostly stared at the screen and then touched the mouse pad once in a while. I was mystified."

He held his chin between his thumb and forefinger. "Hmm. Should I tell you, or hold on to my mysteriousness?"

"Your choice. But know that if you decide not to tell, I'll think the worst."

"I was playing chess with my computer," he said.

She quirked her mouth into a half smile. "Who won?"

"The computer."

"Will you get over it?" she asked with exaggerated concern.

"Oh, I think you misunderstand. I let it win. I always do. Otherwise it will sulk for weeks and freeze at the most inconvenient times."

Natalie chuckled before catching herself. Oh God, what if Fred could hear her? What if he looked this way and recognized her? She turned carefully to ascertain if she was safe. An old man sat studying the menu where Fred had been.

There was no trace of him in the bistro.