“Pierre?” Lisa asked. Packaged up? What did that mean?
“Yes, Pierre.” Mom lifted her chin in a gesture of defiance. “You see, dears, I’ve taken a lover. Dress up for dinner. Pierre is very French.”
That evening,Lisa and Rafael arrived a few minutes after seven for dinner at a small bistro up the street from their hotel. Her mother had suggested Barraud’s at seven and not to worry, she’d already made the reservation. According to Mom, it wasnearly impossibleto secure a reservation. You had to know someone, and Pierre knew everybody, so they would take care of everything. Lisa, too stunned to ask any questions after Mom’s announcement, had agreed.
The bistro was located on the bottom floor of a brick building. From what she could tell, there were residences upstairs, as dim lights behind curtains hinted at life behind the paned windows. Lisa caught a glimpse of a man’s silhouette slouched behind one of the front windows, smoking. The smell of cigarette smoke drifted down to the street. Tall pots packed with flowers decorated each side of the heavy wood door.
“After you, sweetheart,” Rafael said as he tugged open the door. As usual, he read her mind. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. Whatever happens, we go back to the hotel together.” He wore a dark blue suit and tie—the same outfit he’d worn to the Golden Globes when she’d been nominated for best actress. He was a good sport about the public nature of her work. He endured the Hollywood events and social obligations with his typical stoicism and had even grown accustomed to her stylist’s dressing him for public outings. For a man more comfortable in jeans, he’d embraced his new wardrobe. As long as they were back to normal when they were in Cliffside Bay, he was fine.
She had to admit, there was something about a man in a suit.
“You look really good in that suit.” She cupped his newly shaven cheek. “Thanks for doing this for me.”
“We’re a team.” Rafael brushed the side of her face with his fingertips. “You look beautiful tonight. And I’d do anything for you. Don’t ever forget that.”
Lisa wore a retro-style blue dress that matched her eyes. Its full skirt and sleeveless top paired with a white cashmere wrap made her feel like Grace Kelly circa 1950. Her hair was down; she’d taken the time to style it into loose waves. She’d gotten so accustomed to someone doing her makeup and hair that she didn’t bother to do much when home, which made her out of practice. They were now late because she’d spent too long trying to make herself perfect. Lois Perry hated tardiness. She’d been a middle school teacher for too long to tolerate excuses.
She took in as deep a breath as she could, which was limited in the tight spandex she wore under her dress, and slipped past her handsome husband. Her stomach rumbled with nerves. Suddenly, she questioned her choice of attire. Did the dress suit her? Maybe she should have chosen one with sleeves?
Her mother’s criticisms from the past echoed through her mind.One side of your hair is flipped up and the other’s down. Don’t eat the bread, honey. Empty calories. When your plate comes, set aside half immediately and ask for a doggie bag.
They were greeted by a man in his sixties dressed in a black suit. Without taking his eyes from a laptop screen on the lectern by the door, he barked out, “We’re full tonight.” He spoke perfect English with only a twinge of French accent. A large, round man, his presence seemed to purposely block them from viewing the inside of the restaurant. In actuality, a red curtain concealed the dining room.
“I believe we have reservations,” Lisa said, immediately intimidated. What if they didn’t? Had her mother thought to call? “Under Lois Perry.” Elitism. She hated it. She had a sudden longing for The Oar back home. She imagined Sophie’s smiling face from behind the bar. Their simple menu with real food forreal people. In the next thought—although it was still hard to fathom—she remembered that the only bar and grill in Cliffside Bay had burned down.
He looked up for the first time. His jowly face transformed from condescending to enchanted. “Lois. Yes, yes, you must be the daughter. The movie star. She didn’t exaggerate your beauty. I’m Barraud. Welcome to my establishment.”
Rafael wrapped his arm around her waist.
“You look like her,” Barraud said as he drew back the curtain. “I should have seen it right away.”
You would have, had you actually looked up from the computer.
The room was dark with too many tables for the small space. Two servers in black ambled around the room, dripping with disdain and superiority. Mom was already seated by the paned windows, which looked out to a small courtyard. A young man sat next to her. Yes, young. Like Lisa’s age. Surely this wasn’t Pierre?
Whoever he was, he stood as they approached and held out both hands. Dark curls draped haphazardly over his forehead. Scruff covered his swarthy, chiseled face. Eyes the color of an inky night sparkled in the candlelight. A gold band encircled his wedding finger.
Married? Who the heck was this?
“I’m Pierre.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and kissed one cheek, then the other. “It’s lovely to meet you.” His French accent was thick. He smelled of cigarettes and a spicy cologne.
She couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Rafael was shaking Pierre’s hand.
In a fog, she sat across from her mother. “What the hell?” she mouthed.
“Isn’t he dreamy?” Mom whispered back.
Isn’t he young?she screamed silently.And married?
The men took their seats. Barraud poured water into their glasses. The bubbly kind. The bubbles danced in the glasses, illuminated by the flames from the tea lights. An open bottle of Chablis stuck out from an ice bucket.
“Wine?” Pierre asked.
Rafael nodded. Barraud poured. The men exchanged something in French. When Barraud walked away, Lisa glanced at Rafael. He seemed as stunned as her.
Then, and she’d never seen this in her entire life, her mother picked up a piece of bread and tore it in half. “The bread here is to die for.” She sniffed the fragrant bread and stuffed a decent-sized portion into her mouth.
