A ROMANCE IN CANNES

That evening, by pushing the door of Lucy’s Bar, the bar of my roommate Alexandre, I hoped that luck would be there. I appreciate the sudden warmth that envelops me. The air outside was freezing, and the few metres I had to walk from my car to the establishment had been enough to chill me. As usual, I hung my coat on one of the hooks in the entranceway. I ran a hand through my hair to check that my brown tresses were more or less in order, and greeted the waitress. I then headed to the bar where my friend worked. I felt like I was following a well-oiled choreography. I was a regular at the place. I liked the atmosphere, the staff was friendly, and living with the boss had undeniable advantages, such as a few drinks on the house and the fact that there was always a free table for me. It was also the place I preferred when I had to meet a man for the first time. Firstly, because there’s nothing better than being on familiar ground, but also because the presence of Alexandre behind the bar allows me, if necessary, to organize a smooth exfiltration. Understand, if the guy was boring like a Rembrandt painting, there was no need to go hide in the bathroom and beg a girlfriend to call me with fake urgency for an excuse and leave. “Hi, beauty! You’re gorgeous tonight!” my roommate gave me a flirtatious wink. “Only tonight?” I replied, pretending to be offended. This kind of exchange was also part of our ritual. Make no mistake, there was no ambiguity between Alex and me. We had been friends for so many years that we didn’t even count. He was also one of the only guys with whom I could share my apartment. At least when he forgot to rinse the shower, I had the right to yell at him. I still have to admit that his comment on my outfit made me happy. I knew that, physically, I wasn’t to be pitied, with my meter seventy, my dark eyes and shapes where they should be, but a little compliment is always good to take! Even if it’s from a man who saw you in those infamous sweatpants you wouldn’t dare wear outside your home. “Do you know if my date is here?” I asked, glancing around the room. “Unless you have an appointment with your grandfather, I don’t think so,” he declares when I detect the presence of Papet seated at a table in the back. “I don’t believe it! What’s he doing here?” My friend shrugged. “He’s drinking shots, I suppose.” “Alex, no offence, Papet has been going to the same bar since I was old enough to remember. Why would he decide to change HQ all of a sudden? And to come by chance, here, the evening when I have a date? How many times has he come when I’m not here?” For an answer, he contents himself by wiping his cocktail glasses. “That’s what I thought. Are you the one who told him I was coming?” “Hey!” he protested. “You don’t mean that? Why would I do that?” “I don’t know. Are you giving him information, perhaps without meaning to?” “If I were you, I’d rather go look for your best friend. Who besides me knows every time you go on a date?” He wasn’t wrong. The only one I told my news to was Cali, my best friend. And Cali loved my grandparents, who now considered her one of their granddaughters. Being the only one, I should have been jealous, but not at all. I adored Cali and at least Papet and Mamée were a little less focused on me… well, at least… I thought so. Given Papet’s presence tonight, I suspected interfering in my life was still of interest to them. That’s the problem when you live close to your family, they can’t help wanting to know everything and getting involved in what doesn’t concern them. Apart from during my studies, I have always lived with them on the family farm. There are, as you have understood, Marcel and Augustine, my grandparents, whom everyone nicknames Papet and Mamée; Nicole and Auguste, my parents; Mireille, my aunt; Vincent, my cousin, and Rose, his daughter. For two years, the troupe has grown with the arrival of Cali. At first, considered my roommate, the pretty American succeeded, exceptionally, in cheering up my grumpy cousin and now lives with him in the little house on the other side of the courtyard. Sometimes I wonder how my life would be if I weren’t surrounded by everyone. I loved them but, at times, I felt like I couldn’t breathe. This feeling was becoming more and more recurrent, and sometimes I wanted to drop everything and take an apartment elsewhere, just to put a few miles between them and me. It was usually when my mother would show up with a homemade pie, or when Rose would come over to watch a cartoon, curled up against me on the couch. However, even though these little everyday details made me happy, the part of me that longed for personal space became more and more important. And Papet, showing up to spy on me during my date, only fueled this desire. “Are you going to see your grandfather?” Alex asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. I nodded and walked over to the small table he had wisely chosen in the corner, probably thinking it would be less easy for me to detect him. He pretended to be surprised to see me arrive. But he was a very bad actor. At least, I don’t allow myself to be deceived; I had been doing this for thirty-one years, and I had learned to see his game. “Danielle, darling, what a pleasant surprise!” In case I had any doubts, all I had to do was look at his friend Maurice, seated across from him. He rolled his eyes and muttered: “Talk about a surprise…” “So, Papet, are we changing our habits?” I crossed my arms over my chest, just to let him know I wasn’t fooled. Far from being unsettled, he declared to me, showing an innocent look: “Me and Maurice, we wanted a change of scene. And then Alexandre is such a nice boy, it’s natural that we come to visit him a bit, isn’t it?” I heard Maurice grumble something under his breath about the lack of peanuts to go with their pastis. “If you want to visit Alexandre, you know where to find him; he lives just one floor above you. You don’t need to come here to spy on me.” “Spy on you!” He puts a hand to his heart, to act as if I had insulted him. “But not at all, darling!” I was about to answer him when I was stopped in my tracks by a male voice: “Danielle?” I turned around and discovered a tall dark-haired guy who looked a lot like Adrien’s profile picture, my date for tonight. I smile at him and say: “Adrien?” It wasn’t very original, but my mind was too muddled by my grandfather to think of saying something witty. I glared at Papet and turned my back, trying to convince myself to ignore him. Adrien and I headed for the table Alex had reserved for us. Adrien didn’t help me pull out my chair, but I’m not the kind of girl who dwells on such details. We were seated facing each other, and the conversation soon began. I had to admit that the pictures he sent me were quite similar to his current appearance. His baldness was a little more pronounced, but who doesn’t cheat a little bit? Me first, I was two years younger in my profile picture. Otherwise, he had lovely laughing brown eyes, short hair slicked to the side, and a two-day beard that shadowed his jawline. He motioned for the waitress to take our orders. A mojito for me, a beer for him. Very good choice, I have a weakness for men who drink beer, I find it manly, don’t ask me why. Well, yes, I generally like guys who appreciate simple things, like enjoying a cold beer after a long day at work. If, in addition, he does it with a small drop of sweat running between his abs, that’s even better. Now, we were in the middle of February, in the middle of a bar, he certainly wasn’t going to unbutton his shirt, but a girl has the right to dream a little, right? We discussed everything and nothing, our jobs, our life in general. The flow was pretty good, his eyes never left me for a second and seemed to appreciate what they saw. I felt the hope of a promising end to the evening growing as I went. I wanted it to work this time. I had been crossing the desert for a few weeks, and I was in a hurry to find my oasis. Adrien seemed to me to be the kind who could quench my thirst, and especially to be a guy who could have done with a girl like me. A girl who knows what she wants. Yes, because I could say it loud and clear, I was a girl who knew what she wanted. There are even people who envied me for that. It seems that I exuded an assurance that made women jealous and men succumbed. Well, not all of them. Some were scared, but that was good, it was generally those who didn’t interest me. And when it came to men, I knew exactly what I needed: confident, sexy, muscular, knowing how to use his hands – among other things – and above all tough. Notice that, on the last point, since I only offered the one-shot, this quality was only required for one evening. Afterwards, if he needed the week to get over it, I didn’t care because I had already forgotten about him. For many men, I was a real gift. Can you imagine? A woman who, when she’s sleeping with you, doesn’t expect you to call her back. They aren’t running in the streets! I can already see those frowns as they put the label of easy girl on my forehead. I don’t consider myself to be in that category either. I had standards and I needed to know a minimum about the person to consider anything. Most of the time, I met the men on the Internet, I talked with them then, if they passed the first selection, I accepted a date. Over the years, I had learned all the tricks to avoid psychopaths, micropenis, bogus hookups – those who, in reality, were looking for the woman of their life but sometimes didn’t even know it themselves – and married men. The only problem? It was that after the first skimming, there weren’t many people left. Especially considering my living environment. I lived in a region whose charm was recognized throughout the world, and which sold dreams on postcards. But most of them didn’t contain photos of young men with flirtatious smiles; for good reason, they’re rather rare. I lived in the Luberon, in a village that looked like a Provençal nativity scene, and a bunch of men around me had been contemporaries of all the presidents of the Fifth Republic without exception. Even had the opportunity to vote for them. As for those who were in my age group, a large part was to be put in one of the categories to avoid mentioned above. I assure you, most of them because they were married, Luberon isn’t a haven for psychopaths. For micropenis, I have no statistics. After a drink, we decided to order food. If the night were to be long, you might as well not have an empty stomach. Adrien didn’t flinch when I chose a burger. I wasn’t going to settle for a salad to play the girl concerned about her weight. Yes, I was careful with my shape, but no, I wasn’t ready to sacrifice myself either. Life is too short for that. I had curves that I inhabited perfectly, and I can say that I wasn’t the only one to appreciate them. I hadn’t had a negative thought about my physique for a long time. When the waitress cleared our plates, Adrien put his hand on mine. “Would you like to…” His sentence began well, very well. Unfortunately, he never reaches the end because Alexandre interrupts us: “Danielle, could I use you for a second?”