The Listless Lovers

Cool and damp, scent of mold in the air

Not a place to meet your lover

Not a place to fall in love or

Get lost in another’s stare

All's fair though, I saw you earlier

Noticed you earlier

You are speaking to an older woman now

A fierce predator of a woman, with claws and teeth -

Implements to shred and devour a wisp like me

You are enraptured by her conversation

Captured in her consternation over something

Which has furrowed her perfect brow

But your eyes flitted to mine just now

Caught mine but for a moment, how

Bright and blue they look despite the low light in here

Your father

(I do not know he is your father)

Pours wine from a bottle

No, not a bottle, I see, but a barrel

He uses a glass cylinder to draw it up

It's narrow

And it's curvature catches the candle-lit lantern sheer

Despite the draw of the woman before you

You look towards me again - unmistakable, clear -

A long, lingering look you give me

Such that I must look away

“Say ‘When’!”

‘When,” I say

Your father has poured me some wine

Deftly through the crystalline tube, he poured it

In the darkness of the cave he approached with

Soft steps unseen

Whilst I focused on you

“Thank you,” I manage, as the man glides away

When I look back the she-wolf’s alone

The forlorn look of hunters when their quarry escapes them

I search for you, but you have flanked me

Approaching from my left, unseen

“Hello, Miss.”

“Hello, Madame Laurent! Wonderful to see you again!”

A woman, late sixties or perhaps early seventies in age, pen in hand, is shaken from her reverie. She turns her aquamarine eyes up towards the voice.

“Hello, Jerome,” she replies, her voice clear like a bell. “You as well, but I have told you… call me Beth.”

Jerome stands to the left of the woman's table. She was deep in her scribblings and did not see him approach. His white button down shirt is well kept but not starched nor crisply pressed like finer restaurants in the valley would demand. His maroon vest likewise shows signs of apathy and there are stains on his apron despite the earliness of the day. The smile on his face is warm and sincere, however, which is all she requires.

“Are you ready to order, Madame L- … Beth? Would you like to know about our specials?”

He feels discomfort calling her by her first name, she can tell.

“No, thank you, though,” she replies. “I’d just like my usual - goat cheese and beet salad, please. And I’ll have a glass of Merlot today. House Merlot will be fine. Thank you so much.”

“Right away, Madame.”

Jerome hurries off towards the kitchen and the woman turns back to the pages before her and continues to write.

Your voice is soft and earthy

You are older than me but not by much

There’s a deliberate nonchalance to your essence

And a red carnation in your lapel

As if you thought it a nice touch

Something about you triggers an anxiousness in me

But I stay in spite of myself

For there is something else there as well

A type of tenderness and masked vulnerability

She frowns at the words on the page and crosses them out. She feels out of her rhythm now. She sighs and looks up towards the fountain at the far end of the patio; at the sculpture in the middle of the fountain. Green lichen grows on it but otherwise it is well kept.

It depicts two young lovers and is a beloved piece to the locals in the area. The Listless Lovers, as they are called, are in an embrace. The young man is lifting the woman up, his arms around her back and buttocks. He is looking up at her. The woman’s head is thrown back, her arms spread wide, a carnation held in one hand. An eternal, unfelt wind blows her hair forever backwards. They are both laughing. The piece was meant to depict the lightness and freedom of young love.

The woman frowns at it. The details of the sculpture’s faces are too stark in some places, too soft in others. The angle of the woman’s right arm is such that it unbalances the entire piece. The aesthetic of the thing is inconsistent at best. It misses whimsy and plummets headlong into silliness, childishness.

She once again takes pen in hand.

We talk for several minutes while

I fidget nervously

I take a sip from my glass and

Gasp as my mouth goes dry

You explain to me about tannins - they are why

My throat now feels like a desert

You speak of fruit undertones and aged oak

As I cough and choke, looking about for water

You find me a cup, gallantly

You ask if this is the first I’ve had wine from the barrel

I explain it is my first glass of wine

“Of the evening?” he asks

“In my life!” I confess

The woman stops writing and sighs again. She is unhappy with the lines but does not cross them out.

The salad arrives and greatly improves her mood. It arrives at the same moment as the glass of Merlot, but the woman, Mme Laurent, Beth, does not mind - this dish and red wine go quite well together.

The salad is Laura Chenel goat cheese with Chioggia and golden beets over a bed of spicy chopped arugula. The chef’s secret is lemon zest and lightly candied pistachios. It’s her favorite thing to eat.

The wine is light and subtle and easy to drink. It's a perfect wine, she decides, which is good since she only orders Merlot once a year.

She sips the wine and stares again at the fountain, at the statues.

Mme Laurent notices a young woman a few tables over from her looking in her direction before once again returning to the page before her.

“You mean to say,”

The man begins.

“You’ve never had wine before today?”

“That’s correct.”

My embarrassment is turning ever so little to defiance.

I explain I am from Iowa and am

Twenty-two and

Sheltered

The man’s name is Charles

Charles Laurent

His father, Gerard, is the winemaker here.

He steers me to a table in the corner of the cave

While the rest of the group

(Including the she-wolf)

Proceed up the tunnel, save

For the predator

Who gives me a withering look as she goes

Charles asks my name

As he searches the shelves for something

“Elizabeth,” I say

There are crackers and cheese on the table

I eye them a moment

Then gnosh them politely

Charles returns, a bottle in hand

“Merlot is a perfect first wine,” he says lightly

There is no label I see

I ask how he knows what it is

“Trust me!” He laughs

“I’ve been drinking this wine since I was a kid!”

I wonder if I’m foolish

To drink with this stranger

I still can hear the voices further up in the cave

“Just a sip,” I say

Charles nods

He pours out two sips

Two sip in two glasses

I watch as he pours the rest of the bottle out

Into a silver bucket

I narrow my eyes at him as

He drops the bottle into a basket

I hear it break against other bottles

He raises his glass

“To you, Elizabeth. And your first real taste of wine.”

I clink my glass against his

It sounds like a bell in the close space

The wine is light and subtle and easy to drink

I regret having only a sip of it to enjoy

After a moment, Charles offers me his arm

We walk up the tunnel towards the other voices

“May I ask what brought you here to the valley,” he asks

“Apprenticeship,” I say

“In?”

“Sculpture of the human form.”

“Uh… excuse me? So sorry to bother you. But, are you by chance Madame Elizabeth Laurent?”

Mme Laurent looks up from the pages in front of her. Her salad has been devoured and there is but a drop of Merlot clinging to the bottom of her glass. It is the woman from the other table. Looking pale and embarrassed.

“Yes, I’m Elizabeth Laurent,” Mme laurent replies with a smile. “But you can call me Beth.”

The woman somehow seems even more flustered.

“Oh my. Oh… I hope… please forgive the intrusion but… I think you are just brilliant! I… I have followed your work for years!”

Mme Laurent smiles.

“You flatter me! I did not think I had enough work to follow for years.”

The young woman seems a bit unsure what to say to this, and so laughs nervously again.

“Uh,” she continues after a moment. “I hope I am not interrupting anything, Mada- Uh, Beth?”

Mme Laurent looks at pages before her, crumples them up and places them on the empty salad plate. Jerome sweeps by and whisks them all away. The young woman looks almost longingly after the pages as they disappear through the kitchen doors.

“Not at all, my dear.” Mme Laurent says with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh,” The woman turns to the man she was sitting with. “Uh honey?” The man has his phone at the ready and springs up. Mme Laurent can tell that he is not a fan like this woman is but understands the gravity for his wife. This endears them both to Mme Laurent.

“You would like a picture?” She says to the young woman.

“Oh yes please!” she breaths. “But, could we possibly… uh… in front of The Listless Lovers, if possible?”

Mme Laurent hesitates for just a moment but then smiles and nods.

As they walk towards the fountain, Mme Laurents asks the woman’s name.

“Uh, Susan. Susan Hosking. We’re vacationing. From Pennsylvania.

“How wonderful. And are you an artist?”

“Oh. Well, I’m… I’m trying to be.”

“Do you have any pictures of your work?”

What little color remains there, drains from Susan’s face and her hand visibly shakes as she holds her camera up to show Mme Laurent some pictures of what, in several instances, are very good sculptures of the human form.

“These are excellent! You have a real talent, Susan!”

Susan beams but is unable to speak.

At the fountain, Mme Laurent looks up at the sculpture.

“This was really the first piece I did that got any attention,” she says. “This sculpture… is of my late husband and myself, from a photo taken on our honeymoon. I… dont think I’ve ever told anyone that, actually.”

“Your Husband?” Susan says quietly. “Oh yes, I was so sorry to hear of his passing. It was… five years ago?”

“Seven. Seven years to the day. It also happens to be our forty-third wedding anniversary and the forty-fifth anniversary of our first meeting. Charles… always had a flair for the dramatic!”

“Oh my,” Susan says quietly. I really did interrupt you in something didn’t I? Forgive me. We don't need this picture, I-”

“Nonsense! I’ve done my reminiscing for the day. It's good to remember the past but it's important, especially for artists, Susan, to not get trapped there. Remember that, yes?”

“Yes, Madame.”

After a few pictures, Mme Laurent gives Susan a hug and one of her business cards. At which point, Susan nearly faints.

After the goodbyes and once alone at the fountain, Elizabeth looks up at the sculpture properly. It is the closest she has been to it for many years.

You know what? It's really not a bad bit of sculpting afterall!

she thinks, chuckling to herself.

She looks up into the Charles Statue's face.

“Happy Anniversary, M’Love. I do miss you so… so much.”

After a few minutes, she dries her eyes and walks back to Jerome to ask for the check.