Parisian Café

Giselle sat at the small table in the Parisian café where she was waiting for her date to arrive. Jacques should be along any time now. Paris was a very busy city, as was Jacques, and it was quite possible he’d been held up by unforeseen events at work. At any rate, she was sure that he would be arriving shortly. He had promised her, after all, that tonight would be a very special first date for the two of them. They had been working together for a year now at the book store, but they had never been on an actual date before this evening.

Despite sipping a glass of Merlau, or Merlot, a new wine in Paris that was harvested from succulent grapes in the Bordeaux region, she could not quell the butterflies that flew about her stomach in anticipation as she waited. The wine was rich and velvety, while also fruity and spicy, and had become a favorite. She had also treated herself to a delicious slice of the café’s chocolate cake. It was a specialty for the small shop, and as she tasted it, she did not wonder as to why. The rich Merlau paired lovely with the richness of the velvety, chocolate cake and was nearly a dessert in and of itself.

As Giselle continued to sip the Merlau, her attention was drawn to the corner where two men sat drinking their forbidden drinks of absinthe and talking at a small table. Whatever it was they were discussing, it was obvious that their conversation was somewhat heated. One was a handsome, tall, and blonde-haired gentleman, and the other was a bit shorter and stockier, with dark hair and a mustache. Eventually, after becoming angry and frustrated, the stockier gentleman rose hastily from his seat and abruptly left.

Surprised by their public disagreement, Giselle quickly looked away toward the door in hopes of finding Jacques arriving, but such was not the case. When she turned back to look at the remaining gentleman, he gave her a delightfully handsome smile and shrugged his shoulders. As she smiled somewhat timidly back at him, he picked up his drink and leisurely walked toward her.

“May I sit for a bit, my sweet? I fear my friend has suddenly left me alone, and I find myself in need of companionship,” he smiled charmingly as he took a seat at her table.

Giselle was a bit startled by the man’s boldness, but she didn't want to be rude. “Of course,” she said. “But please know that my date will be arriving shortly.”

“Lucky man,” the tall, slender man said as he settled himself comfortably in the seat across from her. “I’m Scott,” he said with a beautiful smile that had obviously impressed many women.

“Hello, Scott. I am Giselle,” she smiled back at him.

“So, you are waiting for your sweetheart? Your intended?” the man asked. It was obvious that he was American.

“Oh, no!” Giselle quickly answered and shyly smiled. “It’s our first date. We work together, you see, at the bookstore.”

The man smiled ruefully and with exerted concentration said, “Ah, but l'amour is so very splendid and beautiful when it’s fresh and young. And yet, as time morphs by, it so often becomes a damning element in our lives.” His glorious smile faded to a demure frown. “I should know,” he added as he held up his left hand for her to see his ring, indicating he was married. “At best, you can’t live with it, and you can’t live without it.” The handsome smile returned with the last bit of information.

Giselle was uncertain how to respond. Who was this American and why did he have such a dismal view of love? And why was he inclined to share it with her? It was obvious that he’d had more than enough to drink. Perhaps this is why he and his friend had argued. Were they arguing about love?

“Sir,” she began, but he immediately interrupted her.

“Please, I must insist that you call me Scott,” he said, his blue eyes gentle as he appealed to her.

“Scott,” she said hesitantly. “Perhaps you’ve had enough to drink for this evening. I thought that this drink was forbidden anyway,” Giselle whispered as she pointed at the milky, green drink sitting in front of him. She knew that absinthe had been illegal in Paris since 1915, and yet, here this gentleman was drinking it a full ten years later as if it was not.

Scott looked down into his glass and smiled. “My sweet, young girl, only such intense pleasures are derived from the depths of the forbidden.”

Giselle blushed at his words and quickly changed the subject. “Where is your wife tonight, sir…Scott?” she asked.

The man gave her a rueful smile. “I fear she finds her pleasures in the forbidden as well,” he said and then sighed. “Alas, she has taken off with her friends for more exciting times than intense, heated discussions between my friend and I – as you have just unfortunately witnessed.”

“I see,” Giselle said, genuinely sorry for this man’s current misfortune in life, friendship, and love.

“Do you see? Do you really?” Scott asked, intently watching her and awaiting her answer.

Unsure how to respond, Giselle once again attempted to deter the conversation from the question with which he had just presented her. “Why are you in Paris? Are you working here?” she asked.

“Paris is such a beautiful city, full of opportunities. I am here at present, attempting to write my latest novel, my dear - at least on good days. And on bad days, like today, I drink and argue with my closest friend. And I suppose one could say that I tend to drink - and argue – quite frequently,” he said as he took a large swallow of absinthe.

“Oh! You are a writer! How interesting! What are your books about?” Giselle was genuinely interested.

Scott smiled his attractive smile and nonchalantly leaned back in his chair. “Well, let’s see, Giselle. I mostly write about l’amour. Do you find that ironic in consideration of the view of it I’ve just painted for you?”

Giselle did find it ironic. It was odd that a man with such a disappointed view of love would choose to write about it. But then again, love was a wonderful topic for a book.

“Please allow me to explain my pretty, petite French flower,” Scott said as he leaned on his elbow across the table to look intently into her green eyes. “I write about love, my dear, because I am a hopeless romantic, and I have not yet given up on achieving its fullest capacity in my life.” He relaxed in the chair again and took a sip of his drink before he continued. “I have a need to know and understand love; to have it fill me to the depths of my being. In fact, I crave love with an intensity that extends beyond a need for sustenance of any kind.” He picked up his nearly empty glass and waved it in the air. “And believe it or not, I crave love more than I crave even this poison.”

Scott finished his drink as he added, “Hope for such things springs eternal, does it not?”

Before Giselle could ponder a response, however, she was saved as he suddenly rose and declared it was time for yet another drink and headed to the bar. She watched as he ordered another drink of absinthe. As he lingered at the bar, Jacques entered the café and immediately found and joined Giselle at her small table.

Giselle rose and kissed Jacques on the cheek. The smile she gave him assured him that she was very happy to see him.

“I am so sorry I am late, my sweet,” he said. “I was detained at work.”

Giselle smiled sweetly. “It is not a problem. I am just so happy to see you now, Jacques.”

The two potential lovers were interrupted as the stranger meandered by the table and stopped to introduce himself to her guest, his fresh drink in hand.

“I see your friend has arrived,” Scott said, and smiled at Jacques, extending his hand in greeting.

“I fear I was a bit lonely and kept your sweet date entertained for a short while as she waited for your impending arrival,” Scott said. “We had a very thorough discussion on the subject of l’amour, and I gave her my most earnest opinion.”

As Jacques’ brow rose in surprise, Scott continued. “I informed your sweet Giselle that I am a hopeless romantic. Love will eventually win the day for all of us, will it not? Ah, and I can see from the way you look at this delicate and beautiful French damsel, that it may very well be the case for you.” Suddenly Scott turned serious and gave a gracious bow before he added, “I pray that may be the case for you two love birds, and that l’amour will triumph for you. I can see that it is already a flower nearing a full bloom.”

And then, as suddenly as he’d appeared, he turned on his heel and headed to his former table where he was joined yet again by the gentleman with whom he’d been arguing earlier in the evening. The two friends hugged, laughed, and patted each other on the back as they began a new and intense conversation.

Giselle nervously eyed Jacques, who was looking at her in wide-eyed amazement.

“Jacques,” she began. “I did not know what to say when he approached and began to discuss such serious things like love. I found him to be a very sad man, always hoping to find love.”

Jacques continued to stare at her in disbelief. “Giselle,” he said. “Do you not know who that gentleman is?” he asked.

“No, I don’t have clue who he is. He said his name is Scott, and I know he’s American, but that’s all.”

“Mon chéri, that is none other than F. Scott Fitzgerald, the famous American novelist. And he is sitting with Ernest Hemingway, another very famous American writer. The two are well known throughout Paris for their carousing ways. They drink nothing but absinthe and champagne – or so the story goes,” Jacques said as he eyed the two men’s drinks.

Giselle dubiously looked at her date. “F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway? I am not sure that I know who they are,” she said. “However, Scott did tell me that he is a writer.” She stared at the two men as they conversed, a new view of Scott taking root in her mind. She would have to buy one of his books just to see how he wrote about that thing called l’amour for which he continuously searched and hoped.

Giselle turned back to her date. “Famous American writer or no, I would much rather be sitting here with you, Jacques, enjoying this wonderful night.”

Jacques picked up her slender hand and kissed it. “And I, with you, my sweet Giselle. But still, not just anyone can say that they met someone as well-known as F. Scott Fitzgerald on their date. Perhaps you should consider picking up the trade and penning a story about such an incredulous encounter!”

Giselle shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. I will leave the writing to the two of them,” she said and the couple laughed as they began the first night of many to come for them.

Indeed, a lifetime of love and many years spent together would be forthcoming for Giselle and Jacques. And who can say? Perhaps it was the ardent wishes of F. Scott Fitzgerald, a hopeless romantic, that propelled their love to triumph to an ultimate end. Regardless, there is little doubt he would have been immensely pleased, and perhaps a wee bit envious, of the love the two shared over the course of their lives.