What should I say? I thought as she approached. What if I can't speak? What if I just sit here like a bump on a log? Oh, god, my heart!
But she smiled so big, and she looked so genuinely happy to see me, that it was hard to stay scared for long.
No, within a moment, I was smiling with her, leaning forward, anticipating her arrival, my mouth suddenly loaded with so many questions; questions that tasted like sunflowers and citrus. If only I could remember how to say them in English.
"A friend of yours?" Madame Bijou said, lighting up another cigarette.
"Yes," I said. "Sort of."
Laurent's eyes were also on me, his eyebrows raised in curiosity, as if to ask, 'And what do we have here?'
I just shrugged my shoulders and smiled. Even if he was close enough to hear me, what could I say?
Oh, this is the woman that almost flattened me beneath her landing gear.
I realized then that I hadn't told Laurent, or anyone, the story of the mysterious pilot yet.
But then, she arrived, placing one hand delicately on the edge of the table, and reaching her other hand straight out to shake mine. It was an odd mixture of feminine and masculine gestures, and it made me stare.
"Hello, again!" Cosima said. "What a pleasant surprise! Do you remember me? The pilot?"
"Of course," I said, taking her hand. "How can I forget?"
"I admit that I must have made quite an impression!" she said.
The man behind her gave me a once over and a slight roll of his eyes, just like he had seen my kind before and knew all about me. I didn't really like that, but I wasn't sure what he was reacting to, because I wasn't even sure what my kind was.
"This is my friend, Felix," she said, presenting him to me with both hands.
"Enchanté," I said. "I'm Delphine."
"Enchantée," Felix said with a nod of his head."Delphine," Cosima repeated my name, her lips soft as she formed the words.
She was still for a moment, her head tilted to the side as she smiled at me.
I couldn't believe she was the same woman from the field. There was not a spec of dust on her face. Her skin was smooth and clear. And her hair, which had been a mess of untamed chestnuts curls, was now neatly pulled back. And her eyes, which had once held the many shades of a field of sunflowers now seemed a dark brown, perhaps darkened by the thick eyeliner, or perhaps, by the smoky light of the room.
She shook her head then as if shaking off a distant thought and then she turned to Felix, who was already glancing hungrily around the room.
"This is the girl I was telling you about from the field! Isn't that mad?! Isn't that a statistical improbability?!" Cosima said, turning toward Felix and beaming.
She was telling him about me? I thought. And what did she say?
"Well, you know what they say," Felix started, "it's a small fairy world."
Fairy? I thought, a little more than indignant. Who is he calling a fairy?
"Are you here alone?" she asked, glancing around.
"No," I said. "I'm with my brother. He's over there, with his arm around the redhead."
Felix saw him right away and smirked.
"Guess it runs in the family," he said.
I wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, either, but his smirk was more gentle this time, so I decided to let it pass.
"So," I started to say, but then, my mind blanked.
"So," Cosima said, leaning toward the table.
Felix watched Cosima with his tongue in his cheek, then he looked at me.
"How about I go get us some drinks?" he said. "Looks like it's going to take some time. Plus, I'd like to get better acquainted with the locals."
"Yeah," Cosima, leaning onto one hip and looking up at him. "Yeah, you go. I think I'm gonna stay here."
"Alright, well, what do you want, then?" Felix said.
"Um, anything, anything," Cosima said, waving a hand in the air.
Felix made a swooping turn, fixing his hair in the process, and then he set off toward the bar, a flirtatious smile already on his lips.
When Cosima turned back to me, I smiled, because actually, I didn't know what to say. She smiled, too, a giggle bubbling up in her throat.
"Um," she started to say, "Do you mind if I join you?"
"Non," I said. "Please, sit down."
Cosima sat herself in the chair on the opposite side of the table, and immediately her eyes wandered to Madame Bijou's face.
"Bonsoir," she said.
Madame Bijou nodded her head and took a sip of cognac.
"American?" she asked, and I could swear there was a little twinkle in her eye.
"Oui," Cosima said.
"Ah, wonderful!" Madame Bijou said. "I love Americans!"
Cosima looked at me and laughed.
"Merci?" she said like she was unsure if it was something to be thankful for.
"And, tell me, American, do you drink cognac?" Madame Bijou said. "We were just making a toast to young love."
Cosima looked at me with a panicked expression on her face.
I thought for a moment, then I translated as best I could.
"She wants to know if you drink cognac," I said. "We were just making a toast."
"Oh!" Cosima said, turning to look Madame Bijou in the eyes. "Yes! Oui!"
"Bartender!" Madame Bijou called out. "One more glass!"
Again, the bartender stopped everything, pouring the brandy and sending the glass to our table with a shirtless young man.
Felix watched in envy as the young man passed, though whether it was envy over the speedy service or over the shirtless man, I may never know.
"Merci!" Cosima said, taking the glass up in her small hand. "And what are we drinking to?"
"Young love!" Madame Bijou said.
"What?" Cosima said, looking to me for clarification.
"Ehm…," I stuttered, feeling shy. "She said, 'to love!' Ehm… 'to young love!'"
"Oh," Cosima said, raising her glass, her eyes locked on mine. "I can drink to that."
I looked away as I took a sip of the brandy, but I could feel her eyes on me; on my face. And when I set my glass down, I still could not meet her gaze.
I looked at Laurent, who seemed to be enjoying himself. Even from where I sat, I saw a bead of sweat drip from the hairline above his temple. His face was red, and I could tell by the almost too-happy smile on his lips that he was already feeling intoxicated.
I looked at Felix, who had finally made it to the bar. He was leaning over it elegantly and chatting with the older gentleman next to him. I watched him trace a finger along the back of the gentleman's hand.
Wow! I thought. He's fast.
And then I looked at Madame Bijou, who was also watching the crowd, a long, thin cigarette between her fingers, the ash growing long and dropping into the ashtray on her knee. She smiled lazily, swaying back and forth to the music, even bouncing her shoulders every now and then during the percussive parts.
Then, with no one else to look at, and still unable to look at Cosima, I scanned the crowd of dancers, swaying myself to the music, as if I were enjoying it all. I had no choice but to notice the details of the dancers; their sweaty foreheads, backs and armpits. And one man in particular, a man in a purple silk shirt, was dancing so energetically that his black hair - what little he had - was completely soaked through.
Well, at least he's having fun, I thought.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Cosima turn, too, to watch the dancers. I stole a glance at her then.
I glanced once, very quickly, because I thought she might turn around.
I glanced again, this time letting my eyes linger. I noticed her ear first, no ornaments or decorations on it. Then I noticed her neck, noticed the way the Shanghai collar pushed very gently into her skin. Then, just as if she had known I was watching, she reached for her collar, slipping two fingers between it and her skin, and pulling it gently away for a moment, tilting her head to the side. Then she let her hand fall back down, leaning her elbow back onto the table. That was when I noticed her arm, lean but strong. I know because I saw the muscles there flex, ever so slightly, as she tapped her finger to the beat of the song. I wished to see more of her, but my view was obstructed by the table, which cut her at the waist.
The song finished, and in that half-second before the band started up the next one, she turned around, quite unexpectedly, and our eyes met.
I had been staring, and I was sure she knew it, right away.
"This place is nice," she said. "Better than I expected."
"Yes," I said. "I come here often, I mean...we come here, my brother and I."
"I can see why," she said. "Great atmosphere. Great music. Great cognac."
She raised her glass, and when Madame Bijou saw that, she raised her glass, laughing in sudden bursts that filled the room. I could not help but raise my glass, too.
"What should we toast to?" Cosima said.
"Statistical improbabilities," I said.
"Yes, I like it," Cosima said, smiling.
But this time Madame Bijou was confused, but after I explained, she squinted her eyes and pulled her mouth into a tight-lipped smile, the way that older people do when they know something that you don't.
We all drank, and when the glasses were down, the table was quiet again.
"This is such a lovely song," Madame Bijou said. "Why don't you two dance?"
My stomach climbed into my mouth as she said it, and for a moment I was relieved that Cosima didn't understand French. But that moment didn't last long, because when I looked up, her eyebrows were raised, as if she were asking, 'Well, why not?'
"Did you understand her?" I asked, trying to keep a straight face, and simultaneously trying to think of the lie I would translate.
"I understood enough," she said, leaning forward, resting her chin on her hand..
"Oh," I said.
She kept looking at me. I bit my lip.
"I'm not a good dancer," I said.
"Me neither," she said. "But neither is that guy, and no one has stopped him."
She pointed over her shoulder at the man in the purple silk shirt. I glanced at him, at his sweaty red face and balding head which glistened in the lamplight. He was a mess, but he looked happy, and miraculously, the woman dancing with him looked happy, too.
I remembered the only other woman who had ever asked me to dance, and I remembered the jealousy I had felt to see her dance with another. I knew right away that if I saw Cosima dance with anyone else, the jealousy would be worse, much worse - unbearable.
I'll be damned to let her dance with anyone else! I thought.
I picked up the glass of cognac and took a long drink, though I knew full well that it was meant to consumed in such a reckless manner.
"Okay," I said. "Let's do it."
"Okay!" she said, pushing back her chair.
Madame Bijou was right, the song was lovely. It wasn't too fast or too slow. And when we stood facing eachother at the edge of the dancefloor, I was only scared for a moment that this was a bad idea.
But then, Cosima reached for my hand, locking it with hers, and she smiled up at me. I laughed nervously as she stepped closer, placing her hand delicately on my back. I placed my hand on her shoulder, and it all happened so easily, so naturally, that in a moment we were dancing, and I wasn't scared at all.
There wasn't much room to move about, but we managed to sway and turn in our own little space. Plus, avoiding the other dancers gave us something to do and to laugh about.
And we laughed, alot. We laughed until the song tempo changed to something a little slower. We stood still for a moment, and I half-expected Cosima's hands to fall away, but they did not. No, if anything, she squeezed my hand tighter, as if she, too, were afraid I might let go.
Don't worry, I thought. I'm not going anywhere.
And when the slower song started up, we turned in slow circles, and there was less chance to bump into the other couples, who had pulled into tighter embraces, freeing up space on the dancefloor.
I finally felt the air circulate around us and between us. I took a deep breath and looked down at Cosima.
"So," I said. "I'm guessing that you handled Monseuir Lumiere well?"
"Oh, him?" she said. "He's a big softy."
"A softy?" I said, surprised. "He's the town grouch."
"Really?" she said. "I thought he was quite charming."
"Charming?" I said.
"Oh, yes," she said. "And a generally agreeable sort of fellow."
"You're joking," I said.
"No," she said. "I offered to pay for the damage to his field, and he agreed right away."
"I'm sure he did," I said.
"He also agreed to accept a small rent on the field, just for a few days, while I do repairs," she said, obviously proud of her arrangement.
"Rent?" I said.
"Yes," she said.
"Well," I said, "It sounds like you're the charming one. Monseuir Lumiere is a grumpy old miser."
She only smiled at that.
"A few days, huh?" I said. "Do you know what's wrong with the plane?"
"Not yet," she said. "That's what Felix is for."
"Felix is a mechanic?" I said.
"Yes," she said, looking at Felix who was still leaning over the bar. "A bit hard to believe, I know, but he is an excellent mechanic. Plus, it's his plane. If anyone can fix it, it should be him, right?"
"So, he's the cousin?" I said. "But he's British."
"It's a long story," she said.
"Oh," I said.
"Anyway, he nearly flipped a wig when I got him on the line in the hotel. But by the time he flew up here he cooled off a little. And once we found out about this place…"
"Wait," I said. "He flew up here."
"Yes," she said. "How else could he get here so fast?"
"How many planes does he have?" I asked.
"Well, technically, one," she said. "The one in the sunflower field. The other one is his father's."
"Wow," I said. "A family of aviationists."
"Sort of," she said. "Though I'm just a beginner, as you might have guessed by my landing today."
"Beginner?" I said. "How long have you been flying?"
"Three days," she said.
"Non!" I said, a little too loudly. "Non! Now you must be joking!"
I was yelling, but she didn't seem to mind.
"I'm dead serious," she said. "Three days, honest."
"You're insane!" I said, looking at her out of the corner of my eye, unsure whether she was teasing me or not.
"Yes," she said. "Maybe."
The song changed then, and I realized how close we were dancing; so close that her arm was almost completely wrapped around my back, and our forearms and wrists were pressed to together, creating a sweaty friction, and when I looked down our chests were nearly touching.
"But it's basic aerodynamics," she said, suddenly pushing me away with one hand, but holding tight to my palm with the other.
She spun me around and pulled me back.
"Even when the engine cuts out, the plane will simply lose altitude," she said, twirling me around again, in the opposite direction.
"...gliding all the way down to the ground until you land safely. It's not so dangerous really," she said.
She slipped her arm back around my waist, and then we were both bopping to the happy beat.
"You make it sound so easy," I said. "But you've forgotten one thing."
"What's that?" she said.
"I've seen you fly," I said.
"And?" she said.
"And you almost killed me," I said.
"Well," she said. "The rules of basic aerodynamics don't account for beautiful French girls throwing themselves beneath your landing gear."
"Throwing myself!?" I said. "I was just walking home, minding my own business, when you nearly glided your plane right over my head!"
Wait, I thought, my mind slow from the alcohol. Did she just say I was beautiful?
I was about to ask her, but we were interrupted.
"Sorry to interrupt," Laurent said, placing his hand on my shoulder. "But it's time to go."
In one quick motion, Cosima's hand dropped from my waist, and my hand fell from her shoulder, and we both turned toward Laurent.
"What?" I said. "What time is it?"
"It's nearly ten o'clock," he said. "We must leave soon, if we want to catch the last bus."
I sighed, bringing my hand to my forehead in disbelief. But then I looked at Cosima, and she smiled. She reached for my hand and squeezed it.
"Hello," Laurent said. "I'm Laurent."
And that was the extent of his English, but he didn't need English with his warm smile.
"Hello," Cosima said. "I'm Cosima."
And they shook hands, and I looked back and forth between them, hating that I had to leave.
"Do you know each other?" Laurent asked me in French.
"Sort of," I said. "Ehm, can you give us a minute?"
"Sure," he said. "I'll be waiting outside."
He smiled at Cosima one more time and nodded his head. "Au revoir, Cosima."
"Au revoir, Laurent," she said with a slight wave of her hand and a bounce on her toes.
She was still holding my hand.
"Look," I said, "I'm sorry, but I have to go."
"It's fine," Cosima said, her head tilted to the side. "Anyway, Monseuir Lumiere said I could come over anytime, so I guess I'll be seeing you again...very soon."
I bit my lip.
"Okay," I said.
"Okay," she said.
But neither of us moved. I felt her thumb rub against the back of my hand and it sent shivers through my body. Maybe she saw.
"Thanks for the dance," she said.
"I should go," I said.
I leaned in then, swallowing hard before I touched her cheek with mine. Then I leaned back and moved to the other cheek. Our eyes met for a moment in passing, and it was like lightning had struck right through my stomach. I kissed her other cheek and then walked away without saying goodbye.
I headed straight for the door without looking back.
I was embarrassed, you see. My entire body was on fire, and my head was spinning, and I'm not sure if it was the temperature of the room, or the cognac and vodka mixing my stomach, or the lingered sensation of her lips on my cheek, but I felt suddenly last thing I needed was to throw up right then and there.
So I hurried toward the door, pushing it open as quickly as I could, stepping out into the night air, more than a little out of breath.
"Are you alright?" Laurent said.
"Yes," I said. "I'm fine. Just a little drunk."
"See," he said. "You should have stuck to wine."
But he helped me to the bus stop anyway, and the whole bus ride home, he let me rest my head on his shoulder, and if he had questions about the woman I was dancing with, he kept them to himself, and I was thankful for that, because I wouldn't even know how to start talking about her, or about what had just happened.
What could I have said at that moment? What did I really know about her anyway?
She's a pilot, I thought. Except she's not really a pilot. And her eyes contain all the colors of a field of sunflowers, but sometimes they don't. And she is renting Lumiere's field. And her cousin is British and a mechanic. And she said...I was beautiful.
