AWAKENING, CHAPTER 32: LA NERVOSITÉ (The Jitters)
After the match, the grubby players and their guests retreated to Café Rossignol for a round of crêpes and coffee, as usual. The men segregated their sweaty bodies at one end of the table, while the women breathed fresh air at the other end. Gaston and Suzanne met in the middle and were locked in conversation almost immediately. Julien and Peter were at the far end of the table when Josette breezed in. She came up to Julien, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, smiled tightly at Peter, and then sat with the women.
Peter looked at Julien quizzically. This wasn't like the two of them. At the dinner party last night, they looked utterly infatuated with one another.
Julien read the glance and didn't wait for a question. "She's annoyed with me," he said with a shrug. "We had it out last night."
"What's she upset about, mate?" Peter asked softly. If he could help, he wanted to. He was very fond of the two of them.
"Oh, it's complicated," Julien said, taking a long drag from his cigarette. He swirled the coffee around in his cup, then squared his shoulders. "We finally set a date for the wedding—New Year's Day. Now she wants to go to Troyes for the last two weekends of July to make all the arrangements. But I want to stay in the city for the tennis match and the Tour de France. We can go to Troyes in August when the restaurant is closed."
"You told her you'd rather go to a tennis match than make wedding plans…" Peter repeated slowly and quietly. "Have you gone crackers, mate? You need to come up with better excuses than that." He kicked Julien under the table playfully and shook his head.
"Oh, really? Are you suggesting I should lie?" Julien said, the hint of a grin lifting up the corners of his mouth. They spoke in English, knowing that few of their teammates understood the language well enough to follow along.
"A gentleman never lies," Peter said with a theatrical wave. "He simply bends the truth," he added, demonstrating with a two-handed gesture. "It's not that you don't want to leave Paris; it's that you can't leave. Not during two major sporting events, when the biggest catering orders of the season are likely to come in."
"But Monsieur LeBeau's restaurant doesn't take catering orders," Julien said with a puzzled expression.
"Doesn't it?" Peter asked, eyes wide and innocent. "Well, silly me! I wonder if anyone else knows that?" Then he grinned devilishly. "We could branch into catering at any moment, that's my point, mate. And when we do, you can be bloody sure tes macarons et petits gâteaux will be in great demand."
Julien laughed. "You crack me up, you know that? I'm going to miss you, Peter."
"Well, take better aim next time," Peter shot back.
Julien groaned at the retort and kicked Peter under the table, and they sat with their ankles tangled together.
Peter arched an eyebrow, then put down his fork. "Seriously, though, Julien," He whispered. "You're marrying the girl. Can't you j-j-just do as she asks for one of those weekends? Compromise is part of being together."
Julien tapped his cigarette into the ashtray, and blew out a smoke ring as he did so. "I know that. It's just that everything's happening so fast," he murmured.
"What do you mean? You've been engaged for months, haven't you? I don't know much about marriage, but…"
"Yes, yes," Julien replied. "We were engaged last June, not long after I returned from the university. We had a big party that summer at her father's vineyard. Everyone from Troyes came."
"Everyone who was anyone" was more like it, Peter thought. In the short time he'd known Julien and Josette, he had pieced together that both families moved in the higher social circles of the Champagne wine region. "That girl adores you mate. I can see it when you're together," Peter said. "The way she looks at you… the way you look at her." He knew it was like to be looked at that way, how it could make your heart flutter.
"She does, and I do love her," Julien said with a warm smile. "But… our families are close, and we've been friends since we were children. Everyone always expected us to get married. I've never really dated anyone else. Obviously, I love her—it's just that I wonder how I would know if she's the right girl for me to be with forever?"
Peter looked at Julien in confusion. Julien and Josette seemed perfect together. "Are you getting cold feet? You pr-pr-proposed, didn't you?"
"Of course I did," Julien said with a wave of his hand. "Yes, I suppose it's just nerves. As I said, I love her. We've been together a long time, and marriage is certainly the next step. But it's happening very fast. In six months, I'll be a married man. If I'm not willing to get a law degree and work with my father, he'll start pressuring me to take a job with her father's vineyard. He doesn't think I can be a good provider working as a pastry chef." Julien rested his head on his hand. "But while I'm still single, I just want to stick around Paris this month and watch the tennis and bicycle race. It's the first year since before the war that we've had anything like that, and this is the place to be. Is that too much to ask?"
Peter shook his head. It was a lot to take in. He couldn't imagine Julien giving up his job as a pastry chef. He was already building a reputation as a creative new arrival on the Paris restaurant scene; surely he wouldn't go home to Troyes. But by the same token, Josette's feelings had to be considered.
"Julien, you can't make your fiancée feel she's playing second fiddle to t-tennis players and cyclists. If you're going to stay in Paris for the rest of July, you'll have to do something to sweep her off her feet all over again. Give her some romantic evenings—wine and roses, the lot. And do some things that she wants to do."
"What makes you think you know so much about women?" Julien bantered back. "You haven't exactly got very far with Suzanne yet, have you?"
"I'm not rushing it with Suzanne because I'll be leaving soon," Peter said dismissively. "But you know I have seven sssisters. I couldn't avoid being an expert on the f-female psyche if I tried." He punctuated the air with his finger as he issued commands: "You need to court her and promise her you'll go home with her at the beginning of August. In the meantime," he said, snapping his fingers thoughtfully, "I know what we could do right away."
"What?"
"Lingerie, mate. Buy her something really lovely to keep her here next weekend."
Julien sputtered. "I, I, I wouldn't know how, how to start."
Peter laughed. "I'm the one who's supposed to stammer, you know," he said. "Look, I wouldn't know where to start either, but Danielle would do. She works with Pierre Balmain."
Julien held his hands up in a gesture of befuddlement. "Who?"
"Pierre Balmain! He's one of the most renowned new designers in the world! 44, rue François 1er? Have you not been reading the newspapers, Julien?"
"Not the fashion pages, apparently," Julien muttered. "Why are you reading them, anyway?"
"I'm a tailor by trade, and it just so happens that I like to be current with the trends. I trust you've noticed my spectator shoes."
"Yes, very stylish," Julien said, rolling his eyes. "Alright, what sort of lingerie?"
"You're Fr-French, not me. Some sort of satin knickers, I should think. Tap pants, I think they call them. Some sort of silky... lacy... dainty... pretties," Peter said, his hands gesturing in a rolling motion as he stumbled toward a recommendation. Then he waved declaratively. "Danielle will know what to choose. It needs to be sexy or it won't help your case at all." He looked toward where Danielle was seated, chatting merrily with Mavis and Nora. "We'll see Dani at the farewell dinner tonight," he said decisively. "You can ask her then."
"I can ask her? Oh, that's very thoughtful of you," Julien grinned.
"Well, you don't expect me to ask her in fr-front of my two lovely sssisters on their last night in Paris, do you?" He paused, and it quickly became clear that was exactly what Julien wanted him to do. "Blimey, you've got a nerve. Alright, we'll corner Danielle and ask her together, and then you c-can do the rest. Take your girl dancing while she's hanging about waiting for you to watch cyclists. Bring on the roses, chocolates, wine, and romance. I'm sure you've got that part down."
There was a twinkle in Peter's eyes as he laid out his scheme to put Julien back in Josette's good graces, and Julien was watching with complete delight. Peter really was very entertaining, and Julien hoped he'd find his way back to Paris regularly.
Peter, however, was once again deep in thought. He leaned across the table, head to head with Julien. "Not to be a nosy Parker, but you do follow the ladies first rule, don't you, mate?"
"You mean holding out chairs and holding open doors? Of course," Julien replied.
"No, the other ladies first rule," Peter said, feeling himself redden as he hoped for a glimmer of recognition.
Julien looked absolutely baffled. Peter gazed back at him in amazement. Sometimes he felt very young. Other times he felt he didn't give himself enough credit for the grownup things he did know.
He leaned in again and whispered almost inaudibly. "Ladies first. In bed. You know, before you…"
"What?" Julien leaned back and stared. "What, Peter?"
"Before you get off, you take care of her," Peter replied in a hushed tone. His explanation provoked a shocked look, but no other signs of recognition. "Oh my God, Julien, you're both French, and you seriously don't know about this? We need to talk. The technique is vital, and it's not that difficult to master."
In a flash, Peter was on his feet and leading Julien outside by the collar to offer a few helpful words of instruction.
LeBeau and Olson saw to it that Newkirk learned a few things about women in Peter and Anja.