Cameron finally had a good night's sleep. The seas were calm and she felt more secure about her relationship with House. There would be plenty of time to define what that relationship was, but for now it was enough that she knew that he wasn't running from her any more.
She arrived from the gym in time for her breakfast to be delivered. It was getting to be a game, to see what extra tidbit would be on there for her. Toast and coffee were as they always were. A dish of figs and a bowl of yogurt accompanied her usual. A sachet of honey rested against the base of the footed bowl as well as a few tablespoons of muesli, for crunch. A suggestion that was too inviting not to try.
She smiled as she heard the door open on the balcony next to her. "This tray was prepared with love." She said to him as she stirred in the honey.
He sipped his coffee. "I see you were up with the lark this morning. How is he?"
"The lark? Quite well thank you. House, I'm serious, what is with the food here?" The yogurt was a revelation.
He dipped a toast point into his eggs. "So many things are different in Europe. Did you know that it would never occur to the French to put cheese in the refrigerator? They believe that it's alive. Like a cat. Fruit either. You don't pick it out, the vendor does. You go to a market on Wednesday or on Saturday and walk around. You tell the vendor what you want and they ask when you're going to eat it. They pick out the exact thing that you want and it's guaranteed to be perfectly ripe for the upcoming meal. Don't get me started on chickens or fish."
"And yet you eat old, dry, lukewarm Rueben sandwiches?" She stopped scraping the last of the yogurt out of the bowl, "you are such a contradiction."
"That's my favorite thing about me. What's your favorite thing about me?" He spooned the last of egg number one into his mouth and then set to tapping on egg number two.
"Your modesty." Cameron gazed out at the shore, St. Tropez. She thought about suntan lotion. "So today is the tour of provincial wineries."
He winced, "Yes, we take a motor-coach…"
"You mean uncomfortable bus." She corrected.
"No, it says motor-coach. I think they mean motor-coach." He sipped his orange juice. "As I was saying, a motor-coach takes us to the heart of Provence. We stop at the village of…chateau sur merde or something French sounding like that…where we may stroll along the quaint streets and shop or enjoy a simple repast at a sidewalk café."
"Wait. So we're on a bus with these vile people. We bounce over country roads to get to some tourist trap where we drink wine and then we get dumped off at some little town to eat over-priced food and to watch all these idiots pay three times as much for the same stuff they could buy at their local Galleria? I have an idea." She leaned over.
He met her half-way, "I'm guessing that it has to do with our shore excursion."
"Would you be terribly disappointed if we bailed on the tour? I stopped by the library and grabbed some DVDs. We could watch television together this morning and then we could just poke around the town later this afternoon. I really can't stand the thought of spending the whole day on a bus." She handed him a fruit from her tray as a bribe, "I'll give you this fig."
"Am I to understand that you don't want to go on the provincial wine tour? But when will you ever get back here again? Aren't you afraid that you'll be missing something?" He took the fig from her and bit into it.
"No matter what I choose I'll be missing something. There's only so much you can see and frankly it's all starting to run together anyway. I'm exhausted. Let's rest this morning, have a brief adventure ashore and then come back early."
He pretended to consider it. "On one condition. You have to show me the koala. Right now, no hesitation."
She stood, "You'll see my ass soon enough. You just sit there and read your paper, which one is it today?" He showed her La Monde and the Financial Times. "If you simply burn to go on the trip, I'll see you later tonight. If you want to hang around with me this morning. I'll see you in about thirty minutes." She went into her cabin.
House bit into his bacon, "Damn independence."
After her shower, Cameron slipped on her yoga pants and a T-shirt; her official hanging out uniform. She left the balcony door open and let the cool breeze blow in. House knocked at her door just as she was cueing up the DVD she had selected. The Bandwagon.
House scrutinized the cover. "Why did you pick this?"
"Well, if I was by myself I'd probably watch something like Sense and Sensibility or Legally Blonde. I figure you'd gnaw your arm off to get away from something like that. And while I like action movies, I'm really not in the mood right now. So I got a classic. If you don't want that one, we can watch The Maltese Falcon." She directed his attention to a stack of at least twenty DVDs.
"But what will the other passengers do?"
She shrugged, "Not my problem."
Cameron curled up in the bed and when it got chilly, she got under the duvet. "This is heaven." She sighed.
"I could close the door," House offered.
"No. I like this. Are you comfortable?" She wiggled her toes and rubbed her feet together.
He casually connected with her by using her shoulder as a chin rest. "I'm fine."
"Are you humming?" She asked as Fred Astaire danced on the screen.
"I might be. Does it bother you?"
"No. But it's interesting. You seem…familiar with the movie." She looked at him suspiciously.
"In the early seventies, when you were an embryo, there was a movie called That's Entertainment. My parents dragged me to it every Saturday for four months. Most of the musical numbers in this movie are showcased in that one. If I really wanted to show off, I could sing along." He demonstrated, "You and the night and the music…Oh, wait, check this out, this is one of the best transition scenes in the history of cinema," he recited. "My Dad said that every single time we watched this. Now I'm condemned to repeat the same thing. I'll probably bore my kids with it too."
"You want kids?"
He sighed, "You know, I'm giving you a window into my childhood, I'm telling you something about my past and what do you hone in on? An offhand remark about theoretical progeny. You know, that's the kind of thing that scares the fellas off." He lowered his voice and told her conspiratorially, "It makes you seem desperate."
"Are you scared off?" She didn't even face him.
He remained quiet, "not really. If I were going to be scared off I'd have been long gone by now."
"I'm glad you came back for me. I've never told you, but I am." She shifted slightly to look at him. Typically, he didn't say anything, at least not in words, but his face told the story. She kissed his hand, which had wandered somewhere near her waist.
At noon, after two old movies, they were ready to take on the day. A short walk from the dock and they were in a market square in St. Tropez. Small shops all painted with various colors ringed a small park filled with vendors. Cameron was delighted, "It's a market!"
"Apparently so. I'm guessing that you'll want to wander around and look at everything?" He sat down on a bench next to an elderly gentleman reading Paris Match.
"Yes, and I might even buy something. I promised the boys I'd bring them presents back. I got Chase a rosary in Rome, but I don't have anything for Foreman." She reviewed the booths to decide where to start.
"You, an atheist, bought a rosary for a lapsed Catholic? And I thought I was a mass of contradictions. Have fun. I'm going to the newsstand." He nodded at the gentleman sitting next to him, "save my place," he said in French.
The gentleman nodded at him, "Your wife, she's very beautiful; I see why you act like a leek."
Cameron wore a puzzled expression on her face, House chuckled, "He said that you were so beautiful that it's worth the wait."
"Oh, thanks." She said, rather embarrassed.
Cameron wandered off towards a lady selling lace blouses. House walked across the street and bought a local newspaper and a chocolate bar. The day was cool and breezy and it was comfortable to sit on the bench, eating good chocolate and reading provincial news in French. It reminded him of his semester abroad. Although a small town on the Riviera wasn't exactly the same as the Left Bank of Paris.
Cameron didn't impose on his patience long. It was late in the market day and the vendors were packing up after a busy Saturday. She was able to purchase typical products of the region, lavender, soaps, and fabrics. She also found a couple of things for herself. She dumped her haul on the bench next to House and proceeded to sort through it. "The Euro is awesome. I changed money in Italy and I can use it everywhere. Can you imagine having to change dollars to lire to francs to marks? What a pain!"
"There's no romance in a Euro." House commented.
"That's a funny thing to be sentimental about." She commented. "Hey, I need something at the drug store; can you watch my stuff for a minute?"
"Sure, why not?" He sat and folded his paper watching her walk across the street.
She came back within a few minutes and they walked down the street back towards the dock. "Hey, wait a minute. I want some fries." House pointed at a small food stand. "Do you want any?"
Cameron had seen a pastry shop that she thought bore further research, but he had been a good sport about her shopping so she capitulated, "Fries sound good. Hey, do we ask for French Fries in France?"
"No, I thought I'd be an asshole and order Freedom Fries." He noted the expression on her face, "Don't worry. It's just frites, fries."
There was a short line which gave her time to study the menu, "So this stand only sells fries, but there are at least twenty different sauces you can get?"
He shrugged, "They're catering to an international clientele. Ever had them with mayonnaise?"
"That's disgusting." She commented. She wondered if it would be too American to order them with ketchup. She wondered if they had Heinz.
"Belgians would disagree. Personally, I like them salty and vinegary." He proclaimed, stepping up to place his order, "So what have you decided?"
"Ketchup and a diet coke please." The woman behind the counter nodded.
They sat on a cement bench and watched as people walked around the now quiet square. "So what did you get at the drug store?" House asked, eating his fries with the little red, plastic prong provided.
"That's an interesting and personal question. Why do you want to know?" Cameron put the prong aside and used her fingers, licking the salt off of them after each bite.
"If you got tampons, then I've got to get a strategy, and if you got condoms, then I don't have to worry, you've got your own strategy." He picked up her can and took a sip of her drink, "That's not bad for diet."
"And if I got this?" She made him hold her container of fries and dug into her bags. She produced a bottle of high-end botanical bath oil.
"Oh." He seemed embarrassed, disappointed and mostly relieved.
"If you're nice to me, I'll share. It has juniper in it, good for sore muscles." She put it back.
There was a silence between them, the trees rustled and a poodle in the park barked at birds. "Faux pas." He said simply.
"It is a bit weird still." She admitted, "But it's mostly nice, so I can take the rough with the smooth."
He laughed at himself, "Jumping the gun am I?"
"You're not a sport-fuck." She said simply.
"Excuse me?" He was well and truly shocked.
"So what's so terrible, that I cursed or that I've been with other men?" She pronged another fry and grinned while she chewed.
"I don't know what to say. I'm speechless." He crumpled up his cardboard carton and threw it in the iron garbage can.
"Look at the bright-side. At least you don't have all that angst about being the first guy after my husband."
He took another slug of her soda. "You've got a point."
"So what's your deal? Chase is convinced that you use call-girls. I think you're one of those guys who has to be in love." She handed him her half-eaten container and he pitched it into the can as well.
He took a deep breath, "I suppose it would be pointless to say that your question is completely over the line."
"Yes, it would be pointless. You cross the line all the time. You cross the line and then dance on it. So to speak." She got up, "Let's walk and talk, I'm ready to take a nap."
"You're a sleepyhead all of a sudden."
"True, but that's what happens, jet lag and total relaxation after long periods of stress increase the need for sleep. So do you want to change the subject?" She touched him gently on the arm.
"No, I'll answer. I was just stalling for time." He marshaled his thoughts. "I haven't been with anyone since Stacy."
"I was right." She said simply.
"You're right a lot. You just don't have the confidence of your convictions yet. I guess I don't understand why anyone would want to be with someone they didn't love. The difference is…again, I have no words."
"Oh, I totally agree with you. Being with someone when you're in love, there's no comparison. But sometimes it's fun just to be with someone you like. There's just one problem." They were within range of the dock and the tender was nowhere to be seen.
"Only one?" He sat on the bench to wait for the boat.
"Well, one major one. Usually one of the people involved has more at stake than the other. That's how you end up breaking hearts." She reflected guiltily on recent events.
"So I'm guessing that you don't have any boyfriends right now?" He toyed with her fingers as she stared out at the ocean.
"No. No boyfriends." She turned to him, "I can't really think of you as a boyfriend. You're more important."
"Allison, I don't know if I can live up to your expectations. I want to, but I am human after all. And really, really flawed." He took out his bottle.
"So how did we get all the way here? We were having fun."
"You knew I was a buzz kill from the beginning." He saw the small boat moving towards them and stood to walk towards it.
"You knew I was an optimist from the beginning." It was a challenge.
"Oscar Wilde said that second marriage is the triumph of hope over experience." He picked up the gauntlet.
She leaned in, as though to let him in on a secret, "You know speaking of marriage like that scares girls off. It makes you seem desperate."