Paris Noir - Aurelien Masson [49]
It kept me busy for a while. She was truly extremely beautiful and when I heard her speak, I thought I was hearing Lauren Bacall in The Big Sleep. I’m not an unconditional fan of Lauren Bacall, I even find her a bit stupid to tell you the truth, but I love her husky voice.
The handsome guy—very chic: gold watch and chain bracelet, pocket handkerchief matching his tie, chic like I myself could never be—was looking lovingly, with ecstatic eyes, at his sweetheart. Behind his façade of young businessman, it was easy to see a kid in love. He was no more than twenty-five, too young to be a businessman really, or else he was a particularly gifted one; he looked like a sweet boy.
The couple was rather nice, actually. Busy watching them as I was, I had forgotten my tajine, which was getting cold, as well as my Christmas blues, and the fact that I had taken refuge at my friend El-Hadji’s so I wouldn’t be alone.
The young man’s name was Nico. Hers was Teresa, Teresa, Teresa, a name he kept repeating to get closer to her, to possess her, to convince himself she was his. She looked at him tenderly, as if he were a puppy-like little brother who happened to be her lover too.
After El-Hadji had served each a mayonnaise lobster, he brought me my fig brandy and sat down. I kidded him a little: “Since when have you been serving lobster? You bought it frozen?”
He shrugged. “I bought those lobsters just for them. Fresh. I know how to cook them perfectly. The guy insisted on having lobster when he made the reservation. I told him this was a Tunisian restaurant; he said yes, he knew that, he used to come here a long time ago, but he absolutely needed to have a lobster dinner here tonight. What could I do? The customer is always right and I wanted to open the restaurant tonight anyway. Besides, it was the only reservation I had … Shit! I forgot to bring them their Chablis.”
Apparently, they hadn’t noticed and El-Hadji, holding the bottle with his eyes lost in space, had to wait a solid minute so as not to interrupt a passionate kiss. The girl was so beautiful that there was nothing indecent about the kiss.
El-Hadji came back to my table to tell me at length about his plastic Christmas tree. He hadn’t set it up because he didn’t want his place to feel too much like Christmas; it felt dumb. He was wondering if he would set it up tomorrow morning to make the place feel like Christmas after all, but the tree was in the attic, all dusty and one branch missing. Just to attract a few customers (because, you see, tonight is actually okay, but if it’s empty like this till January, business will suffer).
I was sort of listening while enjoying my second glass of fig brandy when suddenly I saw Nico turning ghastly pale as he peered toward the entrance.
A man had walked in. He was shabby-looking: short, almost dwarflike. His grayish complexion, under a two-day beard, was as rumpled as his suit, which was too big, floating around him with a faded pink that reminded me of that particular color my first grade teacher vividly depicted as “drunk vomit.”
He could have been fifty as easily as seventy. His greasy, thin gray hair was showing from under his felt hat, which he hadn’t removed. You felt like giving him spare change to go get a sandwich.
Everything happened very fast. Handsome Nico turned pale, I glanced at El-Hadji, expecting him to get rid of the intruder, but the aforementioned El-Hadji was petrified: He turned red and lowered his head, concentrating intensely on the few grains of couscous in the congealed sauce on my plate. Nico got up from his seat, abandoning his sublime Teresa, and walked over to the visitor.
Nico, the handsome, flamboyant Nico who had entered Chez Léon just a little while ago, was no more. He was taking little steps with his head down. Next to him, the visitor seemed to be a real midget, but a midget with authority.
The older man made a sign with his finger; Nico bent down so their heads were at the same level. I think the guy whispered something to him but I couldn’t be sure. What I’m certain about,