Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme (10 page)

When she had something in mind, she didn't give up.

‘Now, about your look when you go to the supermarket …'

She'd thought of everything.

‘Yes, what should I wear? Do I need to look relaxed and casual, chic or sporty? Make-up or no make-up? Hair neatly done or a ponytail? I don't even know what the trendy way of wearing your hair is right now.'

Because I didn't care.

‘Well, don't worry about your hair. You need to look neat and informal,
bon chic bon genre
, as the French say. You know how to do it most of the time.'

‘As long as you don't look like a tramp, showing your belly and too much cleavage!' we exclaimed together, both laughing loudly. We thought that that fashion didn't show anyone to her best advantage, even if she had a beautiful figure.

We set a date for me to go to Fit Gourmet: next Saturday, the sooner the better.

Mariette took a glossy flyer for Fit Gourmet from her purse and looked it over.

‘Next week is Italian Week,' she announced with a smile.

‘Italian … That sounds good. But I'd rather meet an American,' I said firmly, remembering the Neapolitan guy Kelly had dated, who had found her too liberated.

‘You can meet an American who likes foreign food.'

Sure. Why not?
My grandmother had an answer for everything.

Mariette had to leave then because Juan José was meeting her at her house that evening for dinner.

‘I made my famous tomato pie,' she said, looking at me with bright eyes. ‘I'll just have to reheat it. And Juan José is bringing his famous
tortilla
española de patatas
and some
boquerónes
.'

Seeing my astonished look, she quickly explained what a
tortilla
was in Spanish cuisine, as well as
boquerónes
– anchovies preserved in vinegar and garlic. Until then, to me, tortillas were large, flat Mexican pancakes, and I had never heard of
boquerónes
before.

The
tortilla española de patatas
sounded rather yummy, though I wasn't sure about the anchovies. But I loved Mariette's tomato pie. Each time I put it on my table straight from the oven, it was like having the sun from the South of France right there in my kitchen. Usually I opened a bottle of French rosé to drink with it, just as they would do in southern France. Not that I'd ever been there, but Mariette had told me about it after she went there.

Before Mariette was into Spain she'd been fascinated by France, especially its capital and the South. Not surprisingly, she was the one who had introduced me to French culture.

I gave Mariette the banana bread I'd originally made for Kelly.

‘Thanks, Claudia. I adore your banana bread. It will be the perfect dessert for tonight.'

And, taking a bottle out of her bag, she exclaimed gaily, ‘I bought this great Rioja for you. Enjoy!
Hasta luego, querida!
' Then she kissed me goodbye.

Mariette didn't even give me time to thank her. ‘Ziaf are singing later – why don't you stay and have dinner here?' she called over her shoulder as she left.

Definitely! I loved Ziaf – a local group that sang Edith Piaf's repertoire. I'd seen them a few times.

I looked at the menu. Suddenly I craved a huge juicy hamburger with lots of fries and onion rings, another beer, and a brownie sundae: a real unhealthy American meal. It was as if I wanted to take a little revenge on Mariette for her happiness and her obsession with Spanish food and men.

I called the dishy waiter over to tell him that I'd decided what I wanted to eat.

Staring at him as he walked to the kitchen with my order took me back to the little secret summer escape Kelly and I liked to organise whenever the two of us were tired of the macho male rudeness we constantly seemed to attract. Real men were supposed to be rough, otherwise they were sissies, right? And if they didn't show a little toughness, then they were scared of us women.

For our summer escape Kelly and I took the fast boat at noon to Cape Cod. As soon as we arrived at Provincetown, we sat at a table on the terrace of a great restaurant we knew on Commercial Street. We then spent the whole afternoon eating different hors-d'oeuvres, sipping Cosmopolitans,
and watching and grading the beautiful gay men passing by.

It was quite silly and extremely shallow but we had a hell of a good time. It was also an invigorating way to spend the day before the boat took us back to our real lives in Boston. We'd been doing this every summer for the last few years.

Ziaf had begun their set and a line in French caught my attention. Slightly tipsy from the beer and intoxicated by my chocolatey dessert, I agreed with the singer that, no, life wasn't that sad, after all.

After I'd finished my scrumptious high-calorie meal I said goodbye to the gorgeous waiter who, without any doubt, had become my platonic sweetheart for the foreseeable future.

‘Hope to see you soon,' he said, with his striking smile.

‘Definitely!'

And sooner than you may think, actually!

I decided I'd have to bring Kelly with me next time I came here.

However, Mariette was right: I'd been a little too much into gay men lately. Not good!

On the subway home, most of the people looked wornout, sloppy, heavy and ugly, especially compared with the slim and elegant waiter. But then it was a Thursday evening and the end of the week was approaching. I didn't feel that great myself, having lost the habit of eating such a heavy dinner.

Mariette's scenario for meeting eligible men was drifting back into my mind. I didn't know if I really liked
it but I decided to give it a try. After all, I'd got nothing to lose.

Later on, as soon as I'd collapsed into bed, hoping for a good night's sleep, the phone rang.

I didn't want to answer it, but when I heard Kelly leaving a message, I jumped up to catch her.

After an hour of girly chatting, Kelly had convinced me that I needed to go along with Mariette's scheme. Kelly thought the idea was fantastic and wanted to accompany me to Fit Gourmet the following Saturday morning. I knew that Mariette wouldn't mind, since she was very fond of Kelly.

I hung up, feeling absolutely ready to go to an overpriced gourmet food supermarket at the far edge of the suburbs, just to hunt for a man. Mariette's plan suddenly seemed cunning and attractive, much better than meeting someone online or at a speed-dating event, which was what Kelly had just been telling me about.

But even if the two of us found our Mr Rights, we would still have our yearly secret summer escape to Provincetown. We'd sworn to it, after all.

Thomas was back from his holiday in Turkey. Heidi saw him arrive through the large window that separated her office from the reception area. She was thrilled to see her closest colleague again after almost two weeks.

He'd been in her thoughts a great deal of that time. Now they waved to each other, both smiling broadly.

Every other day, Heidi had received emailed photos and messages from Thomas, telling her about the wonderful places he was visiting, showing her the fabulous sights and recounting what he'd been eating while he was in Istanbul.

Istanbul … the very name made Heidi dream, evoking for her the perfect exotic and mysterious destination.

Her holiday – only two weeks a year – was spent entirely with her mother and the twins in rural Ohio. Not that she didn't try to get along with her mother, for the sake of the children, but with that being her only break from her monotonous routine, it wasn't ideal. It was all she could afford, however.

At least with Thomas she could dream of more adventurous escapes. He knew so much about the world and visited a new country twice a year – in May and October. Heidi hoped to be able to go with him one day …

Thomas seemed very content. His holidays were obviously doing him a power of good. He never got much of a tan, although he'd been to a lot of hot, sunny places, but, as he told Heidi, he usually stayed in the shade because he was afraid of getting sunburnt and developing skin cancer.

Istanbul – Heidi sighed longingly – the Blue Mosque, Hagia Sophia, the Topkapi Palace and the vibrant bazaars. Thomas's hotel had had a nice roof terrace where he'd spent much of the time admiring the panoramic view of the Bosphorus, sipping Doluca wine or raki.

Thanks to his emails, Heidi had easily been able to imagine him visiting the different places, taking a break on his hotel terrace, dining on
imam bayildi, borek, sis kebap, dolma
, with baklava for dessert, as if she were there with him. She could almost smell the dishes, he described them so well.

She'd enjoyed reliving Thomas's trip in her mind. The photos that he'd downloaded on the tiny laptop he always took with him were so very picturesque, the colours so vibrant and the views so inviting. His attached comments and anecdotes were fun to read: a real travel journal.

Heidi would rather have received postcards with actual stamps on them, but while he was away Thomas preferred to communicate only via the internet. As he said, postcards took so long that they would often arrive after he was back
at his desk. For him, that would certainly ruin the charm and immediacy of his day-to-day travelogue.

Heidi anticipated that Thomas would invite her and the twins, Nick and Tania, for dinner – maybe even as soon as the following Saturday. He'd want to cook them some of the specialities he'd discovered during his Turkish trip, and he'd conjure up the atmosphere of Istanbul with local music, decorating the dining room with a few artefacts and souvenirs he'd brought back, as if he were a magician. And then, having experienced the taste of Istanbul, they'd all sit and be transported right there by his computer slide show. Such a treat!

Heidi thought that Thomas was amazing. When he went to a restaurant he could work out what all the ingredients were in a particular dish and then re-create it at home. A proper food connoisseur, everyone called him.

‘A connoisseur? Do you think so?' he'd reply modestly. ‘You know, I just enjoy good authentic, simple food in a place that has atmosphere, and try to cook the same thing in my kitchen, that's all.'

One day Heidi had asked Thomas if he would teach her to cook. He'd agreed right away. Since then, he'd shown her how to prepare a whole range of the delightful recipes he'd brought back from his holidays.

These cookery lessons took place once a month at Thomas's comfortable home. He still lived with his mother, Mrs Reynolds, a lovely woman, who clearly enjoyed spending time with Nick and Tania, while the twins saw her as a distinguished and fun great-auntie.

Thomas was very special to Heidi. She was secretly in
love with him but believed that his kindness towards her was no more than friendship. Their monthly gatherings at his home, a few lunches
en tête-à-tête
– her favourite moments with him – chatting at work, and the email travelogue were all Thomas wanted to share with her, she decided.

Heidi even tried to read the same books as Thomas. He had a taste for classic fiction and that took her back to the world of literature she'd enjoyed so much when she was younger. Comparing notes with Thomas about novels they'd both read was another source of intense enjoyment to Heidi.

Thomas always had a compliment for her. But she wondered if he was only trying to cheer her up, knowing her life wasn't always easy.

Heidi bore in mind what her mother had told her countless times: ‘Let's face it, my girl, this Thomas Reynolds, who seems to lead a peaceful, intellectual life – how ready would he be to share that life with a woman like you, divorced with two kids? And aren't you a little too young for him? Or maybe he's a little old for you.'

Well, I don't care about his age, since we enjoy each other's company. Let's see how things go,
was Heidi's silent answer to her mother's acerbic comments. But the seeds of doubt that anything could ever come of their friendship were planted none the less.

‘Heidi, so nice to see you,' Thomas hailed her warmly as he entered her office, stretching out his hand to take hers. They kissed each other twice on the cheek.

‘Likewise,' she replied. Her face felt rosier all of a sudden.

‘It's easier to come back to work with your smile around. It's the best welcome back there is, you know. Hey, I like this hairband. Nice colour. It goes so well with your eyes.'

‘Thanks, Thomas. I'm very happy to see you too. The agency isn't the same without you.'

‘Do you want to go out for lunch?'

‘That would be great,' Heidi answered quickly, pleased that the invitation was offered, as she'd expected. She hadn't even packed a lunch this morning.

‘There's no genuine Turkish food around here,' Thomas said with a wink, ‘but Mounir's will be Middle Eastern enough.'

‘Wonderful. And I like their little outdoor area so much!'

Having been away for ten days, Thomas was swamped with work, but even so, he was determined to find time to have lunch with Heidi.

When Thomas was on holiday he didn't want to know anything about the agency. He preferred to forget all about the clients, their files and their demands and, instead, immerse himself in a completely different atmosphere, far away from his daily office routine.

The only person he stayed in touch with at work was Heidi. He'd started sending her emails about his holiday two years ago when she'd timidly asked him to send her a postcard from Portugal. He'd made her promise then that she wouldn't mention anything about work in her replies.

Thomas wasn't too concerned about the huge amount of work he had to do that morning. Instead he was wondering how to explain to Heidi what he had to tell her
when they went to lunch. He just couldn't lie to her any longer. She needed to know the truth, especially now he sensed their friendship was taking a different path, that his feelings for her could, in fact, be more than just friendship. He wondered if Heidi would have a relationship with a man like him, whose passions were cuisines of the world, reading and museums: a little boring for a young woman like her, and for her two spirited children. By the time he took Heidi to Mounir's he was feeling decidedly nervous.

‘I really love these falafels,' Heidi gushed, after taking a sip of her glass of ayran.

Looking straight at Thomas, happily tucking into his stuffed aubergines, she went on enthusiastically, ‘So far I've done nothing but gossip about work. Tell me more about your trip!'

Thomas set down his knife and fork and reached for his briefcase, from which he produced two nicely wrapped parcels. ‘Here's a little gift for you first.'

Heidi was overjoyed when she unwrapped them. One was a jar of rose jam, with the recipe attached to it. The other one comprised two smaller bottles in a pretty pink box: one of rose perfume, and one of rose oil, plus a card inviting Heidi, Nick and Tania to dinner the following Saturday.

‘Oh, thank you, Thomas. They're lovely!'

Heidi would have liked to kiss Thomas but she didn't dare. Instead she smelt the perfume and was transported by its exotic fragrance. Then suddenly she blushed at the sight of the crimson rose design on the bottle: the flower
of passionate love! And it was the first time Thomas had brought her something that was not edible or drinkable. She felt a little confused, but, at the same time, hopeful.

Thomas was delighted by Heidi's reaction.
She's always so easy to please, and always positive.

‘I really liked the food flavoured with rose when I was there. I'll make a dessert with rose syrup on Saturday.'

‘I'm sure I'll love all the Turkish food you'll prepare for us, and so will the twins. They send their love, by the way. Look what they made for you.'

She handed Thomas two drawings depicting him on holiday: one showed him in profile, with the Blue Mosque in the background; the second had him sipping mint tea from a tiny cup outside the Topkapi Palace.

‘They were wondering why you're never in the photos you email me. I told them it's because you travel by yourself, and that you don't want anyone to use your expensive digital camera. That's why they wanted to draw pictures with you in them.'

Thomas was touched and told Heidi that he was eager to see her children again. He shared his mother's affection for Nick and Tania. Mrs Reynolds was always complimenting Heidi on how well she had raised them, often adding how unusual it was to see such well-behaved children. Thomas had explained to his mother that Heidi did her best to take care of her twins, spending all the time she wasn't at work with them.

‘I'll give you and the kids the rest of the gifts on Saturday,' he said.

‘You spoil us.' Heidi blushed. ‘So, go on, tell me about
your trip. I enjoyed your lovely photos, and reading your emails. But I have so many questions to ask you …'

Thomas didn't answer immediately. He cleared his throat.

He seems very hesitant today, Heidi thought. Is there anything wrong?

‘Hmm. Well, before I say any more about Istanbul, Heidi, there's something I ought to tell you …'

Oh my!
Heidi bit her lip, convinced he'd figured out she had a crush on him. She'd been doing her best to hide it, but, even so, he'd caught on, and he didn't like it.

He's understood my feelings, but how? Is it because I blush so easily? Heidi wondered. Who would like me anyhow? I'm really very ordinary physically as well as mediocre intellectually, a divorced mother with two kids.

Her ex-husband had always told her she wasn't worth much, and her mother had always been pessimistic about Heidi's ability to attract a decent man. Thomas was the only man who had ever been kind to her.

Chasing away these thoughts, Heidi gathered her courage to accept what Thomas was about to declare: that he cared about her only as a friend.

‘It's hard for me to say this, because you may not want to see me any more,' he said gravely. He looked at her, a worried expression on his kind face.

‘Please, go ahead!' Heidi implored, unable to bear the anticipation any longer. ‘I've had bad news in my life before, more than a few times, and anything you have to say cannot possibly be as awful as all that.'

Thomas knew how hard things had been for Heidi:
pregnant at eighteen, the inevitable shotgun wedding, the abusive husband, the divorce, life as a working single mother who never had enough money, the death of her beloved father, the bad relationship with her mother …

‘I've never set foot in Turkey. Or Vietnam, or Morocco, or Portugal …'

‘Oh?' Heidi replied calmly, wondering what Thomas meant. And then she thought: Is that all?

For a moment she felt a bit puzzled by his declaration but, after a few seconds, she realised that Turkey, Vietnam, Morocco and Portugal were the countries that Thomas had said he'd visited on his twice-yearly trips.

‘So that's it? That's what you have to tell me?'

Thomas looked up, surprised. He had expected a stronger reaction.

How could Heidi explain that she was actually relieved at not having to face what she dreaded hearing?

‘Well, I expect you have your reasons for fabricating these trips,' she finally conceded after a brief silence. ‘I mean, you must have some motive for travelling to these places in your imagination like that.'

Wow, she really is open-minded! Thomas thought. But he still gazed at her with astonishment, wondering why she didn't think him strange or bizarre. Maybe she was simply a big-hearted and kind person? He could never have been that broad-minded if someone had admitted lying to him for as long as they had known each other.

‘And what about the food: the
pho
, the tagines and the
bacalao
dishes you made? You're so good at describing the aromas and …
façons de faire
, as you would say, from
exotic places as if you really had been there.' Heidi's tone was euphoric.

‘Heidi, you know that world cuisine is my first passion in life,' he replied a bit defensively.

‘It's becoming more and more my own passion, thanks to you.' Heidi smiled. She couldn't really be mad at him. He had brought so much to her life.