to ask you. Do you have accounts with the shops in town?" He nodded and I made a sheepish face, "I think there may have been a misunderstanding when you were introducing me around. This afternoon I stopped at the caf? for a snack and the owner didn't charge me. I don't think a French businessman would give away food to an American tourist. I'm afraid he put it on your tab."
He laughed. "Yeah, he probably did. I could see how the merchants might have thought you were with me. Don't worry about it. Call it my treat."
"Will you spread the word that I'll pay for my own stuff?"
He started to say something and then stopped himself, "Sure. I'll take care of it."
We sat quietly for a while. That was the really odd thing. We had only just met, but we were very comfortable being quiet together. I finished my beer, by which time the ice had diluted the tea sufficiently, so I switched back to tea. I asked him about the script he was reading when I walked up and he launched into a long description of the story, sort of semi-acting out some of the scenes. I could see how he was already working on developing the character.
That particular character, by the way, turned out to be the corporal in the movie When The Bombs Came Down. Before that time he had done a lot of B-movies, playing mostly bad guys and killers. He was a working actor who had made a lot of money, but his reputation was more as a ladies man than as a really serious actor. When The Bombs Came Down won him best actor awards in virtually every film festival in the world.
He talked to me about the story and then he spent a couple of hours explaining to me how movies are made. I've never been a huge movie buff but that gave me a much greater appreciation for the movies I have seen. I never saw When The Bombs Came Down until a few years ago after you bought us a DVD player for Christmas. I rented it one day when Henry was at work. Luke's character turned out different from the way it started out on the veranda that day, but I could see how he got from where he started that afternoon to where he ended up in the film.....
But, I'm getting ahead of myself. Sorry.
Anyway, we spent what was left of the afternoon talking and laughing. Eventually, he said, "Why don't you go get ready for dinner. I have a few phone calls to make to California. I'll meet you on the veranda at the inn at 7:30."
I stood up and asked, "May I take my glass of tea with me?"
He made a face, "Take the whole damned pitcher. It came from Marie-Claire's kitchen anyway, and I'm sure as hell not going to drink it!"
After I took my shower, I had a moment of panic. I had brought comfortable traveling clothes that were designed to be worn several times between washings without looking like I had slept in them. There was nothing in my wardrobe that was remotely suitable for what I knew would be a candlelight dinner with a movie star on the terrace of the most beautiful inn imaginable. I sighed and slipped into my black pants and a white shell. I had bought a colorful scarf for you in Paris. I decided you wouldn't mind if I 'borrowed' it, since my situation constituted something of a fashion emergency. I wrapped it around my neck to add a little color.
I had not intended to bring any makeup with me because after Kris left I had rather got out of the habit of wearing makeup, what with the greasy environment at the lunch counter. I felt very grateful that you talked me into bringing a make-up bag because it seemed to me that every woman in France was flawlessly made up all the time. That evening, I applied a little more makeup than I ordinarily would have worn, but I knew it would be dark on the terrace.
The whole time I was getting ready there was a raging argument going on inside my head. My 'sensible self' was insisting that I was being crazy to think that Luke Payne was doing anything other than killing time with me, in view of the fact that I was the only person around other than the locals, who were all too busy with their jobs and families to hang out drinking beer by the pool with him. Another little voice kept saying, 'but what if...' I decided the only way to make it stop was to go downstairs and find out.
Madame met me in the parlor and offered me a glass of wine and she invited me to wait on the terrace until dinner was ready. A very small round table was set for two at one end of the terrace. Beside it was a side table with a wine cooler containing a bottle of white wine. Next to the white wine, a bottle of red sat open on the table. A basket of bread, wrapped in a pristine white napkin, and a plate, that I guessed was butter covered with a silver dome, sat nearby.
On the other end of the veranda there was a sort of conversation area of comfortable chairs and tables. I started to sit down but realized that I wouldn't be able to watch the sunset from there. I remembered there was a bench beside the walking trail facing west, so I wandered out that way and waited for the sunset. The air was perfectly still. The only sound was the whirring of insects and occasional bird-song. I couldn't remember a time in my life when I felt so peaceful and relaxed.
I heard a deep chuckle from the shadows on my right. Luke stepped into the glow of the dying sunlight and said, "What I wouldn't give to know what you were thinking just now."
I patted the seat next to me and said, "Trust me, I am sure it was nowhere near as interesting as what you imagined."
He had a bottle of wine in one hand and an empty glass in the other. He motioned to my glass with the bottle. I shook my head. I had been so distracted by the scenery I had barely tasted the wine. He touched the side of the glass. The wine was warm. He took the glass from my hand and poured the contents into the bushes, then he refilled it with cold wine from the bottle and handed it back to me. I shook my head and laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"That was a terrible waste of a perfectly good glass of very expensive wine. I am trying to pace myself. I haven't had wine in years. Besides, I really prefer red wine."
"Really? Typically non-drinkers lean towards white wine."
I laughed. "You see, my mother was French, but she worked in a restaurant owned by Greeks. I married the eldest son of that family. In our house, we drank red wine. You know that strong purplish Greek wine."
"The kind that sort of takes the skin right off your tongue?"
"That would be the stuff. Kris's mom made her own homemade wine, which was really, really good, at least to my untrained taste-buds. I'm afraid my palate is too destroyed to appreciate your delicate French white wine."
He leaned close and whispered in my ear, "Please don't say that in front of Marie-Claire. She's passionate about wine and she really wants her guests to share that passion." I thought I would pass out. He smelled like soap and something spicy. His breath was warm against my cheek.
I took a sip to cool off, and winked, "I'll do my best. It's a good thing I'll only have to crawl up the stairs."
We watched the sun go down, chatting about nothing. Madame soon called us for dinner, which was five courses of the best food I had ever eaten up to that point, including my mother's cooking. We laughed and talked about food and wine and travel. Luke regaled me with gossipy Hollywood stories, most of which were probably common knowledge but, since I didn't follow the celebrity news, it was all very new and exciting to me. It didn't hurt, I suppose, that I was hearing the stories narrated by Luke Payne on a moonlit terrace in Provence.
While we were having desert, I asked Madame where I could catch the bus to St. Saturnin-les-Apts. They both looked at me with strange expressions. Madame recovered and answered the question, "The bus stops by the post office at, I believe, 8:30. Do you wish to eat breakfast before you go?"
"Just coffee, thank you."
Luke was not as circumspect as Madame. He blurted out the question I could see in her eyes, "Why do you want to go there? I imagine it is an absolutely beautiful village, but it's so remote. For that matter, how do you even know about it?"
I pushed my cake around on my plate and wished I had not said anything in front of him. Still, he was so direct and open and honest, I discovered I couldn't be anything less with him. "That is my mother's home town. I sent her remains back there after she died. I want to go there
to see the place she came from. The place she always described as pure heaven. And I want to ..." I choked up. "I want to visit her one last time."
He put his hand over mine and said softly, "You don't have to take the bus, I'll drive you."
I started to protest, but he stopped me by putting his finger over my lips. He said, "I've got nothing else to do but hang around here until early evening when I have a conference call with a producer in California, so don't argue with me." He told me he would like to leave about 9:30, which would still give me plenty of time to wander around the village before returning to Gordes for his call at 7:00 p. m.
I must have looked puzzled. He explained, "Seven p. m. Local time is 10:00 a. m. in LA. I have a conference call with my agent and a producer."
He looked at Madame and said, "Perhaps Marianne and I should plan a picnic lunch. Could you fix us up with a box lunch?"
She blushed and grinned. I could tell she had a huge crush on him even though she was happily married, and her husband was in the kitchen. Or, maybe she was the quintessential French business woman who loved the fact that he was rich and he was spending lavishly on food and wine during what was typically a very slow time in her business year. Whatever her reason, she was prepared to do anything he asked. She went inside to make the arrangements.