A Rainy Night in Paris

Samantha was certain she would never have had the courage to eat at the bistro he selected for their lunch, much less order from the menu in front of her. She was still trying to puzzle out some of the entries on the menu. He had ordered them some wine, admonishing her to avoid soda and make sure that water was Evian or some other bottled variety. The stew and breads that made up their lunch was delightful however, and she found herself quite hungry having forgotten that breakfast had been a while ago, despite the croissant, and dinner the night before had been so bad that she had only eaten half of the meager meal.

"Tonight we are having soufflé. I would take you to Martin's but that will have to wait for another night I am afraid," Alex said as he refilled her glass.

"Tonight?" she asked, startled.

"Certainly. Why? Did you have a date? I am sorry; I should have asked if you were free. I just assumed you were."

Samantha sat there looking at him. She really did not have any plans and suddenly the thought of going back to her empty hotel room seemed depressing. In fact, it seemed more than depressing really. She was in Paris after all and here was a guy, with no obvious attachments, offering to take her to dinner and show her things that a tourist might not see. That he was also good looking and seemed to have money did not hurt either. It only took her a moment to make up her mind, her nipples hardening under her bra in excitement as she responded.

"OK, soufflé it is."

"Tres bien, chérie. I must confess though, that I am not cooking it and it is kind of a working dinner if you don't mind idle chatter with a friend of mine while I fix whatever she has broken. Monique, the lady I was talking to when you came out of the bedroom, runs a small business, lives just outside the city, and is one of those people around whom technology ceases to function on an alarmingly regular basis. Either that, or she is using it as an excuse to get me out to try her latest creations, I am not sure which," he said smiling, remembering the last meal she had whipped up for the pair of them. They had gotten incredibly drunk and ordered a pizza because the meal was inedible.

"It sounds like fun," Samantha said, again the slight pull of jealousy hitting her and confounding her at the same time. "Well, I have a meeting to get to."

"So you do. One moment," he got up and walked over to the bar to pay their bill and returned to pick up his bag and hold the chair for her. "This way," he said as they walked out of the cafe and made their way across the Champs Elysées dodging taxis and Citröens with equal abandon.

As they walked a couple of small blocks, Alex took a few moments and pointed out some of the historical and trivial items of note. Samantha found herself paying close attention to what he was saying and the way he said it, occasionally laughing when he would slip in to a bad German accent and loving the lyrical nature of his French as he pointed out the places from World War II or of national or historic significance to the French or even an American abroad. She wondered where he was from. His French was accepted by the locals, an accomplishment she knew was not something a foreigner could generally do. He seemed perfectly at home here, but something about him made her think he was not a native. He had gone native but France was not where he was born, she was fairly certain.

"And here we are, Rue de Cerisoles, as promised. Your shop should be on the other side of the street. I will be in that cafe," he pointed to one a little farther down on the Champs Elysées, "in about an hour, I have to go and take care of a couple of things while I am on this side of town. Here is the number to my cell. Good luck." He passed her a business card and kissed her quickly on the cheek and was gone before she could even say thank you.

Samantha took a moment to look at the card.

Alexander Gordon

Author, IT Specialist, Layabout

It had his number and email address. Actually, it had several numbers. His card listed a Paris number, a London number, a Toronto number and a Washington, DC number. Well that explained his English skills. No one moved through the three other cities without being able to speak English and she was beginning to suspect he grew up in either Toronto or in Washington as his English was unaccented, or at least lacked any sort of British accent, accept when he was teasing her or putting on airs, such as when she had backed into him.

"This guy really gets around," she said to no one in particular. "His cell phone bill alone must be outrageous." Samantha tucked the card into her purse and made her way towards the shop and hopefully some good deals or at least she hoped to find something acceptable to Rachel's hypercritical eye.