L’homme Français (aka The Frenchman)

I am going to have a difficult time not writing this chapter in French. I spent 2 years in Marseilles. Work, work, work. That was my world and technically, I didn’t have the time for relationships. I had just been burned in what could be noted as the shortest relationship of my life. That’s what I get for allowing myself to be swayed by some jerk’s sweet talk. Ugh. I’m just grateful I only ended up with crabs and not AIDS.

I was introduced to the French man by a coworker. I think Coworker was purposefully trying to set me up. I understood his point of view and he was a very sweet older gentleman. I have to give l’homme français a name. I’m not comfortable calling him “Frenchie”. It reminds me too much of Didi Conn’s character in Grease. Can you see me dating a man with pink hair? Non.

Coworker had a dinner party in my honor. To welcome me to France. I guess it’s the thing to do when someone is new to the area. I’m not very familiar with French customs even to this day. I was seated next to Coworker’s cousin, Jean-Pierre. I could smell a set-up from a mile away. What I didn’t know, was that he was being set-up as well. I didn’t want to seem standoffish but I still came across that way during the meal. Truth was, my French speaking skills were very rusty. I could understand bits and pieces of the conversations taking place but I was unable to respond. I needed a translator. Pronto!

I was relieved when everyone retired to the large parlor and the conversation quieted to someone playing the piano. Jean-Pierre came up behind me and whispered in my ear. In English! I was so thrilled to find someone who spoke my language. His smile matched the huge grin on my face after discovering the language barrier had been broken.

“I could see that you found it difficult to understand the conversation at dinner.”
“Yes, very much so,” I smiled.
“My cousin likes to play match maker with me. They were discussing that we would be a nice match together.” He laughed.
I chuckled. “Yes, I had a feeling that was what Coworker was doing.”
I didn’t have time for a relationship. How many times do I have to tell people that?
“How do you feel about that?” He asked, looking at me with trepidation.
“Can we just be friends? I don’t know how much free time I will have.” I replied.
“What do you mean by ‘free time’? I do not understand this word.”
“I have to see when I am available. Not working.”
“Oh yes! Can I show you the city?”
What harm could be done in that? At least I’d have someone to have dinner with on occasion. Eating alone gets monotonous after a while. Not to mention, I didn’t know what restaurants would be edible. That’s the downside of traveling to foreign countries.
“Yes, I think I would like that very much,”
“Tres bien! When may I call?”
“Let me call you, okay?” I wanted control in this situation.
“I do not understand. It is proper for a woman to call a man?” He frowned.

Ah. He was old-fashioned. I could concede to that. I gave him my work number. I didn’t have a phone in my flat yet. It was getting late so I needed to end the conversation. As I gave him the piece of paper with my number, he held my hand and kissed it. We bid each other bonne nuit. Good night for the English speakers. I had to get up early for work. No, that was just my excuse for leaving the party early. Too many older people in one room. I swear Jean-Pierre and I were the youngest people in the house that night.