Isn't It Romantic?

Pierre scowled at him.

“We got a big day today. Eat hearty.”

Carlo headed into the kitchen. “I’ll fix you fellas Eggs Florentine.”

And then Iona and Natalie both sashayed over, carrying juice glasses filled with the extract of fresh squeezed oranges. Iona presented hers to Pierre while Natalie did likewise for Dick. There were a good many jealous glances, each of which collided with Owen. The waitresses departed. Confused by the shifting alliances, Owen spun around in his booth seat and called, “Haven’t you gals got things vice versa?”

Each of them separately smiled.

“Women,” said Pierre.

19

Owen’s gas station. Eleven A.M. A white Camry rental car pulled in and Pierre hustled out. Remarkably, another Frenchman seemed to be touring America with his family. His wife was holding their littlest child with here-there-be-monsters wariness. The dapper father timorously rolled down his window just a few inches and said, “Parlez-vous Français?” (Do you speak French?)

Pierre held his right forefinger and thumb an inch apart.

The Frenchman said, “De l’essence, s’il vous plaît.” (Gas, please.) He shot his thumb upward as he said, “Le plein.” (Fill ’er up.)

Pierre said, “D’accord. Est-ce que je vérifie l’huile?” (Okay. Shall I check the oil?)

“Non, monsieur.” And then the Frenchman was astonished at the gas station attendant’s fluency. “Habitez-vous le coin?” he asked. (Do you live around here?)

In his bored way, Pierre tilted his chin to indicate the house behind Owen’s gas station. Pierre inserted the fueling nozzle in the tank and locked the handle in the on position. Children were gaping at him from the Camry’s back seat.

With his familiar French as his protection, the driver felt safe enough to roll down his window completely and lean his head out. “Tu as presque un bon accent.” (You have a fairly good accent.)

Pierre offered him his Parisian shrug.

The Frenchman held up a map. “Y-a-t’il des choses intéressantes à voir ici?” (Are there interesting sights around here?)

Pierre told him, “Le village pionnier de Harold Warp.” (Harold Warp’s Pioneer Village.) And in a connoisseur’s lascivious aside, he whispered, “Ne manquez pas l’exposition du monkey wrench.” (Don’t miss the monkey wrench exhibit.) And then Pierre noticed Owen’s packet of chewing tobacco atop the gas pump and he stuffed a huge helping inside his cheek before he began washing the Camry’s front windshield.

Suddenly Iona was leaning on the hood next to him. She said, “Listen. We have to talk. We have to see each other. Tonight?”

Embarrassed about the chew, Pierre was unwilling to fully open his mouth. He mumbled, “Ce soir.” (Tonight.)

Tilting his head out the window, the Frenchman inquired, “Il y en a beaucoup qui parlent Français au Nebraska?” (Are there many who speak French in Nebraska?)

Pierre tapped his full left cheek and Iona got the message. The only French she could think of was, “Oui.” The whole family fell into agitated and amazed conversation, and Iona asked, “What do you have, Owen’s chew in your mouth?”

Pierre nodded.

“You l

ike it?”

Machismo compelled his agreement, though he was in fact hunting a place to spit.

“Listen,” Iona said. “We’re having a shower for Natalie tonight.”

Shower? But he couldn’t then ask if she meant what he thought she did. Wild imaginings overcame him and he knew he wanted to see this cleanliness in the worst way.

Iona said, “I’ll leave a note telling you where you can find me. Around six check the bulletin board in the café.”

Pierre held a hand to his mouth while nodding his head. Iona kissed him on his unlumped cheek and left, and Pierre immediately turned from the Camry to gratefully spew half a pint of tobacco juice and wipe his chin.

And now the friendly French were gaping at him with disappointed revulsion. The father’s side window very slowly rolled up.