Never Turn Back (33 page)

Joe’s feet started thumping against the bar. “Hey, tell you what? How ʼbout if I come back here in a month? You serve food here, right? We can have a date right here. Lunch? That way you, mister,” Joe said, pointing a wobbly finger at Gratien, “can be here to help us, um, talk.”

Gratien turned to Joe. “My name is Gratien.”

Joe laughed nervously. “Ain’t no way I’m saying that and not insultin’ you.”

Gratien laughed and rubbed his eyes. “
Oui
, you Americans have, how you say,
trouble
with my name. They call me Groucho. You can, too.”

“Works for me, Groucho!”

Meri understood a word here and there, but he spoke too fast for her to get much of it. Slurring his words did not help. She tugged Gratien’s sleeve. He explained lunch in one month with “Groucho” as their interpreter. Meri wanted to roll her eyes. She smiled instead. Then she said, “Very well. August 4, 2:00. Until then, Joe Trottier.” She offered her hand to him.

Rather than kiss it, as she expected, he shook it. Vigorously. Meri noticed his rough hands.
Worker’s hands, like mine. I wonder what he does in New York City? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if he had some connections with the fashion industry there?

Meri and Joe had their first formal date—lunch at
Le Bonaparte
—on August 4, 1946. Like any proper social engagement between two virtual strangers, they had a chaperone who served as their translator. Gratien, or “Groucho,” did not know that his waitress and this American soldier had spent a night together. Meri did her best to forget that night and never spoke of it. She prayed Joe would have the common decency to avoid any mention of it, as well.

Meri had arrived early and busied herself in the back with Gratien.

The entire week had been unusually warm, but Joe came dressed in his neatly pressed uniform. He arrived early, too, and sat at one of the outdoor tables set for two. Several of his friends followed him, sitting at the bar.

“Hey, Spuds, you look awful impressive. What you fixin’ to tell your Frenchie?” One of them called out from the bar.

“Stop it, Deeters. For Christ’s sake, don’t call me Spuds.” Joe straightened his tie and waved his hand at the soldiers sitting at the bar. He could have been swatting at a fly.

“Whatsa matter, Spuds? You ain’t embarrassed by your ole buddies, are you?” Another one laughed as he spoke. “We came to give you…whatcha call it? Moral support.” The man exaggerated a wink.

“Yeah, you ain’t gettin’ any younger, Spuds. These French broads are aching to snag a good old U.S. of A. soldier and get a free trip outta here. This one must be real desperate to be flirting with you.” They all laughed.

“Hey, guys. You ain’t helpin’ me. I’m nervous enough without you sittin’ there like crows waitin’ to pick my sorry ass.”

Gratien appeared from the kitchen area, “What you boys like?”

“Hey, Groucho!” They said in nearly perfect unison.

Gratien leaned over the bar, as if to tell all four of them a secret. “Joe wants good meal. I help him. Let’s make deal,
oui
?”

The four soldiers eyed each other and shrugged.

“Good. I give you one drink. Free. Then you go. Deal?”

“A free drink just for leaving ole Spuds alone? Whatcha think boys?” Deeters nodded. The others followed his lead. “Looks like drinks are on you, Groucho!”

“You better scram after your drink.” Joe yelled to his friends. “Drink fast.”

The four soldiers burst into peals of laughter.

Gratien served the soldiers their drinks and returned to the kitchen.

Meri nearly assaulted her boss when she saw him. “What happened out there? Tell me everything!”

“Calm down, Meri. It seems Joe has some friends who thought it would be fun to come supervise your
rendezvous
. I took care of it. At least I hope I did. You know Joe is here,
oui
?”

“
Oui.
I heard him shouting.” Meri tugged at her skirt and started pinching the fabric, anything to keep her hands busy and release her nerves.

“Don’t worry. He’s as nervous as you are. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

“Perhaps this isn’t such a good idea…”

“You’ll be fine. I like him. His friends? Not so much.” He pushed her out of the kitchen.

Meri’s cotton dress hugged her in all the right places to accentuate her voluptuous breasts and ample hips. The three-quarter length sleeves and calf-length hem hid most of her slender arms and legs. Her fine, ash-blonde hair had a slight wave and was cut about two inches below her ears. All one length and brushed back, her hat held her hair in place. She borrowed the hat, a small brimmed bonnet with a half veil of black mesh barely covering her eyes and nose, from one of her roommates. She wore red lipstick.

The soldiers at the bar saw her first. They began whistling and making noises.
Usually those sounds were directed at the younger women,
Meri mused. She smiled and increased the sway of her hips ever so slightly.
I like this attention.

One of them said, “For a Frenchie a bit long in the tooth, she ain’t half bad, Spuds!”

Joe bolted up from the table, face twisted and fists clenched. When he saw Meri, he melted like a marshmallow dunked in steaming hot chocolate. Peering over at the men at the bar, he said, “Fellas, I’m askin’ you nice. Please let us be.”

Meri whispered to Gratien, “What are they saying?”

“Joe is quite a gentleman, Meri. He’s protecting your honor. I think you two will have a nice lunch.” He grabbed a bottle of wine from behind the bar and escorted her to the table.

Meri eyed the wine.

Gratien smiled. “Free, of course.”

Meri smiled in silent relief and gratitude.
I managed to find two kind men in Paris, Michel and Gratien.

“Hello.” Meri said and curtsied, regretting her habit the moment she did it.
Stupid! I’m not his servant!

“Hello yerself!” Joe said with eyes almost as wide as his glasses. “My, oh, my, ain’t you a pertty sight?” All three of them stood there an uncomfortable length of time.

Gratien motioned for them to sit. Joe and Meri sat opposite one another at a small, round table tucked under the shade of
Le Bonaparte’s
canopy. Gratien pulled a chair from a nearby table for him and began to sit.

“Oh, glasses for wine and menus! I be back in little minute.” He hobbled away with a determined but somewhat lopsided gait.

Meri watched him leave with anxious eyes. She turned her attention to Joe, took a deep breath, and forced a smile as wobbly as Gratien’s tottering shuffle.

Joe’s silent stare both flattered and unnerved her. He moved his eyes from her face to her bosom and back. The steady smile on his face told her he liked what he saw. She shifted in her chair and adjusted her perfectly positioned hat. Meri composed herself and nodded at Joe, hoping he got her message:
You look nice, too.
Well, as nice as you can look.

His smile vanished.
He doesn’t understand me!
“You looking good today, Joe. Nice seeing you.” Meri spoke into her lap.
I don’t know what else to say. Even if I did, I don’t know how to say it! Gratien, hurry up.

“You look great, Mary. I’m so proud to be havin’ lunch with such a beautiful gal.”

She understood, mostly from the tone of his voice, he approved of her appearance. His pronunciation of her name irritated her.
I must look at this homely man. The least he can do is say my name properly!
As sweetly as she could, she corrected him. “Mare-ree, Joe, not Merry.” She exaggerated the second syllable to bring home her point. “It Finnish name.”

“Sorry. Don’t know if I can say it fancy like you, but I sure will work on it.” Joe’s face, already flushed from the heat, reddened noticeably.

Gratien returned to the table, and Joe abruptly turned his attention to the old man. “Hey, Groucho! Thanks fer the wine glasses, but, um, I didn’t order any wine.” Joe smiled at Meri. He turned to look at Gratien and she could tell he was concerned about something.

“Free, Monsieur.” Gratien adeptly opened the wine and poured them both a generous portion.

“Oh. Thanks, Buddy. Real nice of you. I scrounged up just enough dough to buy us lunch. Don’t tell her, okay?”

“Dough?”

“Yeah, uh, money.”

Meri tapped on Gratien’s arm. “What?”

“Joe is thanking me for the wine.”

Meri narrowed her eyes.
A simple “Merci” doesn’t take so many words
. “Please ask him what his job is.”

Gratien wiggled his eyebrows. “Why don’t you try and, if he doesn’t understand, I’ll help. If you want to have a relationship with an American, you have to learn English.”

Meri pursed her lips. She wanted to say, “Why can’t he learn French like I did?” but chose not to say anything more to Gratien. Enough French had passed between the two of them and Joe looked confused.

“What you doing for, ah,…how you say…money?” They both looked to Gratien.

“Your job?” Gratien filled in their blanks.

Joe took a gulp of wine. “Well, in the army, I pulled KP duty. I enlisted kinda late and the higher-ups didn’t want me in no action.”

Gratien put his arthritic hand on Joe’s arm to stop him. “Slower, Joe. And smaller words, please.” The old man raised both hands, palms up, as if surrendering.

“Okay. Sorry, Groucho. I’m thirty-three years old, kinda old for fightin’ Krouts…Germans. So the Army put me in the kitchen helpin’ the cooks feed the younger guys—the ones better at fightin’. Back at home, I’m trainin’ to be a plumber. It’s a right honorable trade.”

Gratien nodded and translated.

Meri did her best to take in the information. He was ten years her junior.
How would he feel about her age—forty-two? He was obviously attracted to her, but knowing about the age difference might change things. What’s a plumber? How much money does a plumber make? Can he support a wife and a growing girl? Will he want to?
Meri needed answers to at least some of these questions
.

“Can you ask him what a plumber does and if his work is, what shall I say? Rewarding?”

Gratien again asked Meri to try first.

“Plumper do what? You like?”

Joe laughed. “Now I git to correct you. Plumber, not plumper. That’s funny!”

Joe nodded and explained in much more detail than either Gratien or Meri wanted to know about plumbing. “I git a good feelin’ knowin’ I made somethin’ work with my own two hands. If I git into a union, the pay is pertty good, too.”

Gratien had to translate Joe’s answer for Meri.

After Meri heard Joe’s answer in French, she nodded, satisfied he would be a good provider.

Then Joe asked a question. “What you plannin’ on doing now the war’s over?”

Meri raised and then lowered her eyebrows.
What’s he really asking?
“I come Paris long time ago from Finland. Look to work in, ah…
maison de couture
.” Meri motioned as if threading a needle and sewing then pointed to her dress. Joe nodded. “Work no come. Paris no for me. America, maybe better place for me?”

“Well, America’s where I’m headed…um, going.” Joe said after listening to Meri’s halting English.

Perhaps it’s where I’m going, too…
Meri took a sip of wine and smoothed her skirt. She smiled coyly at Joe.

Joe, who was smiling the whole time, just smiled more. “Say, you hungry? My belly could use some chow.”

Gratien translated this time, “Joe asked if you’re ready for lunch.”

“
Oui
. He does seem like a gentleman.”

The old man chuckled. Gratien could not help himself. He was more than a translator; he was a matchmaker.

§

The first lunch date was a success by Meri’s standards. Joe wanted to see her again in a month. After the second lunch date, he arranged to see her in two weeks. Gratien helped bridge the communication gap so he could buff away Joe’s rough edges.

Much to her surprise, Meri looked forward to her time with Joe. The more she got to know him, via Gratien’s sculpting of him, the less objectionable he appeared to her. His round head and large facial features gave him an amusing air enhanced by his easy laugh and ready smile.
Joe’s a lighthearted man. He’s not easily bothered or angered. He’s very well-mannered, too. I could do a great deal worse.

By November, they had gotten serious about each other. She still hadn’t told Joe about her age or about Jeannine. Gratien urged her to be honest with Joe, but Meri refused. “I want to be sure he’s committed to me and to bringing me with him to New York City before I tell him about Jeannine…and my age.”

“How can you be sure he’s, as you say, committed to you?” Gratien wiped down the bar as he spoke. He stopped wiping. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Having sex is the only way to make sure Joe is mine.
How can I make it happen again…the right way? The romantic way?
Nearly a year had passed since Joe and Meri had been intimate, or at least since they were in bed naked together—under vague, awkward circumstances. She still lived at the boarding house, which meant they could not have a romantic tryst there. Joe lived in some kind of communal barracks. Sex between her and Joe would not happen in an army camp. Scheming a passionate interlude to ensure Joe was serious about her took up an inordinate amount of Meri’s mental energy.

The couple spoke English in short sentences since Joe had a harder time learning French than Meri did learning English. Somehow they eventually managed to understand most of what each other said without Gratien’s help. They relied on Gratien, however, to translate long sentences. Gratien did not mind. “I have grown quite fond of both of you. I want to help you out.” He told both of them.
I hope when I figure out a plan to seduce Joe, Gratien will keep his promise to help.