Trouble finding Blondie (22 page)

The more alert Francois became, the stronger the bond evolved. There was something past the science, past all the books. Strangely, Philippe felt the communication without words. He kept talking to Francois, getting answers just with his intuition. That was the strongest bond, a similarity Philippe and Simona had in common. They both operated, and for the most part depended, on their instincts, sixth sense, gut feeling, whatever you call it. They knew well it was a skill that comes out of survival, conquering adversity.

Philippe and Simona had very different childhoods, but one common thread. They were put prematurely into adult roles by family difficulties. As any child, neither were equipped with
 
the emotional and intellectual ability to perform as an adult. Their intuitive abilities flourished by way of compensation for the lack of understanding. It was a survival response.

Later on, when Philippe studied philosophy, his intuitive abilities strengthened. As a teenager, he figured out that not everyone perceived things the way he did. He got himself into situations where they either looked at him strangely, he was made fun of, or in the worst scenario, he would frighten someone with his predictions.

Then as usual, the Universe shifted. Due to his family status and connections, Philippe was fortunate to meet numerous world leaders from spiritual and scientific communities. Many became
 
his mentors and helped him realize that his perceptions were useful and could be developed further. Philippe took his powers, and with the help of his mentors, he developed them into exquisite proficiency. Thanks to one spiritual teacher who stressed to Philippe that it’s God’s gift, that it should be used wisely, ethically and responsibly, he was very careful not to abuse it.
 

It served him well in his daily life, in character assessments, and in every business decision he ever made. That’s not to suggest that he was lacking logic, quite the opposite. He was sharp with a brilliant mind, overanalyzing everything from economics to politics, all the way to psychology, before making any business decisions or investments. But he trusted his instincts to tell him when his logic was wrong.

Simona came into his life as ‘Sassy Red’, and it should have been a red flag. It was the first time he met his match. Her senses were as proficient as his, and she made him look almost predictable. It was the hardest chess game that he ever played. The trill and excitement was like a drug. He couldn’t read her at all at first. He almost questioned if he lost his ‘powers’ completely.

When Francois came into his life, it was another unknown, uncharted territory, complete blank. He couldn’t depend on his powers. He had to get in touch with his soul. The soul to soul connection was a powerful, scary thing, and the only time he was completely comfortable with it was when he was alone with him. When he woke up in the middle of the night for nursing, Philippe spent precious minutes, sometimes almost an hour, just looking at him, talking to him. Francois listened until he started sucking on his fingers, a sign of hunger. Then Philippe took him to Simona, laid him down, and gently woke her up.
 

Philippe decided that he would make sure this child was going to have an extended vocabulary to express everything and anything and unlimited recourses to knowledge and skills. He decided he was going to be his vessel for everything he knows to pass on and more. It was like he finally found a purpose in life. He had clarity and a new excitement for his next chapter, purpose to living with zen and zest. His muse was Francois.

Simona was in her bathrobe, relaxing on the sofa, writing something in her journal when Francois came in with Philippe, both wrapped in towels.

“How did you both get wet?”

“We took a bath together.”

“How is that technically possible?”

“A little challenge, but mastered.”

“So, who got out first?”

“Francois, of course. He was happily waiting for me, lying on the bathmat.”

“You dumped my kid on a bathroom floor? Unbelievable.”

“No, no, he was royally placed on his Egyptian cotton towel, lying on the fancy bathmat.”

Simona just smiled at both of them. “What’s the plan, Monsieur?”

“You nurse, I get dressed. Then I’ll take over, and you get ready.”

“Does everything in your life works like a well oiled machine?”

“Absolutely. Except with you. That’s like grinding teeth.”

“Back to Abac. Have you been there before?”

“Is that a trick question?”

“Oh God. Some getaway in a boutique hotel, right? Aaaaah, wait. She was married.”

“No, she wasn’t,” Philippe grinned at Simona.

“Pfff, you are so predictable. Of course she was. Weekend in Barcelona, where nobody knows you.”

“You are simply atrocious.”

“Haha. Atrocious, wicked, all of the above, maybe. But I’m right for sure.” Simona was laughing out loud, and Philippe left to his room.

Twenty minutes later they were comfortably seated in the car with Francois sleeping peacefully in his stroller bassinet.
 

“You know this is illegal in America.”

“We are in Europe, and he is way more comfortable in his comfy ‘bed’ than being strapped in a car seat.”

“Comfortable maybe, safer not.”

Philippe was giving instruction to the driver in perfect Catalan, which was a shock to Simona. She didn’t understand, but from his hand gestures, she figured he was telling him to drive slow and careful. She made a mental note to ask him about the language later.

“So, when did you make the reservation for Saturday night at Abac?”

“Yesterday.” Philippe had a winning smile, knowing how it drives Simona crazy.

“Hmm. Yesterday? For a restaurant where it takes three weeks to reserve a table for any night?”

“You did your research. So, let me have it. Enlighten me. What are we going into?”

“I’m not telling you anything. You already know it all.”

“I make you a deal. I’ll tell you how I got in if you tell me what you found out.” Simona hated to be tricked or cornered, but her curiosity was greater.

“Alright slick, spill it,” she nodded.
 

“You promise you will give me the full report, like a perfectly paid tour guide?”

“I’m curious as to why you like that so much.”

“I see things differently through your eyes. I have never seen my own city as I did with you. It’s always a treat for me.” Simona was looking for the spark of sarcasm, but Philippe was being genuine. It almost threw her off.

“I’m still not sure what are you after, but ok… Deal.”

“Joaquim Casademont,” Philippe declared.

“What? Are you serious?”

“You know who that is?” Philippe was shocked. Joaquim was his childhood friend. He wasn’t famous or well known. How would she know him?

“Well, not really, but he designed the kitchen.”

Philippe was impressed. She didn’t have more than a half hour to gather her knowledge about the restaurant, but she managed to find out who designed the kitchen?

“Well, how do you know him?” Simona asked.

“No, no. It’s your turn. I’m all ears. Give me the scoop on the restaurant.”

“Ohhh, Joaquim is your secret weapon to your flawless Catalan language.”

Philippe looked at her. He didn’t have to say anything. She caught him and showed a satisfied smile for it. He hated to be outsmarted but didn’t let himself to get irritated this time. “Please proceed. You only have a few minutes.”

Simona went on about the restaurant, the sophisticated elegant design, the attention to details, the combination of light, neutral colors with futuristic light fixtures. She used words like billowy table cloths, curvaceous chairs, a palate of white, beige and cream. She was a writer who took a simple modern restaurant into a vibe of intrigue. And when she got to food description, Philippe was convinced she should be a food critic or write for the Gourmet magazine.

“How about the service?”

“I will never judge the service, even food, unless I have my own experience. It would be a shame if the service wouldn’t live up to the great reputation and ambiance though. I’m confident it will simply be well timed and perfectly orchestrated.”

“Simona, I’m simply hungry and excited. What do you know about the chef?”

“Jordi Cruz, born June 29, 1978…”

“Wait. Are you nuts? You remember his birthday?”

“Total coincidence. Too close to Andre’s. Made me laugh out loud.”

“Holy shit. I almost had a heart attack about some Universe conspiracy, you telling me that he is your childhood friend.”

“Funny. Well, born and raised in Barcelona, the youngest Spanish chef to receive a Michelin star at the tender age of 26. Ohhh, and he is totally hot. And totally French looking.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means he looks like Olivier Martinez.”

“Oh my God. Is that what I’m up against? Your idol?”

“Precisely. I hope your lovely connection gets me an introduction tonight.”

“Why do I feel like I was set up?”

“I have no idea. Considering this was all your doing,” Simona laughed.
 

“Is this going to be like this forever with you?”

“Like what? What did I do?”

“Like chess! Like check mate. Like I can never win, and you will always drive me bonkers.”

Simona didn’t have a chance to respond. The door opened, and they stepped out of the car. It was a busy night with lots of security, people with ear devices, all the signs pointing to the presence of
 
celebrities or important people. Spain was known to be the second home to many rich Russians and the Arabic high society. It wasn’t an unusual scene, but Simona didn’t like to be part of it,
 
especially when having Francois around. They exchanged worried looks. Philippe felt the same way. Francois was out of the public eye and had never been exposed to that world. He told the driver to wait and left to talk to the person in charge. They both returned to the car, and while the driver was taking the bottom part of the stroller out, Philippe took the bassinet with sleeping Francois. They were escorted through a side entrance, straight to the outdoor terrace. Philippe took care of the driver and the security chief who called the Maitre D’ to be aware of their arrival through the back door.

“Simo, I think I recognized one paparazzi from Paris.”

“That’s great. I can already see the headlines. ‘Bouchard’s love child hides in Barcelona.’”

“Oh, I have a better one. ‘Bouchard is broke, no money for a sitter.’”

“Haha, but dining in a two Michelin stars restaurant? What is all the riot anyway? Who is here?”

“I have no idea. He wouldn’t tell me even if I asked. Why? Are you craving celebrity?”

“Absolutely not. All I want is my candy boy Cruz,” Simona said.

“How about some wine first?”

The seating was magnificent. The green grass was complimenting the beautiful garden, the woven gray chairs were skillfully deceiving into a casual feel, putting you at ease in this upscale establishment. And despite the restaurant being completely maxed out, it was pleasantly, almost eerily quiet. No clatter, no music, just mumbling guests and scraping cutlery on the plates.

It was very unconventional to have a stroller in an upscale restaurant in Europe. The looks were a palate of smiles, disbelief, shock, all the way to condemnation. Simona wasn’t resenting any of them. She could see herself feeling the same. After the initial shock, everyone realized that the stroller wouldn’t be affecting their dinners. Philippe parked him in the shade, away from the patio, but in their plain view.

Simona wasn’t sure if they received VIP treatment, but the service was simply impeccable. They ordered the 13 course menu which meant food and staff arriving often. It was all perfectly timed. The dishes were removed promptly, and the ‘team’ always delivered the food at the same time. It was a pleasant pace without any long lags between dishes, but the whole dinner took almost three hours. Philippe went with the wine pairings and Simona was just going between the two most full bodied specialty Spanish wines. To Philippe’s delight, the foie gras exceeded his French expectations. The preparation itself was very unique. It was delicately shaved, melted on a light, ethereal crisp, pairing beautifully with salty consommé.
 

Simona couldn’t get over her oyster dish with cured Mackerel tartar, topped with garlic ice cream. The combination of sweet, fishy tartar with spicy, garlicky, aromatic cold cream were just the perfect introduction to the sexy creation of chef Cruz.

“If Chef Jordi Cruz tastes anything like his food...”

“Stop drooling before you get arrested for sexual harassment.”

“You realize I’m sold on my second dish? That is historically the fastest foreplay.”

“Stop talking dirty, you horny toad.”

“Good thing I’m having dinner with you then. With Jordi, I would never get 13 courses in.”

“Behave yourself before I ask for the check and the rest of it to go.”

“You wouldn’t dare...”