FAREWELL AT THE CAFE ROUGE

FAREWELL AT THE CAFÉ ROUGE

As I sit quietly at my polished wooden table, I watch the cream in my ceramic rimmed gold coffee cup swirling in circles of despair, like my thoughts.

I look around the Café Rouge and I really cannot believe I am back here again with all its memories and memorabilia on the walls.

He is fashionable late as always. Jack always left me hanging somewhere in mid-air in suspense. That’s was what our relationship was like.  I was the last to know …. He knew how to keep me guessing…….until the last frugal moment…But that’s what made Jack so exciting, so unpredictable and surprising.

But the last time he just went too far... He left me but it wasn’t his fault. The grief is still too much to bear even now.

Maybe I should leave. The Café is so beautiful: our favourite place in the world. It reminds of our time in Paris. We went there so often for our long romantic breaks. Oh I can just see it now ;-climbing the steps of the Eiffel Tower, visiting the Louvre Gallery to watch Mona Lisa smile, the magnificent Arc De Triomphe, the clear Glass Pyramid and walking by the Seine gazing at the impressively carved structure of the Notre Dame Cathedral.  We loved the song by Gary Moore “Parisienne Walkways”. It was our song. This Café Rouge is our soul connection to Paris, to our relationship. No wonder he wanted to meet me here today!

I glance out of window. The sunlight pours onto my face. It’s a strange sort of sunlight and has no warmth and the light does not dazzle my eyes or blind me. There are no cars or people on the street today: just a strange eerie silence. The leaves on the trees are the brightest green and the buildings on the main street are glowing with light. I feel like I am lost in all this time and space.

There are people in the café but they don’t notice me. They sit at polished wooden tables with its plush red leather seats. The conversations they are having are hushed tones of silent sound and not audible to any normal human ear.

Everything about the Café screams of culture and eloquence. The posh ambience and service is second to none. The waiters are polite and have an angel like smiles on their faces. Strange that they are the only ones that can see me and not the other customers?

Ah yes the customers! They too have come to see their loved ones for the last time like I have. There is an elderly couple saying goodbye to their two grown up children. However they do not look elderly. They are dressed in 1940’s finery with the elderly lady having her hair styled in curls and swept up from behind into a beautiful maroon coloured hat that sits chicly on her head. The hat has life-like deep red cherries with green false leaves pinned to it and she is wearing a well tailored streamlined, maroon coloured suit and maroon coloured lacquered high heel shoes that you could see your face from. Her nails are painted a deep red varnish and her make-up shows off her neatly pencilled near -perfect eye brows.

Her husband is equally dressed in black tailored outfit with bow tie and a well made bowler hat. His suit is crisp and clean as is his starch white collared shirt. He is holding an old-fashioned black umbrella. I smile. Who need‘s an umbrella in the middle of summer?

Their children look sad. They are dressed normally like me in casual clothing of jeans and jumpers. It’s the parents that looked overdressed for THE CAFÉ ROUGE or maybe then again they are dress correctly for such a refined place of etiquette and style.

It an emotional last reunion for this family and it must feel strange to see one’s parents look so young….

Then there is a middle aged gentlemen sitting by the polished oak wood pannelled wine bar of a deep mahagony shade with his dog. He is talking to the bar tender who is wearing THE CAFÉ ROUGE uniform of deep red waist jacket and emerald green tie. The wines are exquisite and you can savour any flavour or vintage to your pleasure. They are made from the finest red and white grapes from Southern France, of the juiciest variety you can find, grown in a warm hot climate.

Oh the wines of France! The only way to taste real French wine is to go to France itself. One of the many missions Jack and I had was to go to every region in France to taste the wine from each area. We drank Saint Emilion, Medoc and Chablis to our hearts content. Oh such happy and drunk days as we travelled in our little car from place to place like two happy travelling wandering troubadours. Jack and I loved to travel and France was always our most important destination and now he was destined to go somewhere else…..somewhere I could not follow this time..not yet anyway.  I really am now the lonely gypsy wanderer.

The wine bar offers many other beverages and alcohols and the pictures on the beige yellow red-green-rose designs on the walls reflect that. So many paintings of grooved beer jugs and white froth coming out on top. There is a huge picture behind me of a champagne glass with yellow liquor in it and a small thin cocktail stick with an olive to top it off.

Even by the door there is a champagne bottle in its crystal decanter and scrolls of its Christmas menus strewn beside it. Christmas? It’s only summer is it not? Maybe they allow reunions at Christmas?

A boquet of flower of deep red and purple tuilips sit snugly in its vase of clay. The flower arrangements are arranged in artistic fashion and the fragment smell feels like one is indeed in the gardens of Paris.

The middle aged man sitting by the bar with his light yellow Labrador dog looks sad. He is stroking the dog’s head. He dressed from the 1970’s with his long dark hair and flared blue coloured jeans. He is wearing a large silver wrist-watch on his right hand.

“I am going to miss him. He is the best friend I have ever had”.

“He will be well looked after”, said the bartender.

There is a mother sitting in the corner of with her two children. She is dressed from the 1870’s with her gold- coloured silk satin dress with lace. She has no need to say goodbye. She loves to bring her children here once in a while for small treats. They are such good children! The little girl has cute bunches in her hair and a lovely little laced frock and her elder brother is dressed smartly in his beige suit with his cap firmly on his head. The mother watches over them with a mother’s pride. They are tucking into sugary snacks of sweet delights.

There is an Asian couple at another table holding hands. He is wearing a simple cotton Punjabi suit and she is wearing an indigo silk saris with silvery sequins stitched gently to the fabric. The husband looks into his wife’s eyes and gently touches her cheek. He wipes her eyes with one of the fancy folded cream napkins. They are sitting on wicker chairs of birch bark and between them lies gently a soft red rose.

Through the bright glare I finally see a familiar person walking towards the café. His hands are in his black leather jacket and he is wearing casual blue jeans and a green polo neck shirt. He is smiling with that heart-warming smile on his face.

My heart leaps a beat when I see him and there are butterflies in my stomach. The whole scenario reminds me of our first date after we met at a Start Up night in a French Olympia Theatre in Paris. We were both there from England to promote our screenplays. Two lost playwrights in the middle of Paris who met by chance over the screening of their work.

Our first date would be at the Café Rouge and here we are now again three years later under such different circumstances.

Jack enters thorough the window panelled doors and takes a sit opposite me. The windows are full of reference to Café Rouge. The bold gold lettering is etched in the Times New Roman style.

I look at Jack and my eyes fill with emotions and tears. He takes my hands into his beautifully manicured manly hands and holds them tight. There is love in his eyes. There is love in mine.

“I can’t do this. I can’t say goodbye”, I sob.

“I have to go Rhonda. You have to move on”, said Jack softly.

“Who will I write plays with? Read books with? Don’t you remember our trips to Paris and our journey around France? How we made love under the moon and stars? What about the vineyard we wanted to set up in the French hills where we were to raise our family?” ,I emotionally say.

“You will find your way”, said Jack

“No I can’t do that!” I sob.

“Rhonda you have to live your life. You have to write our play. You will have the vineyard and I will always be one step behind you. One day we will be together again in France…. I promise!”

“I can’t do this on my own. I can’t even think of the title of our play!”

I look into his eyes and know he is telling the truth. We talk more and more of the past, the present and the future. Soon we order our favourite meal from the red menu cards: “Filet de Teliapia”. Fillet of tilapia fish steamed with leeks, peppers and thyme with a tarragon buerre blanc. We eat fresh warm baguettes and breadsticks washed down with Chablis wine.

The smell of food and wine wafting through the cafe delights me. There is reference to food all over the walls. Picture of a French baker baking his crusty soft bread from a deep clay oven, pictures of painted of scaled fishes artistically placed in their dishes, pictures of pasta served in rich red tomato sauce. Even the menu on the blackboard showing the dish of the day ( Caste Conet Cabenet Sauvignon) in white crispy chalk lettering seems tempting.

Jack chose this place as our first date and last date in this life. He always knew how to surprise me, whether it was with his choice of plays, or books, travel or our plans for the future.

“Would you like to dance?”, says Jack.

“Yes of course”, I say.  I certainly could not resist one last dance with my love.

We move to a vacant space on the floor and entwined in each others arms I rest my head against his shoulder. Then we dance to the soft sweet music or our song Parisienne Walkways. In the old days we could dance for hours, until the dawn broke the sky. Just two of our in our own private heaven as the world went by.

Soon the music stops and I know the time has come to say goodbye to my love. I need to go to the washroom.

 I stare at the wall decorated with more pictures of famous French impressionists:- Picasso, Mattise, Monet and see a huge picture of a blue Eiffel Tower. That is wear Jack proposed to me up there,right at the top. It was the most romantic thing he had ever done. The best surprise ever!! I now look down at the diamond and ruby engagement ring on my ring finger. It matches the ruby colours of the Café Rouge. I wash my face in the ceramic basin with its shiny silver squeaky taps. I look into the smear-free mirror and look at my face.

Suddenly I don’t like this café. Its too sad: a dreadful place between here and the afterlife. A vortex of time and space where nothing moves. A meeting of two worlds, a place where deceased loved ones say goodbye to their living loved ones.

I again think of the elderly couple with their two children. How did they die? Or the man and his dog by the bar. How did he die? Or the elegant mother and her children. How did they die? Or the Asian woman saying goodbye to her husband. How did he die? Those customers still have not noticed me. They are in their own private worlds making their own private farewells as I have to.  But I knew how Jack died. He surprised me there. He shocked me there. That is the one time he left me grief-stricken.  I will never forget the freak accident that claimed his life.

I now know I have to go back and face him for one last time in this life.

“Come lets sit down”, Jack says. He kneels and clasps my hands. “Promise me you will move on? Do what you must do!”

I look at him and then see the picture of the black painted crooked ghastly cat with it six pronounce black whiskers of curved lines on the wall behind him. It stares at me with its luminous piecing yellow cat eyes. Could it be a sign of bad luck?

“Yes I promise. We will be together one day again. You promise me?” I plead with him

He looks at me and smiles. “Yes I promise”. From his black leather jacket pocket he pulls out a postcard.

“Read this when I leave? One last surprise”, said Jack. “I will always love you and remember I will only be one step behind you”.

With that I walk him to the door. He hugs me and kisses me on the lips. Such a tender, gentle, sweet kiss. Oh how I will miss his warmth and love!

“I love you Jack”, I say.

He smiles and let’s goes of my hand. I can’t bear to let go of his hand.  

Then he walks out the door into the sunlight and slowly disappears. Gone to the “other world” forever and never to return to this world.

I walk back my seat and look at the postcard. It is the famous picture of The Sunflowers by the great Van Gogh. (Jack’s favourite artist). I turn it over. There is the jaded blue joint-up writing in Jack’s familiar hand.  For a man he had such beautiful calligraphy.

I read the words slowly to myself, “Love you forever. I will always be one step behind you. The title of our play should be “Farewell at the Café Rouge”, Love Jack” xxx