11. Gourmet delights
Just when I’ve given up on waiting, a taxi appears along the sidewalk next to me, as if by magic. It’s 7:00 pm, I’ve finished studying for the day and am rushing home.
“Emma!”
My lord, he looks so tired and sad! However, he’s smiling at me. I can’t hold a grudge against him for his silence, I can only smile back.
“Everything alright?”
“Yes, thanks.”
He smiles at me again, now more honestly.
“How about we go for dinner?”
“Sounds lovely.”
“Great, I’ll come by your place at 9:00 pm. And…Emma?”
“Yes?”
“You have a black dress, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
Of course? Why did I say that? Yes, I have a black dress. The same one I’ve had since I was fifteen years old. It’d be better to just call it a sheath. A grey, outdated sheath. When he sees me like that, I’m sure he won’t want to go to dinner anymore.
Luckily, today I have matching underwear. And a black garter belt that I finally decided to buy to hold up my new stockings.
When he knocks on my door, I’m ready, squeezed in my dress.
“Emma, good god. It’s even worse than I thought it would be!”
He collapses onto my bed and studies me while laughing.
“What is this tragedy? I’ll bet that you’ve had it since high school, right?”
“No.”
I look at my feet. I knew it. I’m humiliated and furious. I’m going to kick him out. I look at him with the sourest look I can manage. He’s still beaming.
“Stop, you’re scaring me. Look, I brought you something.”
He hands me a Dior bag. I open it, still furious. Inside, a black cocktail dress. It’s incredibly light, I worry that I’m going to rip it. My mouth drops open. I want to say that it’s gorgeous, but what does this really mean? What does he think I am?
“Try it on, I wasn’t sure about the size…”
“But I…This is a gift?”
“Yes. But if you don’t like it, you can always give it back to me after dinner. Take this horror off.”
He looks at me. Candidly. He must think that I’m going to take off my dress in front of him, just like that. I blush. He must have understood because he pretends to look through the window. I quickly remove my old dress. Let’s see how this jewel fits.
“Um, Emma…”
He’s looking at me again, worried. I turn beet red.
“Your underwear.”
“What about them? They’re not good enough either?”
“No, just take them off. I can see them through your dress.”
I’m incredibly irritated, but I do it quickly. A moment later, I look at myself in the mirror. The dress is perfect. It’s exactly my size. I smile at Charles and smile at myself in the mirror, too. He comes behind me. With a confident gesture, he undoes my ponytail and arranges my hair around my shoulders. He seems to be thinking.
“You don’t have any jewelry?”
No. He thinks and then, as if moved by an invisible energy, disappears from my room, leaving the door open. He comes back a few seconds later with a jewelry box in his hands.
“Emma, here are Lady MacAllister’s diamonds.”
My facial expression betrays my ignorance.
“Of course you don’t know who she is. She was a 19th century Scottish noblewoman. She was known for her moral depravity, her obscene fortune and her unbridled hunger for jewelry. I found this unique piece a few days ago and I immediately fell in love. I should have sold it, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, this object fascinates me.”
He opens the jewelry box. I’ve never seen anything like it. Three rows of small diamonds, cut by a green band. The desire to touch it is stronger than me.
“They’re emeralds.”
I let him place the necklace around my neck in a religious silence. I look at us in the mirror. We’re beautiful, that can’t be denied. I really want to kiss him. I turn around, rise up on my tiptoes and offer him my lips, which he takes with pleasure. I feel like I’m about to fall over, but he takes my face in his hands and purrs at me:
“Emma, we’re going to be late. At least wait for dessert…”
One minute later, we’re sitting in the back of a black sedan. Paris is ours. I’m used to taking the subway everywhere, so I watch the city go by from a completely new perspective. It’s fascinating, I almost forget about Charles. I’m sad to see the ride come to an end as we pull up to a stylish place along the Seine. A butler waits for us as we get out onto the sidewalk. I’ve never experienced anything like this, it’s as if we’re all alone in the restaurant. Actually it’s a private room, a table for just us two with a view of the river. The decoration is carefully chosen and everything is chiaroscuro. Dark red velvet, chandeliers, a centenary floor with warm oriental carpets spread out all over…despite the luxury, the place is warm. Like a cozy alcove. Someone is playing the piano somewhere, but they’re hidden from sight. It’s a romantic sonata, I’d guess either Chopin or Liszt. Something sweet and passionate, which perfectly matches the rest of the place. I look and I listen, as if I’m at a museum. When a young lady reverently brings the menu, I’ve almost forgotten that we’re in a restaurant. I could stay for hours like this, without talking, watching the lights of the city play across the Seine and the light of the candles in Charles’ eyes.