Noon

Gérard, sitting back down at the table, finds himself without much to say. His friends speak of high-profile chefs and posh hotel bars, but these are of no interest to him. That's not to say he doesn't enjoy a good meal. During his time as a civil officer he had gone out to eat often, and dined at some of the finest restaurants in the city. He preferred Italian style cooking, like his parents used to make, but found that the city didn't have much to offer. He was actually a decent cook himself, and would spend many a night eating in, enjoying making something with Maria. They made love, cooked, drank, showed themselves to each other unabashedly. One night, after they'd eaten and cleaned up, he was so distracted by her that he'd forgotten a pie in the oven. She'd lured him into bed and pulled him inside of her, captivated him until there was the smell of burning.

"Oh come on," Duncan yelled out, breaking Gérard's concentration, "you can't honestly say that there exists a better steak in the city than Doparé's." Ellis had a way of antagonizing Duncan, getting him up in arms at each and every opportunity.

"Gérard," Ellis says smiling, motioning with his hand, "what do you think?"

Gérard shrugs and slowly cocks his head with indifference. "I'm not much of a steak eater," he says.

"Oh come now," Duncan says, "I had a steak with you just last week."

"True," Gérard says corrected, "but it was only because you were insistent. I would have much rather had the chicken."

Ellis uses Gérard's testimony as a weapon and hurls it at Duncan with a giddy, childish fervor. This gives Gérard an opportunity to let his mind wander. His eyes dance over the room, spotting a woman awkwardly stuffing her mouth with a blueberry scone, an old man casually picking his nose. A few fruit flies drunkly orbit his head, searching for the stiff vapor of wine or vinegar. Behind his friends, closer to the door, he notices the cashier. She has beautiful green eyes. Her skin is smooth, and her features are soft, almost sculpted, as though made of clay. She has full lips, brown hair, and an attractive, beguiling smile. The man purchasing a croissant makes her laugh and her eyes become planets, pulling in his gaze. He wonders what it's like when she looks at someone she loves, when she's enamored, dressed up and perfumed. Strong, he thinks, soft, yet strong.

Ellis touches his arm and asks him if he needs anything, says he's going to order a drink. Once it strikes noon, the cafe begins serving beer. Gérard tells him that he'll have one of whatever he's having. He goes back to thinking about the cashier. He contemplates the possibility of their love. He imagines the delicacy of her lips, the softness of her hair. He imagines her overcome with pleasure, clutching him against her glistening body. He wonders what her name is, whether she is the type that likes to be held after making love. He hopes that she is. He then realizes how fantasy is getting away with him. But so what? After all, what is love if not a temporary infatuation with possibility?

He thanks Ellis for the drink, raises it to his lips, watches her grab her purse, and then he lets her go.

Most women aren't anything at all but the brief allure of fascination.