Twenty-One
Tibby looked over the heads of the diners at Mirabelle and tried to guess which one was Etienne Girard. She couldn't tell. There were a couple of older men sitting alone, but they didn't look right. One was bald, with a bad suit and a shiny yellow tie. He was reading a newspaper and trying to eat soup at the same time. The other was overweight, with great pink cheeks and small, nervous eyes. He tucked into a hamburger, taking enormous bites and washing them down with soda. Nope, Tibby didn't think either of these men was the famous French film director.
"May I help you, Madame?" The Mâitre D' leaned in and spoke gently into her ear. She was startled for a moment.
"Thank you, I'm supposed to be meeting someone. I don't know if he has arrived yet."
"His name?" The Mâitre D' looked down his list.
"Etienne Girard." Tibby answered.
He looked up and smiled.
"Of course. Monsieur Girard is waiting for you. This way, please."
Sitting a few tables away, casually dressed in a light gray polo-neck sweater and blue jeans, Etienne Girard was sipping a large glass of red wine. He had small, rectangular glasses on, and his thick, dark brown hair was worn in a side parting. Light stubble on his chin made him look trendy, relaxed and, of course, very French.
Tibby hadn't noticed him at first, because he looked much younger than she expected. Even though he was sitting down, Tibby could tell that he was fit and athletic. She guessed he was around her father's age, although he looked younger.
As she approached the table, he stood up and smiled warmly. Tibby's stomach danced inside.
"Elisabeth, 'allo. What a pleasure to finally meet you properly." He held out his hand and Tibby took it. His skin was soft and cool as slate. He squeezed Tibby's tiny hand gently, then let go and leaned forward, touching Tibby very softly on each cheek with his own rough cheek. It wasn't a kiss, exactly, but it was every bit as intimate. Tibby shivered.
"Nice to meet you, too, Mr Girard."
"Elisabeth, please, only call me Etienne. Otherwise I will feel like one of your schoolmasters."
"Okay, I will." Tibby felt herself relax slightly.
"Please, won't you 'ave a seat? Zis table is okay?" He smelled of some familiar cologne, Davidoff, perhaps. Tibby tried to focus.
"This is great." Tibby smiled, and slid into one of the chairs. Etienne remained standing until she was seated, then he walked around the table and sat opposite her, slipping into the chair and leaning forward, resting his chin on his folded hands. He looked at her for what seemed like forever, staring into her eyes. Tibby wanted to look away. She wondered if she was blushing, or whether she was imagining it. Was it getting warmer? She shifted slightly in her seat.
"A drink?" His voice was low and whispery. He seemed utterly relaxed. "Some wine, per-aps?"
Tibby nodded. Etienne motioned to the waiter.
"So," He began, smiling at Tibby with his narrow mouth. His eyes were soft, brown, gentle, intelligent. "Your father told you about me?"
"He said you were friends. That you're making a movie?"
"Oui, yes. I am making a new film. And I wrote it especially with a part for a newcomer. An unknown actress. Some people would say an ingenue. You know this word?"
Tibby frowned. She thought she knew, but she didn't want to say the wrong thing by mistake. "I think so."
"Yes, of course." Etienne smiled again. "Well, when I saw you two months ago, at your parents' house in France, I thought to myself, "could this be the one that I am looking for?""
Tibby couldn't help but smile a little at this. She felt her hand going up to her hair, brushing her bangs out of the way. The waiter arrived with a large glass of wine for her, and Tibby took a big sip. Etienne continued.
"You see, Elisabeth, I make one film every three years. I do not like to work any more than this. It is not good for a person to work too hard, non? Well, I 'ave hundreds of files with ze pictures of young actresses. They all want to be in an Etienne Girard film. Of course they do. I will make them famous, they know this. But most of them do not have that special something, that je ne sais quoi. I write this part, and I begin to fear that I cannot fill it. That my film will not work out. And then I see you, and something inside my heart goes pouf! and I wonder I have found her, my ingenue."
He paused, reached for his wine and took a long, slow swallow. Tibby stared at the tablecloth, her fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass. She took a deep breath.
"Mr Girard-"
"Etienne! Please!"
"Yes, sorry, I mean Etienne, I just, well-" Tibby didn't know how to phrase it. She couldn't deny that he gave her chills when he spoke so warmly about her, but she needed to keep her head together. This had to be an honest, straight-forward conversation. She knew she needed to put aside the star-struck fifteen-year old girl inside for a moment and think rationally. She looked up at Etienne. He looked kindly back at her, waiting for her to continue. "I just need you to understand that I am not an experienced actress, that's all. I've never done this before-"
"But Elisabeth, this is what I am talking about! When I look at you, I see a new face. A fresh face that has not been seen before. If I wanted an experienced actress, I could have found one in a second. Everyone wants to be in my films. Mais, non; I know I cannot work with such an actress." Etienne leaned across the table and touched Tibby's hand lightly. "Listen to me, Elisabeth, I would love to hear you read some lines, so that I can get a better idea of your presence, and you can get to know the character. Would you be okay with that?"
Tibby nodded and took another sip of wine. Her heart was racing. She was so excited she could have burst, but the nervous feeling wouldn't go away. She crossed her legs and tried to ignore it, leaning back in her chair with her wine in one hand. She knew she had to lighten up or she was going to blow this chance forever. Etienne smiled warmly. Tibby couldn't be sure, but it seemed like he also winked at her. Perhaps she was imagining it. He looked away and motioned to the waiter again.
"Let us 'ave some lunch first, non? Do you like foie gras?
Brand looked at his watch. Tibby would be having lunch right now, and there he was in the boys' locker room with a mop and bucket. I should just text her, he thought, and cancel our drinks. But deep down, Brand knew that if he did that, it might be the only chance he would ever have with Tibby. He sighed and sat down on a bench and leaned his head back against the cool tile. He took his phone out and fingered the keys. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she would let him explain why he couldn't meet her, and she would laugh instead. Maybe they could arrange to meet tomorrow, have lunch together? Yeah, right. Tibby was having lunch with a movie director. Mills had said he wanted to cast her in his next film. After today, she wouldn't just be out of his league, she would be completely unattainable. He knew he had to get to her before it sunk in that she was going to be a huge star. He had one chance and one chance only to persuade her that he was worthy of her, and in less than an hour that chance would be gone.
Brand stared at the mop leaning sadly against the wall. The floor, he had to admit, looked fine. The coach would be busy with water polo practice for the rest of the afternoon and he wouldn't be back to check on Brand for at least three hours. Now was his chance. He could still make it to the Imperial in time to meet Tibby, buy her a drink and congratulate her, and make it back to St Croix in time.
Brand opened his locker. Inside were a clean pair of jeans and a grey American Apparel hoodie. It wasn't exactly classy, but he couldn't risk crossing the school campus to get back to his room where he kept his smart clothes. Somebody might see him dressed up and ask awkward questions. This would have to do, and anyway, he was running out of time.
Days Of St Croix Page 21