by Marten, Mimi
BARCELONA IS A sun-kissed, seaside city with endless culture and fabulous architecture. It feels a bit surreal, which may be an appropriate description since Salvator Dali lived there, and Antoni Gaudi designed several buildings. Just those two names should be enough for the visual effect of some incredible, crazy combinations. The complexity of architectural treasures over 2000 years, mingled with vibrant colors and sleek modern designs all in one city, makes Barcelona simply one of the most captivating cities. Simona, being a history lover, loved nothing more than strolling the cobblestone lanes. Philippe came prepared with his orthopedic walking shoes, knowing it was going to be an all day affair. He had gotten used to Simona’s walks by now. He never walked the streets of Paris as he had much as since he met her. He joked that thanks to his extensive knowledge, he tells the cab drivers which way to go now.
Another catch for Simona was the creative cuisine. Great masters of molecular gastronomy made homes in Barcelona creating remarkable delicacies. Anything from tapas bars, seafood taverns, all the way to avant-garde Japanese restaurants.
Francois fell asleep for his second nap. Perfect timing for a late lunch in one of the panoramic terrace tapas bar.
“You look so Barcelona.”
“Haha. What does that mean? Hot, colorful mess?”
“Something like that,” Philippe smiled.
“I love this city. I totally see why people get wowed or fall in love here.”
“Once again, I have never seen this much of the city until my half marathon with you.”
“OMG, stop exaggerating. How much did we walk?”
“10 kilometers.”
“Yeah, right.”
“We walked for three hours. A normal person walks 4 km in an hour. We were walking hills and most of it at slow pace, so let’s say 3. That’s about right.”
“Who cares? It was mesmerizing. I’ll never have enough of this architecture and history.”
“I love that about you. You taught me that. To live with appreciation for every moment with all your senses.”
“I taught you that? No, you always lived fully present.”
“Maybe present but you enjoy life with all your senses: smell, taste, vision. You touch everything. You talk to strangers. Your hunger is not only for food but also new discoveries. Your life will never be boring because of your childish curiosity for life.”
“Amen. Cheers to that.”
They ordered several tapas and some good house wine. The view was beautiful and the moment didn’t need any comments. They were enjoying each other’s company, talking about buildings, people. The time was flying by. They were used to Marcello watching their phones. Neither bothered to check or look until Philippe asked the waiter for a check and the time. It was 4 PM. The Madrid expedition was on their way to the stadium.
“You should call your men.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Just call to check on them.”
The minute Simona took her phone out, Francois woke up. Despite noticing she had seven missed calls and messages, she picked him up first to enjoy those few minutes when he was in his half asleep, cuddly, precious state. She wanted to eat him, but kissed him instead. Philippe was enjoying watching them, confirming his theory how she does everything being fully present in the moment. Pascal calls it ‘attentive curiosity to the details of life’, Naomi calls it ‘living with zest.’ Philippe calls it ‘Simona.’
“Hey, boys. What’s going on?”
“Mom, Philippe outdid himself. We landed, the driver took us around Madrid, we had paella for lunch in some cellar wine tasting place, and now…” Simona could hear them bickering over the phone, Arye wanted to continue, and Cori wanted to say something.
“Sorry, mom. Cori is being a pain in the ass.”
“Come on, can you take turns on the speaker?”
“Mom, we are on our way to the stadium. We are going to have dinner at the VIP lounge and go see the players in their locker room.”
“What? Are you serious? Those are some serious hook ups.”
“Yeah, can I talk to Philippe?”
Simona handed the phone to Philippe. She saw the whole process of validation, satisfaction, and being happy with himself written all over his face. She was proud of her sons because they didn’t take it for granted and showed gratitude. And when he said ‘mother raised you well, boys’, like any parent, it was not only music to her ears, but a sense of relief. All the dreadful discipline wasn’t a waste after all. Philippe was talking to Patrick, and Simona went to change Francois in the meantime.
❖ ❖ ❖
Simona looked at Philippe with inquisitorial look, “It’s confession time. Extravagance like this is either out of guilt or a special occasion. Which is it then?”
“Haha. Neither. Not guilty of anything.”
“That would be a first. Ok then, what are you after, Monsieur?”
“I already got what I wanted.”
“Sightseeing in Barcelona and tapas with a view?”
“No. A day with you.”
“Stop the rhymes. I’m going to start believing you are a romantic after all.”
“Always. Hopeless.”
Simona leaned over, kissed Philippe, and thanked him for lunch.
“That’s another thing I love about you,” he said. “You never forget to say thank you.”
“Enough with the compliments. What do you want?”
“Coffee.”
“You are on a stroller duty. I have to call Andre…”
Simona knew that Andre was not in the best place. She wanted to put him at ease, to be able to enjoy the trip. Soccer wasn’t Andre’s thing, but to experience something like that in style is hard for anyone not to enjoy. She briefly told him about their day and asked him about the dynamics of the foursome. She was so full of excitement that it carried over to him, and he was finally able to relax.
Simona and Philippe walked for a couple more hours, admiring the hidden jewels of the city. By the time they came back to the hotel, it was past 6 PM.
“Our reservation is for 8:30 PM.”
“What reservation? We can’t go out. I’m not leaving Francois with some babysitter.”
“I wouldn’t either. We are taking him with us.”
“Where are we going?”
“You are going to like it. It’s called Abac.”
Simona googled the restaurant and started to read the reviews on the trip-advisor.
“Of course we can’t just have some simple dinner. It has to be a famous chef with two Michelin stars.”
“Now that is a total coincidence. I was looking for outside seating where we could park the stroller.”
“You are killing me. How fancy is it?”
“Madame easy maintenance, anything will do.”
“Anything? That’s great because I was planning on having dinner on our terrace in my bathrobe.”
“Bathrobe it is. You are on. I dare you!”
“You are simply awful. That also means you get to give Francois a bath because I have to shower.”
Philippe pretended to be terribly inconvenienced, but in reality he couldn’t be happier. Francois was the only human being that he has seen being born, one day old, one month old, and every month after. His fascination with human anatomy grew every day. Philippe never even held a baby prior to Francois, was generally annoyed by children, and had no intentions of ever having them. Francois came as a hurricane into his life, and like a storm of that caliber, he brought lightening, thunder, and a huge mess. A mess that Philippe could handle but not process emotionally. The miracle out of that storm wasn’t just Simona’s survival, but it was his bond to a newborn. He went from a man that never held a baby to simply a human who couldn’t get enough of the miracle. He would stare at him for hours, and when Simona fell asleep, he would take the mattress out of his crib, put it down on the carpet, and lie next to him. He read books, became an expert on newborns, toddlers, and had extensive medical knowledge
on every development stage. He was the man that fell asleep with the baby on his chest many times. Simona had many pictures to prove it. She called it her blackmail folder that one day she would use to destroy his tough guy image.
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.