‘Yes,’ I say and smile at him.
Down a winding side street, I steal glances at Jean-Luc from the corner of my eye. I notice the black strands amongst his silver hair, try to picture him twenty years younger.
The café is roomy. We walk by the kitchen where lemongrass crackles on a massive black pan. In the courtyard at the back, Jean-Luc is greeted by the local waitresses who kiss him on both cheeks.
One of them tosses me a look.
‘My new friend, Natalie,’ Jean-Luc introduces me.
The waitress covers her mouth with her hand and sniggers for a second then she turns and smiles. She passes two menus to him.
I pick imaginary threads from my skin.
He hands me a menu. It’s handwritten in English, German and Japanese and stuck on bamboo leaves. The place mats are bamboo leaves. The plates are bamboo leaves. The dishes are Balinese but with Western prices.
‘My favourite spot,’ he says and directs me to a small table in the shade. We have a clear view of the soothing fountain with floating lily pads and a concrete Buddha statue in the centre. The offerings lying on the edge of the fountain are wilting in the sun.
I correct my posture as I sit across from Jean-Luc. ‘An actor in Paris? Really?’
The smile is fastened to his face. ‘Yes, in theatre – why is that difficult to believe?’
‘I never met an actor before. Are you in any films?’
‘Come on, no. The movie industry is an industry. Theatre is art.’
I wish that I wore something else. Not this thin spaghetti top with my too deep cleavage showing, with all the swells of my body clinging to it. My denim shorts are too short. My toenails are jagged and dusty in my leather sandals. I’m totally inelegant to be opposite someone this cultured. I am a cave woman.
‘And you? What is it you do? Why are you here?’ he asks and I bite my lip before changing the subject.
On his suggestion, we eat avocado and eggs, which comes with a side of mushrooms, feta and lemon onion marmalade. He tells me stories of old Bali, how dramatically its landscape has changed with the demands of tourists.
‘Have you been to the wild beach parties here in Kuta?’ he asks and I wonder if his teeth are his own as he pokes at them with a toothpick. A crack runs dark down the front right one so I guess they are. False teeth are flawless.
I shake my head. ‘Not quite. I think I want to get out of town and go to some temples, go further into the countryside.’
‘Me too,’ he says. ‘My partying spirit is not dead, not yet, but it takes a special occasion. What do you say to dessert?’ he asks. ‘I know it is quite early but the vanilla cheesecake is…’ He puts his fist to his mouth before kissing his forefingers and releasing his hand. ‘We shall live a little.’
‘I’m full,’ I say and pat my belly. It might be more glamorous to turn it down.
‘How about we share?’
Jean-Luc scans the menu. He beckons a different waitress over, the one who sniggered at me. He speaks Indonesian to her. I’m impressed but wonder why he didn’t speak it to the bookshop assistant or when he ordered the breakfast from the older waitress.
The young waitress giggles and is jokey with him. He waves and laughs, says something else and she smiles, puts her pen away. I get the impression she’s looking at my mosquito bites. I try, and fail, not to scratch the ugly red spots now her focus is on them.
‘Tiger balm, Miss, you know?’ the waitress asks. ‘Help your skin.’
I blush, thank her in a mumbled sort of way.
Jean-Luc talks about theatre again, the differences between acting in London to New York to Montreal. He tells me about his son, Clément, who’s my age.
‘You’re married?’ I ask.
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘No, my wife died fourteen years ago,’ he says, touching the chain on his neck.
‘Sorry,’ I say.
He’s quiet for a minute. I ask him to tell me more about his son.
He says Clément listens to music with sirens, thumps and klaxons. ‘Noise,’ Jean-Luc says with disbelief. ‘But not even good noise. He listens to noise associated with trauma. I do not understand it. Maybe I am too old.’
‘You’re not old,’ I say and brush my hair back off my face.
‘I am in my middle years,’ he says. ‘Happily in my middle years.’
He leans across the table and pulls a strand of my hair down. ‘It is very beautiful this way.’
A slight flutter runs through my chest.
We look at each other for a moment, neither dropping our gaze.
Jean-Luc takes a deep breath. ‘What do you do for this evening?’
I pause. ‘Read maybe? Count up the mosquito bites on my body?’
He laughs. ‘Everyone white skinned gets eaten here.’
‘I feel like an itch personified.’
‘It is not obvious, Natalie, I promise. How about you join me for dinner, maybe we could catch a show afterwards?’
My heart speeds up. ‘Yeah?’
‘Oui. I will see you here for 19.30?’
At the guesthouse, I close the gate and hear, ‘Oi.’
I look around.
‘Oi, teacher girl.’ Maria’s sitting in the main courtyard at the breakfast table, her iPad in front of her. ‘Why did you run off on us last night? Not cool to abandon friends without explanation.’
‘I said it to Bev.’ My head dips towards my chest.
‘Bev was too busy trying to steal my man to let me know.’
‘Oh.’
‘She’s what I’d consider underclass,’ Maria says and wipes her hands.
‘Did you and Zander have a nice time or did he go with Bev?’
‘Well, because you fucked off on Jacob, and by the way, I thought you two looked super cute together, he and Bev ended up dancing and I don’t know. Zander and I went to a club and then to a quieter part of the beach.’ She grins.
‘Bev said Jacob was married.’
‘So?’
‘That he has a wife who’s pregnant.’
Maria looks away.
A silence lingers.
‘Is that not a bit messed up?’
‘Don’t judge.’ Maria blows air out her nose and shakes her head like a horse. ‘It’s how things work here. It’s not like we’re sex tourists. There’s no shagging unless you wanted it. It’s a bit of fun. Cuddles. Compliments. All those things bloody Western men are too scared to do.’
‘I didn’t know what was going on, so I left,’ I say and absently scratch at my mosquito bites.
‘Is this a common theme in your life?’
I force a smile. ‘Actually, I met a Western man earlier, from France, he complimented me.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, he was an actor from Paris. Funny and interesting. He invited me for dinner this evening.’
‘Well, ooh la fucking la to you. I wanted you to come for the sunset tonight,’ Maria says and sighs. ‘I couldn’t bear to hang out with Bev if I choose Zander. Zander will be with Jacob. If Bev’s with Jacob then I’ll have to bloody be in her company again. She makes me sick when I look at her. Such a desperado. I would rather choose someone else for the night than be around her.’
My stomach churns all day. I keep glancing at my phone. Time is sluggishly passing. I shower and try to tie my hair in a fishwife’s braid but give up and put it in a high ponytail.
From the window, I see Maria saunter off towards the beach.
I decide to go and find the restaurant early so that I can be calm when I meet Jean-Luc. I can loiter in the shops near it to pass the time until dinner.
It looks slightly different in the evening. I walk through the restaurant but a new waitress calls me before I can check the courtyard.
‘Excuse me, Miss. Reservation?’ the waitress asks.