I check the time. ‘I think so?’
‘Name please.’
I hesitate. ‘Jean-Luc, the French man?’ I say. My face feels taut and hot. ‘I don’t know his surname.’
‘Jean-Luc?’ the waitress asks and nearly laughs.
‘Yes, he eats here every day?’
Her eyes are surprised and she gives me a once over. She giggles. ‘Okay, Miss. Come. Jean-Luc’s table.’ She motions for me to follow her outside.
Big orange lanterns hang overhead from branches. There are well-dressed diners at a handful of the tables. The water in the fountain streams loud and constant, sounding like someone emptying a full bladder.
I rub my arms and check my phone again, 19.43. He did say 19.30, didn’t he? Or was it 9.30? Did I get the time wrong? My eyes dart around the courtyard to see if there’s any sign of him. I shift in my seat. It’d be too embarrassing to leave now. Or maybe I should eat solo and take my time and he’ll be here in an hour and three quarters, if it was 9.30 not 19.30 he said.
I sit, play with the candle on the table, spilling some hot wax onto my fingers, and seriously consider leaving but then I hear his voice.
‘There you are,’ he says, his arms wide.
He’s wearing a long-sleeved bright white shirt and has a brown and yellow cravat tied around his neck.
‘My little lost lady.’
I nearly slump to the ground with relief but manage to stand. He kisses my cheeks.
‘How are you?’
‘Gosh, sorry, I thought I had the time wrong.’ I let him hold me.
He glances at his watch. ‘No, it was around this time we decided. Sit, sit,’ he says. ‘How was your day?’
‘Yes, nice. You?’
‘It was so so. It could not live up to your charming presence this morning. I am quite glad to see you again now.’
The waitress still has that smirk on as she passes us menus. Am I paranoid?
Jean-Luc says, ‘What would you like to eat? Something with lots of spice, yes?’
I scan the list. ‘Not sure what any of these dishes are.’
‘You should try the tongseng kambing. Delicious.’
‘This one?’ I point at the menu. ‘It says it’s lamb. I don’t really like lamb. Tastes too meaty.’
‘Natalie, try it. The Indonesian spices will collaborate with the lamb in a way that they will lead the taste sensation. It is spectacular.’
The vegetables stewed in coconut milk and rice with it sounds okay.
He closes his menu and the waitress comes over. He orders for us both, including a white wine which she returns with almost instantly.
‘A dry white. From Belgia grapes. The vineyard is in the north of the island. Obviously it is not French but this one is of a sufficient standard,’ he says as he pours my glass.
I take a sip and the sharpness of it makes the right side of my face lift and my right eyelid shut automatically.
Jean-Luc laughs. ‘It has a fresh finish, indeed.’
When our food comes, I see the meat in my bowl is still attached to the bone. My stomach coils a bit at this. I know there’s something ironic about how much food I’m capable of eating except for red meat, which can make me feel weak just looking at it.
I take a swig of wine and try the dish. It tastes of lamb and the lamb flavours the stew that it’s in. I’ll have to force myself to eat it. I swallow another big gulp of wine.
‘It’s very good, yes?’
I nod and suck back the saliva that’s thickening in my mouth.
‘I knew you would approve.’
I struggle through the dinner, leave a third of it uneaten. Jean-Luc orders an ice cream dessert for us to share. He speaks of the different temple shows we can visit. ‘I would like us to see some magic. The costumes shall be astounding and the illusions will make us scratch our heads.’
I smile. ‘Sounds interesting.’ I tighten my hair in the hair-tie.
Jean-Luc leans across. ‘Did I not say it is very beautiful this way,’ he says and tugs out a strand that’s tucked in.
My fingers touch the roots of the hair he’s pulled and my eyes narrow.
‘Sorry,’ I say and leave the hair on my face.
He excuses himself and goes to the bathroom but stops at a table near the entrance to the building where another Western man sits alone. He jokes with him, the other man laughs hard, then Jean-Luc disappears.
The waitress approaches. She holds a giant bowl in front of her; two orange plastic spoons jut out of it like antennae.
Mindlessly, I scroll through social media on my phone.
I take a selfie with the ice cream, tag the picture.
#delicious #paradise #flavour
I stare at the screen and try to imagine what someone back at my old job would see when they look at it. My exotic adventure. My wonderful life. Is it better than, equal to, or less than theirs? I delete the photo, put my phone away.
Jean-Luc returns from the bathroom and stops at that table again, another comment that I can’t hear and another bout of laughter. A young local woman has joined and greets Jean-Luc with a hug before sitting down.
How popular he must be in this place. Everybody seems to like him.
He makes his way back to the table; the ice cream is melting. He claps and rubs his hands together fast. ‘I had an idea just now, Natalie. What do you say, it’s only me and the motor. I have rented a car for my two weeks here. Would you like to join? I could certainly do with some companionship? You could too, I see.’
The space around us changes like it has become night-time all of a sudden, or maybe it’s the first time I notice the darkness.
‘We would visit many fantastic temples, enjoy the gastronomy, watch the setting sun together.’
My thoughts rise as if caught by a wind. They whirl around my head. Incense. Huge golden statues. Him cleaning his glasses. Taking medicine. Shame. The sunshine through the car window. Paddy fields. Orgasms. My covering myself up after sex. His dimpled skin, loosened from his muscles by gravity. People wondering if he’s my father. Falling in love. Falling out of love. Death.
I shake myself out of it and take a deep breath.
‘Come on, we shall live a little,’ he says.
I rub my sternum. ‘I don’t think we know each other enough to—’
‘Don’t think, exactly. Thinking is the problem. Say yes, little lady. Maybe you don’t see, you are too young, but we get these instinctive signs, we trust them. These plans from the ether.’ He grasps at the air in front of his face as if something has dropped down. ‘These gifts.’
I am silent.
He runs a hand through his hair. ‘Natalie, you must remember, you are a foreign woman. It’s not safe for you to be alone.’
I tick my tongue against my teeth.
‘We could share our loneliness.’
My voice wavers. ‘Jean-Luc, I don’t know if it’s a good idea.’
‘You are a young woman. Live a little.’
‘It’s not because you’re old,’ I say quickly, to placate.
‘Yes,’ he says, in a harder tone. ‘I now see. The age difference.’
‘No, it’s not that at all. I feel we don’t know each other enough to—’
‘Our Western world’s bullshit conditioning.’
‘I’m not saying that.’
‘But it is what you are thinking.’
I shake my head, my hands are up in a surrender pose. My throat feels tight. I say, ‘Sorry, Jean-Luc.’
I spoon the ice cream greedily. It’s yellow and chunky with pieces of mango. It’s repulsively sweet.
When the young Balinese waitress comes to clear the dish, he speaks to her as if I’m not there. I offer to pay for my meal but he makes a swiping gesture with his hand and ignores me after that.
‘I must discuss something with my associates. It is a long time since we met,’ Jean-Luc says eventually, pointing with his elbow to the table across the way.