A Cafe in Paris: A Short Story

He would have preferred to have been at a café in Paris. Surrounded by people sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes. The sound of sidewalk conversations on a summer afternoon. He would have preferred also to have been sitting across from a pretty French girl. Perhaps one named Colette. Or Marie. Or Madeleine. Or whatever pretty French girls were going by these days.

But sadly for him, he was not at a café in Paris. And he was not sitting across from a pretty French girl named Collette. Or one named Marie. Or even one named Madeleine. He was at a café in Korea.

Surrounded by the same sounds, the same smells that one would have been met with at the same sort of establishment along the banks of the Seine. The clink of ceramic cups. The smell of roasting coffee. Sidewalk conversations on a summer afternoon. But except for him, all the people in the café were Korean, even the girl he was sitting across from. Her name was Hye-jin. That was one of the easier ones. He remembered it like, “Hey Jen!”

When she got up from her chair and went to the ladies room he looked up from his book and watched her go. She had long black hair halfway down her back and she was slim and had good legs. Her eyes were larger than average. He wouldn’t have called her pretty. Cute was a better word. But she spoke good English. He thought he could recall her saying something about having once been a flight attendant. They had only slept together a handful of times. He thought he should sleep with at least one while he was there. When she came back and sat down she took out her cell phone and set it on the table beside the pager the barista had given them. He closed his book and looked at her.

It hasn’t gone off yet, he said.

They’ve been busy since we came in.

Well, I don’t see how since it’s five bucks for a cup of coffee.

The girl shrugged. She looked down at her phone and traced a finger across the screen. Out on the sidewalk he watched a man pass by with a French poodle. The tuft of hair on its head and the tip of its tail were painted pink.

Derek, the girl said.

Are you going to tell me the truth this time?

She frowned. Are you even listening?

Yeah, I’m listening. I was just looking at the dog.

What about it?

It’s strange.

I think it’s cute. What’s so strange about it?

Nothing I guess. Now what were you saying before?

Just if you liked it or not.

Yeah, I liked it.

No, tell me the truth this time. Did you like it or not?

Yes I liked it. I don’t know why you don’t believe me.

Because you didn’t eat all of it.

I was just full from lunch. And the portions were too big.

You didn’t eat any of the kimchi.

He laughed. He looked at the pager. I never eat the kimchi, he said. You know that. I think it’s just one of those dishes you have to grow up eating.

But you liked the makchang right?

Yeah, I thought it was good.

Really?

I mean, I don’t think it is as good as samgyeopsal.

You can’t eat samgyeopsal the whole time you’re in Korea.

He looked at the pager again. He looked across the room to the bar.  One of the baristas was pouring milk into a blender. Another was talking to a customer.

I know, he said. I like dak galbi too.

The girl shook her head. What about that maeuntang place I was telling you about. We could go there tomorrow.

I don’t know. Sundays are busy for me. I’ve got to lesson plan.

She stuck out her lip and made a pouty face. From her mouth came a little mewing sound.

Please, oh please, oh please, she said.

He glanced back at the bar. One of girls by the counter was tall with hair that had a red tint to it. She wore a t-shirt that said, “MISTAKES PEOPLE’S MAKE.”

I don’t know, he said. I’m not really in the mood for fish again.

Then what are you in the mood for?

He looked down at the pager again. The little red lights were going off and it was vibrating against the tabletop.

Hold on to that thought, he said. I’ll be right back.

The boy at the bar smiled at him when he walked up and slid a plastic tray towards him across the counter. Behind the bar above the espresso machine and the bottles of flavored syrup was a picture of the Eiffel Tower.  The boy repeated his order in broken English and then bowed and thanked him in Korean. Derek gave him a nod and thanked him back in English.  Then he turned and took the tray over to the drink station. On the tray were two cups of coffee and a pair of Puits d’amour, one raspberry and the other vanilla cream, both in little lace paper wrapping. He set the tray on the counter and looked down into his cup. The coffee was light brown and full to the brim. A little smiley face of frothed milk was smiling up at him.

On the drink station a bottle of sugar water stood beside the straws and the napkin holder, and he held the cup beneath its spout and pumped a few jets into the coffee and then reached and got a stirrer and stirred out the face. He didn’t touch hers.

When he came back to the table she was holding her cell phone up in front of her face. She reached and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and then smiled and took a picture.

Why do you always have to do that everywhere we go? he asked.

Because it’s fun, she said. I guess you wouldn’t know since you don’t have a smart phone. You should just get one.

He shook his head.

You might like it, she said in a sing-song.

I think I’ll pass.

She held the phone up for another picture. This time she made her pouty face. He watched her and bit into one of the Puit d’amours. It was a little tart.

How is it? she said

It’s okay.

Just okay?

He swallowed and then wiped his mouth

Well I had expected it to be better, he said.

She shrugged and then sat back with her cell phone, typing into the keypad.  She had yet to even touch her drink. At the bar one of the baristas was opening a package of coffee grounds. Derek sipped his coffee.

Just let me know when you’re ready to go, he said.

She looked up frowning from her phone. The skin on her face and neck was very pale. He thought that if not for her eyes she could have passed for white.

We just got here, she said. And now you’re already ready to go?

He shrugged and looked at the sidewalk. He could hear the barista pouring the coffee grounds into the grinder.

So you don’t like this place all of a sudden? she said. You were the one who chose it.

I know, he said.

What’s wrong with it?
I don’t know. The tables are sticky and the décor is a little tacky.

What is tacky?

Don’t worry about it. Just forget I mentioned it.

She stuck her lip out and then made her eyes look sad. At the bar the grinder came on and the sound of it whirred through the room. He leaned across the table. He wanted to take her hand but they did not usually touch in public.

If you didn’t like it, she said, why didn’t you say so before we came?

I don’t know. I thought it would be different once I got here.

She sat with her lip out looking at him.

Please, let’s go, he said with the same face.

Well okay, she smiled, but just wait a second. I want to take one more picture.

He nodded and turned from the girl that was not French and not named Collette and he looked out across the street at the city that was not Paris. In the café where he sat the coffee grinder whirred at the counter and other people sat sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes. The sound of sidewalk conversations on a summer afternoon.