Yesterday afternoon I sent a text message to French Wine Baron. I was on my way to work, heading to pick up my two girl charges and take the train out with them to the countryside. My job often requires me to travel on weekends, and this weekend was no exception. I waited for the bus and composed the following:
¨ Hi FWB...I'm leaving this afternoon for the countryside, but I know when I get back on Sunday you'll be there, and I'll be happy to see you:) See you soon...bisous.¨
I have never been able to figure out, whether in France or America, how a rhythm of contact should be sustained. In the good old US of A, we seem to have pre-existing, agreed upon, though somewhat unspoken, rules about dating and contact. You meet. You exchange numbers. You go on a date. You wait a standard three days to get in touch again, the interval in which you, if you are female or a seemingly a-typical guy, you sit by the phone nervously thinking wondering if the other person is going to call you. Maybe it didn't go as well as you thought it did. Maybe you thought they were more interested than they were. Can they just call already dammit? After a few dates, you eventually have a Define The Relationship (DTR) talk: are you exclusive, are you not? Are you friends with benefits? Are you in an open relationship? There's a whole gamut I won't run, but needless to say, relationships these days come in wide variety.
One of the things I enjoy about dating Frenchmen, however, is that you tend to know, very quickly, where you stand...what I mean to say is if they are interested in you or not, and what the extent of that interest is. For example, I once met an Eiffel Tower Trinket Salesman ( an ETTS...and they're EVERYWHERE) while waiting for some gal pals at Notre Dame who wanted to take me to coffee.
¨ Just really quickly, we can go to a café.¨
¨ NOW!?¨ I blurted out. He was persistent and NOT GETTING I was NOT interested.
¨ Yeah. You have fifteen minutes to spare, no?¨
I ended up giving him a fake number and I pity the poor soul at the other end of that phone. The point is: if a Frenchie is interested, he'll likely get your number, set up a date within 48 hours, and proceed to call you or get in touch of you nearly every day if he really wants you. French women seem to live by the standard of ¨if he doesn't get a hold of you at least once a day he isn't into you, drop him.¨
Admittedly, for an American, this seems a bit over the top. First, I've noticed that some of these men are straight up ANXIOUS if I do not get back to them ASAP. Monsieur Engineer, for instance, was convinced he'd offended me and apologized profusely for whatever he'd done and I had to repeat that no, I was not offended, just busy. These men can be straight up needy! Second, I am culturally used to not getting back in touch with someone right away. I am not a stage five clinger and have the confidence to let a guy get back to me. I let it lie. I have a life, I'm independent. If he's interested, he'll get in touch with me, and it's my sort of test: if he doesn't, he isn't that into me. His loss. I move on.
Mr. Lyon hasn't gotten back to me, no big deal. French Wine Baron has done the best he can over the past twelve months, and I've been impressed. Monsieur Lawyer wanted to see me at the end of this week, but I've been sick, and now I'm at work. Monsieur Engineer has been hit or miss, but he's also been finishing up his apartment hunt, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. I texted him this morning to ask how he was and say happy weekend. We'll see what happens there.
E has been in touch with me non-stop.
* * *
E's Ex has been in town. She no longer lives in Europe, nor is she of European origins, but she was a student here for a while. He mentioned when were at La Pagode last week that it was very much over for them, that now he's just on the hunt for Her, with a capital H. I sat and nodded and afterward left for my date with Bon Marché boy.
On Monday, he thought I was still at work in the countryside.
¨No, silly. Every weekend I work I'm back on Sunday nights. The girls can't miss the expensive school their dad pays for!¨
He was going to the Chinese film festival while His Ex went shopping on the Champs-Elysée. Apparently she's quite the shopper. I joked and said I'd been to the Champs--that morning--only I ran it instead. I like shopping, but I explained I don't do it for hours on end. There are bigger things in life to go explore and things to see and do. I found it curious he was texting me.
On Tuesday morning they left for Bordeaux, to see his family, and returned Thursday afternoon. He texted me from Bordeaux. Knew I was sick, asked how I was. I told him I had a job interview on Friday. Thursday he wanted to know what I was doing and how I was feeling.
¨ I'm on my way to birthday drinks for my friend,¨ I said. I was on metro line one heading towards Bastille. I do have a life other than men. He invited me to a movie later that night, so I agreed. I met him on the Champs-Elysee, but the film we were going to see didn't accept his UGC unlimited card and he admitted that half the films in the festival weren't any good anyway, so we ended up crossing to the other side of the Champs and seeing Oliver Stone's Savages, which was good.
He had decided to speak to me in English with his horrible accent that night, but it was mostly to tease me. He likes to do this, you see, either via text message or in person. In my head I compose things I would like to say to him, but never do, and never will. Or maybe soon I will boil over and I will just blurt them all out. Things like ¨If I didn't know any better, Monsieur, I'd say you were flirting with me¨ or ¨what is it you want from me?¨ or ¨ I scare you. I scare you because I am younger than you, and you've been here before. But you're lonely. You're lonely and you wouldn't want to spend so much time with me if you weren't¨ or ¨ Why do you want to spend so much time with me when your Ex is here?¨
We sat in the movie and whispered jokes back and forth and he asked me questions about points where I laughed since we saw the movie with French subtitles and the wordplay was not well translated. It reminded me of when we saw Faust in June and I held his hand in the theater, the night before I left for the summer for work.
Only I didn't hold his hand this time.
On the metro he sat across from me and teased me more and when we got to rue du Bac on line twelve I bise'd him goodbye and tousled his hair as I rose and said goodnight.
* * *
On Friday after my job interview, E texted to ask how it went. I gave him the deets--the agency needs, without question, for cultural and language reasons, an American to work for a specific client, and explained that if I got the job, with a permanent contract, I could easily ask for citizenship.
¨ That's not going to be a problem if you become French? ;-P¨ he messaged back regarding the job's need for an American.
¨ At the root of it all, I'll always be American...but I'll take the best of both nationalities: the class and culture of France, the adventurous spirit and ambition of America.¨
* * *
I do not have to get a hold of E. I do not contact him of my own accord, except on rare occasions. I made this my rule when he decided he did not want to see me in a romantic capacity. I would drop it and see what he did. And he has contact me more since I let him go, without jealousy as this is not my personality. Perhaps it drives him mad that I was so composed when he said those things to me, not more upset, nor more sad, nor angry. I can still hear him calmly thanking me for my ¨understanding.¨
My understanding is not of him, but of the fact that I should not have to convince someone who is dating me they want to keep dating me. Either they do or do not. It is futile to try and convince the unconvinced.
But contact is a tricky thing for me.
* * *
Last night, just before dozing off to sleep, FWB finally responded. He texted me back:
¨Have a good weekend, see you Sunday. Have a wonderful night...FWB.¨
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