The Intermittent Coming and Going of the French Wine Baron

         I was at work this evening when the French Wine Baron called. The girl kiddos had just gotten out of the bath and were in their night gowns and we were waiting for their mom to return from the Maldives when my phone rang.  I didn't recognize the 09 area code but picked up anyway.

          ¨Allo?¨
 
           ¨Coucou Lindsay, c'est The French Wine Baron.¨

           ¨ Ah! I'm sorry, can I call you back in about an hour, I'm working tonight!¨

           ¨Sure, not a problem.¨

          We had chatted earlier this afternoon about my impending trip to Avignon.

         *  *  * 

          Damn you and your charm you sexy-wine-tasting Frenchmen. You are charming even over the phone. So charming it's deadly and makes me want to hop on the next TGV to you.  Why must you come and go intermittently? Why must you be in the South? Why must you make me like you so much? 

           Once back to my studio down the street after having left the girls, I called him. 

           ¨What are you doing this coming weekend?¨ he asked.  ¨There's a possibility I'll be coming up to Paris for a salon du vin.¨

           ¨Normally I'll be in Fontainebleau working.¨ This is why I need to get my life back. ¨I'll leave for the countryside Friday afternoon and be back Sunday evening. When do you leave Paris?¨

            ¨I don't know yet,¨ he replied. ¨What about the weekend of November 30th to December 1st?¨

            ¨Work in Fontainebleau...but after that will have two weekends free and then a week for Christmas. And I'm not going home.¨

             ¨I see,¨ he laughed. ¨Well, it's taken us long enough to see one another after October!¨

             Yes. Yes indeed. 

             But good GRACIOUS what am I doing? am I cheating on Monsieur Lawyer? am I being a hypocrite here? and what am I even to Monsieur Lawyer? 

*  *  * 

              Yesterday Monsieur Lawyer laughed and asked if I wanted him to stop by at night or the next morning. I told him as he wished, I had no preference. He came by that evening and then laughed and said ¨ You know, normally it's romantic to bring one's girlfriend croissants in the morning for breakfast in bed,¨ after I asked him what he was doing on Sunday. 

                I gulped. Does he consider me his girlfriend? After so seemingly and hesitantly saying he would just see me, which I don't even know if I can trust, but am beginning to trust? Should I hit the breaks? Should I have asked him what he thinks I am to him? All I know is that I didn't and the lines are blurred. 

                 One thing is certain: I am beginning to feel strongly for Monsieur Lawyer. He and I are very compatible on an intellectual level; we like many of the same things--music and books and culture; he makes me laugh when he does a fantastic mock-up of a Belgian-French accent; he thinks its adorable I make up adjectives like ¨calineuse¨ when I should use ¨câline¨ and won't always tell me my grammar mistakes because he finds them too damn cute; there is a solid chemistry between us but I don't know if I always feel so at ease around him, and it's not because of him per se. It's because of my hesitancy with him. 

*  *  * 

               FWB and I kept chatting on the phone. Conversation flows between us in a way that it sometimes does not with Monsieur Lawyer. It's not bad, it's just a different dynamic. The FWB is far less academic than Lawyer; he even laughs sometimes that I write better French than he does.  This in no way means he is less intelligent, he is just intelligent in a different way, a more social, personal way. FWB will, without a doubt I am sure, eventually charm the socks off whomever he is selling wine to once he gets his own export business up and running, which is his eventual goal. 

               ¨ I saw the elections,¨ he chimed. ¨ I was happy it was Obama!¨

               ¨Me too, I was relieved.¨ 

              Then we got to talking about his pursuit of internships in the states. I laughed and said we should just switch places, he can take mine in California and I take his in France. He chuckled and I said that I knew it was even hard to get a green card in the states. Visas and national boundary lines are hard everywhere, no matter where you may expatriate. 

               ¨ Even if I marry, for example, a Californienne, getting a green card is not evident.¨

               I half laughed, then changed the subject. 

               I told him that if I can succeed in getting dual nationality my problems are solved and he replied that then my parents will probably want me back. Told him that if I stay here I will more than likely end up marrying French and that my stepdad has already threatened to give his half-French grandchildren white flags to surrender when they visit Mamie and Papi. He said that would be good for my children because they would then have dual nationality. 

                Then I jokingly said that knowing my luck, I'll stay in France and end up marrying some Italian or Argentinian or lord knows what. He laughed again. 

                Why must you come and go? Why must the 20 something years feel like a continual drift between undecided peoples and undecided decisions with revisions and revisions? 

               Why must you intermittently come and go?  

                We chatted for about half an hour, and it was so lovely to talk to him. 

                But it made me question everything.