A glass of red wine

The envelope sat on the kitchen table for days, as I pushed it around every time I had a meal. I had given it much thoughts and, at first, it seemed a terrible idea. Someone had seen me push Vincent over the parapet of Pont Neuf and had decided that they liked it. No one in their right state of mind would say anything like that. However, there was a part of me that was curious, I guess that was why I had not thrown away the card. Whoever it was had the means to know things and knowledge is a powerful weapon that I wanted for myself. One day I could just not stand it anymore, I either burnt the letter or went to the place, and I decided that I might as well go. I dressed up, if I went, I might as well dress the part. Since the incident I had renovated my closet with things that I considered to be more according to my new status. One of such was a fitted black dress that went just to my knee, some heels, a touch of makeup on my eyes, the red lipstick, and my red coat, and I was ready to go. 

I arrived at a restaurant with time to spare, it was a fancy place in the Parisian sense, it was crowded, the tables weren’t particularly new, but the food was amazing and it was a place renowned for having hosted multitude of writers during the roaring twenties. I was approached by a waiter and promptly seated at a table in the terrace, as I was bound to smoke while I waited. I ordered a glass or red wine and looked at the color without tasting it. I almost expected for no one to come, there hadn’t been a date, after all, but something told me that I wouldn’t be disappointed. I was smoking a cigarette, trying to look calm, when someone sat across me. 

“Mademoiselle Rothenberg.”

I looked at her, she was an elderly woman, but I could not really tell her age as I had the feeling that she looked younger than she seemed. She had that classic Parisian elegance that we have been told that it’s predominant in the city of lights, but that it is so hard to find. Her hair was white and pinned on the back of her head in a bun. She took off her gloves as she sat down and put them away inside her purse. 

“I started to be afraid that you would decline my invitation.” she said in perfect English with a heavy French accent. “I am glad to finally meet you, I believe that you will be more comfortable speaking in English?” 

I nodded. “Your knowledge of me made me curious, so I thought I better learn it from the source.”

“Of course, ma chérie, but not here.” She turned towards a waiter who wasted no time taking her order. “We cannot talk about serious things in an empty stomach, anyway.”