Notes: Étourneau= as close as Bing translate will get me to “Starling”.
(Colombe (Dove) seemed too “familiar” (like he knows you well), and that just popped into my head. Cute, slightly romantic, but not obviously drooling over you.)
Edit: My math (horrible at math) might be way off with Great Uncle Jack! He was supposed to be born in 1926, but it seems weirdly unlikely to me someone would live that long until now. He’s 95. Not impossible, I know, it’s just rare.
“A meal?” You echoed Remy, “You mean like lunch?”
“Yes, lunch would be appropriate I suppose,” He smiled that million dollar dazzler again, dimples showing with a light, airy chuckle, “I was hoping to get to know you better and I’d like some company today. The wait staff is always on call, so we won’t be alone and you need not be afraid.”
“Sure. I’d love to,” You smiled.
“I hope I’m not imposing on your time,” Remy apologized, “I can have my driver get you home right after if you have other obligations.”
“Mister LeBeau, I’m only an intern. I don’t have many obligations except to myself and my work. Besides, it is the weekend. I have to admit, this little side-job kept me from having to work long hours. I just got a pay cut at my other job and was kind of dreading this weekend.” It was more than you wanted to admit to a stranger, but sometimes it all came tumbling out with you.
“Like I told you, Cherie, I tip handsomely,” He took out a couple bills from his pocket and your heart sank in disappointment. Oh, so he was that kind of rich guy after all. Ten dollars and be on your way, peasant. You were tempted to back out of the lunch invitation right then and there. How dare he! How could he-
You slowly took the money and looked at it after he passed it on. Your eyes grew wide. “No, no! I can’t take this. It’s not a tip! It’s not!” It was a 100 dollar bill and a 50 dollar bill. More than enough for a couple weeks worth of groceries for yourself or to make a dent in the rent payment.
“Étourneau, what’s wrong with it? Money is money, and you _are_ working for the museum of Natural History. Take it. Please don’t be ungrateful.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve just never been handed over so much for one simple job.” You apologized, putting the money in your wallet and your wallet back in your purse.
“Simple, but needed. Come on, we’ll go to the kitchen,” Remy led you again to a chef’s kitchen. An open floor plan, two ovens, and several black marble countertops overlooked by beautiful black and white cabinets with clear glass doors. You’d never seen such finery in all your days.
“Chef Tremaine, this is Miss (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). Prepare _whatever_ she wants for lunch and we’ll sit down and have a proper meal together. Most days, I take lunch in my office.”
Chef Tremaine gave you a nod. You stood there like a dullard, unable to think for a few moments.
“Uh, wow, gosh. I usually just have a salad or sandwich for lunch. Um...you know what I’d like? Corn chowder with a cobb salad, and some cucumber sandwiches. Maybe mix it up with some roast beef and turkey if you have it.” You didn’t always have time to cook with fresh vegetables, and the cucumber sandwiches on your viewings of Victorian era TV shows always looked delicious. Plus you’d eaten them growing up at tea parties and when your grandmother dragged you out to socialize with her book club, so they were nostalgic for you.
“Right away, madame,” The chef got to work.
“I’ll show you the backyard while we wait. You can tell me about yourself,” Remy smiled.
“Um, sure,” You said, trying to focus and get your head together. The whole thing was dizzying. A billionaire that liked keeping things low-key had just invited you to lunch randomly. Things like that didn’t happen all the time. You weren’t sure if his interest in you was romantic or only platonic, but you were hoping for more than a passing glance.
You walked to a bench overlooking the lake underneath a large oak tree. “Where did you grow up? I find most New Yorkers are transplants.” He asked.
“(Your home state). It was nice. I wanted more so my professor-at Harvard-recommended me to the museum as an intern. It was supposed to be temporary, but it’s been a couple years, so I guess I’m stuck with it. I’d love to move up, but it’s hard to get your foot in the door in archeology when you only have one degree and didn’t take like five different courses.” You shrugged.
“Harvard? Impressive. I know we just met, but I hope you achieve all your goals one day.” Remy said.
“Thank you,” You said, “And where did you grow up?”
“Everywhere and nowhere, but I have spent a lot of time in Louisiana. I came to New York looking to sell stocks and invest in paintings, do some sightseeing. I fell in love with the city and stayed,” Remy explained.
“Why do you live so far from the city? I get the view, but you’re all alone out here.”
“I just prefer it,” Remy didn’t elaborate.
You continued making conversation. Hobbies, TV shows, who you were friends with. You two obviously didn’t run in the same social circles, but he knew your great uncle on your mother’s side.
“How on earth would you know him?” You were more than surprised. Great uncle Jack was a miserly, quiet man in his old age, and didn’t talk about the past much. You just thought that he’d been through a lot, and lost his only wife young. He was now barely hanging on in his 90s, living at home with a caretaker, but your family was required to visit him once a year because your mother insisted.
“You know, work. People get around.” Remy said, “Does he remember meeting Dolly May at the carnival? Nantucket, about, oh, nineteen-fourty-five?”
“She used to be all he’d talk about, but after he lost her, he didn’t talk about her. But I know he remembers her. Still has pictures of them all around the house. She wasn’t even thirty when she passed,” You said, feeling a bit sad.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories,” Remy brushed hair out of my face as a breeze blew in.
“It’s okay. They had their time together. I just don’t like thinking of all the memories they missed out on making,” you frowned.
“Memories are important, but picking yourself back up after a tragedy and living is more important. I wish Jack could’ve learned that,” Remy said, “Here. Next time you see him, give him this. He’ll know who it’s from.”
Remy handed you a picture. You didn’t look at it well, just saw it was in black and white. “I will. Thanks.”
You went inside and had lunch, the mood becoming much happier in minutes. Remy came out of himself and started dropping the rich gentleman persona, joking around and showing you card tricks, a hobby of his.
“No, no, wait,” He laughs, shuffling the cards, “I got a better one.” He starts it, but the cards land haphazardly on the table. You rushed to pick them up, and your hands and his bump together. Unsure, you shove the cards his way and put your hands in your lap. He goes on with the trick and you’re delighted once more.
“I’m sure you’ve seen enough for today,” Remy puts his cards back into his coat pocket. “We’d better get you home while it’s still early. If you give me your number we can keep in touch. I wouldn’t mind having you over again.”
“I’d like that,” You said, excited.
You said your goodbyes and rode back in a limo. You took the picture out halfway back home to finally look at it. It was Great Uncle Jack and Great Aunt Dolly May in the 40s, but in the background, impossibly, was Remy.
