Mirrors & Scales & My Pink Suit

It was 5:05 PM.

A geriatric bartender with a bald head and bag o’ bones body saw me as I walked in but chose not to wait on me. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t sure what was safe to drink in this joint, anyway. I sat facing the door so I could see Mabouk when he came in. I didn’t know what he looked like but I was sure he would be at least 6’2", 210, broad shoulders—built like a bull, wiry gray hair, bulbous nose, eyes like a weasel, flashy white teeth against cocoa skin, black sharkskin suit, Rolex watch and maybe a ruby ring on his left hand that he forces his slaves to bow to and kiss every day.

It was 5:10.

The door opened sending a shock of light into the dark den. A couple, an American couple—I looked down at their shoes—stumbled in as if they were lost—a good guess based on the character of this dump and the expressions on their faces. They sat down anyway, sure enough right next to me, and I welcomed the diversion.

Hi there, she greeted me. DO-YOU-SPEAK-ENGLISH-I-O? She said with a raised voice.

Why, yes, yes I do. I am American. Are you guys lost or what?

Oh, Heavens to Betsy, nawww. Lloyd and I jes’ wanna ‘sperience a lil’ ethnic color of Paris, that’s all. We’ve been sightseein’ till its comin’ outta our ears—Notra Daime, the See-ne River cruise, the Moo-len Rooge, and we jes got back from a half day sightseein’ bus tour ‘round the city. It was grreaat, wadn’t it, Lloyd, honey? That sightseein’ tour we jes took. It was grreat, wadn’t it?

Lloyd wasn’t paying much attention to his wife and her new friend. He was busy ordering mixers of Diet Coke and Schweppes Tonic Water with extra, extra ice to compliment the Bacardi and Beefeater miniatures he had just unscrewed under the table and left hidden on the empty chair in the corner next to him. When a young Tunisian girl placed the bottles of mixers and glasses, each containing a solo ice cube on the table, Lloyd looked up, smiled sheepishly and said, Gee, thanks, Madomosell. You’re a doll. We are just soooo thirsty and nothin’ works better than a nice cool Coke, I always say. Ummmmm. Ya know what I mean? In’t that right, Cora? Instead of a mere thank you, his elaboration condemned him guilty of something, poor bloke.

I felt funny about being a witness to their crime in progress, so I took an extra long time to check my watch, count the hundreds of used lotto tickets on the floor as well as the number of missing linoleum tiles while he poured the contents of the little bottles into their glasses. Cora stood guard while he did it. With the deed done, and relief on their faces, they lifted their glasses in a toast either to their health or in celebration of getting away with yet another cheap drink caper, and took big swigs.

It was 5:20 and no one resembling a demonic tyrant had come in or out of Café de l’Afrique since I walked in precisely at 5:00 o’clock. I double checked the name of the place with an empty matchbook in the ashtray, leaned back on my chair, nestled the attaché to my chest and ordered a bottle of beer from the passing waitress.

Cora and Lloyd were a cutesy couple in their sixties who have been together so long that they were in perfect sync with each other. Everything she started, he finished, and vice versa. He started counting out francs and she finished the count. She took out her compact to touch up her nose and he clicked it closed and zipped it away in her shoulder bag. He ordered another Diet Coke and Tonic this time with extra, extra, extra ice and she unscrewed two new mini-bottles of booze and held them posed under the table.

Cora had a face that couldn’t hide disappointment. When the girl brought their mixers over with yet again one lonely ice cube floating around in each glass, Cora’s forehead crinkled and she let out a discouraged sigh. Lloyd was just happy to have another drink—ice, schmice, I heard him mutter.

I was so nervous I couldn’t even fully enjoy my favorite pastime. I turned away from my fellow Americans and stared straight at the door.

I gave Mabouk fifteen more minutes.

At 5:35 Cora and Lloyd paid their very reasonable tab, Cora told me how much she luvved my outfit and they walked out in unison. Four empty plastic bottles tumbled to the floor behind them.

I got up to leave. Time was up for this Mabouk character, I said to myself. I put my hand on the door handle to give it a pull and out of nowhere a callused, prune-like hand grabbed my wrist.