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Love in Any Language

Tremont Charley

    On a gorgeous September day a slight breeze wafted over Jamaica Bay. Kennedy Airport was as busy as usual on a Saturday. At noon Mitch and Simone arrived at the airport along with numerous other travelers. These two, like most that were coming and going at Kennedy Airport, were complete strangers... but just barely. After all, they arrived only seconds from each other on adjacent runways and crossed paths at the airport newsstand and while going for their luggage. Those incidents would seem like nothing more than meaningless coincidences or perhaps it was faith.
    Mitch, a tall, handsome, 24-year old, blue-eyed blonde had a degree in marketing. He came to New York from South Florida to work as a junior account exec at a prestigious Madison Avenue advertising agency. Simone, a beautiful, long haired brunette, had graduated with honors from The Fashion Institute of Paris. With aspirations of being the next Christian Dior, she flew across the Atlantic to begin an apprenticeship under the legendary fashion designer, Jean-Claude Chabeaunair.
    Both Mitch and Simone were extremely ambitious and career minded. But away from work they shared a passion and insatiable appetite for dancing, both being excellent dancers. Mitch took a taxi from the airport to his newly acquired digs in Greenwich Village. A chauffeured limousine drove Simon to her high rise apartment on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. On the trip both opened their Smart Phones and searched Google for New York’s most popular dance clubs.
    On weekends for the past month Mitch has been swaying to the music at Shake in Chelsea. And Simone could always be found dancing at Glitter in Gramercy Park. Platinum, Manhattan’s newest dance club, had just opened on Broadway in Time Square. D.J.’s were the backbone of all dance clubs. Word that legendary D.J.’s Fat Mo and the Notorious Flash were now at Platinum rapidly spread, attracting the best dancers in the city to the club. Dancing with the best was an inspiring thought to both Mitch and Simone; but just thinking about it was not enough for either.
    On Friday night Simone dressed in casual dance attire, paid Platinum’s cover charge, and then with hopes of finding a gifted dance partner, traipsed into the clubs lounge. The place was immense and dark-dark except for tiny, flickering, colored light bulbs scattered about. The non-stop music was ear-splitting loud. The enormous dance floor was crowded with couples practically on top of each other grooving to the music.
    Mitch, wearing a fashionable blazer and an opened collared shirt, entered the club minutes after Simone. At one of the bars surrounding the dance floor he ordered a Scotch and soda.
    Shortly after arriving at the club, Mitch and Simone had to visit the restrooms. The men’s and women’s restrooms were both situated in a hallway a good distance from the dance floor. As luck would have it, they came out of the restrooms at precisely the same time. In his haste to get back to the bar, Mitch accidently bumped into Simone. “Are you alright?”
    She shrugged and brushed herself off.
    The music was so loud that he cuffed his mouth leaned close to her and shouted, “Please accept my apology.”
    Speaking in her native French, Simone said, “Excuse me, but I’m not deaf.”
    “Huh?” Mitch uttered.
    She gave Mitch the once-over and once again speaking in French rattled off. “Do you dance, clumsy?” Before Mitch could answer, she sarcastically glanced at him. “You’re here! So unless you’re Security, which I sincerely doubt, I guess you must dance.”
    “Dance,” Mitch bellowed.
    “Yes dance! Not that I expect you to be Fred Astair,” was her smart aleck reply in French.
    “Fred Astair,” he repeated.
    Simone sarcastically smiled and made a couple of dance steps.
    Mitch moved to the music in unison with her, all the while thinking: Instead of playing games and speaking only in French, why the hell doesn’t she just ask me straight out to dance with her?
    She stopped dancing, waved a finger at him, and then pointed to the dance floor. Mitch took her hand and they ran onto the busy dance floor and began to move their bodies to the music. The skill with which they danced had those around them believing they had been dancing together forever. Everyone close to Mitch and Simone stopped dancing, surrounded them, and applauded.
    For the next five hours Mitch and Simone dance non-stop. At a quarter to four in the morning a voice from the loudspeaker announced that Platinum would be closing in fifteen minutes. But the voice also informed club-goers that a breakfast buffet at no charge would be available in the lounge.
    Except for exchanging an odd word or two while dancing, Mitch and Simone had never really spoken. Yet, something inside of Mitch wanted him to get to know her better and not just because she was beautiful. To him there was something mystifying and intriguing about her. Thoughts crowded his mind: Maybe it was the poignant way in which she looked at me with those big, beautiful eyes or maybe it was the tender manner in which she touched me when we danced closely. Whatever it was, there was something different about this young lady that aroused and stimulated him, something that he could not get out of his mind.
    The house lights were suddenly turned on, and the music finally ended. Mitch escorted Simone off the dance floor and jerked a thumb towards the buffet table. “C’mon, let’s grab a bite.”
    “Bite?” Simone repeated in a deep French accent.
    “Of course, you must be hungry.”
    “Hon-gree?” Simone curiously repeated.
    In high school Mitch had taken a class in French. Of course, he had forgotten most of what he had learned, but not all. So, he curiously looked at Simone and asked, “Parlez vous English?”
    “English?” She held a hand up to Mitch’s face, spread her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart, and in English said, “So, much.” She then wagged a finger under Mitch’s nose. “Parlez vous Francais?”
    Imitating her, Mitch spread apart his thumb and forefinger and in his best French accent said, “This much, mademoiselle.”
    They both laughed.
    Mitch pantomimed bringing a fork to his mouth. He then moved his lips as if chewing. “Hungry.”
    She smiled, nodded and rolled a hand over her tummy. “J’ ai hungry.”
    “Great!” Mitch believed it was time for him to introduce himself. He poked his chest, bowed, and graciously looked up at her. “Je m’ appelle, Mitch”.
    In reply, she curtseyed. “Je m’ appelle, Simone”.
    They smiled at each other, began laughing, then took the others hand and headed for the long buffet table. The table held endless trays of food: Fried eggs, pancakes, French toast, home fried potatoes, bacon and sausages plus a coffee urn, cream and sugar were at the end of the table.
    An attendant instructed everyone to take a tray. On each tray was a paper placemat with Platinum’s logo, a picture of couples dancing, the club’s address and telephone number.
    Mitch and Simone took their trays loaded with breakfast and carried them to a table close to the bar. While eating breakfast, they constantly smiled at one another. On occasion Mitch or Simone pointed to a salt shaker or a bottle of ketchup or a napkin or some other item on the table and announce the proper way to say that item in their language. Other than that they carried on no real conversation.
    Determined to break the monotony and make things interesting, Mitch turned his place mat over, took a pen from his jacket pocket and drew a tic-tac-toe diagram. Even though there was a language barrier between the two with some luck he hoped to teach Simone the game. To his astonishment the moment he completed drawing the graph, she snatched the pen out of his hand and drew a circle in the center box.
    Simon won the first game. Both being competitive they continued playing even as the club emptied of customers. Soon no room remained on either of the placemats and Mitch was up six games to four. Not willing to accept defeat, Simone, coaxed Mitch out of Platinum to Nicks’ all night coffee shop. At the booth in the back of the place they drank coffee and played tic-tac toe until the sun came up.
    Since that evening some weeks back, other than actual cohabitating. Mitch and Simone were practically inseparable. Most nights after work they would go for dinner but only patronized restaurants that used paper placemats. After dinner they often took in a movie, went bowling or even shot a game of pool. Most evenings, especially on weekends, they would dance the night away at Platinum. All of these activities required little or no dialogue, a situation which worked out just fine for both.
    Even though conversation between Mitch and Simone was limited, even a stranger could easily tell just by the way they acted and looked at each other that they were madly in love.
    On Saturday evening Mitch took Simone to dinner at Zach’s Crab house with every intention of proposing. Zach escorted them to their favorite booth in Gloria’s station at the rear of the restaurant. Gloria, a short, middle-aged blonde, whipped out her order book, looked down at them and said, “Yeah, I know...its two glasses of Chardonnay and an appetizer of baked clams for openers...right?”
    Mitch nodded at Gloria. She then turned and walked away, scribbling in her order book. From his jacket pocket he discreetly removed a small velvet jewelry box containing Simone’s engagement ring and placed it next to him on the seat of the settee.
    After devouring the baked clams they ordered two seafood platters and for dessert shared apple pie á la mode. Once Gloria had cleared the table, Simone turned over her placemat, removed a pencil from her purse and drew a tic-tac-toe graph. Then as if the pencil were a sword, she held it up to Mitch and announced, “On guard.”
    Mitch took the pencil, and something he had not considered till now began playing tricks with his mind—something that had him thinking: Crazy as I am about Simone, in reality all we have together is dancing dinning and tic-tac-toe. Much as I love dancing and eating out and enjoy playing tic-tac-toe there has to be more to life. I need a partner who’s fairly well rounded... someone I can discuss politics with...the theatre, and what’s going on in the world...perhaps even sports, but I guess that’d be pushing it a bit.
    He drew an X in the top left box and handed Simone the pencil.
    She smiled and blew him a kiss.
    He blew a kiss back and thought: Sure, I could try to learn to speak French and she could take a couple of courses in English. But with our busy schedules learning each other’s language could take forever. I love Simone, but am actually thinking maybe it’d be best not to rush things. He grabbed the jewelry box, shoved it back into his jacket pocket then realized: I’ve got a helluva lot of thinking to do.
    She put a circle in the center box and glanced across the table at Mitch’s solemn expression, thinking: Looks like he’s contemplating where to place his next X. Absorbed as she thought he was with the game had her pondering things about their relationship, things she had never previously considered—things she knew would only break her heart. Thoughts racing through her mind were similar to what Mitch had been thinking: There has to be more to life than dancing dinning out and playing tic-tac-toe. She handed Mitch the pencil, excused herself and headed to the ladies’ room. She stepped into the restroom, closed the door and broke out in tears.
    Sunday Mitch took Pierre, a co-worker and French emigrant, to brunch. While waiting to be served, Mitch explained to Pierre how frustrating it was that he and Simone were barely able to communicate. He took a sip of vodka, stared across at Pierre and in an uneasy voice asked him to write a farewell letter in French to Simone.
    That same day Simone escorted Samantha, her next door neighbor, to Bruno’s Spaghetti Palace. Sam, originally from Boulder, Colorado, fluently spoke French she had studied in college; this in itself enabled the two ladies to become quite close. By now Sam knew everything about Simone’s relationship with Mitch and how they were barely able to communicate. She also knew that Simone was crazy about Mitch, so naturally Samantha was flabbergasted, when Simone requested she write for her a “Dear John” letter in English to Mitch.
    That evening Mitch took Simone for dinner at the exclusive Shalimar. His farewell letter to Simone was in his vest pocket, while Simone’s “Dear John” letter to Mitch was buried in her handbag. Each intended to give the other their letter as soon as dinner was finished.
    As always, when dining at The Shalimar, Mitch and Simone were seated at a table in Pino’s section. They ordered two glasses of Chardonnay and an appetizer of baked clams. From Pino they learned that Chilean soccer players, several of their wives and the team’s head coach were seated at the huge table directly to their right. Everyone at that table was laughing, drinking and having a grand old time. According to Pino they were celebrating today’s semi-final victory over Canada in an America’s Cup Soccer Tournament.
    At Shalimar there were no paper placemats. So Mitch and Simone always brought with them plenty of blank paper. But tonight both were miserable and neither was in the mood to play tic-tac-toe.
    As Mitch and Simone shared the clams, one of the soccer players, walking unsteadily, headed for the men’s room, singing Chile’s national anthem. As he passed their table he tripped and almost fell on Simone. Mitch and several soccer players ran to help this intoxicated fellow up off the floor. Upon getting on his feet, he brushed himself off, shook Mitch’s hand and assisted by his coach, wobbled in the direction of the men’s room. One of his teammates extended a hand to Mitch and in Spanish said, “Thanks! That was very kind of you.”
    “My pleasure,” Mitch replied, speaking Spanish and shaking the fellow’s hand. Then again in Spanish he said, “When are the finals and who’re you guys playing?”
    Simone anxiously jumped out of her chair and ran between Mitch and the soccer player. “Forgive me for interrupting,” she said in Spanish, and then turned to Mitch. “The champion-ships are between Chile and Brazil. The game’s to be played Wednesday night at Yankee Stadium at 8:00 P.M.”
    Mitch looked at Simone in amazement and continued in Spanish: “How’d you know all that?”
    “From the Internet, of course,” Simone said speaking Spanish. She then wagged a finger at Mitch. “Where did you learn to speak Spanish so fluently?”
    “My dad’s from Galicia, in Northern Spain. Up until I was twelve my family lived with my dad’s parents in Miami and in the house Spanish was the only language spoken.” He then stared at Simone and asked, “And what’s your excuse?”
    She smiled, and replied, “Growing up, my dad was a business representative to companies in Central and South America. My family lived in Bogota and I attended school with Latino children. The rest is history.”
    As Mitch and Simone continued in Spanish the soccer player removed from his vest pocket two tickets to Wednesday’s championship game. He handed the tickets to Mitch and silently excused himself.
    They sat back down and for the next few hours, speaking only in Spanish, they poured out their hearts, until Pino warned them that the place was about to close. From that day forward over the next thirty years Mitch and Simone never stopped talking. During that time they had two children, six grandchildren and each made a point of learning the other’s language.
    By the way remember those farewell letters? Here’s what happened to them. Mitch and Simone had them framed and they hang next to each other on the wall above the bureau in their bedroom. The letters are a constant reminder—a reminder to both Mitch and Simone to never forget how precious their love is and how close they came to almost losing it.

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