Le Coeur du Jardin (Garden's Heart)

"All right by me. We don't even need to leave this room."

"Ha. Did you see the inside of my dollhouse refrigerator? We'll starve to death."

"Doesn't Paris have delivery? Any Dominoes here?" I was joking of course, this was Paris.

"I don't know; but no one eats until after seven here. Make love to me and then will go out for dinner." Grace was stripping out of her work clothes as she said it. I couldn't argue with her logic.

We spent Saturday at the Musée d'Orsay and had a nice lunch around the corner from Notre Dame. A few of Grace's co-workers wanted to meet me, Grace begged off from meeting them Friday because she wanted us to have a quiet evening alone; but agreed to meet them Saturday night.

When Grace and I walked into the restaurant that evening, there were already a dozen folks sitting at the long table at the back of the dining room. It seemed Grace was a popular person with her co-workers (no surprise there) and many of them wanted to meet the man who owned her heart.

After introductions, shaking hands with the men, air kisses to the ladies, we sat down in small clusters; me with an English female (Holly), a Japanese female (Megumi) and a French guy (Claude); both Megumi and Claude spoke excellent English; I had more trouble understanding Holly than either of them. Every now and then Grace would switch between the other two clusters, both of which were speaking in French. The waiter took our drink orders; different plates of appetizers kept appearing and disappearing.

Holly and I were having a friendly disagreement whether the Americans or Brits were more responsible for the best rock and roll. Claude took Holly's side, claiming the Stones' 'Exile on Main Street', recorded in France, was the greatest rock album of all time. Megumi sided with me, she grew up listening to her mother's vinyl recording of Cheap Trick's 'Live at Budokan' ("Mom was in the audience!") and giving her opinion that, "Elvis and Chuck Berry started it all." It was all in great fun, no one taking it seriously. At one point I had to ask Grace, just for fun, "Babe, who is the greatest female rock singer of all time?" Grace didn't miss a beat, answering, "Not just the greatest female, but greatest male or female singer was Ms. Slick!"

The topic moved from music to sports (football vs. football) when, suddenly, Grace raised her voice, and in French, began to berate one of the French guys. I've never seen Grace so pissed in the year we lived together. I didn't understand a word of it, everyone else spoke French and watched in amazement; even nearby tables stopped to listen.

After a full minute, Grace apologized to her other co-workers (even I understood the "pardon") and told me we were leaving.

Outside the restaurant, I asked, "What was that all about?"

"Jean-Paul is one of those French fucks who can't help but put down Americans. His type are a minority, as far as my experience so far. He knew you don't speak French and took the opportunity to say a couple nasty things about American men and you in particular to Renee. I overheard him, I wasn't going to let him get away with it. Hope you don't mind if I defended your honor."

"No, not at all. But why did we have to leave?"

"Renee is such a bitch. She knows I can't stand Jean-Paul and she invited him anyway. I'm not going to lie to you. Jean-Paul is a weasel. He's been trying to get me to go out with him. I've told him 'no', that we're in a committed relationship and I'm not breaking my word to you. We're still in a committed relationship, aren't we?"

"Yes."

"That's good. I've been afraid to bring it up while we were apart. I couldn't have handled hearing it long distance if you started to date."

"I haven't changed my mind. I'll still be there when you come home."

"I love you so much Les. Please don't ever break my heart."

We met her co-workers once more before I left town, this time without Jean-Paul or Renee. Claude made certain I understood not all Frenchman shared Jean-Paul's anti-Americanism. It turned out to be a fun, drama-free evening.

Paris renewed my faith that Grace and I had a future.

The next five months were so long, made longer because of the cold, long winter on the prairie. Grace's visit during the holidays helped. The promise of Spring brought warmer weather, the hours of daylight increased, and then it would only be a few more months before Grace was due to return.

I originally planned to spend a week during March in Paris, but Grace said her hours at work were ridiculous now that they were in crunch time. In order to guarantee the movie was ready for its holiday release, the first draft of graphics needed to be ready by mid-May. I cancelled my travel plans. With luck, Grace would be home by mid-June.

It was the tenth of May, a beautiful day. The temperature in the high seventies and the sun shining after three days of rain. I drove home from work, looking forward to having a beer while sitting on the back porch of the house. I don't know why, maybe just because it made me feel closer to Grace, but I spent the previous Saturday with a rented rototiller turning the garden. Maybe I'd plant a few tomatoes and some string beans, simple stuff. In the meantime, I'd drink a beer and look over what I now thought of as 'Grace's Spot'.

I pulled into the drive, surprised to find the gates were closed. I stopped the car, rather than opening the gates and driving through, I just walked to the back of the house. There in the garden, leaning against a hoe, looking right at me, was the most beautiful stark-naked garden nymph. We stood for a half- minute, just staring before she dropped the hoe and came running into my arms.

"Why are you here?" I asked.

"We finished early, three days ago. They only need a half-crew for re-writes, touch ups and post-production. They asked for volunteers to be released, I volunteered. Packed my bags, caught the first available flight to O'Hare, grabbed a shuttle flight and got home two hours ago. I hope it's all right; I wanted to surprise you, I hope you don't have plans."

Damn, this woman could be so dense sometimes. Time to set her straight. "Yes, I have plans, wait here a minute."

Grace was still holding me tight. I freed myself from her grip, ran into the house and opened the safe. Ran right back out, the naked nymph was still standing there. I opened the box and fell to one knee. "Will you marry me, Grace?"

Like I said, she can be so dense. I completely surprised her with my proposal. It took her way too long to find her voice, but when she did, she said the right words. "Yes, I love you so much, Thomas Lester. Would Sunday be too soon? That would give us time to get the license and for our folks to get here."

We did get married Sunday. In the garden of all places. It was a little muddy, but the twenty or so guests, including both sets of parents, some siblings and a few others, didn't seem to mind. And Grace wore a dress, even though it was a garden wedding; I'm fairly certain my parents appreciated that.

Epilogue

Grace and I stayed in the farmhouse through the harvest. We spent the summer looking for our own place. We found the perfect spot a few miles north of town and about a quarter mile from the river, far enough that we don't need to worry about getting flooded out. It's four acres, two of them wooded and enough flat land to build another garden for Grace.

There's a double-wide on the property and a garage that's bigger than the trailer. We'll turn the south-facing side of the garage into a studio for Grace and still have room for both cars. We'll sell the double-wide as soon as the house is built. The builder got the foundation dug and the basement walls poured, but the weather turned and we'll have to wait until Spring before they get started back up.

Grace does some freelance, but mostly concentrates on her painting; she's that good. For example, 'Le Dernier Après-midi des Amoureux' sold for eight-thousand dollars. So between the garden, the freelance and the painting, Grace is a busy, but happy, person.

It also gives her the option of being a stay at home mom. Grace is pregnant with our first child, due in May. She wants three or four and we decided not to wait. Yea, I'm a lucky son-of-a-bitch. I have a great loving wife, a good paying job I like, a kid on the way and a beautiful piece of property to share with my pixie-bride. I only have one problem -

How the hell do I convince Grace to keep some clothes on while she's gardening when the builders are here next Spring and Summer?