Meg's Apartment, Noon, Saturday October 1, 1988
Alain is running late.
He called, about an hour ago, with a hurried explanation that Meg hadn't quite followed -- something about a crisis at Oncle Sylvain's restaurant involving a running late waitress and an omelette and a pigeon, and he'll be there when he can and fill her in on all the details when he sees her.
So Meg, who had planned to be out at noon on Saturday, is sitting on the battered couch in her apartment and talking to her roommate Carrie, who is in their tiny kitchen, making brownies.
And her other roommate, Olivia, who is usually barely out of bed at noon on a Saturday, went out hours ago, with her newest no-doubt-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, Robert.
"We have to do something about Olivia," Carrie says, when Meg asks her what brought on the baking fit. Because Carrie doesn't cook. And combining Carrie and ovens leads to melodrama, smoke alarms, and tears.
"And you want to feed her?"
"No," says Carrie. "I want to find her a decent guy. Because this guy -- the drummer? Roe-bear? Loser."
"That actually is how the name is pronounced in French," Meg says. "More or less." Carrie's pronunciation had been over-the-top and half-sneered.
"Yes," says Carrie, "and if he weren't from Winnepeg and his last name weren't McCrory, that would be relevant."
"Okay, point."
"So," Carrie continues, putting the brownies into the oven, "we have to find her somebody better."
"And that requires chocolate caramel brownies?" Meg asks.
"It requires opportunity. So I invited my partner for my lit class project to come over here and work today. So they could casually meet. And bond over brownies."
Ah. It all becomes clear.
"And did you tell him he was being set up with your roommate?" Meg asks.
"I might have mentioned that there was someone I wanted him to meet," Carrie says, dropping onto the other end of the couch, wiping brownie batter off her hands with the dishtowel.
"So the brownies are a bribe?"
"Hey, we have to work on the project anyway," Carrie says.
"So what did you tell Olivia?"
"Nothing. She'd never go for it. Thus the casual. How was I supposed to know this would be the first Saturday ever that she was gone by 10AM?"
"Well, you do have to work on the project, anyway," Meg says, and Carrie throws the dishtowel at her.
"It was a good plan. He's a nice guy. If I didn't have Stephen, I'd date him myself. He's smart and nice and funny and charming enough, and even kind of cute, if you like the boy-next-door-type."
Meg is about to point out that she has never seen Olivia demonstrate even a molecule of interest in the boy-next-door type, when there's a knock at the door.
And the smoke alarm goes off.
"You get the brownies, I'll get the door," Meg says.
She promptly forgets about the sorry about the noise and welcome anyway that she had planned. Because she's met the man in the hallway twice before -- once on a sidewalk, once in a foyer.
"Oh . . . my . . . it's you?"
"Yeah," he says. "It's me. Hi. Please tell me you're the one Carrie wants me to meet. Because I've got a line about fate I want to use if you are."
"Um, actually, I'm . . ." Meg trails off as Carrie begins swearing at the still shrilling smoke detector.
And then, of course, Alain arrives. "Meg?" His eyes go from Meg to Carrie's classmate to the direction of the alarm, and then back to Meg. "Is everything all right?"
"Carrie was baking," Meg says.
"Ah, that explains the alarm." The look he gives the other man makes it clear that it does not explain his presence. "Alain Gagné," he says, holding out his right hand. His left, however, comes to rest on Meg's shoulder in a gesture that just manages to keep to the endearing side of possessive.
"Ed Marriner," the other man responds, shaking Alain's right hand with his eyes on Alain's left.
Meg considers rolling her eyes, but instead says, "Ed is Carrie's partner for a project for her literature class."
In the apartment, the alarm finally stops.
"Well, the brownies are a total loss," Carrie announces. "Oh, hi, Ed. Hi, Alain. Are you coming in, or are we all just going to hang out here in the doorway?"
"Alain and I are going to go ahead and go," Meg says, grabbing her bag and her jacket from the hook by the door. "Good luck with the project, and it was nice to have met you, Ed."
Alain continues to frown slightly at the closed door while he helps Meg with her jacket. She starts to laugh as she pulls her hair out from under the collar.
"What?" Alain asks.
"Nothing," Meg says. "You're just cute when you're jealous."
Alain makes a face at her. "That boy is interested in you, ma belle."
Meg shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't really matter." She reaches up to rest a hand against his cheek. "Either way, I'm not interested in him."
"Oui, je sais," Alain says.
"Bien." They stand for a moment, and then she lowers her hand to take his. "Et maintenant . . ." she says, " . . . un pigeon et une omelette?"
Alain laughs, and laces his fingers through hers. "C'est une longue histoire . . ."
He called, about an hour ago, with a hurried explanation that Meg hadn't quite followed -- something about a crisis at Oncle Sylvain's restaurant involving a running late waitress and an omelette and a pigeon, and he'll be there when he can and fill her in on all the details when he sees her.
So Meg, who had planned to be out at noon on Saturday, is sitting on the battered couch in her apartment and talking to her roommate Carrie, who is in their tiny kitchen, making brownies.
And her other roommate, Olivia, who is usually barely out of bed at noon on a Saturday, went out hours ago, with her newest no-doubt-soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend, Robert.
"We have to do something about Olivia," Carrie says, when Meg asks her what brought on the baking fit. Because Carrie doesn't cook. And combining Carrie and ovens leads to melodrama, smoke alarms, and tears.
"And you want to feed her?"
"No," says Carrie. "I want to find her a decent guy. Because this guy -- the drummer? Roe-bear? Loser."
"That actually is how the name is pronounced in French," Meg says. "More or less." Carrie's pronunciation had been over-the-top and half-sneered.
"Yes," says Carrie, "and if he weren't from Winnepeg and his last name weren't McCrory, that would be relevant."
"Okay, point."
"So," Carrie continues, putting the brownies into the oven, "we have to find her somebody better."
"And that requires chocolate caramel brownies?" Meg asks.
"It requires opportunity. So I invited my partner for my lit class project to come over here and work today. So they could casually meet. And bond over brownies."
Ah. It all becomes clear.
"And did you tell him he was being set up with your roommate?" Meg asks.
"I might have mentioned that there was someone I wanted him to meet," Carrie says, dropping onto the other end of the couch, wiping brownie batter off her hands with the dishtowel.
"So the brownies are a bribe?"
"Hey, we have to work on the project anyway," Carrie says.
"So what did you tell Olivia?"
"Nothing. She'd never go for it. Thus the casual. How was I supposed to know this would be the first Saturday ever that she was gone by 10AM?"
"Well, you do have to work on the project, anyway," Meg says, and Carrie throws the dishtowel at her.
"It was a good plan. He's a nice guy. If I didn't have Stephen, I'd date him myself. He's smart and nice and funny and charming enough, and even kind of cute, if you like the boy-next-door-type."
Meg is about to point out that she has never seen Olivia demonstrate even a molecule of interest in the boy-next-door type, when there's a knock at the door.
And the smoke alarm goes off.
"You get the brownies, I'll get the door," Meg says.
She promptly forgets about the sorry about the noise and welcome anyway that she had planned. Because she's met the man in the hallway twice before -- once on a sidewalk, once in a foyer.
"Oh . . . my . . . it's you?"
"Yeah," he says. "It's me. Hi. Please tell me you're the one Carrie wants me to meet. Because I've got a line about fate I want to use if you are."
"Um, actually, I'm . . ." Meg trails off as Carrie begins swearing at the still shrilling smoke detector.
And then, of course, Alain arrives. "Meg?" His eyes go from Meg to Carrie's classmate to the direction of the alarm, and then back to Meg. "Is everything all right?"
"Carrie was baking," Meg says.
"Ah, that explains the alarm." The look he gives the other man makes it clear that it does not explain his presence. "Alain Gagné," he says, holding out his right hand. His left, however, comes to rest on Meg's shoulder in a gesture that just manages to keep to the endearing side of possessive.
"Ed Marriner," the other man responds, shaking Alain's right hand with his eyes on Alain's left.
Meg considers rolling her eyes, but instead says, "Ed is Carrie's partner for a project for her literature class."
In the apartment, the alarm finally stops.
"Well, the brownies are a total loss," Carrie announces. "Oh, hi, Ed. Hi, Alain. Are you coming in, or are we all just going to hang out here in the doorway?"
"Alain and I are going to go ahead and go," Meg says, grabbing her bag and her jacket from the hook by the door. "Good luck with the project, and it was nice to have met you, Ed."
Alain continues to frown slightly at the closed door while he helps Meg with her jacket. She starts to laugh as she pulls her hair out from under the collar.
"What?" Alain asks.
"Nothing," Meg says. "You're just cute when you're jealous."
Alain makes a face at her. "That boy is interested in you, ma belle."
Meg shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. It doesn't really matter." She reaches up to rest a hand against his cheek. "Either way, I'm not interested in him."
"Oui, je sais," Alain says.
"Bien." They stand for a moment, and then she lowers her hand to take his. "Et maintenant . . ." she says, " . . . un pigeon et une omelette?"
Alain laughs, and laces his fingers through hers. "C'est une longue histoire . . ."