III. The Empress. [Reversed]

The City—DAY

I rush out of the shop and into the street, smashing into a woman who is passing with some groceries. We both clatter to the ground, fruits and cheeses flying everywhere.

“Sorry. Sorry!” I apologize getting quickly back up, so as to offer a hand, “I guess I didn’t see you!” I wave the stars from my eyes.

“Or perhaps maybe didn’t want to see you!” I add looking at the figure on the sidewalk who I now realize is Andrea, the cheat. She is nearing tears at a scuffed knee or perhaps maybe they are tears of guilt for what she’s done.

Still, I help her up and she smiles, smooths out her dress, and rights her sequined pillbox hat. Readjusted, she smiles again and then puts an arm around me, “Bonjour, Piteux Frank.”

I squirm under her touch. She calls me the Pitiful One. She thinks it’s cute, but it isn’t really nice is it?

“You know, I desperately want to reciprocate but I won’t.” This is as much an explanation to myself as it is to her.

“Comment ça va?” She ignores my comment. Stoic.

I give no answer but a groan and a wave. Her brave face crumbles at this. Floodgates open.

“Frank, I have something important to discuss with you.” She pleads in a waterfall of tears. “Come with me to the coffee shop so we can talk. Venez avec moi?”

“Fine, coffee,” I groan again and acquiesce, “I guess I am miserably along for the trip.”

We begin to gather Andrea’s things from the sidewalk; I continue to avoid conversation. She sniffs back the remaining tears. She is only sad when I am outright mean. She is perfectly happy with frustrated silence and misery.

Andrea puts a hand to her chest to find she has lost the heart-shaped locket she keeps close to her breast. I had given her that trifle a lifetime ago. She’s never taken if off. She looks frantically for a moment then finds it on the sidewalk with the groceries.

“Rappelez-vous?” she asks holding it up glinting in the sunlight.

“Of course I remember. It’s just some doo-dad from the past.”

She frowns at the word. After all this time, occasionally I come up with a new English word for her.

“A Doo-dad? It means a trinket. A chotsky. Un bibelot.”

“Oui, je comprends.” We both stand up and she stops and hugs me, showing me the heart as if I’ve never seen it before.

“Remember? It’s your heart. You were supposed to give me the real thing—”

I pull away, “Remember, you were supposed not to have another boyfriend.”

Andrea doesn’t answer. The ugly Truth is now known for sure. I repeat louder, “I am not sure if I said this aloud or not: you were supposed not to have another boyfriend!”

She ignores the accusation, “Piteux! Ayons du café!”

“Typical.”

Andrea is back at the Coffee Shop door. She disappears with a final plea, “Piteux! Café!”

I groan and follow.