The sun was up, and the air was clear and crisp around Table Mountain, as Jake strode down the hill from Oranjezicht, past Gardens towards town. Marius was closed so he carried on towards the heart of Cape Town, from Heritage Square, in search of a friendly looking coffee shop. He enjoyed his early morning heart starter, almost to the point where it became compulsory. Marius had provided the near perfect, quirky environment. An eclectic mix of battered old leather sofas, rickety tables and chairs from a bygone era, and the moth-eaten crimson velvet curtains, seemed at home in the dimly lit lounge. Somehow, he had acquired a vast collection of artworks, mainly prints of old masters. Degas, Monet and Renoir featured prominently.
It worked well and was the quickest and easiest way to cover the peeling wallpaper and crumbling plaster. A mezzanine floor provided a hang-out for the more agile who gained access via a precarious set of wooden steps. The whole was typical of a bistro in a seedy part of Montmartre and it didn’t take long to become popular with university students of the arty variety.
Either by luck, lack of funds or ingenuity Marius had created an intimate relaxed atmosphere which he topped off with the best coffee and creative, freshly made baguettes, to order.
Jake found a small café at the top of Plein Street. The sign on the door said OPEN, so he did. He walked the same way most days, after visiting Marius, but had never noticed the place. The ethereal atmosphere manifested itself in an angelic smile as Mitzi offered Jake freshly brewed coffee and a selection of piping hot croissants and mouth-watering baguettes.
The offering was made without words, just a gesture towards a clinically clean but nevertheless inviting patisserie counter, stacked high with newly baked breads and pastries. They must be expecting a flood of customers this morning, Jake thought as Maurice Chevalier sang ‘Thank Heaven for little girls’ in the background. How did I miss the finest bakery and coffee shop in Cape Town? I must be the only customer because it’s only seven-thirty. By eight o’clock they will be queuing outside, I’m sure. Jake thought the name tag pinned on Mitzi’s crisp white blouse seemed inappropriate in the small intimate, French style café as she was the only waitress. That wide-smiling, ponytailed, French coffeemaker over there must be the patron. I can’t see any-one else. He scanned the Business Day for news wondering why he thought it was the twenty-third, not the twenty-fourth, while thinking, I can’t recall a better cappuccino, and the melt-in-the-mouth croissant with homemade apricot preserve made him want to order another. As his belt was now on the last notch he resisted.
Jake delighted in the tranquillity, the vroom-vroom of the ceiling fan and the silent captivating Mitzi. I’m sure I don’t know her, but she is making me think she knows me well. Slowly, she lured him to the point where he blurted out. ‘Can I meet you after work?’ Not the greatest pick-up line, only requiring a yes or a no answer, with a fifty percent chance of success. Without breaking the smile, she, took the saucer with Jake’s hundred Rand note and the bill. She needs time to respond, he consoled himself. He glanced again at the Business Day, trying to appear cool, as they say in the modern idiom. When she returned with his change, there on the saucer was a small folded piece of paper. An answer, he assumed. As he went to unfold it, she put her forefinger to her lips, so he put it in his pocket, left the change and said goodbye.
Jake walked out of the empty café into Plein Street, to the strains of Edith Piaf’s original version of ‘Non, je ne regrette rien’. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he was unfolding the crumpled note. [6.30 tonight. Cape Sun] Nothing else; no number; no email address.
He ignored his ritual, evening walk along Sea Point’s promenade. Showered, shaved and dressed himself to the nines. By six-twenty-five he was seated in a comfortable armchair in the foyer of the Cape Sun hotel, facing the main entrance, so he wouldn’t miss her. No woman is ever early, especially on a first date, so Jake wasn’t surprised when there was no sign of Mitzi by six-forty-five. At six-fifty-five he wandered outside.
There she was in the street, her face in shadow, the setting sun backlighting her golden hair, smiling a smile that said everything but revealed nothing. The roar of traffic faded. There were no other players, as she took his hand leading him across the stage into the silence of the wings. ‘Are you hungry?’ was met only with a gentle squeeze of his hand as they walked through Greenmarket Square towards Gardens. Jake’s mind was fuzzy, but he was relaxed as they approached his apartment. She seemed to know the way but, how could she?
Inside, Mitzi sipped the chilled Chardonnay he had expertly uncorked and delicately poured. There was no word and her ever-present smile gave no hint of honour to defend or thought for the consequence. She swirled to the music and beckoned Jake as her dress billowed with every dizzy turn. Come dance with me he read on her pursed lips; come dance in my arms; come dance with my body; come dance with my heart; come dance with my soul. He lifted her lithe body higher and higher, as they spun to the music. Closer, closer. ‘I will, I will’ she sighed throwing her golden locks to the night. Their souls on fire, they drowned in a state of bliss; two lives bound together in a moment, with no reason or regret.
Like a vapour trail in the atmosphere, she vanished before the morning light.
Jake rose at six-thirty and by seven-thirty he approached the bottom of Plein Street. He’d taken a circuitous route, as he was early and wanted to get to Mitzi’s café just as she was opening. When he reached the top of Plein Street, there was a pharmacy on one side and a run-down jeweller on the other. Both were closed. There was no sign of Mitzi’s café and none of the gorgeous aroma of freshly baked bread and coffee, that so intoxicated him yesterday. Bewildered, dazed, confused, and with no one around to ask, he made his way on up to Heritage Square and Marius’ café. As he entered, Marius greeted him.
‘Good morning Jake. You’re early today. The Business Day is over there. Cappuccino and croissant, same as yesterday?’