Three
Slowly it all came to focus, from a blur into crystal clarity. The scent of a delicate and fresh mélange of fragrances in the air, like a ribbon of silk floating about, tickling the edge of your nose, all the while carried by a hint of a warm breeze. The sounds of champagne glasses, as their smooth curves meet one another in mellow santés. The ambience of debonair laughter, of soft heels against the white marble, of the dolce piano embracing the alto saxophone in a subtle, sentimental tour de force. The feel of the dark voleur against my fingertips as I touch the lapels of my jacket, then of the cool crystal of my champagne glass. The kaleidoscope of autumn pastels lit by omniscient lights and soft candles, swirling in my imagination, imprinting themselves in the back of my mind. I watched as the small bubbles of champagne made their way randomly to the top, releasing their odor into the air. I daintily swayed the glass and admired the perfect viscosity of its contents.
I raised my glass and felt the sharp, defiant, and sweet Dom Perignon trickle down my throat.
My head spun faster.
I was at a cocktail party on the Belvedere Rooftop of the Nile Hilton. My friend Y had insisted that this be my re-introduction into Cairo after almost a year in England. I wasn’t sure what to make of that invitation, he knows how cynical I can get at the French embassy parties, but after that lonely weekend in Paris I wasn’t about to pass out on a night of savoir faire back home.
Home.
Leaning against the rail I looked out to the Nile, the glitzy hotels marking the skyline, the busy traffic lights reflected onto the dark water. The small feluccas making their way here and there. The sound of trotting horses and carriages. It isn’t always this pretty. I only wish he was here. I looked at my watch. Ten-thirty, he was probably on his way home from dinner, probably in London. It seems so frivolous and immature now, but I had decided not to reply to his messages after he failed to live up to his promise and come join me in Paris. Taking the hint, he also gave up. I wished he wasn’t always so damn snug.
“Prost!” I heard Y say as he came by and ticked his glass against mine.
“That’s precious, you Alsace-born sans-culotte!”
“Bastard!” He pretended to push me over as I laughed exaggeratedly. “What are you doing all the way over here anyway? Are you contemplating suicide already? It’s only your first week in Cairo darling you should save that for the finale, being the drama queen that you are.”
“Oh please.” I looked turned my back to the river and looked at the bar for no reason. We paused for a minute; he set one elbow against the rail. “Besides, all you French lot were over here when I arrived, somehow the crowd managed to distance themselves and form a radius around me, but I guess I know how you francophones feel about deodorant.”
He frowned, giving me a dismissive top-to-bottom glance and sipping some more bubbly. “You said _____ would come.”
“Yeah, well, he didn’t.” I snapped.
Taking the hint, he said no more and shifted his position, now with his back also to the river. In the distance three new couples strolled in. I recognized two of the women’s faces. They held on to their tiny purses as the maitre ushered them and their partners to their tables. One of them excused herself, heading towards the ladies room, her maroon dress revealing a nicely tanned bosom.
“AN’s finally here, with CL.” Y exclaimed. I looked again towards the entrance and noticed both men almost skipping to where we were. AN stopped halfway, looked around, and feigned nausea. I giggled. AN’s one of those people that can turn anything into a French and Saunders. Armed with a vicious sense of humor, admirable intelligence, and southern American accent, one can only defer.
“Darling,” he said as he came towards me.
“Oh, I missed you, sweety.” I gave him a long hug. I unwrapped myself and looked towards CL.
“CL, really good to see you again.”
“Hi X, you too!” We hugged. I had only known CL briefly before I left for university in England, he was closer to my age and we’d met through a mutual friend.
AN looked around at the party, nausea returning to his face. “Darling, remind me, why am I here?”
Y gave him a playfully dirty look, “I ask myself the same question.”
“Sweety,” I explained, “where would the glitterati of Cairo be without you?”
“‘Cheers, thanks a lot.’” He signaled a waiter with a tray of champagne glasses, then, continuing the Patsy from Ab Fab routine, he added, “‘Buns so tight they were bouncing of the walls’.”
I smiled. The waiter arrived, and Y raised his glass in toast. “Vive la France!” AN pretended to choke, then actually did. We all laughed.
“Is it the fourteenth already?” CL wondered, looking at his watch aimlessly.
“Unfortunately,” AN added, patting himself on the chest.
“I propose a toast to revolution, to the courage in shedding one’s skin of all that holds him down.” I lifted my glass and maintained my smile. I could feel my face brighten up. AN raised an eyebrow, and then his glass. Y and CL joined.
We spent a minute in silence. The music had winded down and now only the pianist was playing a nostalgic, pianissimo tune. The warm breeze had slightly picked up, fluttering my tie occasionally. The laughter was more audible. I closed my eyes.
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