Sketching in a Cemetery, Paris 1998
Recently I headed to my favorite local cafe for a dinner break with a slim book, The Quiet American by Graham Greene. I looked forward to some good background music and a healthy fresh meal on dishes I wouldn’t have to wash afterwards. I’d been writing much of the day and preparing sketches for a new painting. Preoccupied with afterimages from the sketching session, I didn’t notice the notebook on my table after I placed my order.
A man around my age suddenly sat down across from me. I looked up from my book, startled, and he belatedly asked, “Mind if I sit here?” Actually, I did mind. He was good-looking: tall and slender with tousled curly hair, nice clothes that hadn’t seen an iron in awhile, but even if I had been single, I would’ve had no time for him.
“I’m working,” I said, though hadn’t thought of it that way before. I was reading The Quiet American for the fifth time for pleasure but also for the book I’m writing: to sift through Greene’s prose looking for his impressions of a Vietnam that disappeared decades before my first visit there. This guy was apparently a friend of a friend, but I had no interest in distraction by strangers, whatever their intentions. The man stood up, apologized, and left with his notebook.
In the past I’ve always focused on either writing or visual work; rarely have I done both at once intensely, simultaneously as I am now. Until I wrote a friend I didn’t realize how packed my schedule is these days:
8am-9am: Writing online
9am-Noon: Misc. admin or head straight into painting/visual work
Noon-1pm: Lunch and misc. emails
1pm-5/6: Visual work – painting, photography, printing
6-9pm: Yoga class, dinner, online writing, etc
9pm-Midnight/2am: Offline writing, sometimes Twitter
But this schedule is my choice: in order to complete the book and Calendar Girls in time for a US tour next fall, this is what I’ve got to do. For the next several months. The daily accomplishments keep me going: meeting my word counts, adding highlights and midtones to a painting.
And, really, who wouldn’t rather have dinner with Graham Greene than with a stranger?
….She walked into the café carrying a slim book. I recognised her as someone who a friend had introduced me to. Glossy dark hair, stunning eyes and cherry red lips. But the thing that struck me most was that she just looked…..interesting.
What an opportunity! Instead of working on my notes, I could enjoy a glass or two of wine and find out just how interesting she could be. But how to approach her?
I decided to be direct – she didn’t seem the sort to enjoy dalliance. “Mind if I sit here?”
A piercing stare from those eyes, a moment’s hesitation during which I could hear my heart beating.
“I’m working.” The eyes flickered down to the book on the table.
“I’m sorry.”
I guess if I have to lose out, I could do worse than to do so to Graham Greene.
Mike, I knew you were a good writer but here you’ve proven you’re poet too. I like your take on the other side of the table.
Love this! And I love the comment above; well done.
I finally read The Quiet American in London this spring. It was great company while I snuggled in my bed in Bloomsbury.
I like that you are reading it for the setting. Enjoy picking out that thread.
In the 2002 movie, Michael Caine was perfect, but Brendan Fraser didn’t work for me as Pyle.