Chapter 10: Juliette

Dylan Duke was at Juliette, a restaurant in Monte Carlo known for its unequaled cuisine and views of the bay, but more particularly for its owner, M. Luc Godard, who had banned presidents, sheiks, and IT moguls alike from his restaurant for showing up late. You were expected to arrive on time at Juliette, no exceptions, so when Jill texted saying she needed more time to get ready, the decision was made that Dylan would head there first, to spare Godard’s wrath. Dylan arrived early and was taken out to the patio where a rectangular table that could have easily seated six awaited him with two chairs placed at opposite ends.

He looked at the two chairs set up as if for a king and queen at a renaissance festival. With him at one end and her at the other, there would be no hand holding during dinner, something which after a day of sightseeing, they now did with ease, their fingers lacing and slipping from each other again and again. Dylan looked out at the bay now glittering in the dusk. This was the perfect place for an epic kiss, but how was that to happen when they would be seated so far apart?

When Dylan asked a server if a chair could be moved, the server wagged a finger at him. “Everything here is, comment vous dites, choreographed.” You cannot move a chair at Juliette, it would upset the order, the precision, the balance.”

“Oh,” said Dylan. The server cocked his eyebrow in a way that said, Silly American and left. Determined to not let the night fall apart, Dylan was in the middle of thinking of alternate epic kiss locations, (possibly the hotel’s balcony ) when his phone rang.

“Namaste, Bro!” said Mahalo. “How’s it going?”

“Going good.”

“I hope that means you’ve kissed her.”

“Not yet.”

Mahalo exhaled long and loud into the phone. “You’re the only multi-millionaire that doesn’t got game.”

“We’re close! I’m working on it. Speaking of work—”

“Nope. Nope, nope, nope. We’re not going to talk about the launch.”

“Which is fine, I’m just wondering how you feel it’s going.”

“Dylan, amigo, we got this. The team, your team, the one you handpicked is on fire working round the clock. Trust them.”

“I do.”

“And focus on kissing that lovely woman. Here’s a little advice for you…”

Dylan shrugged. “Unsolicited, but okay.”

“You gotta stay chill like your boy Mahalo here who shot par today. Not at all bad for a surfer.”

“Why are you referring to yourself in the third person?”

“Never mind that. My point is stay loose! The minute you tense up, that ball is going in the bushes.”

“Good advice if I were currently at Top Golf,” said Dylan, scanning the restaurant for any sight of Jill.

“Good advice period. But seriously, how’s it going with our high school amiga?”

“It’s good. It’s coming along. There just hasn’t been the right moment….”

“I hear you, I hear you. What you need is a mantra.”

“For what?”

“To help you get out of your own way. This is Jill, the ultimate total primo package and you struggle to feel worthy of her. There was a shred of truth to what Mahalo was saying. Dylan didn’t deny it. “

“How’s a mantra going to help me?”

“Bruh, it’s a power statement. Something to help you take control of the situation and be a freaking rockstar.”

Dylan’s eyes flitted toward the lobby once again, but this time instead of feeling disappointed that Jill hadn’t yet arrived, he was relieved. It seemed he needed a mantra. “Okay, what should it be?”

“This isn’t something you google, man. And I can’t make it up for you. You’ve got to search your heart.”

Dylan looked out at the twinkling city lights hugging the curved shoreline. “A statement to turn me into a rockstar.”

“Bingo! Look, I’ve got to go, but you got this. Rest easy about the launch because we got that. Just dig deep, find your mantra, kiss Jill, and if possible, let it spiral into--”

“Dude!” Just then, through the wall of glass that separated the restaurant from its patio, Dylan saw Jill standing in the lobby. She was beautifully, achingly, hopelessly, miraculously…everything—everything he’d ever wanted. His breath hitched in his chest and a chill shuddered through him as he watched her follow a server who Dylan thought appeared possibly (you could never be sure about these things) pregnant out to the patio.

“This is your moment,” he told himself. Under pressure that was the best he could do for a mantra. Jill, who didn’t speak French and the server who appeared to not speak English, were carrying on a conversation through hand signals and smiles. So like her, he thought, always putting people at ease. Well…except me. She wore a white off the shoulder dress that showed just enough leg to trigger memories of her in her Auburndale High cheer uniform. Back then, it was a sight that always turned his knees to jelly, and the only thing that had changed since then was that he was better at hiding it. Walking toward her, he took her confidently by both hands and kissed her cheek. “You look like a million bucks.”

Jill fingered one of her chandelier earrings. “I look like a million bucks because I’m wearing a million bucks, which is no exaggeration. The jeweler said to pick whatever I wanted, so I went big,” she said, pointing at a necklace from which hung what appeared to be a five-carat yellow diamond.”

“I’m glad you didn’t hold back,” he said, looking into her eyes. This is your moment!

She shrugged. “Wearing giant diamonds is one of those things that gets easier the more you do it, but I don’t think the jeweler feels the same. He’s got a couple security guys out front.” She took in the sight of their table with the chairs at opposite ends. “What the?”

Dylan offered her his arm and together they walked over to the table. “Apparently,” he said as he pulled out a chair for her, this is the perfect set up, and can’t be altered.”

Jill scooted her chair toward the table. “Okay then, should we send each other smoke signals?” she asked.

“Either that or carrier pigeons,” said Dylan taking his seat at the opposite end and flashing her a smile.

Jill cupped her mouth. “You look nice too, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“And I had the loveliest day.”

“I’m glad,” he said, thinking of the one moment during the day when they came close to experiencing their epic kiss. They were inside the cathedral that sat in the main square in town. Light was filtering in through the stain glass and a boys’ choir was practicing, filling the cavernous space with sweet, piercing music. Dylan looked at Jill dappled with light as the chorus swelled their song and his love for her almost knocked him over. She was lovely and interesting, feisty and funny, and here she was, standing next to him, craning to see the frescoes on the cathedral ceiling. He was certain this was the moment, and not just because the choir was hitting all the high notes. He could feel it in his bones. But as soon as he leaned toward her, she pushed him away. “Dylan!” she’d hissed, her eyes darting to a nearby group of nuns. “This is neither the time nor the place.” This little reprimand hadn’t bothered him at all. She wasn’t friend zoning him. He could feel that she wanted to kiss him just as much as he wanted to kiss her which was freaking mind blowing. It was all coming down to when, and with any luck tonight would be the night.

Jill cupped her mouth again. “Time for a confession.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, gesturing at the tables nearby.

“Yep, I’ve waited long enough.”

“Okay then.”

“I had a crush on you all through high school.”

Dylan’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. There was so much he wanted to ask her, but right then it was time to order. Distracted, he pointed at a few dishes he recognized from previous trips to France that he thought she’d enjoy, asked Jill if she wanted to add anything, which she didn’t, and then waited as their server, the possibly pregnant young woman, poured their Tattinger champagne with a fairly severe grimace. Why? Who cared! He leaned forward. “Wait! You had a crush on me!” he said, a little too loud for the table of five. A few in their party turned and gave him a disapproving look.

Jill pressed a finger to her lips, reminding him to keep it down. She, like the jewels she wore, sparkled in the evening. “I am not kidding.”

“But you…” He lowered his voice. “you constantly yelled at me.”

“What can I say? Bossy is my love language. Or it was back then. I think I was afraid, or just stupid. I was just a kid. We were just kids,” she said, looking as best she could into his eyes from such a distance.

“I have a confession to make too,” said Dylan, his heart pounding from this revelation. She had liked him? Jill Caruthers had had a crush on him! He had so much to say, but their grimacing possibly pregnant server was back again, this time with bread and pesto. They waited until the server. holding her back, retreated.

“Spill it, Dylan,” she said, reaching to tear off a chunk of bread and dip it in the pesto.

“High School graduation…”

Jill held up a hand. “Dylan, you don’t have to go there.”

“No, really. It’s something I’ve wanted to tell you. It was stupid to love bomb you at graduation. I should have just let it be what it was supposed to be—our high school graduation. And I’m so sorry I embarrassed you.”

Jill gave the plate of greens an aproned young man had just placed before her a bashful smile. “Another confession,” she said, lifting her eyes to his again. “I may have been embarrassed at the time, but I was also flattered. You did all that for me. You rented a camel--” She tilted her head back and laughed which always had the power to make his heart zing.

Dylan cleared his throat. “About the camel…”

“I think we need to talk about it. We’ve put off the camel far too long,” she said as server after server filled the table with one delectable dish after another. Jill took a bite and closed her eyes, savoring the explosion of flavor.

“It was as big a surprise to me as it was to you that the banner said what it said. I mean, I would never do that.”

“You would never ask me to marry you?”

“That came out wrong.”

“Another confession,” said Jill, this time her brow knitting for some unknown reason. “More times than I can tell you, I’ve imagined what my life would have been like if instead of running from you at that moment, I would have run toward you. You working on your business and me working my way through nursing school, but instead of doing it solo, together. Coming home at the end of the day to you. The thought has always agreed with me.”

“Wow, I did not see you saying that.” He put his hand to his chest, only half noticing her eyes fixing on their server off to the side. “So good. I mean, let’s face it. I have been crazy about you since sophomore year phys ed. I mean, you were the reason I could never score a basket. I just couldn’t keep my eyes off you. It was like you were surrounded by a halo of light. Who knows maybe it had something to do with my contact prescription, but you were like an angel, and I got tongue tied every time I was around you, so I didn’t mind your bossing me around since I barely had the courage say anything to you. Jill? Jill?”

Dylan watched as Jill rushed to the possibly pregnant server who was standing in a pool of water. She eased the young woman into a chair as unchoreographed murmurs rippled across the patio. Dylan rushed to Jill’s side and was about to ask what he should do when M. Luc Godard burst onto the patio. “What is this!” he cried, but without an expected note of anger. All of the reports Dylan had heard of his strict approach to punctuality had him thinking the guy was probably a jerk. Whether he was or not it was too soon to tell, but Dylan was glad he wasn’t angry at his young employee who clearly appeared to be in trouble.

“Who are you?” asked Jill, her eyes fixed on the second hand of a clock hanging nearby as she held the young woman’s wrist.

“I am Monsonsier Godard, owner of Juliette.”

“Mister Godard, I’m Jill an American nurse with labor and delivery experience. I need you to call for an ambulance.” She had said it nicely but considering what Dylan had heard about this M. Godard guy, he held his breath and waited for him to start shouting about no one giving him orders in his restaurant. But he did nothing of the sort.

Eyes filled with worry, he said, “I’m sorry, but there are no ambulances because of a strike.”

“A strike? What the?”

The young woman jerked her head and grimaced in pain.

“Then bring a car, any car.”

M. Luc Godard’s eyes fell. “There is standing traffic on all major thoroughfares because of Euro Fest.”

“Another stifled scream came from the young woman, making Dylan jump a little. He raked a hand through his hair, wishing there was something he could do to help her.

“What is her name?” asked Jill

“Claudette,” said M. Godard. “She is new. We wait a month before members of staff receive their Juliette nametag.” Jill pressed gently on Claudette’s stomach and the young woman roiled in pain. “What are we to do?”

“Mister Godard,” she said in a voice both soothing and commanding, “you are going to do your job and I’ll do mine.”

“What do you need?”

“I need the patio cleared.”

“No problem. We can move all patrons inside.”

“Claudette deserves privacy so please, lower the blinds.”

Godard snapped his fingers, gave his orders ( or Jill’s orders) to his employees and they fell to work, moving customers, lowering the blinds, making the patio Claudette’s.

Jill and M. Godard worked well together, neither one letting their ego get in the way of the task at hand. As she comforted Claudette, she told Godard the things she was going to need: towels, linens, a basin, protective goggles, gloves, paper, pen. He nodded as he wrote down each item. The restaurant’s first-aid kit, and their thinnest, sharpest knife.

Godard tugged at his collar. “A knife, Mon Dieu!” he croaked.

“Just in case,” assured Jill. “Also, ask Claudette if she has a friend she’d like to help her.” He did and the young woman shook her head.

“She says everyone is nice, but she hasn’t been here long enough to make that kind of friend.”

“Would you like to stay and help, Mister Godard?” asked Jill.

M. Godard rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, but I faint at the sight of blood.”

“There will be plenty of that. It’s okay. Take care of your customers, assure those who know that she’s in good hands.”

Anxiety rising inside him, Dylan watched Godard pat Claudette on the shoulder and retreat inside his restaurant. “Wait, Jill. Who’s going to help you?”

“You are.”

He felt his neck splotch. “But… we don’t speak French.”

“That’s fine. Motherhood has its own language. And, a multimillionaire like yourself has got to have a translation app.”

Dylan pulled out his phone. “Hadn’t thought of that.”

The table where Jill and Dylan had been eating was now sterilized and padded with tablecloths. Jill helped Claudette lay on her side on the table, and momentarily, the young woman appeared at peace. “Okay, we need to get her pants off,” said Jill, placing a makeshift pillow beneath her head.

“Uh…okay,” stammered Dylan, closing one eye as he flipped off one Claudette’s clogs.

“Keep her socks on. She might get the chills, though I gotta say, this is a perfect night for delivering a baby outdoors.”

Dylan flipped off her other shoe. “Not what I expected to hear you say about tonight.”

Jill tried to pull the waistband of Claudette’s pants over the swell of her stomach but it made her shudder with pain. “You gotta look on the bright side, Dylan. No, this isn’t the way this poor woman envisioned giving birth or the way we thought our evening would go, but it is a beautiful night, the moon is full and the stars are shining. All good things. Hand me those scissors.”

Dylan closed his eyes. “You’re not going to…cut her already.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Taking the scissors, Jill cut at the waistband until the pants were easy to slip off, and instantly Claudette appeared to breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m going to be taking off her underwear.”

Dylan gulped. “Uh…”

“Just stay by her face, hold her hand. I’ll be here at the business end. If I need you I’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” Dylan croaked.

Another contraction hit and Claudette moaned softly in pain. “Dylan, her hand.”

“Okay,” he said, taking her hand in his, half expecting her to pull free, but she didn’t.

“Tell her something.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. Jill who was now masked up and wearing the pastry chef’s protective googles was examining Claudette. “Something to give her courage. And breathe with her. hee hee who. She needs to do that during the contractions to lessen the pain.”

“Okay,” he said and typed in his mantra to the translate on app on his phone. Chest heaving, Claudette looked at the night sky with eyes filled with terror. Holding her hand, he crouched near her, “C’est votre moment,” he said, careful to keep his voice soothing like Jill’s. He was sure his accent was terrible, but Claudette with a tear streaming down her cheek nodded and repeated the mantra. The two had communicated and it seemed to have helped her. Dylan could have jumped for joy, but there wasn’t time for celebrating. Claudette was having another contraction, all while Jill was “assessing” the situation. Dylan hee hee whoed and repeated the mantra as Jill in addition to everything else she was doing, took notes.

“She’s fully dilatated and completely effaced. It’s showtime. Can you tell her that?”

Through the app, Dylan when he wasn’t hee hee whoing told Claudette the news.

Can you ask her where her boyfriend is. Can he get here?

Dylan asked Claudette and through the app she explained that he was working on an oil rig and wouldn’t be home for two weeks.

Jill smiled. “Well, we can’t wait for that.”

Another wave of pain hit Claudette and Dylan got to work, holding her hand, repeating the mantra and breathing with her. It was then that Dylan felt it, this sense of teamwork that existed between the three of them. It was exhilarating. He had assembled teams in the past. Launch teams, idea teams, you name it. But in the end, he had always gotten scared. He hadn’t been a team player. And while sure the results had been phenomenal, he now felt that somehow, he’d robbed himself of something, something he and those that worked for him should have experienced. He felt embarrassed, but not because Claudette was spreading her legs wider. That, at the moment, was no big deal. He was embarrassed that he had insisted on doing it all.

“This next contraction, it’s time to push,” said Jill. Dylan helped Claudette scoot to the end of the table where Jill sat with first-aid kit and other supplies close by.

“She’s so quiet in contractions,” said Dylan to Jill as Claudette closed her eyes, sleeping before the next onslaught of pain.

“She’s giving birth at a Michelin rated restaurant. I don’t think she wants to ruin anyone’s dinner.”

“They’re awfully quiet in there too.”

“I think they’re all aware and worried for her.”

“Should they be worried?” asked Dylan. “I mean…”

“Never lose hope,” she said as Claudette tensed with pain.

“C’est votre moment,” Dylan whispered as she squeezed his hand and pushed with all her might. Above, a flock of birds silhouetted black against the moon and a star dip from heaven to whatever lay beneath.

“Push,” said Jill calmly.

“Push, Claudette,” he said, copying Jill’s calm tone.

“I can see…” started Jill.

“C’est votre moment,” said Dylan as it seemed the pain might be too much for Claudette.

“What do you see?” asked Dylan sounding every bit the nervous father.

“I see an enormous amount of black hair. Here’s your baby, mama. One more big push. You’ve got it in you,” said Jill, none of which Claudette needed translated. Lifting herself higher, she pushed with a ferocity that surprised Dylan, and then the head was out. “So much hair, and will you look at that.” Jill held up a beautiful, bloody baby. “You’ve got yourself a little girl.”

“Juliette,” whispered her mother.

“Seems fitting,” said Jill.

For a moment all was quiet as if everyone inside the restaurant was holding their breath, and then Juliette let forth a lusty cry and a cheer erupted from inside, making Dylan and Claudette laugh. Jill was too busy for laughter. She was attending to Claudette and taking more notes. Inside the restaurant, they began to sing a song Dylan didn’t recognize, but it made Claudette smile.

Her baby snuggled to her skin, Claudette was tucked in M. Godard’s BMW along with everything Jill felt needed to make the trip the hospital. There was a flurry of activity outside the restaurant, people taking pictures from afar, shouting well wishes to the young mother, horns honking, sirens blaring, although none unfortunately from an ambulance for Claudette and Juliette.

“Hey,” said Jill to Dylan, standing by the car. “Thank you. You did a great job back there.” She intertwined her fingers with his. “I’m impressed. You’re a team player.” Jill stepped a little closer, her blood-soaked dress almost touching his jacket. “And that mantra. It was perfect.” She stepped even closer. Dylan gulped. “You Dylan, you were perfect.” Jill tipped her chin upward. Eyes half hooded and lips parted, she was ready! It was time for their epic kiss! Only Dylan could see goo (was it after birth?) in her hair, and a smear of blood still grazed her cheek.

“Jill,” said Dylan taking a step back. “I can’t kiss you.”

She opened her eyes and lowered a gaze on him. “Are you serious?”

“Jill.”

“But this is the moment, for our epic kiss, Dylan. We just delivered a baby together.”

Dylan raised his hands as if in surrender. “You were amazing tonight, and I’ve never wanted to kiss you more, but right now…you look like you work at Halloween Horror Nights.” Jill who had just put her arms around his neck and dropped them to her sides. “Babe, don’t me mad.”

“Sweetheart, I’m not mad.” she said, climbing into the BMW.

“Honey, I swear I will make out with for days, it’s just that goo by your bangs--”

She closed the door and blew him a kiss through the open window. “Don’t wait up.”

“Are you mad?”

The roar of the engine as M. Godard sped toward the hospital was his only reply.