The First Woman

I woke up in a perfectly dark room which, when I opened the heavy drapes was cool upstairs bedroom within my suite at the Hotel Bonaventure in Montreal. I had slept the sleep of the dead for about fifteen hours.

The day before, I moved some of my belongings in the from the car like my twelve-string, some clothes and the portable CD player. I tried to nap but I was too wired from various caffeine delivery methods to really sleep. I spent some time in the parts of the city I knew, got room service and fell dead asleep at about 6pm.

The next day was a beautiful fall morning but not for George Harrison. Music Plus was featuring retrospectives and interviews with various celebrities to get their take of passing of the Beatles' lead guitarist. There was one guy, Daniel Boucher, who had some interesting things to say. The subtitle next to Daniel Boucher's name on the bottom of the screen was Interprete.

I chuckeled to myself and thought, "What a touchy-feely ridiculous title that was. Did that mean he was a singer? His accent was strong and a lot like my grandparents. I was sure if Interprete might have meant that he was one of those guys to reenacts history like that Plimoth Planation.

Anyway, I got up. I drove up rue Berri to St-Denis. I parked. I saw the scary poster of Blair (the exorcist). I went into the Red Dragon (for the first time). I spoke to a saleswoman about the products. I explain what I was doing in Montreal.

I explained that although I spoke French well from studying french literature in college and from my family. I didn't know how to ask a woman out on a date. She said that depended what I wanted to do on the date. I said, maybe go to dinner. She told me. I thank her.

I asked her out to dinner. She said no. I ask her was her name was. She said Ève. I had never heard that name said in French so I asked her to say it again. She repeated. I asked her how that was spelt.

She said, "È-v-e, t'sais? L'épouse d'Adam?"