a call for monsieur dunaub

the warm breeze lifted the soft fragrances of the white gladioli and summer delphinium up into the dizzying heights over the sea, then silently pushed them back down along the eastern jet stream across the azure blue coastline of saint tropez. “monsieur dunaub?” the waiter called out over the vast stone balcony of the hotel le beauvallon. a dark tanned man in a white striped sailing jacket rose his hand up slightly without averting his gaze from the sea. the waiter steadied the phone on the upheld tray as he negotiated the labyrinth of café tables and various nonchalant guests until he reached monsieur dunaub. “a telephone call for your monsieur.” the waiter spoke as he leaned down with one white gloved hand firmly behind his back. monsieur dunaub reached into his jacket and casually removed a gitanes from a small silver case, tapped it twice on the edge, then placed the cigarette in his mouth. “who is it?” monsieur dunaub said softly without looking up at the young man. jim laughed. “who is who?” jim said as he shook dan’s shoulder. “wake up you poor bastard, your starting to burn.” dan opened his eyes in a daze and could feel the heat of his skin. his squinting eyes struggling to adjust to the blinding flashes of the children thrashing in the pool. “great.” he mumbled as he removed a cold beer from the cooler and walked over to a chair that sat in the cool shade of the buildings corner overhang. he opened the beer and sat it protectively under his seat without taking a drink. he folded his arms and rested his chin on his chest as the sounds of laughing and splashing slowly faded away. “i am so sorry monsieur dunaub, but she is waiting.” the young waiter said holding the tray a little closer to his reach. monsieur dunaub held his gaze on the distant white caps that danced on the sparkling french sea. “thank you sir, but i am not to be disturbed.”