Talkin' to Strangers...a Brief Encounter

“Son, never talk to strangers,” my mother would say. “Why,” I replied. “Because I said so…stop asking stupid questions.” Today my mother’s advice was a distant whisper in my ears.

The mundane lunch of chicken, carrots and Waldorf salad occupied my attention as I sat inconspicuously in a local Village diner. It was just another “average” day on the island. It could have been anywhere.

Average, that is, until they walked into the restaurant. No, they sauntered in, elegant, confident, intriguing. The place suddenly went silent. Forks dropped audibly in response to their arrival. Wow, I thought. They were strangers for sure, possibly French.

The couple was seated in the small table next to me. Some days you just get lucky, I thought. He was a sharp dresser, expensive threads…possibly an artist or actor. No one here would wear a double-breasted blue blazer with a yellow ascot and a matching blue beret. He was cool, stylish, but a little over-the-top.

However, it was his “companion” that drew all the attention. She was tall, maybe 5’ 10” or so, tanned, with long, coal-black, shoulder-length hair. Its sheen reflected the midday sunlight and sparkled like the diamonds she wore. She was stunningly dressed in black, pencil-thin Dior jeans, high-spiked Prada’s and a blazing red Versace T-shirt. Disarming. Surely an actress.

Her T-shirt glittered in gold-emblazoned letters, obliterating Mama’s warning:

Women Who Behave
Rarely Make History

Abandoning the chicken and carrots, I eased my chair over, inquiring, “Hello, may I join you?” Before "No" could be uttered, I introduced myself, welcoming them to the island. Things went smoothly at first. Fluent in English but with an aristocratic, French flair, they revealed an amazing story. Unfortunately, the details are too steamy for a family-oriented magazine.

We laughed through lunch, swapping stories, oblivious to the other patrons. Diners came and went in a steady parade of curiosity. Women bristled with envy as men eyeballed the statement on the red T-shirt. I couldn’t help thinking that this couple helped out some marriages that night and destroyed some others. But everybody went home changed!

I pushed my luck with inquisitiveness. Their rejoinders seemed genuine, spoken with measured, but furtive, glances across the table. I said, “Why are you here?” He said, “Exciting plans.” I said, “Explain them.” She said, “They involve a yacht, the beach and movies.” I said, “Where?” He said, “Cumberland Island.” I said, “When?” She said, “Today. Why do you ask these questions?” I said, “Because I am an American with curiosity.” She said, “Are all Americans this way?” I said, “No. Most are shy.” I lied.

Maybe it was the comment about being American, and them being French, but the ambient air at the table began to chill. Pressing on. I said, “What’s the movie’s theme?” He said, “It’s really none of your business.” I said, “Why so secretive?” She said, “You Americans are all alike, pushy.” I said, “What makes you say that?” He said, “In Paris, we are not so intrusive with total strangers.” I said, “Look, in the South we’re friendly.” She said, “I’m beginning to think too friendly. “ I said, “Did your mothers also tell you not to talk to strangers?” He said, “Of course, why do you ask such silly questions?”

Undeterred, I said, “Perhaps I could be your tour guide.” She said, “Why you?” I said, “Well, for one reason, I know the folks around here, and Georgia was where the movie Deliverance was filmed.” He said, “I saw that movie…shocking. Are there really people like that in the South?” I said, “You bet. Are there really people like Humbert Humbert in Paris?” She said, “Yes, they are mostly of Italian or Aryan descent.” I said, “Ours are from Alabama.” We all laughed at this. I said, “Can I tag along with you today?” He said, “You must be kidding?” I reluctantly relented.

The dialogue finally ran out. They had indeed been interesting strangers. They accepted my offer to pay their bill. I guess they thought they had made my day and were entitled. The French think this way. The brief encounter had ended…life moved on.

My glistening eyes apparently caught her attention as we walked out. The humid sunlight of the early afternoon dispelled the chill between us. We exchanged cheek kisses and au revoir. They sauntered off as they had strolled in.

In a backward glance, she turned, smiled and winked, again showing the message on the T-shirt. She said,”Dinner tonight?” I said,”I’d love to.” She said, “Delightful. About eight, then? The Lodge?” I said, “I’ll be there!” He said, “Then I will tell you the rest of the story. Until then.” I said, “Until then.”

I went home, dialed heaven, and had a long chat with my mother, reminding her that “Women Who Behave Rarely Make History.” Try Talkin’ to Strangers…make some history of your own!


Bud Hearn
May 9, 2009