Inspired by Edouard Manet (1832-1883) – The Plum (around 1877) – Oil on canvas – 15,75 x 11,81 inch

Like every day of the week, at 19:00 sharp, Mado walks in my cafe almost like a queen. Tonight she’s dressed in her pale pink dress, slightly worn, and her hard blue hat. I love her in this outfit. She’s my favorite regular. By the way, I’m Gaston! A couple of years ago, I bought this half-shabby bar for peanuts to a half-drunk guy near Montmartre. And since then, I have always tried to make it a good place, a place where you like meeting friends, a place where no one is afraid to drown its loneliness.

Mado orders me her little plum as she passes by and goes straight to the fake marble table at the back, sits on the plum bench seat, just in front of my grandmother’s “Art Deco” frame. She is the only one allowed to smoke her cigarette. No customer has ever complained so far this privilege. Perhaps they noticed that I had some kind of crush on my princess coming from far far away. She remains still for hours, until closing time in fact, her head bowed, her cheek resting on her right hand, the other one busy holding her butt. Staring into space, her mind wandering in the past, Mado has this pouty pout of hers that drives me nuts.

Mado? But is this her name? Her real first name? I do not know ! I never asked her. I never dared, actually. She impresses me, I can’t help it. Her deep blue eyes, when they stare at me, literally knock me out. Is she aware of that? I do not think so. Mado is not a manipulative kind of person. She is more like “I have suffered, I am still suffering, I will always suffer” kind of person.

As I begin to close the doors, my customers come out one after the other, greeting me briefly for some, more warmly for others. Suddenly, a lightning rips the sky, thunder roars shortly after, a flood of rain falls on the sidewalks becoming slippery. My Mado, last one to leave the place, hesitates to cross the threshold. I gather up my courage and offers to walk her home, sheltered under my umbrella. She stares at me then smiles. I blush, unwillingly, drop a few incoherent words, lower the iron curtain, take her arm and welcome her to follow me.