Bernard

Bernard hurries through the train station carrying more pots and pans than clothes. Texting the maître d to make sure she has the restaurant under control, he sighs as his precious cargo rattles behind him. Several onlookers stare in either amusement or confusion as he rushes by. Bernard looks down at his shoes; the thought of others staring at him when he’s not cooking leaves him feeling naked.

He passes by a convenience bakery near the entrance and notices two children screaming at their parents to buy them some macarons, or “color cookies” they kept yelling. Obviously, the parents give off the energy of volcanoes seconds from exploding, so Bernard walks faster. He knows full well about the dangers of interfering with families of unruly children. His mind turns to the price of the macarons, $20 for a pack of 10, which is a basic rip-off even in the French Riviera.

Sitting on a bench, Bernard pulls out the playing card from his letter, holding it tightly. His mind wanders from the bustling train station and goes back in time.

“Is it good?” Bernard asks, wringing his hands.

Mr. Cash lifts one eyebrow and casts his glance down towards a half-eaten macaron.

“Please sir, I need to know if I need to improve anything.”

Mr. Cash remains silent.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

Bernard starts to walk away, then hears the loud tap on the table. A deck of playing cards lies next to the utensils.

Mr. Cash looks up and smiles ruefully.

Bernard sighs and begins to shuffle the deck.

After one drawing, Mr. Cash proudly shows his cards, one pair.

Bernard smirks and shows his own cards, four of a kind.

“I win,” Mr. Cash says.

“No sir, I’m the winner. My hand is higher than yours.”

Mr. Cash laughs. “I believe you’re incorrect. It is my opinion that my hand is the superior one.”

“Hold on.” Bernard says, “That’s your opinion, not a fact. I’m sorry, Mr. Cash, but the fact is that I’m the winner.”

“So, it appears you are more eager to defend playing cards than your own cooking?”

Bernard blushes.

“That’s okay Bernard,” Mr. Cash laughs, “Remember that certain people do not always admire certain foods, that does not always mean it’s not good but rather it’s their opinion.”

Bernard nods.

Mr. Cash smiles, immediately picks up the half-eaten macaron and gobbles it.

“I want to teach you a valuable lesson, but not at the expense of a marvelous macaron.”

Both men laugh for a long time.

Bernard comes out of his memories and hails a taxi, taking care that his playing card is safe in his bag.