Walking up to the old zinc bar in Café La Palette.
***
I hardly noticed the older gentleman who'd shuffled up next to me at the cafe’s zinc bar and now stood at my side. The morning hummed with the scent of roasted coffee beans and the faintest air of magic. So far, we were the only ones at the counter, each absorbed in our own tiny espresso cup.
"Excusez-moi Madame. Pourriez-vous me passer le sucre?” he murmured, leaning in slightly closer. I slid the sugar bowl his way, and he smiled. That was the moment I realized I was peering into the eyes of Marcello Mastroianni, yes that Marcello, a man whose films I adored with a fervor reserved for truffles and rainy afternoons. Here was the dashing Italian heart-throb, the on (and off)-screen suitor to some of the world’s most famous and beautiful actresses, all charm and elegance. Curiously he'd always reminded me a little of my own dear father. And now, this man whose cheeks bore a scruffy shadow, his long coat draped like a weary traveler’s cloak, wearing a hat and neckscarf giving him the air of having just wandered off the pages of a storybook - I remember thinking he fell short of being short - was looking at me with a twinkle in his eye: he recognized that I’d recognized him. And that was enough. Nothing more was said, nothing needed to be said. Not that long after I was to learn that he lived a short distance from Café La Palette and sadly, had passed away. - BPJ
MARCELLO MASTROIANNI
1924 - 1996
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Even the most miserable life is better than a sheltered existence in an organized society where everything is calculated and perfected. - Steiner to Mastroanni in "La Dolce Vita"
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