Brasserie Romantiek Page #5

- Still alive?

- Yes.

That's lucky. Just imagine

what you would've missed.

- Can we leave now, Walter?

- I'm just going to wash my hands.

What did he say?

Sorry.

I don't get it. I don't understand.

- We're a couple, aren't we?

- No, no, no, Paul.

We're an economic unit.

I just don't understand.

I'm shocked.

We've been together for 17 years

and I've been as faithful as a dog.

Maybe I should call you Blackie then.

Do you realise I've had

opportunities to..., you know?

The hostesses at car shows with

necklines that plunged to Australia...

some of them really fancied me.

I had opportunities too,

but I was able to say no.

Opportunities? You had the opportunities

you wanted but I didn't.

You have no right to be shocked.

You've always done what you wanted.

You thrived in your showroom.

But not me.

I was at home making sandwiches,

organising summer camps,

extra tuition...

- You're never home.

- Don't exaggerate.

You're always at some car show

selling someone an expensive car.

- Who brings in the money?

- For heaven's sake!

I used to have brains. Talent. You know

I did. That's why you fell for me.

- Now everything in my head's gone quiet.

- That's not true.

- You've still got brains.

- Of course I have.

- I don't mean that.

- What then?

I know you inside out,

I know what you think.

You know all about

gaskets and carburettors

but nothing about a knock in my engine.

- What about the Sheychelles?

- What?

- The Sheychelles.

- The Sh... The Seychelles, Paul.

You mean 'the discussion'. That was

three years ago, nothing's changed.

No, no, no, Paul. Paul!

There need to be some drastic changes.

Our marriage is a prison, pal.

It's like f***ing Alcatraz!

- Everything OK, sir, madam?

- Great, great.

- No. What is your most expensive wine?

- Oh, oh, oh.

- Red or white, madam?

- Red.

- Roos.

- Red.

- We've got a very good...

- Fine. Is it your most expensive one?

- Definitely. But with the next course...

- Sold.

- Sis.

- Don't, Angelo.

Come here, come here.

- This is our life, Sis.

- You're interrupting your flow.

Brasserie Romantiek

is yours and mine.

Our life is here. Isn't it?

Leave here and you've got nothing.

Your life isn't in Buenos thingy,

it's here. Eh?

- You do realise that?

- Yes, I know.

Buenos Aires is a dream.

Everything will be fine, Sis.

Everything will be fine.

We're starting the main course, guys.

Get going!

- Give me a week.

- What?

Or a month.

Give me a month.

- A month?

- Yes.

- Then you'll come back?

- Yes, of course.

- We can't close for a month.

- You don't have to.

Lesley can do the till and

you can take someone on to serve.

I'll call the accountant

and arrange everything.

I know it's been a while since

you had a serious relationship but...

- not a month, no.

- Angelo...

I'm going.

Tonight.

Have you lost the plot completely? That

guy breezes in here after twenty years,

looks you in the eye and that's it?

D'you mind? I'm not one of your mates!

Pascaline, you can't turn our life

upside down, just like that.

I can, Angelo. I love Frank.

I still love him.

I'm suffocating here in our restaurant.

I want to get away from the place.

What about Emma? Surely you're not

going to send her back to her mother?

She's your daughter, Angelo.

Your daughter.

I'm leaving.

You're leaving?

Then I'm going to stop cooking.

- Put that apron back on.

- You heard me.

- Put that apron back on.

- The restaurant's full, Chef.

- Angelo, please.

- First promise me you're not leaving.

Promise me.

Promise me!

- OK.

- OK what?

- Yes, I promise. Yeah, yeah.

- Do we agree?

OK then.

Go on, get on with it.

Angelo?

You can kiss my arse!

Top, bottom and all the way round!

Sh*t! F***!

Out the way!

Dammit!

- What's going on? Has Chef gone?

- Yes.

- What are we going to do?

- I don't know.

Has your chef just left?

- Guests can't come in here.

- It's OK, Lesley.

Go into the restaurant

and put some music on.

Emma, can you help Lesley serve?

But put something else on.

- You can't, Pascaline.

- Ingrid, stop washing up

and help Kevin plate up.

- Without a chef we can't...

- Come on.

We are the Romantiek

and we've got a chef's hat.

Get going!

Nice.

- May I have the last one?

- No!

What's going on? Are you playing

Russian roulette with your chocolates?

You watch too much television.

- So I can have it.

- No!

Waiter. Waiter.

- You took your time.

- Yes.

- Look, this is an excellent...

- Fine, pour it out.

- Is something up with the chef?

- No, of course not.

Honestly...

- It's good.

- Is it?

- Where's the main course?

- It's on its way, sir.

We'll leave that here, OK? Thank you.

- Mia.

- No.

- Listen.

- Go away.

Look. I've got a theory.

- There are 11.007 million Belgians.

- So?

Half are men.

Take away the kids,

the pensioners and the gays.

That still leaves 3.1 million men.

Half aren't married and of those

who are, half are unhappily married.

- And your point is?

- My point, Miss Mia, is

that there are 825,000 men walking

around out there for you to choose from.

If Belgium splits in two,

it's only half of that.

- OK. But then there will still be...

- 412,500, I know.

Come on, Mia. You can find yourself

another guy just like that.

- Don't be so stupid.

- I mean it.

I'm sure there are more than enough

men who will fall for you.

OK, fine.

Let's take you as an example.

If you saw me on my own in a bar,

would you want to chat me up?

Is that a rhetorical question?

It's Valentine's Evening.

I'm sitting there all by myself.

Would you then think, yeah...

that girl could be the one for me?

Her and me,

strolling along hand in hand?

No, no. Hold on. Look.

I'm a bachelor. I thought about it

and made a conscious choice.

- Really?

- Yes.

All the women I meet want kids.

We haven't even had sex and

they're waving a pregnancy test at me.

Next minute you're in Ikea

looking at kids' furniture.

Don't worry, Lesley.

I don't want kids.

And I refuse to go to Ikea

out of principle.

- Right...

- Waiter?

- Coming...

- You haven't answered my question.

- Yes, no, I...

- See, I knew it.

You'd think, who is that

sad loser of a woman?

- And you'd be right.

- No. That's not true. And I wouldn't.

What would you think then?

Waiter?

I'll be back.

What can I do for you, gentlemen?

Right. I think we should be

pragmatic about this.

What are your plans?

What'll happen to the kids? To me?

- To you?

- Yes. Do you want to move in with him?

- I don't want to talk about that now.

- Well, you started it.

I think it's best if you tell the kids

tomorrow. After all, you... bloody hell!

It's Sam's birthday

the day after tomorrow.

Do you realise what you're doing?

Everything we've built up together

over seventeen years

you are now flushing down the toilet.

D'you remember? A long time ago

you took me to the seaside one night.

You took me to the beach.

I've never seen so many stars.

- September 1996.

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