Don't Love Me

Interpreter Fumble

Normally, Jessica would go greet any of Mr. Conti's clients and bring them to his office, but today we arranged for the secretary by the elevators to escort them in, since she can speak some basic French. I can speak French as well, but no one here is aware of that and if I offered my services, I'm sure Jessica would have turned me down. She would never allow me to contribute in any way that might make me look better than her, and a second language would definitely do that.

The French interpreter arrives with only two minutes to spare. Had I been the one booking the interpreter, I would have had him start at 9am. Sure, he would have just been sitting around for an hour, but if he was even one minute late it would look bad with the Losanges.

Our office door is open so we can hear the ding of the elevator when they arrive on our floor. Mr. Conti stands with his usual controlled manner, as if this isn't a very important week and walks out to our outer office area to greet the guest. For a moment, I get lost in my head watching him do up the button on his custom tailored jacket. His fingers are so strong yet elegant and the suit falls into place snugly around his shoulders.

I'm about to start drooling when I catch myself in the act. Luckily, I snap out of it and I look over to Jessica to see she's still so distracted that she didn't catch me. I look towards the door to make sure I can't even see Mr. Conti in my periphery. I take a deep breath and calm myself just in time for the Losanges to enter the office.

"Ahh, Mr. Conti, it's so nice to finally meet you in person," Mr. Losange says in a French accent. He walks straight towards him with a confidence I've not seen in anybody who's previously met with Mr. Conti. Either this man has balls of steel or is very important. They shake hands and I can tell they both give a firm, hard shake.

"The pleasure is all mine," Mr. Conti says, smoothly, "I'm hoping your journey here wasn't too difficult?"

"It was great," he answers, jovially. "Your assistants knocked it out of the park. They even had the foresight to have my wife's wardrobe sent ahead of time. She was thrilled when she saw everything already ironed and hanging."

At the mention of Mrs. Losange, Mr. Conti looks at her and says, "I'm so glad to hear your travels are going well so far, Mrs Losange."

Mr. Conti looks to the interpreter so that he knows he should begin translating. The second words start coming out of the interpreter's mouth, everyone in the room but Jessica and the poor interpreter, instantly realize there's a problem.

Anger and slight panic cross Mr. Conti's face and I personally am shocked. She hired an Italian interpreter, not French. Why she thought we would need an Italian interpreter when Mr. Conti speaks fluent Italian baffles me and why she thought a couple flying from France wouldn't be French makes me even more confused.

Luckily, Mr. Losange is gracious about it and translates for his wife, but I can tell she is unhappy about this slight and if I can tell she's unhappy, then so can Mr. Conti. I don't want Mr. Conti to look bad, so I decide the best course of action for now, is for me to step in and interpret until a suitable replacement can be found. Mr. Losange is telling his wife that she can tag along to their morning meeting until new arrangements can be made, but the sour look on her face says it all. She is not pleased.

I look to Mrs. Losange and say in French, "I'm sorry about the interpreter, there must have been a mix-up with the language request. If you'd prefer to skip the meeting, I can accompany you to the first stop on your itinerary until new arrangements can be made?"

She looks shocked. She looks at her husband, then back to me and says, "You're not from here, are you?"

"No," I respond. "What gave it away?"

"I've been to America many times and the interpreters I get always have very rudimentary French. Your is almost perfect, but I can't place the accent."

"I'm from Toronto, in Canada. I learned French in school, so I had teachers with all kinds of different accents. I guess mine is a mix of them all," I respond.

She claps her hands and says, "Adorable!"

She turns to her husband to let him know she will be leaving with me instead of taking part in the meeting. Mr. Conti is looking at me with a look I don't quite understand, but if I'm guessing right, there is some underlying respect.

"I hope you don't mind, but I won't be in the office this morning. I'll accompany Mrs. Losange until a new interpreter can be found," I explain. "I can make up my work later in the day."

"Nonsense," he says. "Keeping Mrs. Losange happy is the main priority after this morning's fumble. You will be paid for any time you spend with her and your office tasks will be delegated to someone else."

I nod. I can't explain what happens next. Maybe this whole situation has me so thrown that my brain thinks Mr. Conti and I share jokes, or maybe an alien takes over my body, but I say, "Don't worry, I'll right down your coffee order, so my replacement knows what you like."

"Don't bother. You make it wrong every time," he says straight-faced, then turns to lead Mr. Losange to the conference room.

My jaw hits the floor, and I'm glad he turned away so quickly. I don't need to see the look on my face to know it doesn't look professional. My brain is having a hard time following the events of the last ten minutes, so I use my finger to push my mouth closed. I turn to see Mrs. Losange watching me with a twinkle in her eye.

"So, you're mine for the week. Let's go have some fun!" she says with enthusiasm.