again.
Friends.
That’s saying a lot.
Let’s just say that it was saying a lot until recently. We would call each other. He would stop by from time to time. We only talked about his mother and his career. One day he did ask me, however, if it hadn’t been too rough on me, the divorce. In fact, I’d been through it already long before, so I wasable to smile and shrug and say, “That’s life.” I don’t know why, but it must have touched him, so he invited me to his place. In Paris. To his apartment. To a party with his Parisian friends.
It was an honor.
There I was in that milieu where I didn’t belong, among people who drank too much and laughed very loudly, among tired-but-bubbly wives, and catering staff who walked around with fingerfood and refills. Mathieu simply introduced me as, “Philippe, a childhood friend.” They all stared at me with a big smile for ten seconds or so and then the conversation would continue, without me. I melted into the décor. It wasn’t hard. I felt like I was in a bad TV movie. I recognized a few faces I’d spotted on the TV screen, but I couldn’t put a name on any of them. The big shots had promisedthey’d come but at the last minute they called to cancel. Or didn’tcall. And Mathieu really didn’t mind at all. What was radiant about Mathieu’s place was Mathieu himself.
Also radiant that evening was a woman twenty years younger than him, lively and witty. Who worked as an usher at a theater to pay for law school. Totally on top of things. Her name was Astrid. Even at the very heart of theparty she was true to herself. She would drift toward Mathieu and then away again, perfectly natural and nonchalant. I envied her. I envied Mathieu, too, of course. They’d been seeing each other for a few months, but she had no illusions. Sooner or later their affair would end, she would get tired of playing the gerontophile or he would find a woman who was more docile.
At one point the volumewent up a notch, and she and I ended up in the huge kitchen. The caterer and his assistants had left, they’d be back in the morning to clean up. It was very late. She found a bunch of black grapes, and began to eat them one by one.
“You know, Mathieu often speaks of you.”
“Oh. In flattering terms, I hope.”
“I wouldn’t know. At the same time, it’s fairly recent. Out of the blue.”
“Blue moon.As in, once in—that’s how often we’ve seen each other.”
I tried to change the subject. I got the feeling it was headed in a direction that might prove unpleasant.
“It’s because I was looking after his mother.”
“Or his mother was looking after you. Well, that’s how he put it.”
“Sometimes human relations go both ways.”
“For a while, people were making fun of you around here. All these peopleyou see here, they’d slap their hands on their thighs whenever they heard one of Mathieu’s stories about Philippe making apple pie with his friend’s mom.”
“I’m not sure I really want to hear this.”
“Wait. It’s not as bad as it sounds. And in life, truth is the greatest asset, don’t you think?”
I imagined getting to my feet with dignity—it wouldn’t be hard, I had drunk only two glasses of champagne.Something had prevented me from drinking more—the fear of making a slip, of feeling nauseous, of making a fool of myself. I imagined walking across the kitchen and through the crowd in the living room, picking up my coat, going down the stairs and, whistling, making my way to the Gare de l’Est, where the first trains would soon be departing. I imagined disappearing.
Yes, I saw myself doing allthat, but I am an actor only in my dreams. In reality, I nodded and poured myself a glass of water.
“Gradually it changed. You became a … what should I call it, yes, a kind of character witness. He refers to you as if you were a character witness.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He’s come in for quite a lot of criticism lately. Let’s just say
Friends.
That’s saying a lot.
Let’s just say that it was saying a lot until recently. We would call each other. He would stop by from time to time. We only talked about his mother and his career. One day he did ask me, however, if it hadn’t been too rough on me, the divorce. In fact, I’d been through it already long before, so I wasable to smile and shrug and say, “That’s life.” I don’t know why, but it must have touched him, so he invited me to his place. In Paris. To his apartment. To a party with his Parisian friends.
It was an honor.
There I was in that milieu where I didn’t belong, among people who drank too much and laughed very loudly, among tired-but-bubbly wives, and catering staff who walked around with fingerfood and refills. Mathieu simply introduced me as, “Philippe, a childhood friend.” They all stared at me with a big smile for ten seconds or so and then the conversation would continue, without me. I melted into the décor. It wasn’t hard. I felt like I was in a bad TV movie. I recognized a few faces I’d spotted on the TV screen, but I couldn’t put a name on any of them. The big shots had promisedthey’d come but at the last minute they called to cancel. Or didn’tcall. And Mathieu really didn’t mind at all. What was radiant about Mathieu’s place was Mathieu himself.
Also radiant that evening was a woman twenty years younger than him, lively and witty. Who worked as an usher at a theater to pay for law school. Totally on top of things. Her name was Astrid. Even at the very heart of theparty she was true to herself. She would drift toward Mathieu and then away again, perfectly natural and nonchalant. I envied her. I envied Mathieu, too, of course. They’d been seeing each other for a few months, but she had no illusions. Sooner or later their affair would end, she would get tired of playing the gerontophile or he would find a woman who was more docile.
At one point the volumewent up a notch, and she and I ended up in the huge kitchen. The caterer and his assistants had left, they’d be back in the morning to clean up. It was very late. She found a bunch of black grapes, and began to eat them one by one.
“You know, Mathieu often speaks of you.”
“Oh. In flattering terms, I hope.”
“I wouldn’t know. At the same time, it’s fairly recent. Out of the blue.”
“Blue moon.As in, once in—that’s how often we’ve seen each other.”
I tried to change the subject. I got the feeling it was headed in a direction that might prove unpleasant.
“It’s because I was looking after his mother.”
“Or his mother was looking after you. Well, that’s how he put it.”
“Sometimes human relations go both ways.”
“For a while, people were making fun of you around here. All these peopleyou see here, they’d slap their hands on their thighs whenever they heard one of Mathieu’s stories about Philippe making apple pie with his friend’s mom.”
“I’m not sure I really want to hear this.”
“Wait. It’s not as bad as it sounds. And in life, truth is the greatest asset, don’t you think?”
I imagined getting to my feet with dignity—it wouldn’t be hard, I had drunk only two glasses of champagne.Something had prevented me from drinking more—the fear of making a slip, of feeling nauseous, of making a fool of myself. I imagined walking across the kitchen and through the crowd in the living room, picking up my coat, going down the stairs and, whistling, making my way to the Gare de l’Est, where the first trains would soon be departing. I imagined disappearing.
Yes, I saw myself doing allthat, but I am an actor only in my dreams. In reality, I nodded and poured myself a glass of water.
“Gradually it changed. You became a … what should I call it, yes, a kind of character witness. He refers to you as if you were a character witness.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“He’s come in for quite a lot of criticism lately. Let’s just say
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