that he behaved badly with certain individuals. And peoplebegan saying that he was forgetting where he was from, that he was getting bigheaded. He had to get things back on an even keel. He was antagonizing everyone. So he did a lot of soul-searching. And you are part of that. You allow him to show that no, he hasn’tchanged. That he’s had the same friends for years. That he’s stayed close to his roots. That the things he was being accused of were unjustified.”
I poured myself some strong booze. Over ice. I swirled the ice cubes in the glass. None of this came as a surprise. What did astonish me, however, was that I didn’t feel more offended. I was past all that. I shrugged.
“I’m sorry if this comes as a blow,” she said.
“I’m past feeling any blows. I’m already on the ground.”
“I like you a lot, you know.”
“Do you need a character witness as well?”
I looked up at her from under my brows. For a moment she didn’t know what to say, then she burst out laughing.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“With what?”
“With what I’ve just told you.”
“Nothing at all. He’s taking advantage of the situation. So am I. It’s not exactly as if I’m swamped with invitations. And then when I get home and go into work I can always casually mention the factthat I spent an evening with Mathieu Coché. Everyone finds their misplaced vanity where they can.”
“I don’t know why I spoke to you about truth just now. You don’t need any lessons from me.”
“On the other hand, I would like a refill.”
On we went like that, in the kitchen, just the two of us. Words whizzing by. Minutes, too. This hadn’t happened to me in a long time. I think we confided ineach other the way people rarely confide in each other. We knew perfectly well that we would never meet again. That one of us was bound to be exiting Mathieu’s life before long. I was prepared to go away again, the way I had come. But in the end she was the one who slammed the door—which meant that I got to stay on and put up with Mathieu ranting and raving against women. Particularly younger women.Before we left the kitchen, early that morning, after the party, we exchanged phone numbers. To be used only in case of an urgent need to confide—which meant never. I still have her number on me, in my wallet. It has become a sort of talisman. I could call her now and tell her about Cécile. About Mathieu. About the nagging reluctance I feel going to see Mathieu.
Dear God, what am I doing on thistrain?
Next to Cécile.
Who suddenly stands up.
And brushes past my knees.
“Sorry.”
“No problem.”
“Excuse me.”
“Of course.”
I’m in the toilet, checking my face in the mirror. My cheeks are red. I am being ridiculous. Why is my heart pounding as if it’s about to burst? Because I just exchanged two polite but awkward phrases with a fellow passenger on the train? Because I brushed against the knee of a man who is neither young nor old, who has a paunch and an incipient bald patch? It’s nothing to get in such a stateabout. Because … just take a look. Take a good look at yourself in the mirror. Look at me.
You’re a hundred times better than he is.
Only a faint touch of makeup. Your skin, still glowing thanks to a simple night cream. Your eyes, with just a hint of liner. You’re a walking advertisement for the products you sell: you’re radiant, in spite of the years creeping up on you. And your hair. You evenhave trouble taming your hair, it still grows wild, with a lateblooming vitality.
You’re a hundred times better than he is.
Men. There are those who look at you during meetings. And those who like your efficiency and relative discretion. Some of them would like to know what you’re hiding behind that calm veneer. Others tremble when your decisions are final. There are those who, on public transport,take a good look at you and compare you with the woman they will go home to when theycome to their
I poured myself some strong booze. Over ice. I swirled the ice cubes in the glass. None of this came as a surprise. What did astonish me, however, was that I didn’t feel more offended. I was past all that. I shrugged.
“I’m sorry if this comes as a blow,” she said.
“I’m past feeling any blows. I’m already on the ground.”
“I like you a lot, you know.”
“Do you need a character witness as well?”
I looked up at her from under my brows. For a moment she didn’t know what to say, then she burst out laughing.
“What are you going to do with it?”
“With what?”
“With what I’ve just told you.”
“Nothing at all. He’s taking advantage of the situation. So am I. It’s not exactly as if I’m swamped with invitations. And then when I get home and go into work I can always casually mention the factthat I spent an evening with Mathieu Coché. Everyone finds their misplaced vanity where they can.”
“I don’t know why I spoke to you about truth just now. You don’t need any lessons from me.”
“On the other hand, I would like a refill.”
On we went like that, in the kitchen, just the two of us. Words whizzing by. Minutes, too. This hadn’t happened to me in a long time. I think we confided ineach other the way people rarely confide in each other. We knew perfectly well that we would never meet again. That one of us was bound to be exiting Mathieu’s life before long. I was prepared to go away again, the way I had come. But in the end she was the one who slammed the door—which meant that I got to stay on and put up with Mathieu ranting and raving against women. Particularly younger women.Before we left the kitchen, early that morning, after the party, we exchanged phone numbers. To be used only in case of an urgent need to confide—which meant never. I still have her number on me, in my wallet. It has become a sort of talisman. I could call her now and tell her about Cécile. About Mathieu. About the nagging reluctance I feel going to see Mathieu.
Dear God, what am I doing on thistrain?
Next to Cécile.
Who suddenly stands up.
And brushes past my knees.
“Sorry.”
“No problem.”
“Excuse me.”
“Of course.”
I’m in the toilet, checking my face in the mirror. My cheeks are red. I am being ridiculous. Why is my heart pounding as if it’s about to burst? Because I just exchanged two polite but awkward phrases with a fellow passenger on the train? Because I brushed against the knee of a man who is neither young nor old, who has a paunch and an incipient bald patch? It’s nothing to get in such a stateabout. Because … just take a look. Take a good look at yourself in the mirror. Look at me.
You’re a hundred times better than he is.
Only a faint touch of makeup. Your skin, still glowing thanks to a simple night cream. Your eyes, with just a hint of liner. You’re a walking advertisement for the products you sell: you’re radiant, in spite of the years creeping up on you. And your hair. You evenhave trouble taming your hair, it still grows wild, with a lateblooming vitality.
You’re a hundred times better than he is.
Men. There are those who look at you during meetings. And those who like your efficiency and relative discretion. Some of them would like to know what you’re hiding behind that calm veneer. Others tremble when your decisions are final. There are those who, on public transport,take a good look at you and compare you with the woman they will go home to when theycome to their
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