The Lost Sailors by Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis Page B

face look even more beautiful. Nedim was enthralled by it.
    She let him stare at her in that insistent way. Then she passed her hand through her hair, which she wore very short, and smiled.
    â€œFriends, Nedim,” she murmured, her lips almost on his. “We’re just friends. Don’t go thinking anything else, all right? We’re out enjoying ourselves. A night on the town. And you’re paying, handsome.”
    She stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. They were cold. She smiled at him again, and her smile was as cold as her touch. He’d lost any desire to be in bed with her. Or anywhere else.
    Lalla slid in next to him, and put her arm around his shoulders. She pressed her thigh against his and Nedim felt his body temperature rise by several degrees.
    â€œIt’s cool here, isn’t it? Do you like it?”
    He wanted to say something nasty in reply. But he didn’t say anything because just then the barman appeared. On the tray, there was a gin and tonic, but also a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
    â€œDid you two order this?”
    â€œWe felt a little thirsty,” Lalla replied, letting her head drop against his. She barely dipped her lips in the glass. “Do you want to dance?”
    Nedim’s good resolutions flew out the window as soon as she was in his arms. She clung to him, stroking the back of his neck with her fingertips. He felt happy with this girl. He’d never felt this way before. But he kept telling himself that she was working. She could have gone with anyone.
    â€œYou’ve lost your hard-on,” she whispered in his ear.
    â€œIt’s because of the champagne. It’s too expensive.”
    â€œIt’s the only thing we’re allowed to order when we bring friends.”
    â€œSuckers, you mean.”
    â€œWell, for the money you’re paying, you ought to take advantage.”
    â€œAnd what do I get for the money I’m paying?”
    She laughed, her head thrown back slightly. He wanted her lips.
    â€œNothing! You can dance with me. And get a hard-on. It doesn’t bother me.”
    â€œDoesn’t it have any effect on you?”
    â€œThere are girls fucking men all night long just around the corner. I like this better. Just drinking with guys and giving them a hard-on.”
    â€œThere’s a little hotel not far from here. We could have some more champagne there.”
    â€œI never go to a hotel. It’s a rule.”
    â€œEven if I had money? A lot of money?”
    â€œGuys with money don’t hang around here.”
    â€œThen I’ll take you away and we’ll live together.”
    â€œYou just want to fuck me, Nedim.”
    â€œNo. I—”
    â€œAnd you’re a liar! A real sailor!”
    â€œNo, Lalla—”
    â€œDrop it, Nedim. Love at first sight, all that kind of thing. You want to fuck me. I understand. It’s O.K.” The song finished, and she freed herself from him. “You should ask Gaby to dance.”
    â€œI want to stay with you. Can I?”
    â€œIf you like. It was just a suggestion.”
    They clung to each other for three slow Latin numbers. Fifteen hot minutes. Nedim had decided not to ask any more questions. He relaxed against Lalla, his cock hard again now against her stomach. The slow rhythm of their movements was almost as sweet as if she were jerking him off.
    When they got back to their table, a short, plump woman of about sixty was standing by the booth, a full champagne glass in her hand. Her name was Gisèle. The manager of the Habana. Gaby was watching Nedim with an amused look in her eyes.
    â€œDo you like it here?” Gisèle asked.
    â€œIt’s O.K.”
    Lalla’s glass, which she had barely touched, was empty. She grabbed the bottle. It was empty, too.
    â€œWhen I’m alone, I drink,” Gaby said, staring at Nedim. “How about another one?” She held out the bottle to Gisèle without