Paris Noir - Aurelien Masson [14]
My man had absolutely gorgeous hands and arms. I hadn’t seen such perfection up close since Eric, the young swimming champion in the 200-meter freestyle I had abused in the locker room. I had gotten into all kinds of trouble because of that, including being fired from the Swimming Federation and one year of scandalous chemical straightjacket. They talk about human rights for men, but what about the rights of women? No one gives a shit about them.
He accepted coffee without me dipping my lips into it first. Trust had been restored. It just goes to show, it doesn’t take much. Then we settled on the couch with small glasses of brandy. He let me do the job. At times, I even seemed to catch a flash of wonder in his weary eyes. A great cook makesa great lover: I knew the proverb and I was able to verify how surprisingly true it was.
At 3 a.m., having had my fill, I took him back to his room, certain he would sleep: I had fixed his second glass of brandy with three pills.
As I was going to bed, I thought I recognized the same feeling of ecstasy I’d had with Luc at the beginning of our relationship. Spring had come. I had no doubt about us being able to form a happy couple. Such a thing does exist, whatever they may say; pushing your luck a bit is all it takes.
The next day, I washed and checked my e-mail. No news from Milan. I felt reassured; it’s always when everything is going smoothly that the worst happens. I know that well.
I fixed breakfast. When I went into the bedroom, he was asleep. I didn’t want to bother him; I just stayed there and watched my little angel without a peep, without pulling the blanket off the bed, an inch away from being the submissive woman, lost in admiration before her man and scared to death at the idea of disturbing his sleep. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer and my hand shot out. Maybe I wasn’t completely stabilized yet.
When he woke up, I was holding his penis firmly in my right hand, with the tip of it in front of my mouth like a mike, and I was singing, Stranger in the night, I’m so excited …
He gave me a funny look. Okay, I don’t sing very well, it’s true. I put an end to my recital and gave him his breakfast.
In the bathroom, I filled the tub with water warmed up just right and added a Chanel N?5 bath gel. A pure delight! I sat him up on the edge of the bathtub, what with his feet tied up and all … Then splash!I was wondering if I would join him right away when the doorbell rang. Bummer!
After the first moment of panic, I decided I wouldn’t open the door.
And then: “Sonia, it’s Luc, open up, I know you’re there!”
Locking and bolting the door had been a good idea. I had to, our home was his home after all.
“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled as he came in.
And who says I’mnot polite? Not even Hello, thank you, nothing. The poor guy wasn’t doing so great, actually. He sat down on the couch; there was this scent of wild strawberries and I was wondering when he would notice, but he didn’t care; besides, I had already forgotten: Luc has no sense of smell!
“It’s all over with Georges!”
What? Over with the macho physical therapist who gave him such beautiful bruises? I had never believed in their story, actually. A massage that turns into marriage, that can’t work. So what that I knew it for both of us—it didn’t help!
“Any way we look at it, Luc, we can’t make it work. We’re too different,” I said in a soft woman-victim tone of voice that went with my white blouse …
“I’m coming back, Sonia, I’m moving back tomorrow …”
“Oh! That won’t be possible!”
“We have no other choice, Sonia. This is my home.”
“It’s too late!”
“And why’s that?”
“There