Paris Noir - Aurelien Masson [37]
HIM: Cheers.
HER: Cheers.
[The potion acts.]
We spend the rest of the night together. Talking a little about our memories. She talks to me about submarines. What’s with all these people with their submarines? Valerie. Years ago, we went out together. She was a friend of my sister’s. She was beautiful. She still is. A rather sophisticated charm that contrasted with my raw, almost animal state. We finish the bottle of champagne, we take another one. The world fades out around us. We’re alone, surrounded by the deafening crowd that sings, howls. A nice wedding.
I agree to dance with my sister. She’s worried. I’m merry. I wish her moments of happiness. “Just moments?” “Could be worse, right?”
In the restaurant garden. With Valerie. Outside, drunk, staggering, facing infinity and fresh air. She takes my hand.
4.
I remembered her body perfectly. And yet we only stayed together for a few weeks. It was just before I left this city. But her body is deeply engraved inside me. With acid, almost.
I watch her slow breathing. Then she wakes up. It is 6 a.m. We’ve only slept a few minutes. The emotional silence of our first morning. Bodies still palpitating. Hands graze each other, push each other away, are pulled toward each other. Doubts. Questions. Who will dare to speak first?
[They are lying pressed against each other. Silence.]
HER: I have to go.
HIM: Already?
HER: Yes. It's late. It's early. I'll call you today or tomorrow. I really have to leave.
[She gets up, gets dressed, and scurries offstage. He remains alone.]
She goes away. I don’t move. I hear the door slam. Close your eyes. Forget. Dream. But nothing happens. Except for this need, here.
She didn’t call, not that day, not the days after.
Hanging around the house, and outside. Looking for her name in the phone book. Nobody with the name of Valerie Mercier. See and see again the place she lived before. Near boulevard Michel Bizot. A guy tells me he doesn’t know her. She doesn’t live here anymore. My sister is on her honeymoon on an island in the Caribbean, I’m not going to bug her about this.
Slow to come to life again after the death that accompanies Valerie’s painful silences.
5.
Marco. He learns I’m back. “You could’ve told me.” “I was going to.” Marco. The guy, the friend, the near brother I used to see all the time before I left. Not the kind of guy you really want to be seen with, though. If I hadn’t left, I might have really turned out badly with him.
We’ll meet at Place Daumesnil. A square where we used to hang out when we were younger. A square like in my memory. Sad and gray.
Cars are driving around a fountain where stone lions are spitting out water. He’s late. I walk around a little. Emptied out, tired from the nights spent turning over in my bed, waiting, feverishly, for the phone, for Valerie’s voice, her breath. That fucking need. He arrives in a pretty little English car. Marco hasn’t really changed. A tall blond guy with a smile in his eyes. We kiss each other on both cheeks. “Glad to see you.” “Me too.” We look for a café to have a drink.
“So! How are you, what’s up?” “I managed to integrate into society, like they say. I run a security agency. I supply tough guys for big parties, concerts, things like that.” “You didn’t have any problem getting started?” “No, I knew some people who helped me.” “That’s good.” “How about you?” “I tinker around. I spent a long time in the submarine corps, in Toulon.” “Your mother told me, at the time.” “Now, with my savings, I bought a little apartment and I found a job in a garage.” “A calm life.” “Kind of. Kind of too calm.” “Why don’t you come back here? I’ll fix you up with something.”
“You know that’s not possible.” “Anything’s possible. Especially now.” We talk about years past. Lost years. “I’m going out tonight. Want to come along?” “Sure.” A fine clear night. It’s for us, to celebrate our reunion. That’s it.
Everything, or almost everything, has changed around Bastille. We start at a spot with a tropical atmosphere and a touch of class. Then a new bar with an Indian theme. We end