Good Morning, Midnight (14 page)

The room says:; 'Quite like old times. Yes? No? ....Yes'

After all this, what happened?

What happened was that, as soon as I had the slightest chance of a place to hide in, I crept into it and hid.

Well, sometimes it's a fine day, isn't it? Sometimes the skies are blue. Sometimes the air is light, easy to breathe. And there is always tomorrow....

Tomorrow I'll go to the Galeries Lafayette, choose a dress, go along to the Pintemps, buy gloves, buy scent, buy lipstick, buy things costing fcs. 6.25 and fcs. 1950, buy anything cheap. Just the sensation of spending, that's the point. I'll look at bracelets studded with artificial jewels, red, green and blue, necklaces of imitation pearls, cigarette-cases, jewelled tortoises.... And when I have had a couple of drinks I shan't know whether it's yesterday, today or tomorrow.

PART FOUR

When I go into the bureau for my key the patronne tells me that an English monsieur has let a note for me. An English monsieur?....Yes, that's what she understood - a monsieur from London

Allo! Just dropped in to see you. Everything goes well with me. I have had enormous luck. I am leaving Paris tomorrow or the day after. So sorry I missed you.

Rene

As I get up to the fourth floor landing the commis opens his door and puts his head out. 'Vache! Sale vache,' he says when he sees me. His head disappears and the door is slammed, but he goes on talking in a high, thin voice. I take of my coat and hat and put away the scent and stockings I have just bought. All the time I am listening, straining my ears to hear what he is saying. The voice stops. A loud knock. Now, this is too much, now I'm going to say a few things. If you think I'm afraid of you, you're mistaken. Wait a bit....

I march to the door and fling it open.

The gigolo is outside, looking excited and pleased with himself. He takes my hand in both of his.

'I came before. Did they tell you?....But what's the matter? Why are you looking so frightened?'

'I'm not. I'm looking vexed.'

'Oh, no, you're looking frightened. Who are you frightened of? Me? But how flattering!'

'I thought it was the man next door. He's been shouting at me. He gets on my nerves.' 'He was rude to you? Voulez-vous que je lui casse la gueule?' he says.

'Certainly not. Not on any account.'

'I will if you wish. I can be useful in more ways than one.'

'Good God, no! Don't do anything of the sort.'

'Well, perhaps better not. I'd better not get into a row before I have my papers. But I shall have them. That's going to be all right tomorrow....I like this room,' he says. 'A nice room, a charming room. Nothing but beds.

Can I sit down?'

'There are only two beds.'

'Ah, yes, so I see - only two. But somehow it gives the impression that it's full of beds....I waited up here for you nearly an hour this afternoon. I told your landlady I was a fiend of yours from London. I spoke English to her. And she asked me if I'd like to wait in your room.'

I suppose this explains the 'Vache! Sale vache!'

'It's all very fine, but I asked you not to come up here and you said you wouldn't.'

'But why? The woman downstairs is so nice.... don't understand you. She doesn't mind in the least. You could have someone up here every hour and she wouldn't mind. It's a shame to waste this hotel, and this room. Very, very good to make love in, this room. Have you really been wasting it? I don't believe you have.' He laughs loudly. 'Those eyes, those deep shadows under your sad eyes - what about them?'

'Not what you think at all. I don't sleep well, and I take a lot of luminal to make me sleep.'

'Poor girl, poor girl,' he says, touching my eyes. 'And you won't let me even try to do anything about it?'

Now I am sick of being laughed at - sick, sick, sick of being laughed at. Allez-vous-en, salaud. I'm sick of being laughed at.

He feels that I am vexed. He says in a polite, formal voice: 'I came to ask you if you'd have an aperitif with me this evening. Please do. I shall be very disappointed if you can't.'

Very quick, very easy, that change of attitude, like a fish gliding with a flick of its tail, now here, now there.

'All right. I'll be at the Closerie des Lilas at half-past seven. I'm glad you've been lucky.'

'I've met an American,' he says mysteriously. 'Beautiful. And very, very rich. How do you say - bursting with it?'

'Lousy with it.'

'Yes, lousy with it.'

'Did you go to the Ritz bar?'

'No.'

'Don't tell me you met her at the Dome?' 'Not the Dome. That Danish place - you know. Well, we were talking and she said she wanted to go on somewhere else to dance. I said, quite frankly - Quite frank, you know....'

'I bet you were.'

'I said: "There's nothing I'd like better, nothing. But unfortunately at the moment I'm penniless - at least, almost penniless." After that it was all right. She's staying at the Meurice. It's been a great success.'

'Well, it's nice of you to come all the way over here to tell me about it.'

'That's just it. That's something you wouldn't understand. But when you're living like I do, you get very superstitious, and I think you bring me luck. Remember - that evening I met you. I was discouraged, very discouraged. You brought me luck.'

The luck-bringer....Well, I've never thought of myself in that way before. He takes my hand in his and looks at my ring, his eyes narrowing. 'No good,' I say. 'Only worth about fifty francs - if that.'

'What, your hand ?'

'You weren't looking at my hand, you were looking at my ring.'

'Oh, how suspicious she is, this woman! It's extra ordinary....But you will come this evening, won't you?'

'Yes, I'll be there. Where we talked the other night. I'll be there at half -past seven.'

He goes of, still looking triumphant.

I start walking up and down the room. I feel excited. I go to the glass, look at myself, stare at myself, make a grimace, look at my teeth. Damn this light - how can I see to make-up properly in this light?

Well, there I am, prancing about and smirking, and suddenly telling myself: 'No, I won't do a thing, not a thing. A little pride, a little dignity at the end, in the name of God. I won't even put on the stockings I bought this afternoon. I won't do a thing - not a thing. I will not grimace and posture before these people any longer.'

And, after all, the agitation is only on the surface. Underneath I'm indifferent. Underneath there is always stagnant water, calm, indifferent - the bitter peace that is very near to death, to hate....

I have sixteen hundred francs left. Enough to pay for the dress I chose today, enough to pay my hotel bill and the journey back to London. How much over? Say four hundred francs. I take two hundred and fifty. Two hundred francs for the meal, if there is a meal; fifty francs behind the mirror at the back of my handbag, for a taxi home in case we quarrel, in case he turns nasty. 'Hey, taxi' - and you're out of everything.

I time myself to be ten minutes late and arrive at the Closeie des Lilas at twenty minutes to eight. I look round the terrace. Nobody there. I won't go round the corner and look on the other side. He is sure to be indoors on such a cold night.

A very pretty girl is sitting on one of the stools at the bar, having a drink. No sign of the gigolo.

I order a Cinzano, feeling my pulse, as it were, all the time. Am I disappointed, am I vexed ? No, I am quite calm, also quite confident. He's somewhere around, I think.

I say to a waiter: 'Is there anybody on the terrace'?

'Oh, no, I don't think so. It's too cold tonight.'

'Would you go and have a look,' I say, quite calm, quite confident. 'And if there's anyone waiting, will you please tell him that I'm inside here.'

In a minute he comes back, followed by the gigolo.

'So here you are. I thought you'd stood me up.'

'I bet you thought the world had come to an end. I bet you couldn't believe it.'

'Well, no, I couldn't,' he says. 'But I was just beginning to believe it when the waiter came. I've been cursing you. You said where we talked the other night, and that's where I've been waiting....I'm cold. I've had two Pernods to keep me warm, but still I'm cold. Feel my hands. I'm going to have another Pernod.'

He looks a bit drunk, but drunk in the Latin way - very vivid, keyed-up.

The girl at the bar gets of her stool and walks out, passing slowly in front of us.

'Oh, what a beautiful girl! Look. Look at the way she walks - that movement of the hips. Oh, isn't she beautiful ? What a lovely body that girl must have!'

'Wouldn't you like to go after her and find out?' I say. 'I rather think that was the idea.'

'No, no, it's you I want to talk to.'

'That's what I'm here for. Go ahead.'

'While we're having dinner,' he says....Pause of half a second for me to speak.

I ask him to have dinner with me.

'Thank you,' he says. 'To be frank, when I've paid for this lot of drinks I shan't have much money let.'

'What, haven't you got any money out of your American?'

'Oh no, not yet, not yet. When I ask her for something it'll be something. But one mustn't do that too quickly, of course. She must be ready....She's nearly ready. I think perhaps tomorrow she'll be ready.'

He looks straight into my eyes all the time he is talking, with that air of someone defying you.

'Would you give me the money to pay for dinner now instead of in the restaurant?' he says, in the taxi. 'I'd prefer that.'

'Of course. I was going to.'

I give him the two hundred francs and the corners of his mouth go down. 'When you've settled up - dinner, drinks, taxis,' I say, 'there'll be about two francs left. I planned it out.'

'Oh, ce qu'elle est rosse, cette femme!'

I don't know what it is about this man that seems to me so natural, so gay - that makes me also feel natural and happy, just as if I were young - but really young. I've never been young. When I was young I was strained - up, anxious. I've never been really young. I've never played....

'I'm hungry,' he says. 'I'm so hungry that I can't think of anything but eating. To eat, to eat, and afterwards what's it matter?'

'This is another of my gay, chic places,' I say. 'You'll see, we'll have it all to ourselves.'

However, as it happens, there are several other people there, all eating seriously.

I want to see myself in a good light and I go upstairs to the lavabo, one of the attractions of the Pig and Lily.

So clean and so resplendent, so well lit, with plenty of looking-glasses and not a soul there to watch you. Am I looking all right? Not so bad. Surely, not so bad.... 'At last,' he says when I come down. 'At last we are going to eat.'

I am not hungry. I expect he notices that the food isn't at all good, in this damned boite that isn't at all gay. However, he doesn't seem to notice. He eats a lot. He talks.

I don't believe in his American - he's probably invented her. And yet something must have happened to make him feel so pleased with himself and so sure of himself. Also he seems certain that he will be in London in a few days.

He tries to get useful information from me. Night clubs, for instance, restaurants. Which are the ones to go to? Everything is clubs in London, isn't it? Clubs, clubs....Yes, everything is clubs, clubs, clubs, clubs, clubs in London....How can he find a really chic tailor ? Do the good ones advertise?

'I don't know. I'm the wrong person to ask all this.'

'Couldn't you give a party and introduce me to your friends?' Half-mocking, half-wheedling.

'I haven't any friends.'

'Ah, too bad, too bad.'

He has never been to London, it seems, but he knows all about it. He has been told this and he has been told that.

By the time we have stated on the second bottle of wine I have heard all about the gold mine just across the Channel.

A curious situation - according to his fiends. At least fifty per cent of the men homosexual and most of the others not liking it so much as all that. And the poor Englishwomen just gasping for it, oh, boy! And aren't they prepared to pay, if you go about it the right way, oh, boy! A curious situation. The untapped gold-mine just across the Channel....

I am eating very little, so the wine has an effect, and I begin to argue with this optimistic idiot.

But at the end of my arguments he says calmly: 'You talk like that because you're a woman, and everybody knows England isn't a woman's country. You know the proverb - "Unhappy as a dog in Turkey or a woman in England"? But for me it will be different.'

That's his idea. But he'll find out that he will be up against racial, not sexual, characteristics. Love is a stern virtue in England. (Usually a matter of hygiene, my dear. The indecent necessity - and who would spend money or thought or time on the indecent necessity?....We have our ration of rose-leaves, but only because roseleaves are a gentle laxative.)

'You take care. You'll probably get a cigarette case en toe with your initials on it after a lot of hard work.'

He's so sure that everything is going to be all right, you have to be sorry for him. And he's so good looking, this poor devil, so alive, gay, healthy, so as if he didn't drink much, so as if....Talking away about the technique of the metier - it sounds quite meaningless. It probably is meaningless. He's just trying to shock me or excite me or something....

It's half past nine. There we still sit, jabbering.

'Is it true that Englishmen make love with all their clothes on, because they think it's more respectable that way?'

'Yes, certainly. Fully dressed. They add, of course, a macintosh.'

After this we are properly off.

'Now I'll show you something really funny,' he says.

'Look at this in the spoon'

'Yes. It is rather funny, isn't it?'

'I can do better than that,' he says.

I watch very carefully. If I learn this trick, it ought to raise my amusement-value.

Do you like this? Do you like that? What do you really like worse than anything else? I'll tell you some thing very curious I heard of the other day. Etcetera, etcetera....