Stéphane is too handsome and it is too late. It is neither too hot nor too cold. Irène is too drunk and sleeps soundly in the depths of her too-large bed. Stéphane and Rémi are too close, sitting on Irène’s balcony. Stéphane smokes too much.
Rémi is having trouble keeping his balance. He makes the first move.
“Why can’t things be simple?”
“They are.”
“Easy to say.”
“I’m not sure.”
“You remind me of someone. A woman. Marthe.”
“You have a lot of women in your life.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”
“Especially not here.”
“Chance arranges things too well?”
“Maybe, but it smells like a powder keg.”
“Are you looking for a war?”
“Why are you so intelligent and so handsome? You’re like something from a romance novel.”
“My mother tried her best to disfigure me by pushing very hard, but I made it through.”
Rémi concedes victory with a tender smile.
“Give me a cigarette.”
“You don’t smoke.”
“So?”
“It would be too stupid to start.”
“I’m stronger than you think.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“You seem pretty sure of yourself.”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“How long have you been doing this work?”
“Five years. A lovely way to travel.”
“You never fuck the women you escort?”
“No. Yes, once.”
“It’s complicated.”
“No, very simple.”
“You’re right. It’s too simple, after all.”
“Thoughts like those can take you far.”
“No blood is being shed.”
“Who’s saying what now?”
“It doesn’t matter. I feel good.”
“That’s true… Your Victor isn’t home?”
“He stayed out all night. That’s a first.”
“Don’t you do that?”
“No, never.”
“You never cheat on him?”
“Cut the crap. I stupidly come home every night.”
“Do you have a picture of him?”
“Yes, in my swimsuit.”
“Liar.”
“In my bedroom, yes, I have one.”
“Will you show me?”
“Another day, all right?”
“Will we see each other again?”
“I don’t know, Stéphane. I’m not satisfied.”
“With me?”
“No. With myself.”
“Is it too late to tell me about it?”
“What time is it?”
“Three in the morning.”
“Victor hasn’t come home.”
“Things aren’t going well between you.”
“Yes and no.”
Stéphane chuckles.
“I know, it’s easy to say… I turned forty-three the day before yesterday. To celebrate, I slept with a straight man. We did it on the beach.”
“And the next day, you find me in the arms of your naked neighbour and say something isn’t right in your life.”
“Indeed… Did you go back to the sauna?”
“Of course… I often sleep there. The best hotel in town.”
“How old are you?”
“The same age as you.”
“What are we still doing in saunas?”
“Washing ourselves.”
“Getting dirty, you mean.”
“Searching,” Stéphane says softly, running one finger over Rémi’s biceps.
He shivers.
“Am I giving you goosebumps?”
“Yes. I’m afraid, actually.”
“Why don’t you love Victor?”
“But I do love him.”
“In a way, I imagine?”
“No, I lo— I don’t know anymore. It isn’t intense enough.”
“It might never be intense enough with anyone.”
“Have you had many men in your life?”
“Too many.”
“So not a single one?”
“Yes, many. I think I’ve found my balance. Travel, flit from flower to flower, and leave again. Detach myself from everything.”
“Is that how you reached nirvana?”
“What matters is that I hurt no one.”
“You remind me of someone…”
“Again?”
“So you won’t be the man of my life?”
Stéphane looks at him, lips pressed together.
“You already have the man of your life.”
“So I didn’t win the lottery?”
“Are you really that foolish?”
Rémi suddenly feels tired.
“I understand why you wander and refuse attachment.”
“And I understand why you make bread. It’s very Eucharistic.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to be the man of my life?”
“And when my skin turns rancid, you’ll throw me to the pigeons?”
“No, I’ll make breadcrumbs from you and add herbs. Delicious on a chicken. Then, once the chicken falls apart, I’ll make stock. I’ll drink every last drop of you.”
“And afterwards, you’ll piss me out. Bravo.”
“There isn’t a metaphor in the world that sticks to you.”
“Like water off a duck’s back.”
“Then go, wild bird. Continue on your way.”
“But there’s a pond in front of me. Don’t you want to frolic with me?”
“Not here.”
“You’re a hypocrite.”
“Yes, very much so.”
“That’s what keeps you from moving forward.”
“No, it keeps me from being alone and wandering.”
“Are we going to keep this up much longer?”
“Until the neighbour climbs down from his roof.”
“He’s still there?”
“Looks like it.”
“We should invite him for a beer.”
“Mind you, he may be dead. Tomorrow they’ll find him with his beer in one hand and his stiff cock in the other.”
“Well, I have to go.”
Stéphane gets up and goes into the house. Rémi follows. Stéphane makes sure Irène is sound asleep. He gathers his clothes and dresses. On the table lies the envelope containing his pay.
“Does it pay well?”
“Enough to live on, not enough to stop doing it.”
“How long do you plan to stay here?”
“All summer, I think.”
“That reassures me.”
Stéphane is ready to leave, his motorcycle helmet in hand.
“See you, man.”
He gives him a quick kiss on the lips. For a few seconds, Rémi toys with the idea of holding him back. Stéphane closes the door behind him. Rémi sits in the living room. A clock announces three fifteen. He decides to tidy up so Irène will not hurt herself when she wakes.
As he is leaving the house, he sees Victor’s car finally returning. He goes to meet him; Victor is surprised to see him.
“Where were you?”
“Well, as you can see, I’m coming back from the neighbour’s.”
“In a swimsuit at four in the morning?”
“Long story. Where are you coming from?”
“A friend’s,” Victor answers vaguely, locking the car door with a small remote.
The car squeaks its assent. Victor walks quickly towards the house. He staggers. Rémi does not press him. Victor goes upstairs and returns in a swimsuit. Rémi notices the reddened skin on his back. The heat? Victor’s skin is a parchment on which everything is written. Rémi follows him. For him, the night may yet be sleepless. Victor dives with a cry of release. Had he been in such a hurry to wash, afraid his body would betray him? Rémi sits on the steps, watches Victor swim a few lengths, then climb out. A fine specimen of a man, Rémi thinks. Despite the extra weight, he hastens to add. He is severe. He wants to be severe, he corrects himself again. So near and so far from him. He is sick of the hypocrisy.
“Did you sleep with him?”
Victor stops drying himself for a fraction of a second, which does not escape Rémi.
“What are you talking about?”
“I’d rather know.”
“And you? Did you sleep with Luc?”
“Yes.”
“Why, Rémi? Why do you do this?”
“And you?”
“Don’t dodge the question.”
Rémi does not want this discussion, especially since he does not know how to answer.
“Would it be honest of me to say I don’t know?”
“Yes…”
“You’re too good to me, Victor.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“We always have a choice. And then…”
“What?”
Rémi takes a breath.
“And then, you avoid me. You don’t love me.”
The blow seems to land. Rémi feels ridiculous for trying to play the victim. Victor exhales loudly.
“Who stopped loving first?” he replies.
Rémi watches the first light of day appear in the east. Émile has abandoned his chair on the roof.
“You seem to be saying it was me.”
“Am I wrong?”
“What if it was both of us?”
“No. You’re mistaken.”
“You never want to talk, Victor.”
The first birds chirp. Victor suppresses a yawn.
“I’m tired, Rémi. We’ll talk about it later.”
“That’s right. We’ll talk about it later.”
Victor goes back inside. Rémi clenches his fists. He too is tired. His body demands rest; his mind commands him to do nothing. He stands and studies the horizon. The rising sun resembles a good loaf slowly swelling. Rémi has no desire to go inside or decide the fate of this day. He is still on holiday, after all. In an hour or two, the city will grow agitated, suburbanites will flee to their offices, leaving behind wives, lovers, and children. Victor will have to wake again too. Better to resume the battle another time. For this is indeed a war. He stretches out on the lounge chair beside the pool.
Luc knows Rémi, Rémi knows Stéphane, Stéphane knows Irène, Irène knows Léo, Léo knows Rémi, Rémi knows Victor, Irène, Stéphane, Luc. He counts sheep, insects. The war has begun. Now Victor knows about Luc. Has he said too much? He will see tomorrow. Sleep a little, all the time. Warm, comforting water pours into the rivers of his dreams. He sails, he soars, kisses Stéphane, Émile, Lucienne, Marthe, Irène. He touches cocks, someone kisses him again, a stranger with welcoming lips; he comes, he cries, he kneads bread, nuns come for dozens of loaves, he cannot keep up, panics, kisses those welcoming lips again, touches more cocks, tastes their dampness, he hurts, the welcoming lips are inside him and spill a sad, sad, blinding saliva. His brain intoxicates him while standing guard; the nuns undress, they are men putting on their cassocks. A priest and Rémi in the sacristy. Rémi is only fifteen, discovering love; he likes it. He comes in the priest’s mouth, and the priest asks for more. Rémi gives him more. The priest is young. So beautiful. The priest kisses him, his saliva warm. Victor kisses his forehead. Victor? He opens his eyes. What time is it? Ten o’clock, Victor answers. Rémi closes his eyes. He dreams, but the priest has disappeared. Rémi is sad, feels alone, searches for the priest. He dives into a nearby river. He loses all sense of time.
He stretches. His feet are burning. Stretches again. Someone has laid a light cotton sheet over him. Only his feet escaped it and are baking in the sun. He looks at his watch. Noon.
Stiff from sleeping badly, he goes inside. Heat has invaded the house, so after relieving himself, he returns outdoors and dives into the pool. The water envelops and baptizes him. He rises to the surface, feels better. He swims, tries to escape the rays, dives again, wills himself into a fish. It feels good. Rises for air, the sun catches him, he dives, rises, a happy Sisyphus.
“Is the water nice?”
Behind the hedge, he sees Irène.
“Yes, very. And you—not too hungover?”
“Alcohol suits me beautifully, you know. Thank you for tidying up. My housekeeper was very pleased. Thank you also for that charming episode.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’d like to go for a walk. Interested?”
“Good idea! In thirty minutes?”
“Great.”