Stéphane dives. Floating on his back, Rémi gazes at the stars. The man’s submerged body brushes against him, dives again and glides beneath him once more. Rémi shivers. He could imitate Stéphane and join him in these DNA caresses without crossing the boundaries of propriety.
The end of the afternoon, then supper and the evening, have passed quickly. The conversations were friendly between Lucienne and Stéphane, conspiratorial between the two men. Stéphane proves to be an excellent cook, able to turn a few eggs and vegetables into a savoury quiche. Rémi sampled everything, both the dish and these peaceful moments. The perfect adagio of a possible future symphony. But thinking beyond the present would be clumsy haste. Patience. Molto decelerando. There is no happiness except in being close to someone. But the song must still be the same.
Lucienne has gone to bed. Rémi will soon have to do the same. Trying to surface too quickly, Stéphane bumps into him. Rémi loses his balance. Stéphane laughs.
“Sorry!”
“That’s all right, handsome. A little longer and I’d have fallen asleep.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes, but stay a little longer.”
Stéphane smiles and wipes his face. It is Rémi’s turn to swim a few lengths, still on his back. Better not to say too much, he thinks; words, acidic, would be clumsy and burn away this brief moment of happiness. Brief, yes, very brief, poised precariously before the abyss of the ordinary.
A car can be heard parking out front, doors slamming, two men talking merrily as they enter the house. Victor comes out onto the patio, accompanied by what appears to be Mario. Victor has clearly had too much to drink and stops short at the sight of Rémi and Stéphane. Behind him, Mario bids them good evening. Rémi understands immediately that he has lost Victor.
“Are we interrupting?” Victor calls sarcastically.
“Not at all,” Rémi replies calmly.
Moderato sostenuto.
“Did you have a good trip?”
“Pretty damn fun, right, Mario?”
Mario answers with an affectionate “yeah.”
“Care to join us?” Rémi asks.
“Maybe it’s time I left,” Stéphane says.
“No, stay, please.”
“Feel like it, Mario?”
“Yes, why not. But I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“You don’t need one here.”
Victor undresses unsteadily, keeping only his briefs on, and waits for Mario to imitate him. Mario complies more slowly, shyly. Victor chuckles. Rémi understands that he has lost Victor because Mario is the type his friend is looking for. Stocky and smooth-skinned, with very dark hair, he is not what one imagines a notary to look like. Once Mario has undressed, Victor removes his briefs.
“I’ll keep mine on, if you don’t mind.”
Victor dives in. Rémi and Stéphane move aside to let him swim his lengths.
“Well, Mario, aren’t you coming in?” Rémi gently encourages him.
“Yes, of course.”
The young notary complies. Rémi watches him. Stéphane climbs out of the water only to dive in again. Victor hauls himself out of the pool with difficulty and sits in a corner, his feet in the water, his eyes hypnotized by drunkenness. Rémi joins him.
They whisper.
“Are you all right, Victor?”
“Who’s he?”
“Stéphane, an acquaintance of Irène’s. We were with her earlier.”
“Did you hit on him?”
“No.”
He is not proud of his half-lie.
“Are you going to sleep with him tonight?”
“No, Victor.”
Coward, he tells himself. Look how brave Victor is.
“I was about to go to bed.”
“We could do it as a foursome.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Have you ever done it with four? With twenty?”
“Yes, often.”
He lies again. Stéphane keeps Mario occupied at the other end of the pool. Rémi is grateful to him.
“That was a long time ago.”
Victor yawns.
“I love you, Rémi, you know.”
“Don’t say that.”
They are still whispering.
“I want to sleep with Mario. I really want to.”
“But you’ve already done it, haven’t you?”
“Yes, but right now, I want him badly.”
Victor’s cock stiffens. Rémi is ashamed of Victor’s delirium as he dives into the water, joins Mario and embraces him. Deeply embarrassed, Mario tries to pull away. Rémi motions for Stéphane to come closer. Victor overcomes Mario’s misgivings, and Mario eventually giggles. A few moments later, the briefs float on the surface while Victor kisses Mario passionately.
“Well, then,” Stéphane says.
“I suppose you have an erection.”
Rémi plunges his hand into the water.
“Does it turn you on that much? Go join them, if you want.”
He springs out of the pool, followed by Stéphane. Victor and Mario moan loudly. Stéphane joins Rémi inside the house and forces him to turn around. Victor and Mario burst out laughing, tussle, then fall silent. Rémi watches them without a word.
“Do you want me to stay?”
“I have a bad bed to offer you in my office. And I get up at five.”
“I’m used to it. What’s troubling you?”
“He said earlier that he loved me.”
“And do you love him?”
“Come on, let’s go upstairs.”
“Why won’t you answer?”
Rémi still does not answer. He opens the sofa bed, straightens the bedding with Stéphane’s help and closes the office door.
“I don’t know if your staying is a good idea…”
“I understand.”
“But I’d also rather not be alone.”
“I understand that too.”
It is the best he can say. Though confessed within these walls, his feeling still retains the complex flavour of revenge. Desire merely seasons the words. Stéphane sits down and removes his swimsuit. Rémi does the same. Stéphane holds out his arms.
Rémi nestles into them. For the first time, they find themselves together in a bed. The obliging sheets coat them in preparatory caresses. Rémi tries to regain his confidence, to shut out the affront. In doing so, he presses closer to Stéphane’s body. Alerted, his senses send languorous signals; his blood receives hallucinogenic charges. The two men trust each other and, in the lake of tenderness formed by their desire, they forget—one to console, the other to weep.
He hears them go upstairs. Both are laughing, Victor more than he should. Stéphane embraces him in his sleep. Rémi keeps his eyes open. He did not want it to happen this way, though he would be hard-pressed to describe any other way of doing things. He has only himself to blame. He tells himself again: he is the bad boy, and Victor needs to get drunk before he can lower himself to Rémi’s level, to the very foot of his mediocrity. His inner demon reminds him that he has it all wrong again. Victor is only having sex with another man, just as Rémi only has sex with all the others. A second, more philistine voice rises to suggest that there is no point trying to understand the labyrinth of love. Rémi stops them. This is not about love but the passage of time. The first two voices fall silent, smiling. A brief laugh. Mario. What is Victor doing to him? What is he doing to Mario that he did not do to Rémi? How long has Victor been cheating on him? He wishes he could tally the accounts correctly, set the sum of their injustices upon the scales. The two hypotheses rise again, thinking it is time to intervene. Rémi shows them the hour. It is only time to sleep. Tomorrow, more work, more bread. Time sorts things out and is the sole master of the scales. It alone will know how to restore the balance. In the meantime, Rémi can sleep and Victor can come.
Five o’clock. His eyes awaken. His ears hear. Stéphane is snoring beside him. He slips out of bed, stretches and turns towards Stéphane. He does not have time to make love to him. He yawns and leaves the room. Across the hall, Victor’s bedroom door has been left open. Mario’s large cock bears witness to his dreams. Victor’s buttocks gleam beside him. Filth. Rémi gently closes the door. He returns to the office and wakes Stéphane, who starts.
“Sorry, big guy, time to get up.”
Stéphane needs no urging. He smiles at Rémi and rises quickly.
“Shall we have a shower?” Rémi suggests.
“Together? Great!”
Pleasures. Happiness renewed. The joy of sharing the cleansing of their bodies. A few caresses, but still neither the time nor the moment for anything else. Kisses, at least; that is the minimum under the circumstances. Tasting the other like a first breakfast. Whetting the appetite. They act silently, secretly.
They go downstairs. Lucienne, already dressed, is sitting in the kitchen. Looking sad, she sends them a lacklustre smile.
“Good morning, boys. Sleep well?”
“Yes, thank you, Lucienne,” Stéphane replies.
Rémi leans towards her and kisses her forehead.
“Sorry, Lucienne, for all this.”
She laughs.
“You kidding?” she whispers. “If the manor’s a dormitory, this here’s a whorehouse! I never seen Victor put on a show like that. Cheating on someone in secret is one thing, doing it right in front of him… I don’t understand you queers.”
She yawns.
“We aren’t all like that,” Rémi replies. “Are we, Stéphane?”
Stéphane waves a hand in front of him to indicate that he would not swear to it.
“That’s what I thought,” Lucienne adds, pleased by Stéphane’s support.
She yawns again.
“Those two kept me awake a long time.”
“You didn’t have to watch!”
“I wasn’t watching, I was listening! Me, I don’t understand the neighbours. I’d have called the police long ago.”
“The neighbour at the back would like nothing better, the one across from Irène even more so, and as for Irène…”
“Don’t say anything bad about her.”
“Not at all. As for her, well, she’s elsewhere; she has other contingencies, you might say. And other interests.”
“Or other inclinations,” Stéphane clarifies, yawning in turn.
“I suggest we go eat at the bakery. There’s everything we need over there,” Rémi says, hoping to calm things down and get away from the house as quickly as possible.
“Won’t say no to that,” Lucienne says. “I sure don’t like living in misery.”
“I’m not miserable,” Rémi replies.
She stares at him heavily.
“Anyways, if you ain’t miserable, you sure ain’t smiling much!”
As he leaves the house, Rémi realizes that Victor has parked his car behind his. He turns back and searches in vain for Victor’s clothes. Victor must have taken them to his bedroom. Rémi goes upstairs and does not hesitate to open the door. Victor and Mario have shifted, an unconscious ballet of caresses. The two lovers’ clothes lie jumbled together on the floor. He hears Stéphane’s motorcycle roar. Mario moves, and Rémi watches him. He is a handsome fellow, Rémi thinks, the picture of health, as Lucienne would have said. Victor has taste. Mario opens his eyes a little, then wider when he realizes Rémi is there. Rémi signals him to keep quiet and shows him Victor’s keys. Mario smiles uneasily and covers himself as best he can with the sheet trapped beneath Victor. Rémi motions for him to do nothing and leaves, closing the door behind him. He goes back downstairs in a better mood.