Rendez-vous, Christine Angot (first pages)
In early November, I received a letter via my publisher,
and I decided to answer it. "Like an ad
of Liberation: you were my neighbor in the plane AT
Milan-Paris, a few weeks ago. Call - if he
please - at 01 ... or office 01 ...; or write. Want to
see you again. "I had never flown to Milan-Paris.
The guy was wrong on the trip, or it was not me. "By discretion,
a neighbor on a plane is an ambush, and
because I was rolled by a round trip in the same
day, I did not say a word to you. But you intrigue me,
I would like to see you again. " Writing
and the paper indicated a certain class. On the
answering machine, the secretary's voice was impeccable: you
are in the secretariat of G. He lived in the sixth, and put
all his numbers, professional, home and laptop,
he was not married. One guy alone. It should be
ugly.
I called the office on a Monday. The secretary had me
passed right away.
? I'm happy to hear you. I did not expect it
not. I am very impressed, I am moved to hear you.
? You wrote to me, so I call you. although I
never answer letters. I found your letter funny.
That's why I'm calling you. But I wanted
tell you that you are wrong person or trip.
He had an educated, elegant, but aged voice. seductive,
hot:
? But yes, it was Milan-Paris. You do not have
took the Malpensa-Paris about three weeks ago?
? If you're sure it was Milan-Paris it was not
not me.
? Yes yes it was Milan-Paris. So you have a
lookalike, a real look-alike.
The voice was veiled: Or "can we write to you?
publisher it seems to you. But...
? I do not even know where I am, I am in a
office, but which office? I do not know. What are you doing ?
? I am a banker.
It left me a little speechless.
? I will write to you again at your publisher.
Will you answer me? Some lines ?
? No, I do not like writing letters. I will not answer
no, but I'll call, like now.
? How are we going to do then? I do not like
the phone and you are not writing.
? No, but I want to have a drink with you if
you want.
? Yes. Friday ?
On Friday night, the street was dark, empty. A type
was advancing towards me. Pretty old, not tall, bald, who does not
I did not like it at all. I wanted to leave.
? Ah, but if it was you on the plane.
It did not amuse me. But I felt obliged to
spend with him at least half an hour. I smiled:
? I assure you no.
We did not have much to say except that.
He had ordered a Perrier with whiskey, he wanted to
pour it himself into his glass, the bottle had to be
placed on the table next to it. He had made his request to the server
extremely accurately, he had repeated the same
thing many times, mechanically and almost
anguished. As if the server could not crash into
only once what he wanted and the importance that all
details are respected. The anxiety that the order is not
not executed precisely was read on his face, his features were
hardened, he was almost scared. But it moved me,
like an idiot. I had to think that with him life was
simple, since it regulated all the material. This scenario was
reproduced each time I saw it again, for the table of
restaurant, the place on the train, what to eat, what day,
What time. He mastered everything. He told me he admired me,
that I was extraordinary, that I was a woman
unheard. The same speech as my father. L was
extraordinary.
? I admire you, listen, I will tell you: I would like to
to be you. That's it, then you see. He was doing the job well:
I will love to be you. He had said it two or three times as
to the server for the whiskey. So that it fits me well in
skull.
I said there was a price to pay, a loneliness,
to break his flights. I told him about an anonymous letter
that I had just received, for example, which contained my last poop of shit the week before,
in the mail, I went to the cops, put a hand
common.
He had changed his face. He looked disgusted and
surprised.
? It can only be crazy. These are people that
you know ?
We had talked a little bit about his work and his
middle. He did not flourish there.
? Work is an alienation. You do not go
not count of how lucky you are to not be
alienated.
He despised his office neighbors, fellow bankers,
who did not read and whose lives boiled down to
weekends in the Perche. He esteemed himself above them. he
considered them as bourgeois with whom he had nothing
to see, with a contemptuous irony, in the eyes and in the
smile. He had thin lips like a line. But
after an hour and a half, when he had said
to leave, "already" I had told myself. He had a soft voice, and a
piercing look that had almost embarrassed me. He gave me his
professional card this time, with the name of his bank,
it was one of the biggest banks of business, it was
managing partner. The pen in the air, he added:
? I can write to you at your home address
personal?
? Of course.
? Do you have a mobile number?
? Excuse me I prefer not to give it, forgive me
at the moment I am a little phobic.
? I understand very well, I will write to you.
I refused to give him my cell number
because I disliked him too much physically. I just had it
invited to a public reading.
? In any case, you now know that there is a
a man in Paris who thinks you are an incredible woman.
I had thought: yes, but it's a shame that it's you.
On the sidewalk I had shook his hand from afar. Then
I had taken the road back home and told myself that I did not
no chance.
And then in the week, I'd called him on a pretext
whatever, because I thought of him, I had fallen under
the charm, I definitely did not go out. Often people
which did not please me moved me. So I went there, and
I regretted after having lost my time. I knew those
which I really liked but I was always with
others. He said he would come to see me at the theater. during
that I was on stage it had helped me to know it in
the room. The next morning he called. He kept telling me
that I was unheard and invited me to a show, I refused
but accepted a lunch. And when I arrived I thought
I liked it actually. The eyes, very blue, very cold, very
hard, very piercing, were determined, they knew what they
wanted, and they could get it. He was talking about things
and others. I was smiling.
? I'm having fun?
? No. I'm listening to you do not talk to me about you.
? Ask me questions.
I said I did not have any questions for him.
At the end of lunch, just before leaving, while we
had made an appointment for the following evening, he had said:
? I will answer the question you ask me
I'm married, but you love me. I am married
to an extraordinary woman, a little bitchy sometimes, but
extraordinary, and in any case you enchant me. I you
admires.
When he enjoyed, his face disintegrated as if the
his pieces no longer held together.
As if the skin let go, and revealed that inside all
the pieces of flesh were out of tune and fell back
shreds out of phase, in a grimace of terrible suffering.
It was ugly and especially strange. I was going to fall in love
of a man of sixty, all the better, that would make me
get out of the merger and invasion. There was not this
risk, at his age he had already organized his entire life of
precisely.
