guys like me. When she reaches out to grab her mascara from a shelf, the arch of her back makes a long arabesque.
âSorry, Iâm not ready yet,â she says, glancing at me in the mirror.
âI thoughtâIâll, uh, just wait outside.â I chuck the candlestick on the bed, hold my hand out right in front of me. Itâs trembling.
âYou OK?â she asks innocently.
âYeah. Where are we going tonight?â
âTo Hugoâs.â
I donât even know why I asked her such a stupid question. She comes out in a loose top that stops midthigh, her long brown hair swept back in a big chignon. Sheâs wearing jeans tight as a second skin and red heels.
âReady?â I ask.
But she doesnât seem to want to follow me. Instead, she lies down lubriciously on the bed. âYou bring anything?â
Without fanfare, I dismiss the disappointment. Really, Idir, you can dare to dreamâbut itâll never happen . I take the drugs out from under my balls, apologize for how ungentlemanly that is, but honestly, Iâve never understood people who walk around with their stash in their coat pocket, like thereâs no such thing as stop and frisk.
âTake your pick.â
She sits up and points at the pink powder Tarik gave me. What can I say? My man knows his business. She grabs a DVD off the floor. Contempt . It pains me, but I lay a line out for her on the clamshell, thinking her ass is a sure match for Bardotâs. She snorts the powder up diligently, no straw, just holding one nostril closed. A real pro.
âNot having any?â
I put the drugs away without answering. âWe good to go now?â
She gives a capricious little pout. âIâll call a taxi.â
In the elevator, the light from above brings out a slight bruise on her left cheek. Something she couldâve gotten walking into a door. Once weâre in the taxi, I ask her what itâs from. She could tell me to go fuck myself, but she replies quite naturally, as if Iâd asked her for the time.
âA guy I see now and then. He has these weird fits.â
âWhat do you mean âweirdâ? He gets violent?â
âNot really. Heâs not normally violent, but letâs just say he likes violence whenâ¦â
âWhen you fuck,â I finish, not very delicately.
She looks at me sideways. âRight. But why are you interested?â
âI donât know. I wonder why a girl like you, who could have any boy she wants, gets herself into these kinds of situations.â
âHasnât it ever occurred to you I could like it?â
âRight on.â
She laughs.
âWhatâs so funny?â
âI was thinking about the guyââ
âWho? The guy who hit you?â
âYeah. He likes it when I hurt him too. When Iâ¦penetrate him.â
I wonder how far this chick will go. âAnd?â
âAnd each time, he starts jabbering about twisted stuff.â
âLike what?â
âLikeâwhat was that thing he said last time? Oh, yeah: âMake me suffer, condemn me to beingâ¦condemn me to sufferingâ¦â Something like that, I canât even remember. Sick stuff. I was dying laughing.â
The phrase echoes in my head, like Iâve heard it before, somewhere.
âYou OK? You look green.â
âIâm fine. Your boyfriend just sounds like one special guy. Oh, and listen, at this party: weâre friends, OK? Iâm your dealer, not your financial adviser.â
I spend the rest of the cab ride racking my brain to no avail for what that phrase reminds me of. The taxi drops us in the Seventeenth. I shouldâve asked where the party was; wouldâve saved me crossing Paris twice. The building is very modern. You can hear the bass from the street. Eve taps in the entrance code. The door opens on a large courtyard; at the back are a few apartments whose patios are separated by wooden