Free Bye Bye Blondie by Virginie Despentes Page A

you’re a poof?”
    He was content simply to give her a doubtful look, almost pityingly. She appreciated the effectiveness and economy of expression: in two seconds, he’d made her feel really stupid.
    â€œSorry, I must be mixing him up with someone?”
    â€œWith Frankie Goes to Hollywood?”
    â€œNo, with that guy who sings ‘Où sont les femmes.’”
    He immediately began a brief but very accurate imitation of the singer she meant, singing and wriggling on his chair, shaking his arms and his torso. A thin, high-pitched voice.
    â€œGo on, you are a bit gay, aren’t you?”
    â€œNo, not really.”
    â€œPeculiar to like Polnareff though.”
    â€œIt’s not my fault if you only go for one kind of music.”
    â€œAt our age though, it’s weird, isn’t it?”
    â€œIt’s nothing to do with age, stop it. You’re being thick, thick, give up!”
    â€œAnd you remember that all right, do you, that you like Polnareff, isn’t that weird too?”
    â€œYeah, a bit more. But stop frowning. It really, really doesn’t suit you.”
    When something made him laugh, he looked like a child, his eyes changed and betrayed their animal power. A funny guy altogether, with the rodent-like teeth he showed when he smiled. She felt herself beginning to be won over—to feel less alone.
    As he relaxed and declared that he could be nasty as well, and since Gloria, whatever her doctors said, was all woman, she started wanting to sleep with him. She certainly liked his hands.
    He hesitated, and looked at her, trying to make something out. Feeling she was being assessed, she immediately wanted to be attractive to him. He leaned a little toward her, their shoulders touched.
    â€œCan you keep a secret?”
    She couldn’t prevent a little nervous giggle.
    â€œWho do you think I’d tell, here?”
    â€œWhen I woke up this morning, I could remember everything perfectly well. My name, my local disco, and even that I don’t really like coffee first thing in the morning.”
    â€œOh really? But you still don’t get it, do you? Your secret’s neither here nor there, if you really want to be in here, you can tell them your real name. They’ll keep you just the same. It’s not as if people are fighting to get in here, it’s not selective . . .”
    â€œYes, but I want us to get to know each other better.”
    â€œWell, that’s flattering . . .”
    She didn’t believe this for a second, and it must have been in her voice because he frowned, embarrassed.
    â€œYou’re not very encouraging. Don’t you want to get to know me?”
    â€œI’d sit and chat with a German-speaking goat, I’m so lonely here.”
    â€œGood, because I’m much more fun than a goat.”
    â€œSo how come you lost your memory?”
    â€œI must have had too much Rohypnol.”
    â€œI hate that kind of stuff. Last time I had some, I ended up head down, asleep on the floor, through a whole concert of the Cure.”
    â€œIn Vandoeuvre?”
    â€œWere you there?”
    â€œNo, but I’ve got this friend, he talks about it all the time.”
    â€œSo you really do know about punk.”
    â€œI keep up with stuff. But what I really like is Polnareff.”
    â€œAnd you’re not queer? Never mind, I get it.”
    She made him laugh and he gave her some funny looks. Gloria was starting to feel disturbed, wondering on one hand whether she wanted to go to bed with him, and on the other whether he too was thinking of this, or whether he wasn’t interested at all. She tried not to ask herself that question for the moment.
    Eric must have read her thoughts, since he said, “Look, I’m not trying to chat you up or anything, I just wanted . . . I’d just like it if we could maybe have a smoke together, just talk a bit . . .”
    â€œYou’ve got some