The Age of Reinvention by Karine Tuil Page A

should really have a close-up on Samir’s face when this man first enters his field of vision. There is surprise and curiosity in his expression, but also a sort of disdain—a disdain that does not betray any feelings of superiority but, on the contrary, Samir’s jealousy and envy, without any nuance or detachment.) Samir feels hot; he is sweating. He would like to find out what this guy is doing here, in the place that should have been his, in the office that was given to him, under his real identity. He hates him at first sight, and Sofiane Boubekri probably senses this because he says right away that he should leave them in peace. “I’ll come back later. Great to meet you.” As soon as he has turned on his feet and closed the door, Pierre asks Samir what he thinks of him.
    â€œDull.”
    â€œDull? I don’t know what you mean.”
    â€œWhat made you hire that guy? He’s nothing special.”
    â€œNothing special? He came from Braun and Vidal! He studied at Paris II and spent a year at Cambridge. He’s funny, very lucid. Where do you get the idea that he’s nothing special?”
    â€œI don’t know . . . It’s just an impression he gave me.”
    Pierre laughs. “You think he’s dull . . . Guess who he’s married to!”
    Suddenly Samir seems infuriated. “How the hell should I know? I don’t know the guy from Adam . . .”
    â€œYou remember Gaelle, that gorgeous lawyer we hired three years ago?”
    Samir shrugs.
    â€œYes, you do—you remember her. You even invited her to dinner, and she rejected you. She’s a redhead, quite small, very pretty . . .”
    â€œAll right. So what’s your point?”
    â€œWell, he’s married to her and they’ve just had a son who they named Djibril.”
    â€œWow, good luck to the kid—trying to make his way in France with a name like that!”
    â€œWhat is up with you, Sami? Do you have a problem with Sofiane?”
    â€œNo . . . It would have been nice if you’d told me, that’s all . . .”
    â€œBut you work in New York! You come here once a year at most! I’m hardly going to send you his CV. Besides, you trust me, don’t you? If I tell you he’s a good guy, an excellent lawyer . . . In fact, let me be honest: I think, in pure procedural terms, he’s better than either of us.”
    â€œHe might be better than you. I kind of doubt he’s better than me. Where’s he from, anyway?”
    â€œWhat do you mean, where’s he from? I already told you: he studied at Paris II . . .”
    â€œReally? I bet he got beaten up a few times by those morons from the GUD.” 31
    â€œFinish your thought. You mean because he’s an Arab? I don’t know—I never asked him about it. But I can tell you that when I was there, I got my skull cracked a few times, and I never just lay down and took it. I was president of the local branch of Jewish Students in France. I don’t know how many fights I got into with those fascists . . . Weren’t you ever politically active?”
    â€œYes, I was in the UNEF-ID, 2 but I gave it up pretty quickly. I was never really a joiner.”
    â€œMe neither. You can’t hold it against me.”
    â€œHold what against you—hiring an Arab?”
    â€œClearly, you have a real problem with that . . .”
    â€œI have no problem at all.”
    â€œOh, come on! You turn up all smiles, everything great, then you see Sofiane, I tell you he works here, and suddenly you’re angry and irritated . . .”
    â€œI’m not angry or irritated. I was just surprised, that’s all, and I have another meeting.”
    â€œListen, I can see where you’re going with this, and I’m not sure I want to get into it with you. He’s an Arab—so what? He speaks