Three Bedrooms in Manhattan by Georges Simenon Page A

drive him up the wall, leaving a smudge of lipstick on the tip of her so-called last cigarette.
    Did she really understand?
    They were on the sidewalk. He had no idea where to go anymore, and she wasn’t curious enough to ask.
    She took his arm. “Come on,” he dully repeated, as if accepting once and for all whatever fate held in store.
    The hours that followed were exhausting. He seemed almost sadistically determined to revisit all the places they’d been together.
    At the Rockefeller Center cafeteria, for example, he ordered exactly what they’d had the first time. Scrutinizing her fiercely, he subjected her to a merciless interrogation.
    â€œWho have you been here with before?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œDon’t ask questions. Answer me. When a woman answers a question with a question, she’s about to tell a lie.”
    â€œI don’t understand, François.”
    â€œYou told me you came here often. Admit it would be unusual if you always came alone.”
    â€œSometimes I came with Jessie.”
    â€œWho else?”
    â€œI don’t remember.”
    â€œWith a man?”
    â€œPossibly, yes, a long time ago, with a friend of Jessie’s …”
    â€œA friend of Jessie’s who was also your lover.”
    â€œBut …”
    â€œAdmit it.”
    â€œI mean … Yes, I think … Once, in a taxi.”
    And he saw the inside of the cab, the driver’s shoulders, the milky blur of faces crowded in the darkness outside. He could feel those stolen kisses on his lips, he could taste them.
    â€œBitch!”
    â€œIt was so meaningless, Frank …”
    Why was she calling him Frank all of a sudden?
    It was him or anybody else, right? One man more or one man less?
    Why didn’t she fight back? He resented her passivity, her humility. He dragged her outside. He kept dragging her around everywhere, as if driven to it by some obscure force.
    â€œAnd this street, have you been here with a man?”
    â€œNo. I don’t know anymore.”
    â€œNew York is so big, isn’t it? Still, you’ve lived here for years. You don’t expect me to believe that you haven’t gone to little bars like ours with other men, and that you haven’t endlessly played other records that were at that moment your song.”
    â€œI’ve never been in love, Frank.”
    â€œYou’re lying.”
    â€œThink what you like. I’ve never been in love. Not the way I love you.”
    â€œAnd you went to the movies. I know you’ve been at the movies with a man and done things in the dark. Admit it!”
    â€œI don’t know anymore.”
    â€œSee! Was it on Broadway? Show me the cinema.”
    â€œMaybe at the Capitol, once …”
    They were less than a hundred yards away from it and saw the red-and-yellow letters blinking on and off.
    â€œA young naval officer. A Frenchman.”
    â€œYou were lovers a long time?”
    â€œA weekend. His ship was in Boston. He came to New York on leave with a friend.”
    â€œAnd you had both of them!”
    â€œWhen his friend saw how things were going, he left us.”
    â€œI’ll bet you met them on the street.”
    â€œThat’s true. I recognized the uniform. I heard them speaking French. They didn’t know I understood them until I smiled. They spoke to me.”
    â€œWhich hotel did he take you to? Where did you sleep with him? Answer me!”
    She remained silent.
    â€œAnswer me!”
    â€œWhy do you want to know? You’re torturing yourself for nothing, believe me. It was so unimportant, Frank.”
    â€œWhich hotel?”
    As if resigned to fate, she said: “The Lotus.”
    He burst out laughing and dropped her arm.
    â€œOh, God, that takes the prize! Talk about coincidences! So, on our first night, or first morning, rather, since it was nearly day, when I brought you to