slit skirts that would have been different! . . .
Tisserand was knocking back huge glasses of wine; I was evoking different tendencies within contemporary dance music. He wasn't responding; in fact I don't think he was even listening. Nevertheless, when I briefly described the timehonoured alternation of fast and slow records, so as to underline the ritual character it had lent to the procedures of seduction, his interest was re-awakened (had he already had occasion, personally, to dance to a slow number? It was by no means certain). I went on to the offensive:
-I suppose you're doing something for Christmas. With the folks, no doubt ...
-We do nothing at Christmas, I'm Jewish, he informed me with a touch of pride. At least, my parents are Jewish, he added in an undertone.
This revelation shut me up for a few seconds. But after all, Jewish or not, did that really change anything? If so, I couldn’t see what. I pressed on.
-What about doing something on the 24th? I know a club in Les Sables, The Port of Call . Very friendly ...
I had the feeling my words were ringing false; I was ashamed of myself. But Tisserand was no longer in any state to pay attention to such subtleties. `Do you think there'll be lots of people? I get the impression the 24th is very "family",' that was his feeble, pathetic objection. I conceded that of course the 31st would be much better: `Girls really like to sleep around on the 31st,' I asserted with authority. But for all that the 24th wasn't to be dismissed: `Girls eat oysters with the parents and the grandmother, receive their presents. But after midnight they go clubbing,' I was getting excited, believing my own story; Tisserand proved easy to convince, just as I'd predicted.
The following evening he took three hours to get ready. I waited for him while playing dominoes in the hotel lounge; I played both hands at once, it was really boring; all the same I was rather anxious.
He showed up dressed in a black suit and a gold tie; his hair must have taken him a good while; they make gels now that give the most surprising results. In the end a black outfit was what suited him best; poor schmuck.
We still had almost an hour to kill; there was no point in going clubbing before eleven-thirty, I was categorical about that. After a brief discussion we went to have a look-see at the midnight mass; the priest was speaking of an immense hope rising in the hearts of men; I found nothing to object to in that. Tisserand was getting bored, was thinking of other things; I began to feel somewhat disgusted, but I had to go through with it. I'd placed the steak knife in a plastic bag in the front of the car.
I found The Port of Call again without difficulty; I'd passed many a dull evening there, it has to be said. This was going back more than ten years; but unpleasant memories are erased less quickly than one thinks.
The club was half-full: mainly of twenty-five-year-olds, which immediately did for the modest chances of Tisserand. A lot of miniskirts, low-cut bustiers; in short, fresh meat. I saw his eyes suddenly pop out on taking in the dance floor; I left to order a bourbon at the bar. On my return he was already standing nervously at the edge of the clutch of dancers. I vaguely murmured Ì'll rejoin you in a minute', and made off towards a table whose slightly prominent position would afford me an excellent view of the theatre of operations.
To begin with Tisserand appeared to be interested in a twenty-something brunette, a secretary most like. I was highly inclined to approve of his choice. On the one hand the girl was no great beauty, and would doubtless be a pushover; her breasts, though good-sized, were already a bit slack, and her buttocks appeared flaccid; in a few years, one felt, all this would sag completely. On the other hand her somewhat audacious get-up unambiguously underlined her intention to find a sexual partner: her thin taffeta dress twirled with every movement, revealing a
Tisserand was knocking back huge glasses of wine; I was evoking different tendencies within contemporary dance music. He wasn't responding; in fact I don't think he was even listening. Nevertheless, when I briefly described the timehonoured alternation of fast and slow records, so as to underline the ritual character it had lent to the procedures of seduction, his interest was re-awakened (had he already had occasion, personally, to dance to a slow number? It was by no means certain). I went on to the offensive:
-I suppose you're doing something for Christmas. With the folks, no doubt ...
-We do nothing at Christmas, I'm Jewish, he informed me with a touch of pride. At least, my parents are Jewish, he added in an undertone.
This revelation shut me up for a few seconds. But after all, Jewish or not, did that really change anything? If so, I couldn’t see what. I pressed on.
-What about doing something on the 24th? I know a club in Les Sables, The Port of Call . Very friendly ...
I had the feeling my words were ringing false; I was ashamed of myself. But Tisserand was no longer in any state to pay attention to such subtleties. `Do you think there'll be lots of people? I get the impression the 24th is very "family",' that was his feeble, pathetic objection. I conceded that of course the 31st would be much better: `Girls really like to sleep around on the 31st,' I asserted with authority. But for all that the 24th wasn't to be dismissed: `Girls eat oysters with the parents and the grandmother, receive their presents. But after midnight they go clubbing,' I was getting excited, believing my own story; Tisserand proved easy to convince, just as I'd predicted.
The following evening he took three hours to get ready. I waited for him while playing dominoes in the hotel lounge; I played both hands at once, it was really boring; all the same I was rather anxious.
He showed up dressed in a black suit and a gold tie; his hair must have taken him a good while; they make gels now that give the most surprising results. In the end a black outfit was what suited him best; poor schmuck.
We still had almost an hour to kill; there was no point in going clubbing before eleven-thirty, I was categorical about that. After a brief discussion we went to have a look-see at the midnight mass; the priest was speaking of an immense hope rising in the hearts of men; I found nothing to object to in that. Tisserand was getting bored, was thinking of other things; I began to feel somewhat disgusted, but I had to go through with it. I'd placed the steak knife in a plastic bag in the front of the car.
I found The Port of Call again without difficulty; I'd passed many a dull evening there, it has to be said. This was going back more than ten years; but unpleasant memories are erased less quickly than one thinks.
The club was half-full: mainly of twenty-five-year-olds, which immediately did for the modest chances of Tisserand. A lot of miniskirts, low-cut bustiers; in short, fresh meat. I saw his eyes suddenly pop out on taking in the dance floor; I left to order a bourbon at the bar. On my return he was already standing nervously at the edge of the clutch of dancers. I vaguely murmured Ì'll rejoin you in a minute', and made off towards a table whose slightly prominent position would afford me an excellent view of the theatre of operations.
To begin with Tisserand appeared to be interested in a twenty-something brunette, a secretary most like. I was highly inclined to approve of his choice. On the one hand the girl was no great beauty, and would doubtless be a pushover; her breasts, though good-sized, were already a bit slack, and her buttocks appeared flaccid; in a few years, one felt, all this would sag completely. On the other hand her somewhat audacious get-up unambiguously underlined her intention to find a sexual partner: her thin taffeta dress twirled with every movement, revealing a
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