You Changed My Life by Abdel Sellou Page B

holdup! I just want a signature, there.”
    I point to the bottom of the paper. The man smiles, watches me in silence. He’s funny with his little silk scarf that matches the pocket on his houndstooth blazer. The girl asks me a question.
    â€œWhy do you need a signature?”
    â€œFor unemployment.”
    I’m blunt, on purpose. It’s clear that Missy and me are from different worlds. Finally, the other one speaks.
    â€œI need someone to accompany me everywhere I go, including travel . . . are you interested in traveling?”
    â€œWhat? Are you looking for a driver?”
    â€œA little more than a driver . . .”
    â€œWell, what’s a little more than a driver?”
    â€œSomeone to accompany me. A life auxiliary. It should be written on your paper, isn’t it?”
    The weirdness continues. I have no idea what he’s talking about. I’m sitting here across from a man in his forties, who is clearly loaded, surrounded by an army of assistants in skirts, I imagine the kids I saw in the sitting room are his and that he
has a beautiful little wife, too. Why would he need somebody to hold his hand when he travels? In fact, I still don’t see the problem and I don’t want to stick around to find out. But I took the trouble to come here, used up all of my brainpower to get into the place, and I’m not leaving without that signature.
    â€œLook, I already accompany my mother to go grocery shopping . . . so come on, sign there, please?”
    The secretary sighs, but he doesn’t. He looks like he’s having more and more fun and takes his time. You’d think this was The Godfather when the big boss explains the way things are to the younger bosses wanting to take his place. He speaks calmly, almost fatherly, and with endless patience. “Listen, son . . .” That’s it . . . the guy living in this palace is a godfather. Don Vito Corleone is sitting there, across from me, explaining things to me calmly, teaching me a lesson. All that’s missing is the plate of noodles and the red-checkered napkin around his neck.
    â€œI have a problem: I can’t move by myself outside of this chair. Actually, I can’t do anything by myself. But as you can see, I’m surrounded by help. I just need a strong boy like you to take me wherever I want to go. It pays well and offers separate accommodations in the building.”
    I hesitate . . . but not for long.
    â€œHonestly, I have a driver’s license, but I don’t know anything about how to . . . The only thing I’ve driven up until now is a moped with a pizza strapped onto it. So why don’t you sign the paper for me and see about all of that with those others waiting in the sitting room. I don’t think I’m the right person for you.”
    â€œYou’re not interested in the apartment?”

    He touches a soft spot. He sees a vagabond, a little Arab who’s never taken out a lease in a neighborhood like this one, a young guy without the slightest ambition, a lost cause. And still, he doesn’t know I’ve done time . . . Don Corleone has a heart. He doesn’t have any arms or legs anymore; that doesn’t bother me. But heart, I don’t have any, not for other people and not for myself. I don’t see myself like others see me. I’m perfectly happy with the way things are. I understood I’d never have it all, no matter what I did, so I gave up trying. A bank clerk adores his quartz watch, an American tourist loves his video camera, a teacher cherishes his Renault 5 car, a doctor lives for his suburban home . . . When they get robbed, they’re so scared they practically hand you the keys to the safe instead of defending themselves! I don’t want to live for any of that. Life’s just a giant rip-off. I don’t have any possessions, nothing matters to me.
    â€œI’m not going to sign your paper. Let’s give it a try. If you like