I immerse myself as much as I can in this thought as I emerge from the bluish and sun-drenched waves.
Dear Océane,
I can’t get over the nerve you had for daring to write to Lucas.
I had to answer you to tell you two things:
One, we’re going to change our address, so you can never reach him again…
Stop! Alas, my brain is replaying the words contained in this letter. I take some salt water in my palms and splash it on my face. I adjust my bikini top, trying to swallow it all…
I respond as best I can to the blissful smile of Louane, my new girlfriend in Sydney. I only have to think of the people who are freezing at my house in France at the moment to measure my luck and learn to savor the moment. Even if one of the relics of my past must be scouring Paris to find me… I may be far away physically, but my mind seems to have remained stuck there.
“That deserves a first swim selfie in Australia!” says Louane to me.
This Canadian language student, as comfortable with French as she is with English, instantly become my favorite friend. The language barrier doesn’t exist when I’m with her. And then, she has the gift of pulling me out of the gloom that has sometimes plagued my thoughts since my first days here. Hanging out with her makes me feel…almost good.
“Cheeeeeese! “I say in unison with Louane.
“I post it on my Insta and my Snap?” she asks me.
Oh no!
“No, I… I don’t really like exposing myself on social media,” I say. “Can you just keep it to yourself and send it to me, please?”
“No problem, sweetheart,” concedes Louane.
We settle down on our beach towels. I slather on sunscreen and put my straw hat and sunglasses back on. Louane’s hand comes out of the picnic basket with Vegemite1 toast. I haven’t gotten used to it yet; the taste is quite particular. I pick on it, letting my gaze wander to distract my brain. My girlfriend, believing I am interested in the male sex, starts watching and commenting. Technically, she’s in a relationship, and they seem very much in love, Trevor and her. But “looking is not cheating,” she philosophizes, laughing.
“It’s a passive market watch for high-potential males, you know?” she justifies herself. “On the other hand, I advise you to go for it. Nothing better than a good dose of fun to erase this sad face.”
I smile at her.
“What’s your type of guy?” Louane asks me.
“Very good question… I’m still thinking about it,” I evade, laughing.
The only relationship I had when I was sixteen has also become the mistake of my life with a monumental “M.” I don’t want any more illusions, and I willingly gave up on love. I already have to convince myself daily that there may still be a little crumb of happiness left for me. Somewhere. If I deserve it. And that I will learn to have fun again with no worries if the opportunity arises. Well, we’ll see…
“Thin? Chubby? Beefy? Brown-hair? Redhead? Blond? Bald?” insists Louane, relaxed. “Well mounted or small dick?
“Hey!”
“What? It takes a bit of everything to make a world, right?” she laughs.
In the process, she leads me into a game that consists of trying to guess the “equipment” of the surfers and swimmers around us. I appreciate this lightness, but I hope that no one around us understands French. Myriam’s advice at the airport teases my memory, “People’s opinions are too important to you, my little Océane. Especially the negative ones. You have to get rid of that. Free yourself, let go! Go live your life!”
I want to… Much more often since I’ve been in Australia. I just can’t do it yet, not like before, not totally, intensely, freely. I know I can be wild; I used to be. Only the blockage is there, less strong, but still present.
“Oh, the poor dear, he has a tiny one!” laughs Louane, who focuses on the tight suit of a surfer at the crotch.
I’m suddenly stressed, “He more or less understood, didn’t he?”
Yes, this kind of self-censorship easily reappears in my head despite myself.
“So what?” Louane answers me, licking the salty spread on her index finger. “Guys do the same about girls’ tits. Equal rights, honey! Didn’t you remember anything from Sex and the City or what?”
“You’re right; let’s drink to Carrie, Samantha, and all these women who are happy with themself!” I agree, uncapping my soda.
I hope that one day I can feel the same confidence and enjoy my stay.
I’m a better person today. Well, I guess.
2
Tiger
Two days later, Washington, USA
The gym is empty, my staff made sure of that ahead of time. I start my session alone, an hour early. Time passes, and it’s getting dark outside. He will soon show up at the agreed time. Indeed, I notice the arrival of my appointment while continuing to whip the ground with the heavy and thick battle cords. Faster and faster, knees bent, legs apart, I push each of my muscles to endurance by lifting and waving the ropes in front of me continuously.
At the end of my series of exercises, my T-shirt drenched in sweat, I join the tall, silent black man. At first glance, we look like two guys who come across each other in a gym to work out. He blends into the background by getting on the pull-up bars. I do the same. My fingers wrap around it; I start to pull myself up and down.
“What was the emergency, Terrence?”
“I need a guy. He’s expensive.”
“Whatever, hire him if I can get something out of him.”
“Roger that.”
Terrence’s succinct answer says more than a useless speech. His background as an MI6 agent makes him organized, efficient, and surgically precise. He doesn’t blather for anything, and I appreciate that. I continue my pull-ups, focused on the follow-up during the sustained physical effort. Our face-to-face meetings are extremely rare. For the discretion and the success of the operation.
“It’s been ten years, Terrence, ten fucking years.”
“Affirmative, sir. We’re close. I’ll send you the pedigree of the new guy. He’ll be very useful to us in Europe.”
“Okay, you’ll receive the necessary funds in the offshore account.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going back to my hotel; my wife is waiting for me.”
“Yes. Enjoy the rest of the evening.”
“I need results.”
On this last push, I leave Terrence. I put on my sweatshirt, pull the hood over my head, and take short strides. I run for a long time without wanting to return to my suite. Things are flowing into my head…