Heading South by Dany Laferrière Read Free Book Online

there. You can’t miss it.”
    A TALL, THIN young man opens the door and shows me into a tiny, overheated room. An old guitar on the table.
    â€œI guess I’m not the first journalist”—I decided to pass myself off as a journalist—“to come here to waste your time . . .”
    A candid smile flutters across his sensual lips.
    â€œYou’re the first and will probably be the only.”
    â€œBut you got such a great write-up by Gérald Merceron in last weekend’s paper.”
    â€œMonsieur Merceron showed it to me before it came out. I was pretty happy with it . . .”
    â€œAh, so you know him?”
    â€œHe gave me a lot of advice when I was putting the album together.”
    â€œSo how do you feel?”
    â€œSad . . .”
    â€œOh, yeah? Why’s that?”
    â€œI don’t know. I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night . . . My heart was pounding like anything.”
    â€œAnd you have no idea why?”
    â€œTo tell you the truth, no.”
    â€œIt’s always like that when something important happens,” says a calm voice from somewhere behind me.
    I turn around a bit quickly. A very elegant lady is sitting in a dark corner of the room. Huge eyes, refined hands, the same age as Madame Saint-Pierre. She opens her Gucci handbag (the famous golden G) and takes out a slender cigarette holder.
    â€œI was telling Jude before you arrived not to make such a fuss about it, because it’s perfectly normal. It’s too much emotion in too little time.”
    â€œYou’re right,” I say.
    â€œAnd of course,” she adds in a whisper that contains all the sensuality in the world, “Jude is so young . . .”
    â€œExcuse me, ma’am, I don’t mean to shake you up, but would you mind telling me what you think of his album?”
    â€œWhat I think of his album?” she says, with a pretty laugh. “Well, I think Jude has a devastating talent.”
    â€œDo you have a favourite cut?”
    Silence.
    â€œâ€˜Crazy About You.’”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    â€œI find it orgasmic.”
    â€œAh! And the rest of the disc? What do you think of the musical arrangements? I have a good friend who does arrangements, too . . .”
    â€œDenz.”
    â€œYou know him?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œI don’t,” says Jude, “but I really like his work.”
    The woman stands up abruptly.
    â€œExcuse me, but I must go . . . Jude, I’ll come by to pick you up around seven tonight.”
    A whiff of Nina Ricci.
    â€œWHO WAS THAT?” I ask.
    â€œI don’t know . . .” Jude lets out. “She showed up yesterday morning, and she’s been back every two hours since then.”
    â€œDo you know what she wants?”
    â€œI don’t know that, either . . .”
    â€œNo idea?”
    â€œWell, yeah, but I’m a bit afraid.”
    â€œAfraid of what?”
    â€œOf her . . . I don’t know what’s happening to me. Barely a week ago I couldn’t imagine anything like this, and now, all of a sudden, everyone wants to meet me. But it isn’t me who’s changed . . .”
    He stops and holds his head in his hands.
    â€œWhat do you want from me? I can’t understand a thing . . . She’s beautiful, rich, she knows everyone, and here I am with nothing. I live in Poste Marchand with an old, sick aunt. I don’t know what there is here that a woman like her would find attractive.”
    â€œYour talent. There are some women who only get turned on by new talent.”
    â€œWhat talent?” he says, banging his head against the wall. “I steal things from here and there: rock, jazz, rara, konpa direct, Spanish music . . . I didn’t invent a thing.”
    â€œMaybe, but it makes a good sauce.”
    He stops pacing the floor and stares at me fixedly, his face looking feverish.
    â€œIt’s funny you should mention sauce.