Solea by Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis Read Free Book Online Page A

another life. Another man, in another place. A life that would be beautiful. A man who’d be good-looking.
    Later, I’d seen a photo of her friend in a magazine—even in my head, I didn’t dare speak the guy’s name—and yes, he was good-looking. Thin, with a gaunt face, bushy hair, sparkling eyes, and a nice mouth, rather pursed to my taste, but nice all the same. The opposite of me. I’d hated that photo, especially when I thought of Lole putting it in her billfold instead of mine. That had really hurt. You’re jealous, I’d told myself. It was a feeling I hated. But yes, I was jealous. And I felt sick at heart just thinking of Lole taking that photo, or another one, out of her billfold and looking at it, whenever he was away from her for a few days, or even just for a few hours.
    It was one of those damned nights when you lie awake in bed and everything is magnified out of all proportion and you can’t think properly, can’t see straight. It had happened several times before, with other women. But never so painfully, so intensely. Lole was leaving, and my life would lose all meaning. Had already lost all meaning
    My photo was looking back at me. I needed a beer. We’re only good looking in other people’s eyes. In the eyes of the person who loves us. One day, you can’t tell the other person he or she is good-looking anymore, because love has gone and you’re not desirable yourself. Then you can put on your nicest shirt, cut your hair, grow your moustache, it won’t make any difference. All you’ll get is “Oh, it suits you” instead of what you’re really hoping for, which is “You look so handsome”—words that promise pleasure and rumpled sheets.
    I put the article back in its sleeve and closed the binder. I felt suffocated. I lingered for a moment in front of the mirror at the entrance. I seemed to hear Sonia’s laughter. Did I still have any of my charm left? Did I still have a future as a lover? I pulled a long face, the way only I knew how. Then I turned and picked up Babette’s binders. Reading her articles, I told myself, would take my mind off things.
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    â€œI decided I’d like a beer after all,” I said as soon as Madame Orsini opened the door.
    â€œOh. O.K.”
    This time there was no innuendo in her voice, and she was avoiding my eyes.
    â€œI don’t know if it’s cold.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter.”
    We were face to face. I was holding the keys to Babette’s apartment in my hand.
    â€œDid you find what you were looking for?” she asked, jutting her chin at the two binders.
    â€œMaybe.”
    â€œOh.”
    The silence that followed was heavy and damp.
    â€œIs she in any trouble?” Madame Orsini asked at last.
    â€œWhat makes you think that?”
    â€œThe police came. I don’t like that.”
    â€œThe police?”
    Another silence, as stifling as before. I had the taste of the first mouthful of beer in my mouth. She was avoiding my eyes again. There was a hint of fear deep in hers.
    â€œYes, they showed me their badges.”
    She was lying.
    â€œAnd they asked you questions. Where’s Babette? Have you seen her lately? Do you know if she has any friends in Marseilles? That kind of thing.”
    â€œThat kind of thing, yes.”
    â€œAnd you gave them my name and phone number.”
    â€œYou know how it is with the police.”
    Now she really wanted me to go. To close the door and leave her alone. There was sweat on her forehead. Cold sweat.
    â€œThe police, huh?”
    â€œI don’t like to get involved with that kind of thing, you know. I’m not the concierge. I only do it to help Babette out. It’s not as if she pays me a lot.”
    â€œDid they threaten you?”
    This time she looked at me. Startled by my question, and scared by its implications. They had threatened her.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œDid