Emmanuelle (14 page)

Marie-Anne seemed so disgusted that Emmanuelle was almost ashamed of herself. Yet she did not want to give in.

“He’s not as irresistible as you claim. I find him a bit of a windbag. He makes phrases and listens to himself talk; he doesn’t need another audience.”

“Instead of being so fussy, you ought to consider yourself lucky that a man like Mario is interested in you. He’s pretty hard to please, I can tell you that!”

“Oh? And he’s interested in me? What an honor!”

“Exactly. I was glad to see you were making a fairly good impression on him. I can admit to you now that I wasn’t very sure you would.”

“Thanks. But would you mind telling me how you judged the effect I had on him? I had the feeling that he was paying attention only to himself.”

“I know him a little better than you do; you’ll at least admit that, won’t you?”

“Of course. I naturally assume that you’ve long since granted him your favors. Maybe you should tell me some of the details of your experience with him, it will help me to be less self-conscious when it’s time to make the sacrifice.”

“You’d better stop being so silly if you don’t want him to drop you,” said Marie-Anne. “He can’t stand stupidity.” She abruptly became conciliatory. “But I know it’s actually only a pose with you. Otherwise I wouldn’t have introduced you to him . . . I’m sure you’ll get along very well with him. You’re going to be happy. And you’ll be even more beautiful by the time I see you again. I want you to be always more and more beautiful.”

Her jade eyes had become so soft that Emmanuelle was moved by them. “Marie-Anne,” she murmured, “it’s a pity you’re going away.”

Suddenly, as if intimidated, they exchanged a look of friendship. Then Marie-Anne renewed her demands, as though to return to an area less likely to require tender emotion. “I want you to promise me again that you’ll behave intelligently with Mario.”

“Oh, all right, if it makes you so happy.”

For the first time since they had known each other, MarieAnne brought her face close to Emmanuelle’s and planted a quick kiss on her cheek. Emmanuelle put out her hands to hold her silky head against her, but she had already moved it away.

“I’ll see you again soon, pussy cat! I’ll call you tomorrow, before I leave. And you’ll come to see me at the seaside.”

“Yes,” Emmanuelle said in a little voice.

“Now let’s go back to the others.”

They had moved away from the bulk of the crowd and they now mingled with it again. Emmanuelle passed from group to group without letting anyone latch onto her. She was looking for Ariane. It was Ariane who saw her first.

“Here you are again, Immaculate Virginia!” she cried. “I thought you were mortifying your flesh in some haven of penitence.”

“Quite the contrary,” Emmanuelle replied in the same tone. “A Prince of Darkness was comparing my laugh to the art of the strip tease.”

“Who is that connoisseur?”

“I was only told his first name—Mario. But you must know who he is . . .”

“Oh, yes!” Ariane said gleefully. “With him, there’s no danger that he’ll try to put his gallant words into action! Your virtue would be more threatened if you were a handsome boy.”

“You mean he’s . . .”

“I’d be reluctant to mention it if he made any mystery of it himself. Hasn’t he expounded his favorite theories to you yet? I see he hasn’t really honored you with his confidence. He has fewer secrets with me. He’s an exquisite man and I adore him.”

“Maybe he hides some of his inclinations from me because I arouse others in him,” retorted Emmanuelle, offended.

She was annoyed with Marie-Anne for having concealed that trait of her hero. It was unlikely that she was unaware of it, since she seemed to know everything.

“‘
Lasciate ogni speranza, voi ch’entrate!
’” declaimed Ariane. “Your esthete is a man of principle. He won’t let himself be turned away from his virtues and his ways.”

“Oh, I’ve already depraved others, you know!” Emmanuelle boasted.

She was almost furious. Her aggressiveness delighted Ariane, who amused herself by stirring it up.

“I’m afraid you’ll find that this one is incorruptible.”

“We’ll see.”

“Bravo! The woman who converts Mario will deserve a golden Priapus.” She lowered her voice. “But if I were in your place I wouldn’t waste my time in the service of hopeless causes. I know a hundred men who are just as attractive as Mario, and would like nothing better than to do whatever you want them to. Shall I bring a few of them to you?”

“No. I like difficult victories.”

“Well, then, good luck!” Ariane said mockingly. She looked at Emmanuelle as she had done at the club. “Have you had any pleasure these last few days?” she asked softly.

“Yes.”

Ariane stared at her for a moment in silence. “With whom?”

“I’m not saying.”

“But you did make love with someone, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Ariane gave her a friendly smile. “I’ve prepared something for you tonight, if you’re willing.”

“What is it?” Emmanuelle asked, curious in spite of herself.

“I’m not saying.”

Emmanuelle sulked. Ariane relented: “A jumbo-sized jet pilot from London—a beauty!”

“Why don’t you keep him for yourself?”

“And you?”

“You won’t mind leaving me a few crumbs, will you?” Emmanuelle laughed, giving in to Ariane’s lighthearted humor.

“Are you naked under your dress?” asked Ariane.

“Of course.”

“Let’s see.”

This time, Emmanuelle was too perturbed to resist. They had gradually moved away from the other guests and were now separated from them by a screen. She took hold of the bottom of her skirt and lifted it.

“Good,” said Ariane, with her eyes glued to Emmanuelle’s black and ocher belly.

Emmanuelle felt those eyes fondling her sex, as though they were touching her, as though they were fingers or a tongue. She thrust herself forward to let their gaze lick her.

“Show more of yourself!” ordered Ariane. Emmanuelle tried to obey, but her dress was too tight to be raised any higher. “Take it off.”

Emmanuelle nodded. She was eager to be naked. The tips of her breasts were demanding to be offered like the point of her sex. She pulled her shoulder straps down and pulled on the zipper under her armpit.

“Oh!” exclaimed Ariane. “Here come some intruders!”

The spell ceased to operate; Emmanuelle felt as if she had just come out of a dream. She closed her dress again and shook her hair. Ariane took her by the arm and led her farther away. A houseboy appeared, carrying a tray; they both drank a glass of champagne, in one gulp.

Ariane called back the servant and they exchanged their empty glasses for full ones. Emmanuelle was very thirsty. They no longer knew what to say to each other. They looked straight ahead, without seeing clearly, at those people who were chattering in high-pitched voices and bowing profusely to each other. It seemed to them that the temperature had risen. Maybe there was going to be a storm. Yes, that was it.

“Do you think there’s going to be a storm?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“How hot it is!”

Emmanuelle thought, “This dress is absurdly hot.”

Someone motioned to Ariane and she seemed about to go away. Emmanuelle abruptly remembered what she wanted to ask her.

“Listen,” she said, holding her back by a fold of her skirt, “do you know an American girl with red hair, dark red, almost copper-colored? She’s the sister of a naval attaché. She—”

“Bee?” interrupted Ariane.

Emmanuelle’s heart pounded. She would have found it normal that no one would know Bee, and, by a contradiction which revealed the disorder of her thoughts at that moment, even though she was specifically asking for information about her, she was annoyed to hear her nickname spoken by Ariane.

“Yes,” she acknowledged. “Is she here this evening?”

“She was supposed to be, but I haven’t seen her.”

“Why shouldn’t she have come, if she was invited?”

“I don’t know.”

Ariane suddenly seemed evasive, as if she wanted to change the subject. It was not like her and Emmanuelle persisted.

“What kind of a woman is she, in your opinion?”

“How did you get to know her?”

“I met her at a tea party, at Marie-Anne’s house.”

“Oh? It’s not surprising. She’s one of her friends.”

“And you? Do you see her often?”

“Fairly often.”

“What does she do in Bangkok?”

“The same thing you and I do. She arouses desire!”

“Why does her brother support her while she does nothing?”

“I don’t think he supports her. She has a lot of money. She has no need of anyone.”

These words resounded mournfully in Emmanuelle’s heart. No need of anyone? She did not doubt it.

She did not know what else to ask. Without being able to explain it to herself, she was afraid to ask for Bee’s address, as though this would have been an improper question.

“Well?” said Ariane.

Emmanuelle knew what was in her mind, but she pretended not to understand. Ariane became explicit: “Shall I take you to my visiting superman?”

“It’s impossible . . . my husband . . .”

“He won’t mind your going out with
me
!” said Ariane. But the temptation had passed and she was aware of it. “All right, then,” she said, “I’ll keep him all to myself.”

Her good humor rang false. She, too, seemed to have lost her taste for dissipation. Emmanuelle felt that she would go home to sleep as soon as the reception was over.

“There’s your Mario!” exclaimed Ariane. “He seems to be looking for someone. You, I’m sure! Don’t make him languish.” She pushed Emmanuelle by the arm.

But the Italian had already seen them and was walking toward them. Ariane left on the pretext that she was going to bring them something to drink; they did not see her again.

“Marie-Anne has told me a lot about you,” said Mario.

This was not at all reassuring to Emmanuelle. “What can she have invented?”

“Enough to make me want to know you better. Will you have dinner with me some evening soon, so that we can talk together at leisure? There’s no chance for us in this mob.”

“Thank you, but we have a friend staying with us in our house now. It would be hard for me to . . .”

“Why? Let your husband take care of him for one evening. You have permission to go out alone, haven’t you?”

“Of course,” said Emmanuelle. She wondered what Jean would think. She added, with a certain malice, “But wouldn’t you prefer me to bring my husband?”

“No,” said Mario, without the slightest embarrassment. “I’m inviting you alone.”

She had to give him credit for frankness, but she was still a little surprised—the style of his invitation was not in keeping with the reputation that Ariane had attributed to him. She wished she could find out exactly what the truth was.

“It’s not very proper,” she said playfully, “for a married woman to have dinner with a gentleman alone. Don’t you agree?”

“Proper?” He articulated the word as though he had just heard it for the first time and found it, at the very least, difficult to pronounce. “Do you believe that you have to be proper? Is that one of your rules?”

“No, no!” she said defensively, in alarm. “Even so, it’s more piquant for a woman to be warned in advance of the risks she’s running.”

“It all depends on what you mean by risk. What’s your concept of the danger involved here?”

Emmanuelle felt as if she were again under cross-examination. If she referred to the duties of marriage, social standards, or morality, Mario’s rejoinder was easy to foresee. On the other hand, she did not have enough courage or experience to admit outright what was on her mind. She could only say, rather pitifully, “I’m not afraid.”

“That’s all I ask of you,” said Mario. “Will you come tomorrow night?”

“But I don’t know where you live.”

“Give me your address—I’ll send a taxi for you.” He smiled charmingly. “I don’t have a car.”

“I could come in mine.”

“No, you’d get lost. The taxi will come for you at eight o’clock. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

She told him the section of the city, the street, and the number of her house.

He looked at her for a long time, inscrutably. Finally he announced his conclusion.

“You’re beautiful,” he said without grandiloquence.

“That’s the least of it,” she replied politely.

5

The Law

Come, my friends, ’tis not too late to seek a newer world.

—Alfred Lord Tennyson, “Ulysses”

Thou didst create night and I made the lamp,