The Pleasure of M (16 page)

“Ah,
  I
  suppose
  that’s
  true,
  but
  it
  is
  a
  little
  hard
  to
  fathom.
  I
  suppose
  that
  the
  issue
 
here
 is
 the
 definition
 of
 sex.
 I
 suppose
 that
 the
 girl
 wants
 to
 have
 sex
 with
 the
 guy,
 
whereas
 the
 guy
 wants
 to
 have
 sex.”
 

“But
 in
 the
 end,
 do
 you
 choose?
 No,
 you
 try.
 And
 then
 things
 happen…”
 
“Yes,
 things
 happen…”
 
“So
 what’s
 your
 type?”
 
“Not
 too
 tall,
 black
 curly
 hair,
 glasses…”
 
“Well,
 that’s
 not
 me
 and
 I’m
 sure
 that’s
 not
 your
 husband
 either.”
 
“True…”
 came
 her
 reply
 after
 an
 uncomfortable
 silence.
 

“I’ve
 gone
 too
 far,
 I’m
 sorry.
 I
 guess
 the
 point
 I
 wanted
 to
 make
 was
 that
 the
 myth
 of
 
the
 male
 is
 different
 in
 France
 from
 what
 it
 is
 here.
 Here
 the
 Hollywood
 obsession
 is
 
about
 defining
 who
 you
 are.
 I’m
 cool,
 I
 could
 have
 been
 a
 contender,
 I’m
 the
 best…
 
Maybe
 in
 France
 it’s
 more
 about
 what
 you
 do.
 Who
 you
 are
 is
 less
 of
 an
 issue.
 The
 
French
  version
  would
  have
  Marlon
  say
  ‘I
  could
  have
  contended’.
  Strength
  comes
 
from
 choice
 more
 than
 constitution.
 To
 think
 otherwise
 seems
 almost
 like
 a
 refusal
 
to
 grow
 up
 by
 still
 clinging
 to
 the
 myths
 of
 childhood
 that
 you
 can
 be
 anything
 you
 
want
 to
 be.
 It’s
 a
 lie,
 but
 a
 lie
 we
 want
 to
 believe.
 To
 me,
 the
 pursuit
 of
 happiness
 is
 
not
 about
 trying
 to
 be
 something
 that
 you
 are
 not.
 You
 are
 what
 you
 are,
 and
 that
 
does
 not
 guarantee
 happiness.
 The
 pursuit
 of
 pleasure
 is
 a
 valid
 path
 to
 happiness,
 
in
 my
 mind,
 but
 it
 is
 not
 a
 means
 of
 becoming
 something
 else,
 quite
 on
 the
 contrary:
 
it
 is
 an
 affirmation
 of
 who
 I
 am.
 “
 

“Then
 that
 is
 a
 shame,
 but
 probably
 not
 something
 that
 will
 go
 away.
 Mind
 you,
 that
 
is
 not
 your
 case.
 You
 are
 not
 happy
 with
 where
 you
 are
 at,
 which
 is
 not
 the
 same.
 I
 
think
 that
 you
 are
 quite
 happy
 with
 whom
 you
 are
 but
 that
 you
 are
 not
 getting
 out
 of
 
life
 all
 that
 you
 want.
 The
 same
 is
 true
 of
 me
 and
 that
 is
 why
 we
 found
 each
 other.”
 

“It’s
 that
 simple?”
 
“No,
 maybe
 not.”
 
“It
 sounds
 as
 though
 you
 are
 trying
 to
 distance
 yourself.”
 
“From
 what?”
 
“From
 me?”
 she
 said
 hesitantly.
 

Michel
 assured
 her
 that
 this
 was
 not
 the
 case,
 but
 they
 left
 things
 at
 a
 standstill
 at
 
the
  end
  of
  the
  conversation.
  Their
  reactions
  following
  the
  call
  assumed
  what
  had
 
now
 already
 emerged
 as
 a
 pattern
 between
 them.
 Having
 stumbled
 upon
 a
 rock
 on
 
the
 road,
 his
 reaction
 was
 to
 pick
 it
 up,
 look
 at
 it
 and
 try
 to
 remove
 it
 from
 their
 way.
 
She
  on
  the
  other
  hand
  was
  left
  with
  little
  more
  than
  doubt
  and
  confusion.
 
  They
 
were
  both
  left
  to
  try
  to
  understand
  what
  Michel
  had
  said,
  but
  she
  was
  under
  the
 
assumption
 that
 he
 knew
 the
 implications
 of
 his
 own
 words,
 and
 he
 did
 not
 realize
 
that.
 
  Indeed,
  Catherine
  was
  a
  bit
  baffled
  by
  the
  exchange:
  what
  point
  was
  Michel
 
trying
 to
 make
 in
 saying
 that
 they
 were
 not
 each
 other’s
 type?
 This
 felt
 like
 a
 prelude
 
to
 a
 dump
 to
 her
 and
 an
 ominous
 warning.
 Furthermore,
 what
 could
 it
 mean
 for
 him
 
to
  assert
  that
  she
  had
  not
  chosen
  her
  husband?
  Did
  Michel
  think
  she
  was
  a
  floozy
 
who
 went
 with
 the
 first
 man
 who
 wanted
 to
 bed
 her?
 While
 she
 could
 make
 an
 effort
 
to
 convince
 herself
 that
 this
 was
 not
 the
 case,
 the
 question
 still
 posed
 itself
 starkly.
 
This
  ran
  into
  a
  theme
  that
  had
  over
  the
  years
  come
  to
  occupy
  a
  more
  prominent
 
position
 in
 her
 meandering
 thoughts
 than
 she
 was
 comfortable
 with:
 can
 you
 really
 
know
 someone?
 Though
 in
 all
 fairness
 she
 made
 no
 formal
 gender
 distinctions
 when
 
confronted
  with
  this
  quandary,
  it
  was
  a
  thought
  that
  she
  applied
  only
  to
  men,
 
specifically
 to
 the
 men
 in
 her
 life.
 The
 first
 instance
 of
 this
 had
 truly
 come
 to
 the
 fore
 
many
  years
  before,
  after
  the
  birth
  of
  her
  first
  child.
  Of
  course,
  begetting
  is
  life-‐
changing
  in
  many
  ways,
  and
  in
  fact
  must
  alter
  one’s
  weltanschauung,
  but
  she
  had
 
then
  been
  seized
  with
  deep
  moments
  if
  uncertainty
  when
  confronted
  with
  her
 
husband’s
  behaviors
  and
  reactions
  to
  some
  events
  surrounding
  their
  daughter’s
 
budding
 life.
 It
 was
 then
 that
 for
 the
 first
 time
 she
 had
 lost
 sleep
 over
 the
 question,
 
lying
  in
  bed
  next
  to
  a
  man
  she
  had
  married
  and
  wracked
  with
  fear
  and
  doubt
 
wondering
 if
 she
 really
 knew
 him.
 Over
 the
 years,
 this
 had
 subsided
 into
 a
 lingering
 
but
  distant
  question
  as
  she
  had
  regained
  faith
  in
  the
  stability
  of
  her
  husband’s
 
motivations
 in
 life
 and
 assurance
 of
 his
 love
 both
 for
 her
 and
 their
 children.
 She
 had
 
easily
 dismissed
 the
 intensity
 of
 the
 early
 feelings
 as
 a
 mere
 side-‐effect
 of
 the
 birth
 
of
  her
  daughter
  and
  of
  the
  tremendous
  psychological
  changes
  (growth)
  that
  had
 
occurred
 at
 that
 time,
 and
 had
 never
 really
 come
 to
 grips
 with
 the
 thought.
 Now
 she
 
was
 suddenly
 confronted
 with
 its
 resurgence.
 The
 next
 day,
 she
 was
 quite
 shocked
 
to
  not
  find
  an
  email
  from
  Michel
  in
  her
  inbox,
  so
  much
  so
  that
  she
  found
  herself
 
quite
 angry
 and
 had
 to
 pause
 and
 ask
 herself
 why.
 She
 found
 that
 she
 had
 been
 fully
 
expecting
 a
 long
 humble
 and
 perhaps
 even
 contrite
 apology
 from
 him
 for
 the
 affront
 
she
 had
 received.
 With
 this
 realization,
 her
 anger
 subsided
 as
 she
 examined
 why
 she
 
had
 felt
 their
 exchange
 was
 an
 affront
 to
 her.
 Nothing
 he
 had
 said
 had
 been
 false
 or
 
even
 meant
 to
 hurt.
 As
 always,
 it
 was
 his
 darned
 honesty
 that
 had
 gotten
 in
 the
 way
 
of
 a
 perfectly
 good
 conversation.
 It
 was
 in
 a
 rather
 unnerving
 state
 of
 confusion
 that
 
she
 went
 to
 have
 high
 tea
 with
 an
 old
 friend.
 
 

She
 and
 Liz
 had
 gone
 to
 high-‐school
 together,
 though
 at
 the
 time
 neither
 would
 have
 
called
  the
  other
  a
  friend:
  their
  relationship
  then
  had
  been
  based
  more
  on
  tension,
 
jealousy
 and
 resentment
 than
 amity.
 It
 was
 technology
 that
 had
 brought
 them
 back
 
together
  after
  many
  years
  of
  estrangement,
  one
  of
  those
  sites
  where
  old
 
schoolmates
 can
 find
 each
 other.
 What
 had
 started
 as
 timid
 contact,
 made
 by
 both
 to
 
look
 like
 a
 fortuitous
 happenstance,
 had
 slowly
 turned
 into
 a
 vibrant
 friendship
 as
 
they
 found
 how
 similar
 their
 outlook
 on
 their
 past
 shared
 experience
 were,
 and
 for
 
about
  three
  years
  now
  they
  made
  it
  a
  point
  to
  have
  lunch
  together
  at
  least
  once
  a
 
month.
 Liz
 immediately
 felt
 how
 troubled
 Catherine
 was
 but
 gave
 her
 the
 room
 to
 
bring
 it
 up
 at
 her
 own
 pace,
 as
 she
 eventually
 did.
 Liz
 was
 stuck
 in
 a
 childless
 and
 
less
 than
 passionate
 marriage
 with
 a
 man
 she
 did
 not
 dislike
 enough
 to
 leave,
 and
 
while
  it
  could
  not
  be
  said
  that
  she
  had
  vicarious
  penchants,
  the
  stories
  Catherine
 
spun
 were
 exhilarating
 to
 her,
 and
 she
 had
 grown
 rather
 fond
 of
 Michel
 which
 could
 
explain
  why
  she
  felt
  the
  need
  to
  rush
  to
  his
  defense.
  She
  listened
  attentively
  as
 
Catherine
 recounted
 what
 she
 remembered
 of
 her
 last
 phone
 call
 with
 Michel,
 how
 
he
  had
  said
  that
  they
  were
  not
  each
  other’s
  type,
  the
  distinction
  he
  was
  trying
  to
 
make
 between
 what
 one
 is
 and
 what
 one
 does.
 And
 then
 she
 charged.
 

“Forest
 Gump
 said
 the
 same
 thing,
 you
 know.”
 
“What
 is
 that
 supposed
 to
 mean?”
 

“Remember?
  ‘Stupid
  is
  as
  Stupid
  does’?
  That’s
  what
  this
  is!
  Look,
  your
  Michel
 
doesn’t
 want
 to
 be
 thought
 of
 as
 an
 adulterer.
 To
 him,
 there’s
 a
 difference
 between
 
stealing
 and
 being
 a
 thief.
 And
 if
 you
 ask
 me,
 I
 would
 tend
 to
 agree.
 I
 mean,
 look
 at
 
you!
 This
 is
 your
 second
 affair,
 but
 do
 you
 think
 of
 yourself
 as
 an
 adulteress?
 Is
 this
 
who
  you
  are?
  No!
  You’re
  happily
  married
  and
  you’re
  having
  an
  affair
  but
  that
 
doesn’t
 mean
 that
 you
 are
 a
 slut
 or
 deserve
 a
 scarlet
 A
 on
 your
 chest.”