Three Women in a Mirror Read Online Free PDF Page B

bullshit! It would never have worked.”
    She got carried away. He didn’t seem to mind; on the contrary, he laughed wholeheartedly.
    â€œThe real Anny,” she said impatiently, “is in hiding. She protects herself. No one knows her. The only person who will find out who she is, is the man who will love her. He’ll be the only one, the first and the last.”
    She burst into tears and hid her face in her hands, leaning forward on her stool. As she did this, she had a feeling of déjà vu; she realized she had just recited a scene from
The Girl at the Bar Across the Street
, a melodrama she’d been in when she was sixteen. She stopped immediately. For sure,
The Girl at the Bar Across the Street
had been a flop; but she could not be sure that David hadn’t seen it. If he realized that she was feeding him leftovers, he’d be on his guard. Moreover, the critics at the time had said that weeping and sobbing didn’t really suit her, and even she hadn’t liked her image on screen, with her red eyelids and swollen nose.
    She wiped her tears and gave a short laugh.
    â€œFooled you, didn’t I. The one about the girl next door with the bleeding heart; it’s been part of my repertoire for a good while now.”
    â€œI almost bought it.”
    Reassured, he leaned right over to her on his stool, without falling; she had to admire his sense of balance. She’d never have been able to pull off such a stunt. The water drinker ran his fleshy lips along her neck, up to her ear, bit her earlobe, then murmured suggestively, “I want you.”
    She thought for a moment, disturbed, remembering her new resolution: to say no.
    â€œCome here,” she said, taking him by the hand.
    He followed her, thinking she was leading him to a quiet spot. At the end of an endless metal staircase they came out onto a walkway that overlooked the room, a sort of caged-in corridor used by electricians and sound technicians.
    â€œWhy here?”
    â€œDavid, let’s pretend we’re in a film from the fifties. You know, the sort where a playboy in a tuxedo meets a woman in a gold lamé sheath.”
    â€œHave you seen your dress?” he said, pointing to the ribbon wrapped around her butt. “It must have shrunk in the wash.”
    â€œPlease, try to be a little romantic. Aren’t you romantic, David?”
    He sighed and frowned.
    â€œThis place you asked me to meet you isn’t exactly romantic.”
    She shrugged and waved her hand, pointing vaguely to the huge warehouse converted into a club.
    â€œYou can make this place whatever you want it to be. All you have to do is use your imagination. Take that cable over there, for example.”
    â€œSo?”
    â€œWell, it can be a vine, if I want it to. And the discotheque can be a jungle.”
    â€œSure,” he said, hypocritically. “Me Tarzan, you Jane. Already your outfit would be more suitable. Let’s remove a few more details.”
    He walked over to her, swaggering, lifted up her shirt to show her torso, then placed his burning palms against her skin. She shuddered, about to embrace him, then forced herself to respect her vows of discretion.
    â€œYou see?” she said ecstatically, stepping back and pulling her shirt back down.
    In a flash she climbed over the railing, grabbed hold of the cable hanging from the column, and launched herself into the void, with an ape-man’s cry:
    â€œAh . . . hi ho hi ha . . . ah, ah, ah, ah!”
    Light as air, she swung over the dance floor, rid of all her fears. She was free of everything—her past, her failings, her own self. She felt heroic. David would admire her, for sure.
    Swinging ever wider and farther, she came nearer and nearer to the disco ball. She shouted out, full of enthusiasm.
    Suddenly aware of her voice and her moving shadow, the dancers looked up. They slowed their movements. Everyone paused to wonder what that girl in boots was