In her job, she kept rushing ahead. Yet the evenings would come, and she would find herself alone in the boardroom, yearning to be held in someone’s arms and to feel all small and protected again. Well, as for someone’s arms, she did wind up in plenty of those. Anonymous faces, scents and skin textures, all so different and all so totally alike in the end. She embraced the bodies with intensity in the backrooms of night clubs, on the desks in her very office building, on anonymous tables covered with cocaine residue.
It did not do anything to solve her problem. She was thirty-nine. She felt old.
She sipped her whisky.
She knew she was looking for a cure in places where there was not any. But she was addicted to her pleasures.
Like Barbara.
In the end, it was she who was the cause of her anguish.
If only she had known! She never imagined that it was possible to become hooked to such an extent. She had not seen it coming. But could anyone ever see that kind of thing coming? At first, it was a game, of course. Just a simple challenge to prove to herself that she was still attractive, that she was able to seduce a girl half her age. A youthful plunge in the arms of someone of the same sex. The kind of useless plunge that she took more and more often. The kind that was fated to end up crushing body and soul.
In Barbara’s arms, she felt as if the time flow had stopped. Oh, so briefly, it was true. But how precious, those few minutes of youth.
She grabbed her phone on the boardroom table. This week, she’d left her three voicemails. On her fourth call-that was last night-Barbara finally picked up.
But she did not talk to her.
Not a word.
Audrey just heard her breathing in the earpiece.
She had asked Barbara if she was all right. What was going on, why she did not want to talk to her?
She got no answer. Only that breathing. Animal-like. Abnormal.
Then Barbara hung up.
What was that supposed to mean?
Was that her way of letting her know that it was all over between them?
They had not even had any arguments. Quite the opposite, actually. They had planned to spend the weekend together.
Was it some kind of game? Was she really supposed to forget about her just like that?
If only that were possible.
Audrey clutched the phone, her knuckles turning white. She had put up with that kind of thing with so many men. They had left her for other lovers. What did those other women have that she didn’t?
She knew what. They were so much younger than she was.
Do not call her again.
Audrey tossed the phone of the table and gave it a spin. She watched it twirl, a small plastic top, before it slowed and came to a stop.
Did Barbara want to play with her nerves? Was that it?
Fine. Audrey could play. She took a swallow of whisky. Even the clinking ice cubes seemed to be laughing at her. She wanted to scream, to hurl the glass, to do something brutal. Why was Barbara making fun of her this way? And why was she letting herself be humiliated? Why was she groveling before that kid?
To hell with her, yes.
After two more gulps of whisky, she grabbed the phone again. She scrolled down the screen until she reached Barbara’s number.
But then the intercom at the far end of the boardroom table, rang out.
Audrey Desiderio jumped. Then was intrigued. Who the hell would want in the building at this hour?
The intercom chimed a second time.
She got out of the chair and pressed the speak button.
“Yes?”
“Let me in,” a voice whispered.
“Barbara?”
There was breathing.
The same strange breathing she’d heard on the phone the night before.
“Barbara?” she repeated. “Is that you?”
Of course it was Barbara. It could only be Barbara, and she was playing a game with her. Audrey had told her to never come to her office. Under no pretext whatever. She had been very clear about it. Now Barbara was getting back at her.
Audrey turned the situation over in her mind. It was late. Except for her presence, the building was deserted. The cleaning women would not be around before four in the morning.
Barbara and she really had to talk. Might as well do it here and now.
Audrey hesitated, then pressed the button.
“Come in. I’m on the eighth floor.”
Through the intercom, she heard the main door open and slam closed.
She straightened. She was crazy, letting Barbara up here. But at the same time, she could not help looking at the leather armchairs around the boardroom table. What would it feel like to be stark naked in these chairs? What would it be like to try them out, one after the other, knowing that her prissy colleagues would be sitting in them on Monday morning?
And if it made her young again, to behave like some reckless college kid, what was the harm? A few hours of youthful fun were worth it, wasn’t it?
She crossed the room, stopping in front of the chrome-framed mirror.
In it she saw her reflection, a take-charge woman in a Chanel suit and designer heels. Her makeup was still fresh. Her impeccably highlighted hair was perfectly coiffed.
But then she saw something else in the mirror.
She saw a wolf. The beast was watching her with deep red, attentive eyes.
Startled, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was all by herself. The boardroom was absolutely deserted. She must have picked up a reflection, lightning from the storm outside, maybe. Her imagination had gotten away from her.
She turned back toward her reflection.
The wolf was still there.
Except it was not a reflection.
The wolf seemed to be on the other side. Inside the mirror. It was staring at her with its crimson eyes.
No fucking way. Okay, the alcohol was screwing with her mind. She may have had a few more drinks than she had realized. What would Barbara think when she got here? Would she smell her breath and leave?
The wolf remained perfectly still. Watching her.
But Audrey Desiderio was not a woman easily impressed.
“Hey, I’m not scared of you.”
She took a step toward the mirror, challenging this hallucination.
The wolf lunged at her.
14
Toulouse
In the dark of night
Vauvert realized he would not sleep.
Not with that storm outside. Thunder was rolling over the city, making the walls of his apartment shudder.
“Shit.”
He was exhausted, yet he knew that if he went to bed now, he would never fall asleep. He had been prone to such bouts of insomnia ever since he was a child. No medication had ever done a thing. And he had tried dozens. He had finally given up on the meds, and he was tired of using earplugs. He had simply come to accept his fate. Two out of three nights, he did not sleep, and that was it.
Tonight, like every other sleepless night, he just stayed on the couch. There was a German cop show on television. It was mindless enough to make him smile and occupy his attention for a few hours.
He brought his cigarette to his lips and took a last drag before dropping the butt into an empty beer can.
There was a short time in his life when he was able to sleep. When he was with Virginie, when he held her and felt her soft body, her curves where he could lose himself and forget about everything else. Yes, back then he had actually rid himself of the stress that devoured him, and sleep welcomed him at last. The simple illusion of not being alone was finally enough to permit him to let go.
That was ten years ago. When Virginie was his wife. When he believed in the illusion.
Insomnia had returned with the divorce.
And it was worse than before.