‘No one but me, the cats and you.’
The man looked hard at her for a second then turned, worried, to the two cats, who were purring innocently. Quite often a man is even more idiotic after lovemaking than he was before. Julie pushed back the sheet and got up. Her body was absolutely perfect. She headed into the bathroom, barely glancing at the man who was tucking his shirt into his trousers.
‘You’re married, is that it?’
The man pretended he hadn’t heard, devoting all his attention to zipping up his flies. Julie reappeared, wearing a short, red, faux-silk bathrobe.
‘Luc, honey – that is your name, right, Luc? You’ve got a gift, I must say. Last night you were single, then one fuck with me and by morning you’re married.’
Resigned, Julie pulled her bathrobe over her breasts. With a quick knot she cinched the belt around her waist, to keep the flimsy robe closed.
Ding-dong!
‘Does your wife have a firearms permit?’
The moron seemed to have to think about that. Out in the hallway, Julie slid on a pair of high heels. Suddenly taller, she seemed even more slender, even more beautiful, even more perfect. From the way she walked it was clear she was used to perching on high heels. Her bottom swayed beneath the silky material. The man, terrified, hid behind the first thing he saw, a hat stand. His gaze followed Julie as she went to the front door. He might have made love to this gorgeous woman last night, but he wasn’t looking at her bottom now. Julie planted herself firmly in front of the door, then opened it, unafraid. She knew she had done nothing wrong.
Meow!
There was the kitten, in the arms of a boy about twelve years old. Towering on her heels, Julie seemed disproportionately tall. The child’s head came no higher than her breasts. Julie leaned down towards the cat in her young neighbour’s arms. Her flimsy bathrobe gaped open slightly.
‘Brutus! What are you doing out again?’
The boy’s eyes zoomed in on Julie’s half-naked breasts.
‘He got out again!’
‘That’s the third time this week . . .’
Julie, who was well acquainted with the ways of men who look at women, immediately understood what her providential cat-rescuer was playing at. She leaned forward again and reached out for the kitten. Her bathrobe opened even further. The child didn’t move. One of Julie’s breasts was now almost completely bared.
‘It’ll catch cold . . .’
The boy, mesmerised by her hardening nipple, didn’t budge.
‘Alex, I’m talking about the cat. That’s your name, right? Alex?’
‘Yes, Julie.’
She leaned lower still to take Brutus. Alex, transfixed by the pair of breasts floating before him, practically touching his face, didn’t seem to be able to let go of the kitten.
‘Alex? It’s not just the cat who’ll catch cold . . .’
Meow!
Alex relented and handed Brutus to her, and the kitten immediately curled against his mistress’s indubitably warmer chest.
‘Thanks, Alex.’
‘If he runs away again, I’ll bring him back.’
Julie, amused, stared for a moment at the young boy: she liked his boldness.
‘I’m sure you will!’
The door closed with a slam. Alex, proud as any prepubescent boy would be, turned to face the street. He raised his thumb with satisfaction – mission accomplished, victory! But still curious, he turned back to the glass in Julie’s door, for a glimpse of her bottom disappearing down the corridor. Suddenly he recoiled and rushed down the steps. He had seen the man.
‘Who was that?’
‘A young neighbour just brought Brutus back . . . Although I’m pretty sure he came for the view!’
‘What?’
‘He couldn’t stop looking at my tits, is what I mean.’
‘Well, there’s definitely something to look at!’
The moron had reverted to type. Depending on what he expects from a woman, a guy can change all the time. Last night he’d played Pretty Woman, this morning it was It Happened One Night and just now, Failure to Launch.
‘And did he pay, just now, to have a look?’
The look Julie gave him wasn’t dark. It was pitch black. Blacker than black.
‘And did you pay for last night? It cost you three dances, a bottle of wine from the corner shop and two hours of lying.’
To take a stripper home and get into her bed was the Holy Grail of the entire straight male population, the ultimate goal of a game where you bluff your way in, just like in poker. But the important thing at the end of the game is to slip in a harmless word, something to defuse the atmosphere as you leave the table, after you’ve cleaned up.
‘Christ they start young these days!’
‘Fuck off! They’re only kids!’
FISH CHANGE DIRECTION IN COLD WEATHER
Four exotic fish, lit by a white neon light, were swimming in circles around an enormous aquarium set up right in the middle of the room. A plank set on two trestles was sagging beneath the weight of books on pure mathematics. Scattered over the books were sheets of paper covered in scribbled equations and obscure calculations. Other papers were strewn across the floor, some of them crumpled. In a corner was a sports bag bearing the logo of the Val-d’Or ice hockey team. Three hockey sticks had been set on top of it – sticks for a left-hander, with a very curved blade – an attacker’s blade by the looks of it.
Across the street a door opened. Julie appeared on the ground floor landing, still wearing her very short bathrobe. She tossed an empty wine bottle disdainfully into the blue recycling box and it smashed. A man rushed out next to her, looking left and then right. He gave a slight wave that Julie did not return. She went in and slammed the door behind her. End of love story.
Boris Bogdanov had looked up from his reading – a book by Andreï Markov, not the hockey player but the great Russian mathematician. From his window he had seen everything. An enigmatic smile spread over Boris Bogdanov’s face, as if he knew something his neighbour didn’t.
Was Boris Bogdanov in love with his neighbour?
Nyet! Boris Bogdanov had never been in love, because in his entire life the only things that had ever interested him were himself and his fish. He had arrived from Russia in 1990 at the age of eighteen, dreaming of changing his life on the ice of Quebec’s arenas. He was offered a chance to do just that, a spot at
