Chicken Skin – Chapter VII

Christine and Antoine were lying down side by side on the double bed of one of the rooms of a hotel of the Opéra Garnier area.

They had reached that hotel where Antoine had booked a room just after they finished to have dinner.

The time was already far advanced in the night.

It was the first time they found themselves together in a bed. So far they had only known clandestine and uncomfortable couplings, played on the edge of an armchair, or even squarely standing, Christine with her back stuck on the wall behind, their attention in alert for fear of being caught by a secretary who was often there.

That new situation had inspired them. Two hours had pass without them being aware of it.

They were chatting now, pacified somehow.

Antoine was telling Christine how surprised he had been by the experience she had shown. He wanted her to tell him where she had learnt all that she knew and above all how she came to know that well men in general. Christine blushed and stammered she had read a lot and also had a few boyfriends.

Antoine laughed to the shyness she apparently never lost whatever the circumstances were. He switched the lamp that was on the night table off, which made the room plunged into the darkness. It was time to sleep, so he said, turning himself toward her and taking her in his arms. She laid her head on the shoulder of Antoine, who finally lay himself on his back, kissed his chest and closed her eyes without adding anything more.

Christine and Antoine were sound asleep. That’s the telephone ringing that woke them up.

Antoine picked up the phone then, after having muttered a still sleepy thank, hanged up. He turned himself toward Christine, told her that it was the receptionist who just called to wake him up at the time he gave to him the evening before, at their arrival. Isabelle remembered it well.

Antoine stood up in one go, just as if he were afraid to let himself convince by the cozy comfort and sweet heat of the bed, or by the temptation of strocking again Christine who was lying, naked, by his side.

He got into the bathroom. Christine heard the noise of the water of a shower before seing him back in the room, with his hair gone wet, a towel tied around his waist.

On her turn, she stood up and reached the bathroom where she let flow the water of the shower: she dosed it, tested its temperature on her hand, before getting into the cubicle and letting the water run onto her body.

When she got back into the room, Antoine was dressed yet.

Her wet body wrapped in a towel, Christine came closer to Antoine who escaped, laughing, while she threatened to dampen his suit of which, the night before, he carefully folded the trousers on an armchair to keep its pleats intact and hung the jacket on a hanger found in the empty closet.

Christine chased him through the room but didn’t succeed in catching him, then finally, out of breath, she let herself fall onto the bed.

She definitely was giving up a pursuit that obviously wasn’t likely to come good.

Antoine, who was standing in the middle of the room, was watching her and kindly laughing at what he called her lack of perseverance. This incitation had absolutely no effect on Christine: she remained unshakably stretched out on the bed. She was laughing while catching her breath.

Antoine finally sat down on the bed by her side, observing a reasonable distance from her though, in case the idea of damping his suit went back to her mind out of the blue.

Christine was keeping lying on her back, looking at the ceiling while laughing and, from time to time, casting at Antoine a glance into which he could read that she was surrounding without restrictions, that she was giving up a fight she already had lost: Antoine, indubitably, ran faster that she.

After having agreed with Christine that she would come and work at his office one more day the following week, Antoine kissed her on her cheek, then stood up and headed for the door. He had an appointment that obliged him to go. As Christine wasn’t ready yet and wasn’t either in a hurry, she would finish her wash, get dressed and quietly savor a breakfast before going and take the train that would lead her to Rouen where her parents lived and where, for Benjamin, she was yet. She still had a room in her parents’ house and part of her things there. That exempted her from hoarding luggages when she was visiting them.

Once Antoine was gone, after they had exchanged some more smiles, Christine remained on the bed, daydreaming and thinking back about her night with him. Finally she got up and got into the bathroom again.