Betty Blue

by Philippe Djian

  “Allow me,” I said. “I got nothing else to do today.”

  They went off together to drink a beer in the shed, and I strolled through the debris. I was almost half an hour late. The carcasses were warm to the touch. The ball was in the enemy’s court. I climbed up on two or three hoods before I spotted a Mercedes.

  The left front tire was good, but I’d forgotten to bring my jack-I had to go back for it. There was an aroma of old engine grease in the air. I got the tools out of my car. The two of them were sitting on wood cases, talking. I took my sweater off. I gestured to them as I walked by.

  It turned out that the Mercedes in question had a camper attached to the roof. I had a real ball with the jack. By the time I finally got the damn wheel off, I was covered with sweat-my T-shirt had changed color. The sun was almost directly overhead. Now I had to do the same thing all over again. It was like rolling a boulder.

  Back in the shed, it was party time; the cop was talking and the junkman was slapping his thighs, laughing. I smoked a cigarette, then got back down to work. The bolts were a little stuck. I wiped my brow with my forearm. I kept an ear tuned, in ease they called me to come have a beer. Obviously my place was there among the cinders. I listened to them yucking it up as I took off my tire.

  I paid the guy. The cash disappeared into his pocket. The young cop looked at me, smugly. I turned to him:

  “If you ever need a favor or anything, don’t hesitate to call…”

  “Maybe I will,” he said.

  I went back to my car without another word. Words are blank bullets. I pulled up a little, then circled back, then took off forward. In all of three seconds I was back on the road. Three seconds was all it took for me to realize that shit just leads to more shit.

  My hands were completely black, not to mention my T-shirt, and I had a veil of oil on my forehead. I knew instinctively that piano salesmen should avoid presenting themselves this way, like the plague. I was an hour late. Still, I had no choice but to stop back at the house. I had to drive with a Kleenex in each hand.

  I ripped my T-shirt off going up the stairway and made a beeline for the bathroom. Betty was in her underpants, admiring her profile in the mirror. She jumped.

  “Jesus, you scared me!”

  “Boy oh boy, am I late!”

  By the time I got my pants off, I’d given her the whole story in brief. I jumped into the shower. I started on the dirtiest parts, using paint thinner. The room filled up with steam. Betty was still looking at herself.

  “Hey,” she said. “Do you think I’m getting fat?”

  “You must be kidding. I think you’re perfect/”

  “I think I’m getting a stomach…”

  “What are you talking about…?”

  I stuck my head through the curtain.

  “Hey, be a sweetheart… Call the woman and tell her I’m on my way. Make something up.”

  She came and pressed herself against the curtain. I backed up into the faucet.

  “Come on,” I said. “Not now…”

  She stuck her tongue out at me, then left. I soaped up for the twentieth time. I heard her pick up the telephone. I told myself that if I blew this sale I’d have shot the whole day.

  She was just hanging up when I got out, hair still wet, but clean, and my shirt immaculately white. I stood behind her and cupped her breasts in my hands, apologetically. I kissed her neck.

  “So what did she say?” I asked.

  “No problem. She’s waiting for you.”

  “I’ll be back in an hour-two at the latest. I’ll hurry.”

  She reached back and grabbed me, laughing.

  “Do that,” she said. “I have something to show you. You left so fast this morning…”

  “Listen, I’ll give you thirty seconds…”

  She turned around. She had a little glass tube in her hand. She tried to look nonchalant.

  “I didn’t like the idea of keeping it to myself all day, but it’s okay now.”

  She held the little tube up to my nose, as if it contained the secret of eternal life. It looked like something you’d find in a cereal box. Except for her eyes, her whole face smiled.

  “Let me guess,” I said. “It’s authentic dust from the lost island of Atlantis.”

  “No, it’s a thing that tells you if you’re pregnant.” My blood pressure suddenly plunged.

  “And what does it say?” I said in one breath.

  “It says yes.”

  “What about your fucking IUD?”

  “Well, apparently things like this happen…”

  I don’t know how long I stood there looking at her, rocking from one foot to the other-at least as long as it took for my brain to start working again. The air went out of the room. I found myself panting. Her eyes were fixed on mine. This helped me a little. I gradually unclenched my teeth. Then she started smiling, so I started smiling too. I didn’t really know why-my first reaction was that we had committed the Supreme Fuck-up. Maybe she was right, though-maybe it was the right thing to do. I froze all the old demons in their tracks. We burst out laughing. We laughed so hard it hurt. When I laughed with her, you could have made me swallow a bucket of poison. I put my hands on her shoulders. I played on her skin with my fingers.

  “Listen,” I said. “Let me get this appointment over with, then I’ll come right home. Okay?”

  “Yeah. Anyway, I have tons of laundry to do. I won’t get bored.”

  I hopped in the car and drove out of town. On the street I counted twenty-five women with strollers. My throat was dry. I had trouble getting my mind around what was happening-it was an eventuality I’d never seriously considered. Images raced through my mind like rockets.

  To calm myself down, I concentrated on the drive. It was beautiful. I passed the cop ear, I was going eighty. A minute later he stopped me. Richard again. He had nice teeth-healthy and straight. He took out a pad and a pen.

  “Every time I see this car I know it means I have a job to do,” he whined.

  I had no idea what he wanted me for-no idea of what I was even doing on this road. I smiled at him dubiously. Perhaps he had been standing there in the sun all day, ever since dawn…

  “Maybe you think that changing your tire gives you the right to drive like a maniac…?”

  I shoved my index finger and thumb into the corners of my eyes. I shook my head.

  “Jesus, I was somewhere else,” I sighed.

  “Don’t worry. If I find two or three grams of alcohol in your blood, I’ll bring you right back down to earth.”

  “If it was only that,” I said. “I just found out I’m going to be a daddy!”

  He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then he closed his pad, with his pen stuck inside, and put it back in his shirt pocket. He leaned over to me.

  “You wouldn’t have a cigarette, would you?” he asked.

  I gave him one. Then he leaned against my door, puffing peacefully, and told me all about his eight-month-old son, who had just started crawling across the living room on all fours, and all the various brands of formula, and the thousand-and-one joys of fatherhood. I almost dozed off during his lecture on nipples. Finally he winked at me and said he’d look the other way this time, that I could go. I went.

  During the last few miles I tried to put myself in a woman’s shoes, to see if I would want to have a baby-if I would feel a deep urge. But I couldn’t put myself in a woman’s shoes.

  It was a beautiful house on a nice piece of land. I parked in front and got out of the car with my little black briefcase. I didn’t keep anything in it, but I’d found that it reassured people-I’d already blown a few sales by showing up with my hands in my pockets. A woman came out onto the stoop. I waved hello.

  “At your service,” I said.

  I followed her inside. On the other hand, if this was really what Betty wanted, I had no right to refuse her-maybe it was all part of the order of things, maybe it wasn’t death. And what was good for her would probably be good for me. S
till, there was an air of terror surrounding the whole thing. It’s the kind of situation that’s always frightening. Once inside the living room, I glanced at the window and saw that the piano would make it through, no problem. I went into my spiel.

  After five minutes, however, my thoughts got foggy, and I lost control of the situation.

  “Does a woman really need to have a child to be fulfilled?” I asked.

  The woman’s eyelashes fluttered a little. I went on to enumerate the conditions of the sale, then proceeded through the details of delivery. I would have liked to be in some deserted place, where I could sit and think everything over peacefully. This was no laughing matter. Looking around me, I wondered if this was any place for a child to be born-and this was only one small part of the problem. The lady was circling the living room, looking for the right place to put the piano.

  “In your opinion, ought I to set it here, to the south?”

  “That depends on whether you intend to play the blues or not,” I said.

  Anyway, I was a true bastard-it was clear. Then again, lacking courage make you a bastard? I spotted the bar by accident. I gave it a sad look, in the style of Captain Haddock. Shit, I said to myself, to think that the fucking IUD slipped out of line and I didn’t feel a thing. I had an anxiety attack: Was I merely an instrument? In the end, was there only the blooming forth of the female, and nothing for me? Don’t guys ever get a break? The attack mysteriously evaporated when the lady got out the glasses.

  “Easy,” I said. “I’m not used to drinking in the afternoon.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from downing my drink in one gulp, though-the anticipation had been too great. I saw Betty in her panties standing in front of the bathroom mirror. Here I was, driving myself crazy, when all anyone asked of me was to rise to the occasion-it always pays to go all the way. I poured myself another finger of maraschino.

  On the way home, I forced myself to not think about it. I drove carefully, keeping to my right. The only thing they could have given me a ticket for was obstructing traffic. But I was the only car on the road. I was alone and apart from the universe-a speck of dust sliding toward an infinite tininess.

  I stopped in town and bought a bottle and some passion-fruit ice cream, plus two or three cassettes that had just come out. It was like I was going to visit a sick person. I must admit, I wasn’t too chipper.

  When I got home she was ecstatic. The TV was on.

  “They’re going to show a Laurel and Hardy movie,” she said. It was exactly what I needed-I couldn’t have imagined anything better. We plunked ourselves down on the couch with the ice cream and the booze, and let the rest of the afternoon slip away happily without bringing up the subject. She seemed in top form, completely relaxed, as if it were just another day of eating ice cream and watching television. I felt like I’d been making a mountain out of a molehill.

  At first I was thankful that she didn’t talk about it. I was afraid that we’d be forced to go into all the gory details, while what I really needed was time to adjust. Yet as the evening wore on, I started to realize that it was me who was having trouble containing himself. After dinner, as she was busy gulping down a plain yogurt, I found myself cracking my knuckles.

  Finally, in bed, I put my foot in it, while stroking her thighs:

  “So, tell me… how do you feel about being pregnant…?”

  “Gee, I don’t really know yet. It’s not really sure. To be sure I have to go get a test.”

  She squeezed herself against me and spread her legs.

  “Right, but what if it was sure…? Would you like that?”

  I felt her fur under my fingers, but I stopped myself. She could try and squirm out of it all she wanted-I needed a straight answer. She got the message.

  “Well, I’d really rather not think about it too much,” she said. “But my first impression is that it’s not so bad…”

  That was all I wanted to know. Things being clear, I went down on her in a way that made my head spin. While we were screwing, I imagined that her IUD was an unhinged door, flapping in the wind.

  The next day she went to get tested. The day after that, I stopped in front of a certain kind of store for the first time in my life and did some detailed window-shopping. It was horrible, but I knew that sooner or later I’d have to go in. To get my feet wet, I bought two Oshkosh jammies, one red and one black. The saleswoman assured me that I’d be happy with them-there was absolutely no shrinking.

  I spent the rest of the day observing Betty. Her feet were six inches off the ground. I got discreetly plastered while she was making an apple pie. I took out the garbage in the spirit of a Greek tragedy.

  Outside, the sky was a dizzying red, the sun’s last rays casting a sequined light. I found my arms twice as tan as before, the hairs nearly blond. It was dinnertime, and there was no one on the street-no one to see what I was doing. There was me, though. I went and crouched down in front of the store window. I smoked a cigarette, soft and sweet. There were a few sounds off in the distance, but the street itself was silent. I let my ashes fall delicately between my feet. Life was no longer absurdly simple-it was horribly complicated, and sometimes very tiring. I grimaced in the sunlight, like someone with ten inches up his ass. I looked until my eyes filled with tears, then a car passed by and I stood up. There was nothing left to see, anyway. Nothing but some guy who had just taken out his pitiful garbage at day’s end.

  After two or three days, I’d gotten used to things. My brain went back to its normal functioning rhythm. There was a strange sort of calm in the house-an atmosphere that I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t bad. I had the feeling that Betty was breathing a bit easier, as if she’d come to the end of a long race. I noticed that the perpetual tension that had always lived in her had somehow gone soft.

  One day, for instance, I was in the middle of dealing with this crazy woman-the kind a piano salesman comes across once or twice in a lifetime-a woman with no age and bad breath, weighing in at about one-eighty. She ran from one piano to another, asking all the prices three times, her eyes looking elsewhere, lifting up all the lids, pushing down all the pedals, and at the end of thirty minutes we found ourselves back where we started, and the store stank from sweat and I thought I was going to choke to death. I was talking a little loud, so Betty came down to see what was going on.

  “What I just don’t understand,” the woman was saying, “is the difference between this one and that one.”

  “One has round legs and the other one has square legs,” I sighed. “Look, we’re going to close pretty soon…”

  “Actually, I can’t decide between getting a piano and getting a saxophone,” she went on.

  “If you can hold on for a few days, we’re getting in a shipment of ocarinas…” I said.

  But she wasn’t listening. She’d stuck her head in a piano to see what was inside. I gave Betty a sign that said I’d had it up to here.

  “I’ve got to get out of here,” I whispered. “Tell her we’re closing.”

  I went up to the apartment and I didn’t come back. I drank a tall glass of cool water. Suddenly I was struck with remorse-I knew that in two minutes Betty would be chucking the woman’s ass through the front window. I almost went down, but I held off for a minute. I didn’t hear anything-no breaking glass, not even a scream. I was stupefied. The strangest thing of all was that Betty came up forty-five minutes later, relaxed and smiling.

  “She was really annoying,” she said. “You should take it a little easier with people like that.”

  That night we played Scrabble. I could have made the word ovaries and gotten a triple-word score, but I scrambled it and exchanged the letters instead.

  Ordinarily I got up early when I had to make a delivery. This left me the afternoon to get my strength back. I had struck a deal with these guys who hauled furniture for a store a few blocks away. I’d call them the night before and we’d meet at the corner early the next morning. We’d load the piano in a van that I rented,
then they’d follow me in their truck. We’d deliver the piano and I’d give them cash. They always gave me the same smile. The morning we were supposed to deliver the baby grand, though, things didn’t exactly work out that way.

  We had a seven o’clock meeting time, but I found myself alone on the sidewalk, pacing, waiting for them to show. The sky was gray-it was obviously going to rain later in the day. I hadn’t wakened Betty, I’d just slid out of bed like a lazy snake.

  Ten minutes later, I saw them round the corner slowly, coming toward me, skimming the curb. They were driving so slow I wondered what the hell they were doing. When they got to me, they didn’t even stop. The driver was behind the wheel, making gestures and grimacing at me, and the other one held up a sign that said, “THE BOSS IS ON OUR ASS!!” I saw the problem immediately. I pretended to tie my shoe. Five seconds later a dark car drove by: a little man in glasses at the wheel, his jaws set.

  I was not amused. When I set a delivery date I keep it. I started thinking wildly, then broke into a sprint toward Bob’s store. The lights were on upstairs. I scooped up some gravel and threw it at the window. Bob appeared.

  “Shit,” I said. “Did I wake you?”

  “Not really, I’ve been up since Eve o’clock, trying to get you-know-who back to sleep.”

  “Bob, listen. I got a problem… I’m all alone here with a piano to deliver. Could you get free?”

  “Get free? Gee, I don’t know. To give you a hand? Sure.”

  “Terrific. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

  I thought that with three of us, we could get the piano through the window. The truck driver alone could carry a closet up six flights, but just Bob and me… I wasn’t sure. I went back to the van and took off for the rental place. I got a young guy with a striped tie and pants with creases like knives.

  “Here,” I said. “I brought your van back. I need something bigger, with a device for unloading.”

  The guy thought this was pretty funny.

  “Great timing… so happens a guy just brought back a twenty-five-ton pickup with a hydraulic arm.”

  “Exactly what I need.”