Betty Blue

by Philippe Djian

  Naturally I avoided saying this out loud, especially when Betty was around. I didn’t want to rock the boat. I wanted to keep swimming, making sure her head stayed above water. I kept all daily problems to myself, never saying a word to her about them. I had acquired a certain look in my eye which I used to stare down people who threatened to bother me. Folks are quick to recognize someone who would just as soon kill them as say hello.

  I did a good job of keeping trouble away from her. Things went fairly well. What I didn’t like were the times I’d find her sitting in a chair, staring into space. Or when I had to call to her two or three times, or go and shake her. It caused certain physical problems too. Saucepans burning, bathtubs overflowing, and washing machines turning with nothing in them. But all in all it wasn’t horrible. I’d learned that you can’t live under the sky without seeing a few clouds. Most of the time I was happy with the way things were. I wouldn’t have traded places with anyone.

  Along the way, I noticed something strange happening to me. Though I had not, in the end, become the writer she dreamed of, and though I could never put the world at her feet-no use looking back-still, I was able to give her all that was inside me, all that I had to give. It wasn’t easy, though. I found myself producing these spoonfuls of honey each day, but not knowing what to do with them. They accumulated into a stone that swelled in my stomach-a small rock. I felt like I had an armload of presents and no one to give them to. As if I’d grown a new, useless muscle, or had arrived with a pile of gold bullion on Mars. It did no good to cart pianos around until my veins were ready to pop, or to run around the house puttering-I simply could not exhaust myself. I could not sap the ball of energy that was inside me. On the contrary-fatigue seemed to feed it. And even if Betty herself didn’t use it, it was hers, I’d given it to her. I couldn’t do anything else with it. I felt sympathy for the general who has hundreds of bombs on his hands, and no war.

  I had to watch myself closely-holding onto such a treasure made me nervous. I almost lost Bob as a friend because of it. I’d gone to give him a hand with his inventory. We were on our knees among the boxes, and for some reason we got to talking about women. Ile was the one who started it-it was not exactly my favorite topic of discussion. The gist of what he said was that he was dissatisfied.

  “You don’t have to look too far,” he said. “Mine has hot pants, and yours is half crazy…”

  Without thinking, I grabbed him by the neck and plastered him against the wall, between the instant mashed potatoes and the Cheez Whiz. I nearly strangled him.

  “Never say that again about Betty!” I growled.

  I let him go. I was shaking with anger, he was coughing. I left without saying a word. Back at the house, I calmed down. I regretted what had happened. Betty was fixing something in the kitchen, so I took advantage of the situation. I took the phone into the bedroom. I sat down.

  “Bob… it’s me…”

  “What, you forget something? Wanted to know if I was still alive?”

  “I don’t take back what I said, Bob, but… I don’t know… I didn’t mean to do it. Let’s forget it ever happened…”

  “It feels like I got a scarf around my throat, made out of fire…”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Shit, don’t you think you went a little overboard?”

  “I don’t know. Only real Love and real Hate can make you do great things.”

  “Yeah? Well, then you want to tell me what you used to write your book?”

  “I loved it, Bob. I really loved it!”

  Bob was one of the privileged few who had read my manuscript. He’d made such a big deal out of it that I finally gave in. I went and got my only copy out of the bottom of a bag. I snuck out of the house with it while Betty was singing in the shower. I really love the way you write, he told me later-but why isn’t there any story?

  “I don’t know what you mean, Bob-no story…”

  “You know what I mean…”

  “No, honestly. Bobby, don’t you get enough stories every morning in the newspaper? Aren’t you a little sick of reading police novels, or science fiction, or the funnies? Haven’t you had it UP TO HERE with all that crap? Don’t you want a breath of fresh air for a change…?”

  “Nah, all that other stuff bores me stiff. All those things that they’ve been publishing for the last ten years-I can’t get past the first twenty pages…”

  “Of course. Most of the people who write nowadays have lost the faith. You’ve got to feel the energy in a book, the faith. Writing a book should be like knee-jerking four hundred pounds-you should see the author’s veins pop.”

  This conversation had taken place a month earlier. I realized now that my readership was too small to go around strangling them, especially the readers I needed to help me finish my roof. There were certain things I couldn’t do alone. It had been Betty’s idea to do it, but it was me who did it.

  The idea was to remove about six square yards of roofing and replace it with glass.

  “Do you think it’s possible?” she’d asked.

  “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”

  “Then why not do it?”

  “Listen, if you say you really want it, then I’ll give it a try.”

  She gave me a hug. I went up into the attic to see what I was in for. I was in for trouble. I came back down and hugged her.

  “I think I deserve a second helping,” I whispered.

  The job was almost finished. All that was left was to waterproof the joints and install the panes. Bob was supposed to come over in the afternoon to help me carry the glass up, but after the little incident that morning, I was afraid he would manage to forget. I was wrong.

  It was extremely hot up on the roof. Betty handed us some beers. She was very excited about spending our first night under the stars-she even laughed once or twice. God knows I would have turned the house into Swiss cheese if she’d have asked me to.

  We put our tools away in the last rays of sunset. Betty climbed up to join us with a few Carlsbergs. We spent a while up there together, shooting the breeze, squinting into the light. Things seemed absolutely clear.

  After Bob left, we emptied the attic and swept it out. Then we brought the mattress up, along with some munchies and the minimum necessary to avoid dying of thirst. We put the mattress right under the window. She fell backward onto it, her hands clasped behind her head. The night was upon us. We could already see two stars, up to the left. A whole week’s work. The sky was a bargain at twice the price. I asked myself whether we should eat a little or fuck first.

  “Hey, do you think we’ll see the moon go by?” she asked.

  I started unbuttoning my pants.

  “I don’t know… maybe…”

  My own tastes were simpler. I didn’t have to go searching the sky for what was in my own backyard. Her underpants knew me so well, I could pet them without getting bitten. I looked under her skirt and found that I had only three fingers left. It didn’t bother me at all.

  “Wow, I see shooting stars…!” she said.

  “I know what I’m wishing for. Try not to add anything else to the order.”

  “No, I mean REAL ONES!!”

  I knew that it was either me or the sky. I didn’t chicken out. I decided to fight to the finish. I shoved my head down between her legs. I more or less ate her panties whole. Where were all our problems now? Where was all the shit of the last few weeks? Where was Paradise? Where was Hell? Where had it gone to, the invisible machine that had been grinding away at us? I spread her crack and put my face in it. You’re on the beach, Daddy-o, I said to myself, you’re on a deserted beach, with waves rolling in, lapping at your lips. Daddy-o, I understand why you don’t ever want to stand up again.

  When I picked my head up, I was glowing like a nebula. My eye was totally glued shut.

  “It’s a little annoying-I’ve lost my sense of depth perception,” I said.

  She smiled. She pulled me to her and cleaned my ey
e with her tongue. I went inside her then, and for quite a while I heard nothing more about the sky-I simply felt the stars behind me, gliding gently past.

  Betty was especially into it that night. I didn’t have to outdo myself to ring her chimes. It thrilled me to see her enjoying it. I even slowed down to make it last longer. She got lathered up before I did. I felt it coming. I thought about the Big Bang theory. We lay there stuck to each other for a good ten minutes afterward, then dug into the chicken. I’d brought up a bottle of wine, too. By the end of dinner her cheeks were light pink and her eyes shone. It was rare that I saw her so calm and relaxed, so-how can I say it-almost happy… yes… almost happy. It made me forget to sweeten my yogurt.

  “How come you’re not like this more often?” I asked.

  She looked at me in such a way that I didn’t want to repeat the question. Why insist? We’d already discussed it a hundred times. Why always come back to it? Was it that I still believed in the magic of words? I remembered perfectly our last conversation on the subject. It hadn’t been very long ago. I knew it by heart. Jesus Christ, she’d said, shivering, can’t you see that life is against me-that all I have to do is want something to know that I can’t have it? I can’t even have a baby…

  When she said that, I could see the doors slamming shut all around her, and there was nothing I could do to open them. There was no use arguing, no use trying to show her how wrong she was, how easily things could be worked out. There’ll always be some joker around who shows up to treat a third-degree burn with a glass of water. Me, for instance.

  23

  It was a little white building near the outskirts of town, in a fairly deserted neighborhood. I could see people walking past the window of the office on the ground floor, just above the garage. It was early summer, about eighty in the shade. At around two o’clock, I crossed the street and stood by the garage door, pretending to tie my shoes.

  I’d been there for only a minute when I saw a pair of pants legs stop in front of me. I looked up slowly. Even as a man I can’t stomach that kind of asshole: a jerk, kind of flushed, flabby around the middle, a lecherous look on his face-the kind you see all over.

  “So, having trouble with your shoelaces…?” he murmured.

  I stood up fast. I got my knife out. I held it discreetly under his nose.

  “Buzz off, fuzznuts,” I growled.

  The dude turned white, then jumped back, his eyes wide. His lips were like the petals of a rotten flower. I made like I was going to lunge at him, and he took off at a run. Ile stopped at the corner, called me a bitch, then disappeared.

  I bent back down over my shoelaces. It was past two o’clock. I’d noticed that they were never exactly on time. All I could do was be patient, and hope that no more perverts came along. In spite of everything, I was calm. It seemed too unreal to be completely true. When I saw the steel door go up, I flattened myself against the wall. I heard the van start up inside. I hugged my bag against my chest. I held my breath. The sun started vibrating. There was no one in sight. I bit my lip. I had a bad taste in my mouth-sort of chemical.

  The van pulled out slowly. My only fear was that the guy would see me in the rearview mirror. I took my chances anyway, hoping that anyone pulling into the street out of a garage would look STRAIGHT AHEAD. I was counting on it, anyway. As soon as the delivery truck had pulled out, I slipped inside the garage. I backed into a shadow till the door closed. I swallowed my saliva it was like swallowing peanut butter.

  I stayed there without moving for five minutes. Nothing happened. I breathed. I grabbed my tits, which had fallen down, and put them back where they belonged. I must have measured fifty-five inches around the bosom, little points sticking out through my shirt. It kept me warm. I’d put my jacket on so I wouldn’t be noticed too much on the street, but it wouldn’t close all the way. I’d put on little white gloves to cover the hair on my hands. For my legs, I’d just worn pants. I’d settled on a short blond wig-a tad trendy for my taste. It was either that or a twenty-inch bun-they were out of stock till next week. I took my sunglasses off and got a little minor out of my purse to see if my makeup had smeared.

  No, everything was in order. I’d done a good job-shaved three times in a row, put on a little cream, some foundation, and finally some rather violent red lipstick. All in all, I looked pretty good. Burning body and icy face-just the kind of girl who would make me nervous. I slid my glasses down to the end of my nose. I hadn’t done my eyes. I waited another minute until I felt perfectly calm, then I got on with it.

  On the side, there was an open door that led to a little hallway. To my left, the exit-an unbelievable collection of bars and deadbolts. To my right, a stairway going up to the offices. I was struck by the surprising simplicity of it all-I viewed it as a sign from destiny. I took the Barracuda out of my bag. It was an imitation, a perfect imitation-it even scared me. I started up the stairs like a hungry panther.

  On the second floor I spotted my man. He was sitting at a desk with his back to me-a young guy of about twenty-five, with pimples on his neck, trying to make it big in life. He was devouring one of those magazines that tells you about the sex lives of famous actors. I shoved the barrel of the Barracuda a good half inch into his ear, holding one finger up to my lips. He under stood-he wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Still warming his ear, I took his hands and put them behind his back. I got a roll of adhesive tape out of my bag-extra-strong and three inches wide. When you get a package plastered together with that stuff it’s enough to drive you crazy. I pulled a piece off with my teeth and with one hand wrapped five yards of it around his wrists. It took a while, but I had all afternoon. I took his gun off him and taped him to the chair.

  “I swear, I’m not going to try anything,” he said. “I don’t want to get hurt. Don’t worry…”

  I leaned down to tie his legs. I caught him looking at my chest.

  I straightened up. It was as if he’d touched me-it was all I could do not to slap his face. I slapped it anyway. He yelped. I put my finger back up to my lips.

  Now all I had to do was wait. Think and wait. I glanced at the electronic door-security system. It was easy to figure out. I crossed my legs and sat down in a corner of the office. I smoked a cigarette. The little jack-off gave me the once-over with velvety eyes.

  “Golly… I mean, golly-you can’t imagine how much l admire you,” he gushed. “You got to have some kind of nerve to do this…”

  He was wrong. Courage had nothing to do with it. Watching Betty sink deeper every day would make knocking over a bank-or blowing up half the world-seem like child’s play. Actually, it was not exactly a bank. It was a company that handled surveillance equipment and armored cars. They transported the daily receipts of certain department stores and toll booths. I’d followed them for a few days. I realized that it would be ridiculous to try anything while they were out on their rounds. Those guys were so jumpy-one sneeze and they’d turn you into a screen door. That’s why I decided to wait for them in a more relaxed atmosphere-at their home base.

  “If you’d like some coffee, there’s a Thermos in the bottom drawer,” said my admirer.

  He devoured me with his eyes. I pretended to ignore him. I poured myself a cup of coffee.

  “What’s your name?” he asked. “I just want to be able to remember your first name. I swear I won’t tell anybody…”

  He got on my nerves. There was a good side, though-him talking later, about what a helluva gal I was, would help me cover my tracks. For good measure, I rubbed my chest a little, just to see him change color.

  “Jesus, could we open a window?” he said.

  From time to time I got up to look out the window. The street was quiet. I never imagined it would all go so well. You could hear birds singing in the trees. The telephone hadn’t rung once, and no one came to the door. It seemed like a gag. Once or twice l caught myself yawning. It was hot. From the moment the guy saw me run my tongue over my lips, he got delirious.

  “Untie m
e,” he said. “I can help you. I can cover you when the others come back-the bastards. Anyway, I’m sick of this job. I’ll go away with you-we can ransack the countryside… Why won’t you talk to me…? Why don’t you trust me…?”

  To finish him off, I ran my hand through my hair. It was greasy. Good thing I was wearing gloves. He stuck his neck out toward me and let out a little whimper.

  “Oh please,” he cried. “Be extra careful of the fat one, the fattest of the three…Don’t trust him… He’ll shoot you without a second thought…It’s already happened several times… He’s wounded pedestrians… Oh that bastard, Henry… You better let me handle him, ma’am, I won’t let him harm a hair on your head…”

  I was bored but calm. I’d stopped letting things get to me. Except for Betty, I cared about nothing. I was happy to have something specific to do-it eased my soul. Unless something really went haywire, they wouldn’t knock themselves out over a simple crime of passion. To get a little peace, I sat down behind him. I played with his gun. His was a real one-somehow you could tell by touching it. I imagined what it would be like to give myself a bullet in the mouth. It made me smile. I was as capable of doing it as I was incapable of saying why life was worth living. I just felt it. The young dude craned his neck, trying to see me behind him.

  “Why are you staying back there?” he complained. “What did I do? Just let me look at you…”

  The restrooms were at the bottom of the stairway. I went down to take a piss. I took my wig off and fanned myself with it. I had no real plan. I didn’t have a stopwatch or a can of tear gas. I worked by feel, as they say. The truth is that I had other things on my mind; I had enough problems without having to worry about the details. I could understand how you’d want to cover every angle of a bank robbery when money is your prime goal but what did money mean to me? What difference could piles of money possibly make in my life? Given where we’d come to, I was willing to try anything, though. Anything I could for her. That’s what it was all about.