Philippe Djian - Betty Blue

I made a quick trip to Bob’s store-Bob was the albino grocery man. Actually I’m exaggerating-he wasn’t really albino, but blond like I’d never seen. There were two or three women in there, standing in front of the shelves, contemplating the void. Bob piled eggs behind the register.

“Hey, Bob, you got a minute?” I asked.

“Sure.”

“Bob, could you give me a little of that white stuff-you know, the stuff you wrote ‘All Creamed Cheese Must Go’ on your window there with?”

I went back with a little container and a paintbrush. I climbed up my ladder. Across the whole width of the window on top I wrote “PIANO PRICE SLASH!!” I stepped back to see what it looked like. It was a beautiful morning. The store looked like a glint of sunlight on a burbling stream. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that a few passersby were slowing down on the sidewalk to get a better look. Rule number ONE of sales: let them know you’re there. Rule number TWO: shout it loud and clear.

I went up to the window. Under it I wrote “NEVER BEFORE OFFERED!!!” Betty seemed to get off on that one. From time to time she’d laugh at anything. She put in her two cents, writing “MUCHO BIG DEALOS” across the door.

“Go ahead and laugh,” I said.

I spent the whole morning in the store with a can of spray wax and a cloth, polishing each piano down to its toenails-I might as well have given them all a bath.

By the time Betty called me for lunch, I was done. I took a circular glance around the store-each and every one of them gleamed in the lights. I knew I had a great team. I went halfway up the stairs, then came back down. I held my hand out to all of the pianos.

“I’m counting on you, fellas,” I said. “Don’t let that girl have the last laugh.”

I tried to maintain an enigmatic smile while ingesting the squid croquettes in hot sauce. Girls go crazy for that.

“Listen, that would really be too unbelievable,” she said. “Why today, especially…?”

“Why? Because I’ve set my mind to it, that’s why.”

She touched my knee under the table.

“You know, I’m not saying that to discourage you. It’s just that I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Ha,” I said.

As a writer, I had not yet attained glory. As a piano salesman, I wanted to try to even the balance. I was betting on the idea that life cannot break all your momentum at once.

“Anyway, we’re not hard up, you know,” she added. “We have easily enough to hold us till the end of the month.”

“I know, but I’m not doing it for the money. I’m doing it to test a theory.”

“Gee! Look how blue the sky is! We’d be better off going for a drive…”

“No,” I said. “We’ve been taking drives for five or six days now, I’m sick of the car. No, today the store is open for business. I’m not budging from the cash register!”

“All right, whatever you say. I don’t know, maybe I’ll go for a walk or something. We’ll see…”

“Go ahead. Don’t worry about me. The sun shines only for you, baby…”

She put some sugar in my coffee and stirred it, smiling, her eyes on me. They were incredibly deep sometimes. Sometimes, with her around, I soared among the clouds-just like that, knocked for a loop, blinded by the light.

“Don’t we have any cookies or something-some rose-petal jelly maybe?” I asked.

She laughed.

“What, can’t I even look at you?”

“Yeah, you can. It just gives me a hell of a sweet tooth, that`s all.”

At two o’clock sharp I went to open the store. I took a look out on the street-to get the lay of the land. Perfect. It I was going to buy a piano, this would be the day. I went and sat down in a dark corner in the back of the store, still and silent like a hungry tarantula, my eyes fixed on the door.

Time passed. I scribbled something in the receipt book. I broke the pencil in half. I went out on the sidewalk a few times to see what was happening. All I got was discouraged. Nothing. It was dead. My ashtray was full-you sure can smoke a lot of cigarettes in this life, I thought, and you sure can get bored. It’s enough to make you run off with the circus. I didn’t like the feeling-like being stabbed in the back in broad daylight. Was it really such a wild flight of fancy for a piano salesman to hope to sell a piano? Was it too much to ask? Was it a sin of pride to want to move the merchandise? What is a piano salesman who doesn’t sell pianos, after all? Anguish and absurdity are the nipples of the world-I said it out loud, joking.

“How’s that?”

I turned around. It was Betty. I hadn’t heard her come in.

“Ready to go? You going to take a walk…?” I asked.

“]ust a little one. It’s still nice out. You talking to yourself, now?”

“No, just screwing around. Listen, would you watch the store five minutes for me? I want to get some cigarettes. It’ll get me out a little bit…”

“Sure.”

Things being what they were, I didn’t deny myself a double shot of whiskey and Coke, while waiting for the lady to shuffle through the cupboard, looking for a carton of filtered cigarettes. She stood back up, her face flushed and her bun crooked. I handed her a bill.

“How’s the piano business?” she said.

I didn’t have the heart to take a cheap shot.

“Could be better,” I said.

“Yes, well, you know, everybody’s scrambling these days.”

“Yeah?” I said.

“Yes. Times are tough all around…”

“Could I have a piece of pie, to go, please?”

While she went to get it, I picked up the bill which was sitting on the counter and put it back in my pocket. She wrapped some wax paper around my pie and put it down in front of me.

“That be all?” she asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

It was worth a try. Sometimes it works. It’s sort of a free lottery. It can get your spirits back up. The lady hesitated for a fraction of a second. I smiled at her like an angel.

“Not too much silver,” I said. “My change, I mean. My wife is tired of my complaining about the holes in my pockets…”

She laughed a little, nervously, then opened the drawer of her cash register. She gave me the change.

“Sometimes I think I’m losing my marbles,” she said.

“It happens to everyone,” I said.

I was in no hurry to get back to the store. A little piece of baked apple was hanging out of the wax paper, like a teardrop. I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. I zupped it. Paradise comes cheap here on earth, luckily-it keeps things in their proper perspective. What is it really that measures a man? Surely not breaking one’s ass to sell a few pianos-that would be sheer folly; it certainly isn’t worth ruining one’s life over. A tender corner of apple pie, soft as a spring morn-that’s something else. I realized that I’d taken this piano thing too seriously-I’d lost my head over it. It’s hard to stave off madness, though-you have to watch out every minute.

I started back, thinking of all this. I swore to myself that even if I sold nothing all day, I wouldn’t let it get to me. I’d zen it out. Still, a sale or two wouldn’t be bad. I told myself this as I walked through the door. Betty was smiling behind the cash register, fanning herself with a piece of paper.

“Taste this apple pie,” I said.

Talk about a smile-her face might have been polished with ammonia. It was like I’d just asked for her hand in marriage.

“You know,” I went on. “Let’s not delude ourselves. They say business is bad all over these days. I wouldn’t be surprised if I don’t sell anything today. I’m a victim of the global economy.”

“Haha,” she said.

“I personally don’t see anything to laugh about. But then again I’m more pragmatic…”