Philippe Djian - Betty Blue

One morning I woke up before Betty. The sun was coming in from all sides. I lifted myself up on one elbow: Somebody was sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. It was the owner of the motel, watching us attentively-watching Betty, that is. It took me a few seconds to figure out what he was doing, then I saw that we had really sent the sheets flying the night before, and Betty was lying there with her legs wide apart. The guy was greasy, fat. He was dabbing at himself with a handkerchief and his fingers were covered with rings-the kind of guy who can make you throw up first thing in the morning.

I threw the sheet over Betty and got up in a hurry. I dressed without being able to say a word, wondering what in the world he was doing there. He watched me, smiling silently, like a cat who’s just found a mouse. Then Betty woke up. She sat up suddenly, breasts bare. She pulled her hair out of her eyes with one hand.

“Hey… who the fuck is this guy?” she said.

He made a little gesture with his head and stood up.

“No, really… since when does just anybody-”

I dragged the owner outside before things started getting complicated. I closed the door behind us.

I walked back and forth in the sun, clearing my throat. He had his sport jacket over his arm and big sweat rings on his shirt. I couldn’t think straight-I didn’t feel too well. Normally at that time of morning I should have been peacefully fucking. The guy ran his hanky behind his neck and looked at me with a grimace.

“Tell me,” he said. “Is that young woman the reason you’re still in bed at ten o’clock in the morning?”

I stuck my hands in my pockets and looked at the ground. This both made me look bothered and kept me from having to look at his face.

“No, no,” I said. “She has nothing to do with it.”

“You mustn’t, you see…You really mustn’t let her make you forget why you are here-why I house you and pay you. Do you understand?”

“Sure, yeah, but…”

“You know…” he went on. “One little ad in tomorrow’s paper and there’ll be a hundred guys knocking each other over, begging to have your job. I don’t want to do anything underhanded-you’ve been here a long time and I’ve never had any complaints-but I don’t like this. I don’t think you can have a girl like that here and do your job at the same time. Do you see what I mean?”

“Have you been talking to George?” I asked.

He nodded. The guy was repulsive and he knew it. He used it like a weapon.

“Well,” I went on. “He must have told you what a help she’s been to us. I can tell you we wouldn’t have gotten along this well without her. You should have seen the damage after than fucking cyclone, there was hardly anything left standing, and she took care of all the shopping while George and I tried to get everything fixed in a hurry. She put the putty on the windows, picked up the dead branches, ran all over the place, never sat still for a minute, she…”

“I’m not saying-”

“And let me just add that she never even asked to be paid for it. George can tell you that she saved us a hell of a lot of time.”

“In other words, you’d like me to look the other way on this?”

“Listen, maybe it’s true that I got up a little late this morning, but these days I’m working ten, twelve hours a day. We’ve had a hell of a job here, just take a look around. Usually I’m up at dawn, I don’t know what happened. It won’t happen again.”

He was dripping in the sun. He was thinking about something, twisting his face in all directions. He took a glance around.

“Got to give these houses a paint job,” he said. “They look like hell.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t hurt. It’d attract attention from the road too. We’ve already talked about it, me and George…”

“Okay, then maybe there’s a way to work this all out. You can get to work on it with your friend there.”

The idea was so outlandish that it made me turn white.

“Hey, are you kidding?” I said. “That’s a job for a painting company… We’d never be able to finish.”

“The two of you already are a little company,” he chuckled.

I bit my lip. The guy really had us right where he wanted us, and it was a tough pill to swallow. Why do these things always happen? Why do we always find ourselves in these situations? I hadn’t even started the day yet, and I was already exhausted.

“Okay, but I want to know how she’ll be paid.” I sighed.

His smile widened. He put his chubby little hand on my shoulder.

“My goodness, you make me laugh,” he said. “Five minutes ago you were asking me to forget the girl-isn’t that right? How am I supposed to do that if I have to pay her? It doesn’t make any sense.”

He was really one of those classic assholes you meet all over, the kind who leave a bad taste in your mouth. I looked at my feet. It felt like they were nailed to the floor. My jaw hurt. I wiped my mouth slowly, my eyes closed. This meant that I gave in. He must have been used to that-he got the message.

“That’s fine. I’ll just let you get to work, then. I’ll come by later to see how you’re getting on with it. I’ll see about ordering the paint with George.”

He took off, kneading his handkerchief. I stood there, dancing from one leg to the other before deciding to go back inside. Betty was in the shower, I saw her through the curtain. I was hemmed in on all sides. I sat down at the table and had a lukewarm cup of coffee. Disgusting.

She came out rolled in a towel and sat right down on my lap.

“Say, who the hell was that guy? Whoever let him in here?”

“He doesn’t need anyone to let him in,” I said. “He owns the place.”

“What difference does that make? You don’t just go walking into somebody’s house like that…”

“Yes, you’re right. That’s what I told him.”

“What did he want, anyway?”

I stroked her tit without having an idea in my head. I felt sort of empty. The job that was waiting for us-mama mia!… my legs were shaking. It was making me sick.

“So what did he want?” she insisted.

“Nothing. Bullshit… he wants us to paint a couple of things.”

“Oh yeah? Great! I love painting!”

“What luck,” I said.

The next morning this guy showed up in a truck with about a hundred gallons of paint and some rollers.

“There you go,” he said. “That’ll give you something to get started with. When you need more just give me a buzz and I’ll be back lickety-split.”

We unloaded the cans into the shed. It made a nice little hill in there. It gave me a stomachache: fireball rage and impotence mixed together. I had forgotten what a horrible feeling it is-it had been a long time since I’d had a taste of it. It’s funny, there were really a lot of things I’d forgotten.

The deliveryman split, whistling. It was sort of relentlessly nice out. I took a sad look at the houses and started lugging a fifty pound can of paint down the road, making sure my fingers got good and crippled. George was waiting for me by the entrance. I didn’t stop. He walked across to join me with his crazy-old-man grin.

“Hey, looks heavy what you got there.”

“Don’t be cute,” I groaned. “Leave me alone.”

“Well, shit, what did I do to you?”

I changed hands without slowing down. I hit myself in the leg with the can and saw stars for a minute. He wouldn’t let me be.

“Jesus, I never saw you like this.”

“That’s possible,” I said. “Did you really have to go tell him that Betty LIVED here?”

“Jesus Christ, you know how he is. He made me spill the beans.

I was only half awake when he came in…”

“Yeah, well, you’re never completely awake. What you are completely is full of shit,” I said.