Excerpt from the Scenario Delicacy

SCENE 31: INTERIOR. BAR. Natalie and Chloé^e walk into a bar. It isn’t the first time they’ve come to this place. Natalie follows behind Chloé. They sit down in a corner near a window. Exterior: the possibility of rain. CHLOÉ (in a very spontaneous way): How are you? You okay?
NATALIE: Yes, great. Chloé studies Natalie. NATALIE: Why are you looking at me like that?
CHLOÉ: I’d like our relationship to be more equal. For you to talk to me about you. It’s true that we only talk about me.NATALIE: What do you want to know?CHLOÉ: Your husband has been dead for a long time … and … and … does it bother you to talk about it? Natalie seems surprised. Nobody brings up the subject that directly. There’s a pause, and Chloé continues. CHLOÉ: It’s true … you’re young, beautiful … and look at that man over there—he hasn’t stopped looking at you since we came into the bar. Natalie turns her head, and her eyes meet those of the man who is looking at her. CHLOÉ: He’s really not bad, I think. I bet he’s a Scorpio. And since you’re a Pisces, it’s perfect.NATALIE: I’ve barely seen him, and you’re already making predictions?CHLOÉ: Well, astrology’s important. It’s the key to my problem with my boyfriend.NATALIE: Then nothing can be done? He can’t change his sign.CHLOÉ: No, that idiot will always be a Taurus. Shot of Natalie’s expressionless face.CUT Thirty-two

Natalie felt ridiculous being here and having this kind of discussion with so young a woman. Moreover, as usual, she wasn’t able to live in the moment. Maybe that’s what grief is: a permanent disconnect from the here and now. She looked at the games adults played and felt detached. It was easy to tell herself: “I’m not here.” Chloé was speaking to her with the rash energy of the here and now, trying to keep her there and push her into thinking, “I am here.” She kept talking about that man. And quite rightly, since he was finishing his beer and looking like he was trying to decide whether to approach them. But passing from a glance to a conversation, from the eye to the word, is never simple. After a long day of work, he was in that leisurely mood that sometimes pushes you into bold behavior. Under every daring move, fatigue often hides. He was still looking at Natalie. What did he really have to lose? Nothing, except perhaps a little of the appeal he had from being unknown.He paid for his drink and left his observation post. His walk could almost have been called resolute. Natalie was several feet away from him: ten, twelve, not more. It dawned on her that this man was coming over to see her. Immediately a strange thought popped into her head: in seven years this man coming toward me may die by being run over. That flash of an idea shook her up inescapably and emphasized her fragility. Every man who approached her ineluctably reminded her of meeting François. However, this one had nothing in common with her husband. He was coming at her with his bedroom smile, his smile from an easy world. But once he got to the table, he was mute. A moment left hanging. He’d made up his mind to come up to them but hadn’t prepared the slightest conversation starter. Maybe he was just worried? Surprised, the girls took stock of the man, who stuck there like an exclamation point.“Hello … can I offer you a drink?” he finally let out uninspiredly.Chloé accepted, and he sat down near them with his feeling of being halfway to the prize. Once he’d sat down, Natalie thought, He’s stupid. He offers me a drink when mine has hardly been touched. Then, suddenly, she changed her mind. She told herself that his hesitation at the moment of approaching them was touching. Then once more aggression took the fore. Incessantly shifting, contradictory moods gripped her. She simply did not know what to think. Each of her gestures was quashed by an impulse against it.Chloé took charge of the conversation, piling on positive stories about Natalie, building her up. To hear her, this was a modern, brilliant, amusing, cultivated, dynamic, scrupulous, generous, uncompromising woman. All of it in under five minutes, so complete that the man only had one question in mind: what was the hitch? During each of Chloé’s lyric transports, Natalie had tried to emit believable smiles, to relax the planes of her face, and in rare flashes, she seemed natural. But the energy had drained her. Why put on a face? Why use all her strength to seem affable and agreeable? And then, what would come next? Another date? The need to be more and more candid? Suddenly, everything that was simple and easy was cast in a dark light. Underneath a harmless conversation, she could detect the monstrous mechanism of the life of the couple.She excused herself and got up to go to the ladies’ room. For a long moment, she examined herself in the mirror. Every detail of her face. She splashed a little water on her cheeks. Did she think she was beautiful? Did she have an opinion about herself? About her femininity? It was time to go back. But she stayed there for several minutes without moving, thinking, afloat in her reflections. When she got back to her table, she grabbed her coat. She made an excuse, without taking the trouble to make it seem believable. Chloé said something that she didn’t hear. She was already outside. A little later, as he was going to bed, the man wondered if he’d made a fool of himself. Thirty-three

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