Enough About Love

LOUISE AND THOMAS

• •

THOMAS HAS HAD A NIGHTMARE and is describing it to Louise in a quiet café on the Place de la Contrescarpe:

“I’m in my kitchen with Maud—”

“What, my Maud? My daughter?” Louise interjects.

“Yes. You’ve shown me a picture of her, but I wouldn’t recognize her in the street. In my dream, she looks a bit like Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz, in other words nothing like herself. I’m teaching her to make pancakes. There’s a bulky old TV in the kitchen with a film on. It’s a spy film, a black-and-white B movie. A woman’s been tied up in a kitchen exactly like mine. A man comes in from time to time and slaps her. She wants to scream but she’s gagged. I know that the woman is you, even though she doesn’t look at all like you, and I also know that although the scene is innocuous, Maud finds it terrifying. But it doesn’t occur to me to switch the TV off, I just try to get between her and the screen, and I talk very loudly to drown out the woman’s moans. A man in a suit, who could be Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca, comes in and yells at the woman, ‘Go home, now.’ She’s immediately released and limps away, turning around to throw him a pack of Q-tips.”

“A pack of what?”

“I know, it’s ridiculous, it was a dream, I can’t think what the Q-tips are meant to be. The TV stops all by itself, I hope Maud didn’t see any of it, and I yammer on about yeast making the pancake batter rise. Your little girl looks at me angrily, she wanted to watch the film.”

“Is that it?” Louise says.

“That’s it. I’m telling you because I think it has to do with my guilt.”

“Is Humphrey Bogart my husband? Wasn’t Bogart really short?” she laughs, shaking her head.

“I don’t know if it’s him. Dreams are always complex.”

“I don’t have nightmares, I just have an impossible client. A rapist. He’s chosen a completely untenable line of defense. I said: ‘Look, stop this, don’t be so stupid, she has bruises where she was hit, and the fluid found on her clothes is your sperm.’ ”

Hearing the word “sperm” pronounced too loudly, the whole café turns toward them and falls silent, but Louise does not notice. She continues: “Just admit that you raped this girl. The jury’s never going to believe you. If you carry on denying it, you won’t be getting four or five years, but ten.”

“Louise …”

“Yes?”

“Don’t talk so loud. Everyone’s looking at us. Well, it’s me they’re all looking at.”

Louise turns around. All eyes are on Thomas, brimming with anger and contempt. She stands up immediately and addresses them all.

“Let’s stop right there. I’m a lawyer. This is the love of my life and I’m telling him about my day at work, I love him, we’re getting married on Sunday.”

She sits down beside Thomas and kisses him full on the mouth. The kiss lasts some time, there is whistling, some laughter, clapping even. When she breaks away from him, Thomas roars with laughter.

“You really are crazy.”

“About you.”