His, Body and Soul(6)
“So you’re a student? What are you studying?”
“Sociology. I’m working on a thesis on feminism. Actually on feminisms. I’d like to study the differences between feminist perspectives in the US and France.”
“That’s fascinating,” he says, without a drop of irony.
I’m dreaming: he really finds this interesting! Or he’s so used to high society that he acts like he’s interested in everything? I opt for the first explanation, which helps me unclench my jaw a little. I enjoy the fact that I’m next to such an incredibly handsome and rich man who thinks my research is interesting. Really, it’s not that crazy after all.
“But what about you, Emma, do you consider yourself a feminist?”
He has something else to say about it! If he didn’t care at all, he would have stopped at 'fascinating', but he clearly wants to talk about it more. Perhaps he’s not the uneducated rich kid I had assumed he was. I decide to turn towards him a little. Our knees brush. It’s slightly awkward, but I really have no choice if I want to look at him while I speak. It just seems like the right thing to do.
“Maybe it seems a little outdated to you, but yes, I’m a feminist. I’d consider myself to be devoutely feminist.”
I put all of the confidence I can muster into this little sentence. Our knees are touching now. I don’t know if it’s the wine or the pleasure of discussing a subject that I’m so dedicated to, but I am on fire. His eyes hypnotize me. I press my knee against his. I look at his lips. I think, at that very moment, that I could kiss him. But he goes on:
“Would you say that it’s because of your feminist leanings that you dress yourself in potato sacks?”
5. Disillusionment
What a jerk! What an idiot! How could I have thought for a single moment that this arrogant beefcake would be interested in anything but his hairdo? I really have lost my mind. And to think that I was even considering kissing him! I’m going to have seriously pull myself together here. I came to Paris to study, not to flirt with guys and especially not to play the fool for some jaded millionaire. He started messing with my mind the moment I stepped foot into his apartment. First with his deceased father, then with the wine…and for that matter, what does Google have to say about this Château?
No way, it can’t be! But that’s the name he mentioned: Château d'Yquem. Apparently, this white wine, which I thought was too sweet, is considered by connoisseurs to be one of the greatest wines in the world. I must be dreaming! One bottle costs from 200 to several thousand Euro! I understand now why he laughed after seeing me gulp the glass down, like some kind of soda. At the same time, it serves him right! That should teach him to make fun of me.
I can’t calm down after I leave his house. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset. He is who he is, but he’s still my landlord. An accommodating landlord who doesn’t make me pay rent…I feel awful. I’ll start looking for a room on Monday. Or maybe I could apologize, just to buy a little time…oh no way, that must be the white wine talking! I can’t believe I was just thinking about apologizing! After being humiliated in such a horrible way! I’m sure he was thinking about making some sort of snide remark from the get-go. And there I was, naively thinking that he wanted to know more about my studies. What an idiot! And his little smirk, when he said that! He was proud of himself, you could tell! I could have slapped him, I think. Reduce my entire life’s work to my choice of wardrobe. First of all, clothes have nothing to do with it. And besides, what did he mean? Dress myself in potato sacks? Why, because I don’t wear Chanel suits to school? Big deal! I don’t know what world he lives in, but I’ve never seen anyone get dressed up to go to the university cafeteria. Except for Manon, of course. But she’s an extraterrestrial. For real! What do I care if he doesn’t like my clothes? After all, I’m worth more than that. I’m not superficial like the women who he usually meets, that’s what it really comes down to…
I’ll sleep on it, I’ll see things more clearly tomorrow.
I don’t want to leave the house. I've bought enough food to stay inside for the entire weekend, but I’ll have to poke my nose outside on Monday. I’ll leave early to make sure I don’t run into him. In the meantime, I better get to work! Finally, a good opportunity to dive into my books. It’s perfect. Except I can’t stop thinking about that humiliating moment…when I’m not dreaming of it. My Parisian life must really be boring if I’m obsessing like this over a fifteen minute conversation.