and she felt free, she didn't wanted a burden for twenty years. Then she said it woul harm her body, and she like her body as it was, young and fit, with a beautiful braist, thin and souple, as any latin dance fan.
So I was suprised when she said she forgot her pills during one of our trips and she was pregrant. I just said : that's wonderful, because I didn't know what to say. She jumped in my arms and she said : so we keep it, I'm so happy to have a baby from you. I would never have had a baby from anyone else.
I was flattered, I kiss her on her mouth and we made love on the carpet, I didn't even have time to take off my clothes.
Luciana is passionated, I like that.
I like my life and my girlfriend. People think our life is crasy, one in NY, one in Miami, but we're a modern couple, we manage and at the same time we like to be independant. I love to spend one day on our bed making love, drinking diet coke for her with ice, Corona for me, then looking at a good serie. For sure with the baby, we'll have to accomodate, even with the two nanies and the baby sitter. It's a boy. He will play saucer, I will teach him how to be the new Ronaldo. And he will be a big brain too with our genes.
So many people have dull life. I can't breathe except with my friends sharing a beer looking at saucer, and I like that. I think people would define me as a cool guy. I like the idea.
I would like nobody's life but mine.
Fifth voice, Vincent, Luciana's friend
I can't believe she has a baby. She's so much in fashion and beauty. Obsessed by what is the future trend : is it ultra shiny lips with gloss and sparkle in it, or neutral mat lipstick ? is it big eyes with thick mascara or curling one ? is it a nude complexion or sophisticated one with a touch of blush ? You don't even understand the questions, meaning you're normal. Welcome in the world of cosmetics. Shootings in the week-ends with super stars that are frightened to take the plane and are so stressed that you must postpone the make-up and the hair stylist. A headache believe me. If you're in charge of communications, you must be ready to do pretty anything. The other day I had to book additionnal body guards for the jewels of an égérie, at the same as for Luciana that was hosting the party. We were having three hundred people in a famous art museum that we closed for the event.
I love my job. It's been a long time now that I know Luciana. She loves her job too. People not knowing us could think that we're narcissic, maniac, hostile to our managed team as we want perfection, and never cool, always tense and thinking "what's next". That's us. Be indulgent with us : we're the ones to deal with weak Ceo and General Manager, never daring, hesitating in one shoot which is the one to retouch even if we know with the photographer, we're the ones to deal with nasty people that surround the super stars, their agents, their lawyer, and stupid people in our adverstising agencies that we've got the feeling to pay for nothing.
Did you know Luciana has more than three hundred pair of shoes ? Beautiful shoes, Louboutin, Prada, Saint Laurent, Jimmy Choe,… All of them. Shoes for the morning, shoes for after work, shoes for parties. Strass, metal, leather, black, red, blue, crème, golden, with panthere fabrics, in python…At home, when she lived in Paris with her first crasy boy friend (the one that insulted me on Facebook and I refuse to talk), their flat look like Ali Baba crave, or the idea I've got of it.
She's got long hair, a golden complexion. She's my friend but I would't say she's beautiful. But when she enters a room the temperature is warmer. She's sexy and full of energy. She's got the drive.
That's why this poor little baby has no place in our life, as her transparent want to be her husband, Mister Miami Beach, born in Versailles.
You know what, I've got good news to share. With Marc, we'll get married this summer. It's two years we live together. And we're pretty much in love. So what do you say ? Congratulations ! Thank you ! I'm so happy.
Tibet Lhasa September 2015
The betrayal
She would die, that's what she said.
Her mother looked at her with a neutral glaze.
- "Mummy, how could he do that ? That's so weird, so nasty. It's terrible. I feel like being nobody, a carpet, someone he has erased of his life, just like that."
The girl yelling and crying was a pretty seven teen years old person, with big eyes like a cat, that were for the moment showing anger and despair, a perfect oval of her face that could make her look Japanese, and a transparent white nacrée skin.
The mother, angulus face and thin body, one that could have experienced grief several times in our fifty years old life, took her in her arms, surprised by the violence of the gestures of her daughter, litteraly throwing on the table the Mac, where one could see the page was opened on her Facebook profile, and the timeline.
She briefly looked above the shoulders of her child (because for her it was forever the little creature that came to live a few years ago) : the picture showed a good looking boy, same age as Camille, kissing a girl on the mouth, a blond one with long hair. She mentally noticed that even if the girl was pretty looking, she was a beauty contrast with Camille, brown hair, dark eyebrows, and full lips.
- "It's his new status. Can you believe it ?" shouted Camille.
- "Hey, calm down, making yourself desperate won't change the situation. I must acknowledged that leaving you is something, posting about his new relationship one day after is another" whispered her mother in her hears. "Calm down."
They sat on the sofa, Camille in the mother's arms.
The mother was happy. It was not every day she had a contact with her daughter, a physical one, and she missed the hugs and kisses when she was young.
They had so many disputes about that guy, Alexandre was his name. Alexandre was raised in Paris in a famous Lycée, was full of himself, and the first crisis occurs when his parents asked to meet her. She asserted to Camille, they were too young to have this kind of meetings, and it wasn't her future parents in law, at that moment she would make the effort, but not before. Camille screamed, arguing it was destroying her life, as in love, and as important for him, then for her.
After three diners postponed and cancelled, she sighted and accepted the diner. It was a disaster. The parents were "convenus " and bourgeois, their flat was awfully decorated, and the food was the traditional "agneau haricots verts, vous aimez n'est ce pas ?" She could even guess their questions and answers before they expressed them. She tried her best to look like a normal mother, as her daughter semt to expect to. She vaguely answered about her activity, saying she was in the press media. As they had a lot to share, it was enough. Camille must have brief her boyfriend not to ask any question about the father, dead five years ago and they didn't.
When they came back in the car, Camille was happy, and said I'm sure they appreciated you, you were perfect. If you mean it, that's what matters to me, answered the mother.
At the same period, Camille that should think of her future after the Baccalauréat, wanted to learn acting in a famous school in New York. Her mother tried to explain to her that the selection was so strict that, even if she was talented and ambitious, try to have a back up plan. Camille cried and slapped her door, saying Alexandre was believing in her talent and encouraging her to do what she wanted to.
The mother remembered deciding that evening that she would leave Paris, make sure Camille had her studio above her sister's flat in the six district rue du Dragon, near the Seine. She needed to have her life again, now that Camille was about to be eighteen, and able to be independant.
During the five years, she had grief. A deep despair. Life without the man she loved, brutally dispearing after a second heart stroke. Camille shouted at her when she saw her crying all days, sleeping on the couch to avoid their bed and memories, not even making the effort to wash her face and to change clothes, not to mention taking care of the food and the house. She declared : "Mother, I'm your child. I'm very sad too. But I need you. I love you. Crying won't make him come back. He's dead. We can only remember the true beautiful moments we had with him. You must first take care
of yourself and take care of me. I need you. From now on, I don't ask you to be happy. That impossible, but I ask you to make the effort to offer us a decent life. Step after step. Then we'll see."
She thought her daughter was mature for a ten year old girl. She was proud of her. And she followed the guidelines. Have a decent life.
She woke up in the morning, doing coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice, then she can to see the bank and the expert in accountancy, because her husband left a big fortune but also magazines to deal with, people to manage. At the begining, she didn't know the difference between activ and passiv, assets, and liabilities. As she didn't want them to see it, she remained silent and took notes with a neutral face.
It semt to work. She sold three magazines in the third three years, specalised ones in sports and hunting, another one on horses bets. She decided to expand the trendiest one, with licenses in all continents : Moscou , Rio, Shanghai, Tokyo.
It worked well. She had a judge to report to on how she dealt with the family's fortune, in order to proctect Camille interests untill she was an adult.
She managed her decent life.
Struggle with the fashion editor that was as nasty as in the movie " The Devil wears Prada", selfish, stupid, proud of herself and believing that