Jean Prouvaire: Good Humor and Bad Company
[2002-01-11]
(Because Laura inspires me to truly mad things, when it isn't the other way around. The companion piece can be found here.)
I could not say where my fascination with him lies. Before this he was my acquaintance perforce, being a friend of a friend; I am sure I would never have sought him out of my own accord. Men of his temperament, forthright and given to sudden explosions, tend to dismay me.
But there is more to him than the idler and the rabble-rouser. I knew that quite early on. And he kissed me, or I kissed him, I hardly remember which. Both a little drunk, both more than a little frightened, though he would never admit it-- God forbid my brave Guillaume should admit to anything of the kind.
Let me walk you home, Jehan, you're too bedamned pretty to walk home alone.
Which was insulting after a fashion, but I was past minding. The way he looked at me, the way he touched me, was irresistible as wind or rain. His hands were rough and warm, like his voice, like his kisses. He stayed until morning, and I had exactly as much choice in the matter as I needed, which was none.
I am not in love with him; I have been in love, and this is not it at all. Even if I were to lose my heart to one of these men, I think, it would be Marcelin or Michel or dear Etienne, anyone but him. He is far too tempestuous, far too maddening, and too independent to hold for long.
But neither am I ready to lose him just yet. He is warm, he is kind, he is amusing, he makes my blood sing in my veins, he keeps me up till all hours, he dizzies me; and I am exceedingly fond of him.