She felt good in her comfortable kitchen, and took advantage of this evening among friends to decompress; she would soon be in the finals of a competition critical for her international career. Her coach had given her ten days off, but she had not been able to stop herself hitting the ball, working on her mythic wrist stroke; well, we know. It was Marcel’s brilliant idea to invite Hector and Brigitte for dinner. She was happy to see her husband’s friend again. She did not really know why, but for almost two years now he had studiously avoided her. Well, she did have some doubts, actually. Hector was scared stiff of her since the testicle fondling incident. However, from her point of view, this had only been an expression of affection. So it was also to straighten things up that she called him to the kitchen. Socially, he could not refuse. He entered the kitchen and witnessed the paupiettes’ preparation, his face white and blood cold. Or the opposite. ‘Can I help you with something?’ ‘Yes, I would like for us to have a chat, one second … well, you see … I don’t understand why you’ve been fleeing me all this time … When you left for the United States, I thought that it was because of me …’ In saying what she had just said, Laurence advanced slowly but surely towards Hector, she’d wanted to pacify their relationship, excuse herself for her sexual aggression; however, upon seeing him, this best friend of Marcel’s, a low impulse itched at her, an irrepressible impulse like in the time of Racine tragedies.
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