Dec 11, 2015

France still exists

We went on an excursion, urgently, today, because Chang can no longer handle Michael's rambling talk about the new novel he's writing, working-titled "The Senator and I," a YA novel with a sixteen year old girl and a member of the Planetary Senate (the senator), and no sex. So we went on this excursion, and here's the result (this is in Moustier St. Marie, Alpes Haute-Provence, France):

And here's a fragment from "The Senator and I" (just a fragment). Alice, the narrator, meets her (new) foster mother (the senator's wife) for the first time. We're in polite society, and Xato is Alice's new PA:

I was led into the pool house, fawned over by an unknown assistant, left alone when I asked for it, and when I returned to the pool, the majordomo had disappeared. Instead, two woman were sitting at a table on the terrace under a huge patio umbrella that had not been there before. Xato touched me briefly at the small of my back (nice), whispered “The Lady Abercrombie,” and guided me towards the female couple. The Lady had indeed taken note, was perhaps even expecting me, since she raised her regard and made contact with lazy, tired eyes. In front of her, on the table, lunch had been laid: a large bottle of Cointreau and one long-drink-glass, filled almost to the rim with the honey-colored liqueur. She didn’t speak however, and there was nothing of a body language on her part, Xato introduced me to a silent and motionless person dressed conspicuously in an iridescent bathrobe like me, one elbow on the table, the other on an armrest, a cigarette---a real, smoking cigarette, not an electric one---between two forefingers (signet ring on the pinkie). Xato explained about my morning adventure in a burlesque language I had not heard him using before, while the smoke from her fag curled, billowed, and headed for my nose. I sneezed and turned away for a sec, and when I turned back the Cointreau glass was half-empty. The Lady managed a gesture that seemed like an invitation to have a seat, at least that’s what Xato took it for since he hastened to shove a chair into place and made me sit down. I stole a glimpse at my imitation-ring that had survived the freak wave, then began to wonder how a person like her would harness the energy to “panic,” or do other things that might require body language. My new mother. One is never too old to learn.

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