Sven

Paris, October 2009

It's Wednesday night. The weather is rainy. Wednesday is the best night to go out in Paris. Only a privileged few are out in private clubs. I started dating my boyfriend, Casanova, a week and a half ago. He was the first guy my boyfriend of a year and a half dated after me a year ago. Sex with Casanova is amazing. He has a great talent for it and is a professional dancer which gives me a Morning wood just at the thought of it.

Tonight, he and my best friend are meeting some friends of theirs from Berlin. I am not invited. I feel offended and bored as hell, browsing everybody's Facebook statuses.

Suddenly, Paul, a virtual friend of mine and a socialite journalist, calls me up for a Paco Rabanne party at the V.I.P Room. I am dressed up and on my way under five minutes. He is there, waiting for me. Sweet as a pie and quite taller than me (I'm already hitting my head when entering the tube!). He's surrounded by really cool people and has some very hot straight guy friends. I'm drunk after all the Champagne from the open bar. We drank so much, they ran out of Champagne...so we keep on drinking Vodka.

A DJ looking like Lady Bunny plays the freshly out 'Million Dollar' by Whitney Houston. I feel so happy, Whitney is back on track, better than ever. She's making it work after all she has been through with Bobbi.

As we smoke a lot, I keep on spread opening some guys snap button shirt to reveal his large hairy chest. He is straight and I have no interest in him, I just love the fact his shirt opens all the way down. It's quite a dramatic gesture. A moment later, Paul and I are kissing, it's nice, but I feel naughty as I actually have a boyfriend. But he left me alone on a Wednesday night, so why would I be faithful?

I want to go to my QG, the Curio Parlor on the left bank of the river. We grab a cab straight off the club with some of Paul's friends. As we walk out of the cab I spot Casanova and my best friend. My brain goes from zero to 'I'm gonna kill every motherfucking last one of you' in a split second. Drunk, my brain forgets Pauls presence and decides to obviously ignore Casanova with a total disdain. The fact that they didn't tell me they were coming here just makes me mad. All my friends are here. Everybody knows I end up here three to five nights a week. I'm going mental on my best friend who just looks at me like a schoolgirl caught smoking behind the garages by the headmaster.

Paul is long gone and I have barely noticed. I storm out of the club not saying bye to anyone. On my way home I insult Casanova in Slovak over text messages. Everything blurrs up in my mind. I'm on the phone with him. I'm proud and angry, he is proud and hurt. He cannot get over the insults. He's angry because I ignored him when I arrived. Doesn't understand why I felt offended. He defends my best friend for not being obliged to tell me where she goes. I insult absolutely everyone, but mostly her. I can suddenly hear her cry on the other end of the line. I feel the worst I ever had. I feel betrayed, but I feel like a monster. There was no need for me to insult them.

Casanova gives me a last gift before we break the conversation and our short lived relationship. He tells me to listen to Léo Ferré. And I end up finding his song, Vingt ans by Catherine Sauvage, it touches my soul and is going to lead me through many years of emotions.