Knack of Being Invited
Badaude writing for I V Y paris
"I have a vernissage* at the Palais de Tokyo tonight." Mélusine pauses to examine me for a moment. "I think it will be fun. Why don't you come?"
I don't know Mélusine. I met her for the first time today. She's a curator and owner of an art gallery I wandered into this morning, near the mysterious hotel. I meet her there again in the evening before taking a taxi to the Palais.
Next door to the gallery is a boules pitche. Old men play while old women with immaculate red lipstick sit and watch. Mélusine goes over to one, to several of them; she embraces them, talks for a while. She turns to me. "They're - I don't know how to say it in English. Voyous. Do you know that word? You know, the guys, the real men of the neighborhood?"
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