SORRY ANGEL

Same again, please.

- It'll bring her.

- I'm not sure.

South America can't be bad.

A guy at work says it's cool.

I won't start turning tricks.

And it won't change much for us.

- What?

- Nothing.

I know, I look like shit.

I stink. I ran to get here.

I was cute in high school.

Believe me?

I thought I was gross.

Having people talk about me

got me down.

I hated school with those shits.

They made me feel like scum, see,

and I believed it.

I was pretty.
The few guys I knew

wanted to be whores.

They dreamt of being whores.

For ladies.

I never became one.

What's up?
Nothing.

- Plan to take me home?

- No.

You do. I know you.

So, where's your mum's car?

Back near Odéon.

Are you sure?

We came from there.

No?

You drag.
I'll remember...

You wanted to come along.

I'll look again.

You needn't stay.

Go home.
Get lost.

Get lost!

It's like you're tailing me.

I just love you.

Cut it out.

You make that sound gross.

In any case,

we met five years ago.

As you say, we've been dating

on and off for three years.

If I had to choose right now,

you could be the only guy in my life.

You don't need me like I need you.

But that suits me.

Maybe I like that imbalance.

I prefer you happy,

even far from me.

You taught me kindness.

"Kindness"?

Shit, Jacques!

Yes, kindness!

I'm kind with you.

With others, I'm nasty.

I can't stop myself.

All right...

I'll leave you.

I'll wait for you to call me.

Come on, I'll drive you back.

Come on.

- All alone?

- Of course.

I'd have let you know if not.

He was a let-down?

Not at all. A sweet evening.

He's with friends.

He may come later.

He won't, but that's ok.

Is Loulou in bed?

Since 9, sound asleep.

Does he love you?

You're crazy.

If you never wonder,

you wait for guys

who don't even know your name.

Jean-Marie knows it.

But maybe not the rest.

Has he read one of your novels?

No, and that's lucky.

Of course.

Want to smoke something?

I'll go up.

I need to finish this article.

What is it?

An actress profile.

- Who?

- Who cares?
Géraldine Pailhas.

I love her! Let me listen.

Chase the dragon, ok,

but weed'll wipe me out.

I can't help.
I have some at my place.

Got foil?

Yes.

Hold on...

My creditors

are breathing down my neck.

I have to work, and soon.

My paper won't help you.

Not after you dumped them.

I won't work for those snobs.

I need something routine.

Company secretary or something.

Receptionist.

Receptionist's good.

Not easy to find though.

The paper has receptionists.

One's gone freelance now.

I think the society page hired her.

At what salary?

6,000 F. Minimum wage.

It's reasonable.
Why take Jean-Marie out to dinner

if you're broke?

Even poor,

I refuse to live within my means.

Isn't your dad in Paris next week?

Yes.
Bastard.

Even if he bails me out, I'm someone

who can't afford a nice couch.

35 years old and sentenced to Ikea.

I can't afford better.

Would a nice couch help?

You know what I mean.

Not always.

Is it your father's fault

you're still dependent on him?

I wonder.
I don't mean it aggressively.

I wouldn't swear on it.

You're right.

None of my business.

You've reached Jacques Tondelli.

Leave a message.

It's me again.

It's late,

but I hoped you'd call me.

I already tried at 9.

I wanted to talk, but you must be busy.

Or out on the town.

Tough luck.

I'm in a bad way, Jacques.

This is the end...

That's a crap thing to say.

But my legs have given up.

I walk like an old man.

I got rid of my high heels.

That proves it's hopeless.

Anyhow,
I won't whine on this thing.

I had a favour to ask of you.

They hospitalize me tomorrow.

A few days, they say.

But after...

I don't really know where to go.

Thierry refuses to see me.

I keep screwing up.

Going back to my folks' in Clermont...

That freaks me out.

I don't wanna die there.

You said maybe I could stay with you

now and then.

Unless it's a problem.

I'd understand.

I'm so ashamed to ask.

I can't ask Thierry anymore.

I'm talking too much.

Love and kisses.

Tomorrow maybe.

This was Marco, but you know that.

It'd be a huge mistake.

I know.

Why are you up?

I wanted to pee.

You don't pee at 1 am.

Hurry back to bed.

I'll go and finish my article.

- Don't call him.

- I know.

Sleep here tonight.

No way, lady.
Why not?

You don't own a single novel!

THE CAT BOOK

Hold on.

"Living with a cat..."

Are you fucking crazy?

You could've hurt me!

- Get off me!

- Sorry!

In that case, let's stay in.

I don't plan on staying here.

The Gods Are Athirst.

Wow!

I'm serious, Arthur.

I want a night with you.

But I want a night with me.

- You really suck.

- Maybe.

Can you hurry?

The others are there.

Come on, quick!

The other eye!

You look like a half-blind panda.

May I know your intentions.

Mine are clear.

I never asked.

- A few kisses...

- I never asked!
A few kisses at dawn won't do.

Are we in love or not?

Ok, fine.

We're not in love, so no reason to kiss.

Can I sign a waiver somewhere?

Not that game...

What?

You'll get angry?

I could.

We'll spend the evening here.

Maybe the rest of our lives, baby.

Give me the keys.

- Grow up.

- Careful...

- Got them.

- All set?
Where were you?

We looked for you.

I got lost.

I kissed my first Amandine tonight.

Where'll we be in 10 years?

I'll be teaching
in a vocational high school.

As for you... No idea.

We'll be nothing.

- I warmed some cassoulet.

- Great.

What's that?
Pierre, I'm going for a walk.

Don't worry.

Thanks.

Keys on the board, please.

Is the room okay?

Yes, thank you.

The theatre's 100 m away.

The crew said you could join them there.

As planned.

Let's go.
Frankly, the hotel's barely acceptable.

I come all the way here

and you put me there.

Is it the room?

Of course it is!
I won't be able to sleep in that dump.

They always put authors there.

Authors?

You'd never put

Vinaver or Yasmina Reza there.

I'm not blaming you, ok.

I don't come here for the fun of it!

I'm invited,

but I have work to do.

But my room stinks of bleach.

Isn't this it?

That's the entrance.

Wait. I'll blow a fuse

if I go straight in.

Can I slip into the cinema?

Yes.

Can you get me in?

And you can tell them up there...

whatever you want.

Watch the film!

Move over.

Any good?
Yeah, but a bit...

A bit too storybook for me.

You should leave in that case.

I was considering it,

before you came in.

I'm making you stay?

Yes.

Life is more surprising than films.

Especially this one.

You say that to a stranger?

I spoke too soon.

Life is just dumber than films.

Yes, films waver

over their own stupidity.

They shouldn't.

How old are you?

22.

And who are you?

I like to read.

Ok, I see.

Before anything,
I hate your generation

for being cuter than ours.

Flattery will get you nowhere.

No, I really mean that.

I really resent it.

Maybe you're not great in daylight.

Shall we leave?

No, you're staying.

It's a good film.

You're stupid if you can't tell.

But, if you're keen,

at around 11 pm,

if you have nothing better to do,

hang out near the theatre

and we may meet again.

You won't eat with us?

I need to work an hour or two.

On what?

My old novel.

Breakfast then?

Luvvies, Jacques is leaving!

Give me a kiss.

See you soon.

Bye.

You won't stay?

Off you go.

Get out of my sight.

Enjoy your dinner.

For the hotel, take Avenue Janvier...

And follow the reek of bleach.

It's clean.

Good night.
Here all alone?

Not with the others?

No, I'm tired.

How are you doing?

I'm ok, no complaints.

Know I had jaundice?

Well, hepatitis.

Really bad.

Where's your hotel?

That way.
I went home for my birthday.

I had a fever,

but I had to put on a brave front.

For courage,

I boozed like a bitch.

Champagne, white wine, red...

I gorged on oysters, vol-au-vents,

cheese, rum baba...

Mum was delighted.

I laid off politics

and ate my food.

The perfect birthday girl.

I puked it all back up that night.

I fainted in the bathroom

and cut my elbow here.

Stitches at the hospital.

And the diagnosis: hepatitis.

They kept me there.

A nightmare.
I was on a ward with homeless guys,

a kid in an iron lung...

It was hell. I thought of you.

I told myself,

"Like Jacques,

I'm paying for my faults."

I got the spiel about my weight.

With you, it's the number of partners.

It was totally dehumanizing.

No one but you could understand.

- Are you cured?

- Yes, it's over.

It was nine weeks ago.

At least I think so...

No, actually, it was longer ago.

Three months, I think.

But my crap liver could flare up.

One rum baba and it's the ICU.

At least with AIDS,

you can eat what you want.

We're here, this is my hotel.

You're looking well though.

I have to tell you.

I'm leaving the show.

I did a screen test

and I won't be back, regardless.

The others know?

Forget them.

I had to tell you in person.

- Mad at me?

- No.

You are, I know.

You're so polite.

Mr AIDS Politeness.
You could be Mr AIDS Fuck You.

Not fuck you, damn you or...

Am I a drag?

- I'll go now.

- Bye.

Sleep well.
And write me a new play.

I will.

Nice and dramatic.

Take care.

- Let me come up?

- No.
I won't impose that on you too.

May I?

There's my place.

My roommate won't be back yet.

Fine, lead the way.

It's quite far.

I have time.

I walk well,

given my condition.

Welcome.
Very pretty.

Don't overdo it.

This way.

Damn!

- What?

- Be discreet.
They came back to eat.

Who are they?

Dunno.

Pierre my roommate and...

I can't slip you into my room.

All right.

Forget it?

No. You want to?

Don't you prefer your friends?

I see them every day.

I have a car.

What for?

I go to my mum's at weekends,

by the sea.

We'd go there?

No, we can go somewhere else.

A quick drive

and a grope in a rest area?

No, Mont St Michel, say.

It's only 90 minutes away.

It's still early. We hit the road,

we talk, we listen to music,

we sleep in the car when we get there...

and, at dawn, we watch the sun rise

in each other's arms.

Are you serious?

You hate Mont St Michel?

No idea.

I've never been there.

But watching the sun rise over it

in a Breton student's arms

may be just

a little too mawkish for me.

You don't really want me then?

I do, you're mistaken.

You have to be so formal?

Maybe.

I'm much older than you

and must be vigilant.

You're shameless.

Come over here.

No smoking in my room!

So, what's your job?

I thought you knew, sir.

There's a lot you can do in a theatre.

You said you like reading.

So?

Nothing.
What do you do in life?

I head for ruin.

- No, seriously.

- Seriously.

Actually, I'm a writer.

My name's Jacques Tondelli.

Really?

I've heard of you,

but never read your stuff.

And I thought I'd met a fan.

You can be so wrong.

I mostly read dead writers.

You won't need to wait long.

You're Jacques Tondelli?

Evening.

That's funny.
Not that funny.

I think we need to order.

Two meat sandwiches with fries and...

Want a beer?

Yes.
Two, please.

Thanks.

I'm...

a boy who moved to Paris...

from eastern France.

I'm a boy who was ready to sleep

with anyone

who said they could help his career.

But there weren't many.

I'm a boy who walked a lot at night...

A boy whose parents don't love him,

his siblings neither.

And I'm not a boy now,

I'm a man who thinks he's still a boy.

A man who has survived pneumocystis.

Who knows now

why endoscopies scare him.

A man who expects

no one new in his life

and who doesn't mind.

But that man thinks

he'll return after the war,

for another life after this one,

where he'll be the same,

only more charming

and walk the streets at night

with more assurance.

How about you?

I'm too young to remember what I am.

You're not respecting the rules,

Mr Arthur.

I'm a boy of 15 who was woken

one Saturday morning at 5 am

in his boarding school

to be taken to a housing estate

60 km away.

He felt totally lost

until he saw 20 cars

outside his parents' house.

What had happened?

My father had just died

on the Rostrenen-Carhaix road.

I moved back to high school in Carhaix.

I took that road to school

for three years.

Three years hoping that one day

my dad would appear from a ditch,

wave...

and take me away.

But no.
He stayed dead.

Paris 13?

Northern Paris.

No.

I share an answering machine,

so be elliptical.
Ellipticism, I can do.

Right...

Right.

Right, right, right.

No last...
- Nothing, like?

- Nothing.

Go home now.

I don't feel tired.

I have to be up early.
You'll never call me?

I think I will.

Go on, get lost now.

You'll write too?

I'm going in now.

I'll hang out here a while

in case you change your mind.

My room is barely big enough for me.

I can make myself tiny.

I bet you can.

Good night.
Good night. It's late.

Good night over there.

I'm off.

Loulou, can't you give your dad

half an hour of peace and quiet?

It's me.

I left my meds in there.

Come in.

It's not a ploy to see your dick.

I'm not looking.

Idiot.

I didn't see them here.

Those are mine.

Look!

Isn't that the box?

Up there?
What a dumb bitch!

Hold on...

Get lost!

Fuck...

Mind if I hang out on your bathmat?

No.

Want Loulou

to serve breakfast here?

No bath since autumn.

Really?
Yes.

Come on then.

No, I'm fine here.

Dirty on your bathmat.

Come on, I said.

No!

Come on!

- Stop! Don't pull!

- Hurry!

Come on.

That hurts.
You see...

Loulou,

close the door, will you?

I'd like to make your life easier.

Too tough a task.

Especially for you.

What do you mean?

It's not your speciality.

You're better at confusing things.

You think that?

Yes.

But you're kind anyway.

You're just a "complicator".

You say I complicated our relationship?

- What a nerve.
- I say nothing.

I stopped wondering about that ages ago.

"Complicated our relationship..."

You may not realize,

without wishing to offend,

you really messed me up.

That's funny?

You were strong.

You still are, in fact.

So, what did I complicate for us?

Why do you talk all the time now?

Why do you keep wanting to talk?

When we were together,

you barely deigned to speak to me.

When you did, you grimaced.

You impressed me.

No.

You took me for a dumb bitch.

And you were right.

A little...

You didn't need to talk,

fucking was enough.

My love was inflexible.

Stiff, you mean.

Come on.

We'll both end up stiff.

- So enjoy it now.
- Stop!

It's already too late to die young.

Our planning sucks.

Thought of what you'd like?

Written it down?
No.

- But I will.

- Do it.

Don't let them bury me in Clermont.

Unless you write it down,

they'll decide.
Ideally, I wouldn't want them told.

Dying in hospital,

we'll have no choice.

So we check out before.

Before the last hospital.

We can't miss the boat.

Got what you need?

- And you?

- Yes.

Don't use it before I do.

We'll see.
I have no reason to be a gentleman.

You have Loulou.

Keep going for his sake.

This bathtub chat was fun but...

I'm sure you'll keep going.

You'll get better.

The first French jerk

who expected to die,

but didn't.

Will the nation thank me?

I don't think so, no.

They want us to die quietly.

It won't change if we survive.

- I'm cold.

- Water.

No!
It'll warm you up.

- I'm cold.

- This is nice.

It's nice.

No, it isn't. I'm cold!

Come on.
- This'll be tough.

- Hold on.

I'll sit you up slowly.

Hold onto the edge.

I can do it alone.
No, let me help.

Damn...

I'll get out first.

More coffee?

A drop.
You said you weren't in love.

We aren't.

I still am, a little.

In love with him?

Yes.
But you aren't?

No.

I hurt too much to be in love.

With anyone.

I just want to close my eyes

and find peace.

I don't get it.

You said you came here

just as a friend.

Exactly.

That's how it is.

Liar!
Ignore him.

He can't admit he needs us.

- Why aren't you in love with Dad?

- Why?

I'm in love,

but not with your dad.

I'm in love with Thierry.

You've met him.

He's cool.

Yes, he is.

I'll go back to his place

to free your room.

Who says he'll have you back?

He told me he would.

I'll leave you in peace.

When did you plan to tell me?

Tell you?

I don't need to,

I'm letting you know.

I'll be gone in a few days.

No need to wait.

He can pick you up now,

it's Sunday.

He's away for the weekend.

Ok, so this place is your hotel.

We feed you, wash you, house you.

Is that it?

I don't thank you?

Screw your thanks.

I don't need that.

- I'll be in the living room.

- Ok.

I need respect!

Yes, respect.
You could've told me.

You called him?

Yes, he came by.

Here?

He brought me clean clothes.

That guy was in my place?

Loulou!

Come on.

I'm here.

We'll eat at your mum's.

Got your satchel?

All your things?

You'll sleep at hers.

I'll see you Tuesday.

Ok, I'll take my science book...

Spare me your timetable.

Hurry, we leave in two minutes.

Chill.

Move it!

I won't see you again.

You're a great kid.

You'll be...

Spare us, please!

Let's go.

Hello.
Ok, Achille?

Loulou, we're late.

Hold this for me.

Thanks.

We take him?
It's your car.

Hello.

- I'm going to Rennes.

- Get in.

That might fit in the trunk.

"Get in..."
Drop me before the boy scout, ok.

Promise.

You broke my record:

25 minutes.

Sorry, we couldn't do better.

- Where d'you live?

- The Villejean campus.

Tough...

I'm Stéphane. And you?

- Arthur.

- Nadine.
Anastasia.

What do you study?

Psychology.

Flower arranging and fortune-telling.

Pharmacy.
And you, Arthur?

It's so long since I took a class,

I forget.

Spare us the act.

- From Loudéac?

- Yes.
I work at the summer camp.

The adventure one?

You went as a kid?

My sister was a supervisor

Françoise Cloarec.
Before my time.

I'm the director.

Aren't you too young?

You need to be 21.

My second year.

It must be interesting,
working with kids.

Yeah, it's interesting.

It's amusing.

Need my eyes?

What?
Don't mind me.

What?

I see you, ok!

I didn't do anything.

I'm not fucking stupid!

Want a towel?

No, it's ok.

I'll go and freshen up.

Don't move.

- May I answer?

- Go ahead.
Hello?

It's weird to hear you.

A bad time?

I'd given up hope.

I've been busy.

You got my postcards?

Yes, thanks.

Sorry I didn't reply.

I'm with someone right now.

Who is it?
A guy I just met.

And already fucked?

Maybe...

Think you might be in love?

Maybe too.
You're ultra-sentimental.

I just think clearly.

Can I call you back?

What's he like?

Blond.

A "Maxim's" then.
Surely not a "Wrong Blond"?

I don't understand a word.

You can't tell a "Maxim's"

from a "Wrong Blond",

a "Whitman" or a "Vondelpark"?
Really?

Really.

What do you read to know so little?

Can I explain or must you rush

to your undefined blond?

You have five minutes.

Ok, your blond...

He's not a "Maxim's",

the kind who seems ideal at first sight,

welcomed

without checking the menu.

"Try Maxim's," said Isherwood,

who loved such walking illusions.

I'm young, remember.

Why can't youth and illusion get on?

Anyhow...

Nor is he Ginsberg's definition

of a "Whitman".

Recalling his lovers and working back

through their relations,

he linked them

to Walt Whitman's lover.

You know Walt Whitman?

No. This is humiliating.

I need to fill your library, kitten.

Walt Whitman,

America's first great poet.

Someone like Rimbaud in France.

No.

A "Rimbaud" boy isn't a "Whitman".

Can you wait a second?

Still there?

The "Whitman" is common.

You soon realize

he's slept with everyone.

A huge sodomite orgy

dating back to Adam and Eve.

- Taking notes?

- Yes, I am.

Idiot.
Now, a rarer specimen,

that I confess to prefer,

the "Vondelpark".

Named after examples met

in that Amsterdam park.

Take me one day?

Try to focus, please.

Does he resemble

a throwback to the 70s Nordic type?

He's blond with a cute ass.

Blondness isn't enough.

The "Vondelpark"

is no fashion model.

He has a slightly corrupt,

impassive air.

An unhinged side.
He's more plain Breton

than sketchy Nordic.

A "Wrong Blond" then,

according to Auden's definition

of Chester Kallman.

I'll pretend you know Auden.

I do, of course.

Auden, then,

fell for a blond

on arriving in America,

a Walter Miller.
Miller worked for a literary review

alongside another blond called Chester.

Chester contacted Auden

to request an interview.

Auden set an appointment,

expecting him to arrive

with the desired Miller.

When Chester the blond turned up alone,

Auden, totally dismayed,

went to Isherwood in the next room

- they were roommates -

and whispered,
"It's the wrong blond."

And, as a good biographer would say,

Chester would become

Auden's only possible blond.

I get it.
"Maxim's", a fantasy.

"Whitman", a bedhopper.

"Vondel", unfit for others,

ideal for you.

Right.

And the "Wrong Blond",

a bolt from the blue.

That's about it, young man.

What am I for you?

Clearly a "Whitman".

A slut then?
It hurts that you think that.

What else could I think?

You barely know me.

So prove I'm wrong about you.

I'll go now.
No, get rid of your useless blond

and call me back.

Bye, Jacques.

I hope you make it.

Bad news?

Kind of.
I have to go?

What?

Bad time?

Can it wait?

It's urgent.

You're not alone?

I guess not.

I know him?

- Just go.

- Wait!

Can I borrow your car?

- Now?

- Yes.

Wait here.

Good evening.

Good evening.

I'm a friend of Mathieu's.

That's his name?

It's around the corner.

There's not much fuel.

Going far?

Pretty far.
I'll manage.

Pretty far?

Don't leave it miles away.

I need it for work.

I'm off to the far west.

I won't be back early.

I have stuff in it.

So, fetch it.

Ok, to get rid of you.

I don't like giving you my car,

all right?

How far west exactly?

You could worry if I was heading east,

but west, you stop at the ocean.

Are you stupid?

Come on.

I'm going to see my weird Breton.

So, tell me...

Who's the hunk?

He looked pretty muscular.

You're doing all right!

Known him long?

Depends on my funds.

He's a whore.

He is?

You know he is.

Me with a guy like him?

I pay for his muscles.

Got the info you wanted?

I swear

I thought he was your dancer.

He isn't.

Ok. Take care.

I take care

and I don't need your fucking advice.

Teaching me prevention?

Save it for your Breton fag.

How could I know you were fucking

on a Sunday?
Just go. Give me a rest!

Want to come too?

You're dressed for the sea.

A swim wasn't my plan.

The fuel...
I love you.

Flattery is poison.

Give me a hug.

- We hug now?

- You need one.

You're nuts.
It's scary,

the way you communicate lately.

Condescending little shit!

Get the idea?

Bang-bang, bunny!
What's going on?

You're dead!

Bang-bang, bunny!

You're dead!

What's that? Bullets?

To the right and left!

Bang-bang, bunny!

The nearest bunnies get hit!

Disaster! What's going on?

It's not working!

Bang-bang!
You're dead!

By the full moon

the Great Sorcerer summons

the daddy bunnies!

The mummy bunnies!

And all the baby bunnies!

I'm on my way to my cousins'.

Great, but I'm busy.

First bedtime, then a debrief...

Move it!
I can wait.

We rarely finish before midnight.

- Got a kiss for me?

- No!

Good night.

From the infirmary.

Bed wetters' central...

They wash them,

but there may be a pleasant smell

of kiddy pee.

You're gross.
And I stole some cider.

Want some?

Yeah.

Well?

What?

You're not here to talk education.

We're still friends.

Friends visit each other.

I'm for courtesy calls.

Cheers.

Seen the great set-up?

When you finally talked,

you said you liked guys too.

So I began to wonder...

When you were with me,

or I thought you were,

did...

Listen!

I'm trying to talk!

Did you take an active interest

or was it just a notion then?

Must we discuss this?

Yes, I think we must.

All right.

I cheated with a few guys.

You may not agree,

but as they were guys,

it wasn't like cheating.

Ok...

Before me,

did you cheat on me with guys?

Yeah.
I've cheated on people with guys

for a while.

Sorry if this sounds narrow-minded...

Why date people like me

if you sleep with people like them?

Because, until recently,

I always fell for girls, not guys.

Until your scout?

Not Stéphane.

I haven't slept with him.

Arthur...

You're imagining things.

I don't fuck every gay I meet.

I'm no horndog.

So who's the "recently"?

We've talked.

Let's drink and make out.

I don't want to make out.

Your frail heart's impulses

interest me.

It could help

to tell a third party about them,

don't you think?

That line was endless.

Come on.

I've met a Parisian.

I met him in Rennes.

He's a writer.

Since that one time,

we write and talk.

He doesn't care about me,

but I'll change his mind.

What's his name?

Jacques.
Our parents' age?

Screw you!

Yeah, he's 10 or 15 years older than me.

So he bangs you?

Shit, you don't need to know that!

Frankly,

imagining you doing it with a man...

It's an ordeal for me.

Why imagine it?

Imagine Pierre or Fabrice doing it?

So spare me that dumb shit.

I remember us together.

Okay, fine,

but what can I say to that?

Just enjoy it.

I told my parents.
What? Shit, why?

Dunno. I felt bad.

I needed to talk to someone.

But it's ok.

It's not ok! Your parents...

You had to tell them?

Yes.

They'll only tell my mum

with their pitying air...

"Mrs Prigent, we heard about your son."

Are you crazy or what?

I regretted it after.

They can hold their tongues.

Like hell!

Fuck, what's that racket?

They'll wake the whole camp.

Stay here.

I'll be back.

Sorry.

Mr. Director,

Do not insist,
I cannot travel westwards soon.

You lie.

It rains there several times a day

and the young men are reared

on crêpes and buttermilk.

If you miss me, come to Paris.

You must leave home one day

to try your luck here.

As a filmmaker there,

you'd be a Breton Pagnol

(which isn't a bad ambition actually).

Return to your model boats but,

as you ask nicely,

I place at your disposal my two hands,

my tongue and my cock.

Paris kisses on your salted butter skin.

Jacques.

You don't care?

Estelle too?
There's supper and supper.

The state you're in

could endanger the children

under your responsibility.

Can't you set your limits?

And think of the neighbours!

So calm down now!

Got that?

Ready for tomorrow?

Why didn't you want to stay?

The guy was hot for it.

Not your type?

I bet he was hung.

Jacques, go back.

I'll do the window ladies district.

Having scruples about me?

I'd be wrong to.

I'm sick of playing big brother.

I want a brute.

Counting on me?
I have no expectations.

- Want me to hit you?

- Why not?

Ok...

- KO'd?

- No, coming.
A writer should make people happy.

Instead of what?

Always lamenting.

I don't.

Cut it out.
You read me?

Odds and ends.

I'm not that interested.

Recovered?

Yeah.
Can I hit you again?

Not in the same spot.

Look down.

Look down!

I like this game.

I can get revenge

for what you make me do.

You can?

What'll you do?

You inspire affection.

Stop it!
I could never hurt you.

Here, a present.

If you need me,

burn yourself and I'll come.

Don't overdo it.

The magic won't work too often.

That's a fine present.

Good job we left.

I'll finish this.

I have to call Mathieu urgently.

- Is it Loulou?
- I don't know.

Ask to use the phone.

Tell me. Is it Loulou?

Where is he?

You've seen him?

No...

My train's at 6 pm tomorrow.

Ok.

Bye.

Marco's dead.
Come for a cuddle.

I'll go for a walk.

Everyone here?

Martin!

Angelo!
Magdalena!

Wait till it leaves.

Of course.

And write every day.

Wash every day.

- And change girl every day.

- Deal.

Bye, son.

- Louis?

- That's you.

Louis Tondelli!
He's coming...

Come to Dijon with us all.

I'm going to Mathieu's parents'

in Normandy.

We leave later.

- For the weekend?

- Yes.

Are you sure?

I bet you've planned

two weeks alone in Paris

to get permanently depressed.

It's my life.
Yeah.

Are you writing?

More or less.

About what?

Still the Belfort arsonist.

Don't make a hero of him.

He's a stupid little queer,

but not a murderer.

His stupidity killed 15 people.

Are you free?

- Should I write about my life?

- No.

- See.

- Ok, I'll shut up.

Shit...

The camera I got Louis.

Give it here.

What for?

I'll post it to him.

- You're sure?

- Yes.

Good, I wouldn't have the time.

You can go.

Hi to Mathieu and his parents.

Ok.

And enjoy your Dijoniday.

Post the camera!

Yes, I'll do it!

I'm Mr Cairo.

I was due at 11.

We couldn't wait.

I'm sorry.
Have a seat.

I'll try to fit you in.

Press back against it.

Don't move.

Arms out a bit.

Hold your breath and don't move.

Mr Tondelli?

Here.

Sorry. Hello.

This way, please.

- To the left?
- No, here.

Look at my ear.

Look here.

Right...

I'm afraid you have a nasty bug.

A cytomegalovirus infection.

It causes the fever.

Even without the eye exam,

we'll need to hospitalize you fast

for a range of tests:

biopsy, endoscopy,
colonoscopy under general anaesthetic.

I'd also like to check

your lung capacity.

It'll be violent but rapid.

A few days.
We'll move on from there.

I can fit you in today.

No, not today.

We can't wait.

I'll give you a week.

A week, then.

Afterwards,

you may need two IVs a day

for two weeks.

Ok.

And...
about my...

stomach pains?

I think it's mostly anxiety.

Are you cracking up?

Let's say I...

I feel full...

of suicidal sorrow.

I'll prescribe something.

Pills to help you sleep

on top of the painkillers.

You may not believe it,

but you're doing well.

The weight loss isn't alarming,

Your T4s are low,

but your body is resistant.

It's an ally.
It's me!

Sorry.

Arthur?

I'm Mathieu, a friend of Jacques'.

Come in.
Jacques isn't here.

He left you the keys.

He says he can't put you up

tomorrow after all.

His sister's arriving unexpectedly.

You need to find a solution.

Know where to go?

No. I'll try to think.

You can stay until 3 pm tomorrow.

The big key's the street door,

the small one, the apartment.

I think that covers it.

Leave the keys when you go.

His sister has copies.

I won't see him?

No, he's away for a week.

Put your bag down.

Get comfortable.

A bottle of...

Chouchen.

It's like mead, right?

I can't stay too long.

Will you be ok?

You know Paris?

My first time here alone.

Great! Made any plans?

The Pompidou Centre

and an ACT UP meeting

this evening.

Perfect.

Right and left bank.

In Paris, you need to cross the Seine

every three hours.

Right...

I have to work. I'm already late.

- Can I reach Jacques?

- No.

But he'll probably call here,

so pick up.
Glad to have met you, Arthur.

Thank you.

I'm off.

That's done.

What was he like?

Physically?

No.

Was he suspicious?

Disappointed?

How could he not be?

And physically?

I expected cuter.

Yeah...

Does he know where to go?

He'll find somewhere.

What'll he do today?

He's going to the Pompidou Centre,

then to an ACT UP meeting.

ACT UP?

He knows people there?

No idea.

For a Breton queer in Paris,

an ACT UP meeting is as exciting

as the catacombs.

He can't possibly go to ACT UP.

Let him do what he wants.

Want to look after him?

No, but I don't want him hurt.

Hurt at ACT UP?

You wear me out, Jacques.

This pisses me off.

Go to ACT UP too

and stop navel-gazing.

Others are sick and fight back.

But you...

Shit, you're a pain.

I'll be at the paper till 8.

Since you've moved in,

think about doing dinner.

Something good.

- Your fish curry.

- Sure!

Work it out!
If I don't smell curry later,

sleep elsewhere.

No Pompidou Centre?

You're here?

I know, it's rude to impose.

It's a bad time, I guess.

Maybe you want to be alone?

Or you're meeting someone?

I came to Paris to see you.

I followed you from my place.

I lied. As you can see,

I'm not away from Paris.

I'm at Mathieu's, my neighbour's.

Ok...

The idea of two nights with you

in my apartment

seemed too much for me.

I was glad when you suggested it, but...

What can I say?

The whole idea got me so down.

I can't face a final romance,

dreaming of a life that won't happen

or of a love affair...

It's beyond my reach.

I won't end as a dreamer.

I have principles

and they always triumph.

I warned you I had nothing to offer.

I don't know how to be with someone.

I only know how to be alone.

Besides,

it's a bad time.

I'm on two IVs a day

and tomorrow they put

a catheter in my chest.

It's stupid, but that thing in my chest

makes me feel I can never undress

in front of a guy again.

I thought I'd accepted it.

I thought I'd never get hard again.

I'd just read.

End as a reader?

Exactly.

Then you turn up with your stuff

and it should've gone as I imagined,

but it didn't work.

No...

I heard you go out at midday.

- Yeah?
- Singing.

Why do you have to be the type

to sing on the street?

Couldn't you be the more silent,

more timid type?

Then I spotted you...

At the corner bar, eating your sandwich.

And I found you

very much to my liking.

On that terrace in the sun,

eating with a cigarette

in your feminine hand

that ran through your hair...

And I thought...

I'm not ashamed of it...

I thought, "He's my last Vondel."

Don't wait for me, Arthur.

Don't wonder

how you'll bring me back to life.

But I'd like you

to sleep at my place.

All right.

Here we go, from the top.

- Ready?

- Again?

Can't we talk instead?

Come on.

Dance again?

Come on now. Up you get.

- All right.

- Let's go.

- Let this bit pass.

- Ok, I let it pass.

Count us in.

One, two, three, four...

We began too soon.

We didn't even begin.

It's not bad.

If the teacher doesn't know...

- The box.
- The powder.

Give me your hand. This one!

I'm in front.

Useless. Come back.

That laugh...
And now...

It's the tango part.

Backwards now.

Forwards... To the side...

I forgot the twist!

We're plastered.

Come here, you.

Promenade...

Not like that!

Over here now.

His eyes.

And now...

Cigarette.

- Here we go.

- Just two.

Good.
Back behind me.

You're a pain.

The smoking usually lasts longer.

Take over, I've had enough.

Come on, Arthur. Concentrate.

- Don't sulk.

- Focus. Three, four...

I never understood why

so many people

talk about their childhood

after fucking.
They moan and snivel

because, of course,

as adults, their childhood

seems unsatisfactory.

It wasn't the peak of innocence...

And the same ones always complain

you fuck their body,

not their soul.

Their self-importance disgusts me.

Arthur, stop drinking.

It's liquid honey.

I need sugar.

I'm a growing boy, sir.

You can tell Chouchen drinkers

from the way they fall after a while.

They fall ramrod straight, flat out.

Very nice.

I'm not there yet.

I'm still supple.

Gently!

A squaw in the woods.

Hey, careful!

Watch my table.

Who talks about his abused childhood?

All of them.

It's like they blame me

for their shitty childhood.

It's always the same.

They fuck like crazy

and then need an explanation,

a nice comfy reason.

They fuck,

but never of their own free will.

It's always others

exploiting their vulnerability

or their fragility resulting

from abuse in childhood.

Some fags are experts.

Shit!
Be proud and happy

as your body rejoices.

Sex isn't less noble than feelings,

that's simple.

And forget your childhood.

If gays were honest, they'd admit

they lose nothing sleeping with you.

Fucking means winning something,

never losing it.

You act less sentimental than you are.

I am sentimental.

Ultra-sentimental as you said once.

Others' looks scare me.

How can they find me attractive?

But...

As soon as we approach

and touch each other,

why don't they fall in love?

I keep my mouth shut.

I don't shout,

"Seen the child sleeping within me?"

I'm happy to see my life speed up

when a guy lays his eyes on me but...

I'd never piss him off

with memories

of freezing my balls off at school.

I'm not sure I understand.

I'm drunk and prattling.

We do that in Brittany.

We churn away...

Bretons can be prats.

Right, Parisians?

We're prats like no one!

His message seems clear to me.

Not you,

you don't get weepy when you fuck.

I mean in general.

I can talk in general too, right?

I have an opinion on gays.

A well-informed one.

Really?

First, they're all wimpy fuckers.

Guys my age find

fucking in toilets sick. Screw them.

It's not shameful,

it's an opportunity for adventure,

seized in passing,

with no idea of what may happen,

and that leaves you feeling more alive.

Who cares if it stinks of piss?

For God's sake, a stink is nothing

compared to the kick you get.

Gays who avoid toilets are those

who've never read a single book.

They don't get literature.

My big ideas.
You don't like them?

You look like dead fish, gents.

My angel...

No general ideas about you.

Only specific ones.

With nothing specific to say tonight.

Or so many things.

I want to tell you I'm here and...

No need to pretend you're already dead

to protect your solitude.

I've always wanted everything,

but I can be content with little.

You two should leave.

This slushiness might make me puke.

We're not sleeping here?

Certainly not.

When do you have to be

at the hospital?

8 in the morning.

Shall I order a cab on the paper?

How thoughtful of you, my dear friend.

Thanks, I'll go by scooter.

I want to sleep with you both.

Even if we don't fuck.

Put on your pyjamas, young man.

Arthur, go to sleep now.

I can't bang you in front of your pal?

I should leave you.

- No.

- Yes.

No...
Ok, I open the box.

I close it.

A quick tango.

Cigarette...

I crush out the cigarette.

Infectious Diseases

Jacques?

Hello.

Looking for Jacques?

- Yes.

- I'm Isabelle.
This is Loulou.

He's due back from radiology

any minute.

Ok. Can I wait with you?

Of course.
What's your name?

Arthur. A Breton friend

in Paris for a few days.

Heard of us before?

No.

Jacques compartmentalizes his life.

Loulou is his son.

I'm his son's mother.

I'm not his wife, just a friend.

His son's mother.

Jacques' son?

I don't want to.

It'll be fine, honey.

Dad'll be glad to see you.

I don't want to see him here.

Can I wait outside?

Don't be moody at a time like this.

Loulou!
I can watch your son

and come back later.

That's kind. Thank you.

Can you keep my bag?

Loulou's your name?

It's Louis,

but they call me Loulou.

What d'you prefer?

I prefer Louis.

Ever told them?

No, I don't mind Loulou.

I'm Arthur.

I know, you told me.

Like Rimbaud.

You already know Rimbaud?

We learnt a poem at school.

"The Sleeper in the Valley"?

I forget the title.

"At four o'clock on a summer morning

The sleep of love still lingers..."

I never learned that at your age.

Been to our place?

Your dad's, yes.

Did you sleep in my bed?

I didn't even see it.

I'll show you next time.

It's the biggest room.

When are you at your dad's?

Usually, every other day.

You're always together.

See the lady with the box?

There are kittens in it.

Is she giving kittens away?

I think they're for a patient,

but they won't let her in with them.

Or maybe
she's selling them for experiments.

You're sick.

Your son and your friend

are holding kittens.

I sense disaster looming.

No way am I taking a cat home.

Jacques!

Shit...

Excuse me!

Hi, Daddy!

Did you sleep well?

What did you do today?

Ran about here and there.

You have a fever.

Bretons have an infallible cure.

Really?
Someone has to lie naked

next to the patient.

He has to stay all night

for it to work.

And the volunteer must come

from three generations of Bretons.

Your luck's in, I do.

I don't think it'll be possible.

I think it will be.

No roommate tonight

and I asked

the department's head nurse, Patrick,

who told me, "No worries,

stay with your friend, kid."

It's my song!

Listen.

Yeah...

Know it?
Crystal Sun suddenly tears

Scarlet suffering and sighs

Atlantique was afraid of vampires

Crystal Sun softly lay down

Before a sky of blood and gold

A bolt of lightning pierced his body

Mouth to mouth

Bite the flesh

Body to body

In a gust of wind
Cover your tracks

Hide-and-seek party

Do vampires go to hell?

Sorry!

C'mon, you're not really sick.

All right, that's enough.

Let's sleep now.

I forgot...

The important part.

Otherwise, your fever will last.

That's good.

We could make a good life together.

What's this paper-chase?

It's ages since we drank here.

The cops got us last time.

- I'm in a dress, guys.

- Yeah.

Move it and stop complaining!

Climb over the wall.

I can go this way.

No, cut the crap.

Whose birthday is it?

Nobody's, but I have news for you.

Here's some treasure first.

Come on, spit it out.

I'm moving to Paris.

Mum and Gran will pay a year's rent.

A year to succeed.

Ricard!

Succeed at what?

Working, writing, making a film...

The boy's off to make his fortune.

Fortune... I told you,

retain a subtly poor air

whatever your straits.

You have the talent?

Let's not be mean.

Not tonight.

You knew about it?

He cancelled his lease earlier.

I didn't know.

What are you thinking?

That I'll miss you.

Of course you'll miss us.

You'll be back in two months,

your tail between your legs.

Paris isn't for us.

For me, it's Paris or nothing.

You'll get hurt.

No, I take care of myself.

Don't worry.

Life's violent there.

C'mon, it's not Rwanda.

I promise I'll take care.

Like I believe you.

You're cruel, you know.

Be honest, you're abandoning us.

"Cruelty...
is not one man wounding another,

mutilating or torturing him,

severing his limbs or his head,

or even making him cry.

The true, terrible cruelty

is that of a man

who cuts another off,

interrupting him like dots in a sentence

or looking away from him,

making him an error of the gaze,

an error of judgement,
an error like a letter

crumpled up after starting it,

after writing the date."

Koltès.

I'm touched
you read the books I give you.

Feel the anxiety rising?

I feel the damp rising.

I may not make it, not knowing anyone.

But I'm joining someone there.

Who?

A man called Jacques

I'm in love with.

I've known few men called Jacques,

but all were very proper.

Nothing to say, Fabrice?

Why should I have to speak?

The others already knew.

Well...

I think it's ace

that you can fall in love with a man.

I'm impressed.

Personally, I couldn't.

And I'm as sad as a blue moon.

And I think I'm a bit jealous

of Jacques

and everyone who'll love you in Paris

so far from us.

Come here, pet.

Enough of this soppiness.

Isn't there any music?

A tune with a mean beat.

Pump up the volume...

This is it, the summer's over.

Ozone or Cactus?

No, not Cactus.

I flashed the barman my tits.

Why aren't we there

when you're generous?

Too late for Ozone,

how about Contrescarpe?

I'll catch up.

The Contrescarpe!

See you later!

Get lost!

Love you too!

- Where d'you want this?

- On the table.

There.
That the lot?

All I want you to have.

That's your phone.

I'll unplug it.

Jacques, it's me.

I wanted to invite you

to Brittany for the night.

I have some good news for you.

In your state,

you really need some good news.

I won't be far from this booth.

You can call me back on 99 68 40 35.

Kisses, my old love.

I'll be delighted to fuck you.

You know...

I started this diary

when I passed my school finals.

20 years don't take up much room.

I wrote regularly.

Not every day but...

I noticed I often wrote on Sundays.

But I couldn't be a writer.

But you are, totally.

By the way...

I wrecked my typewriter's "e" last week.

So I used a "3" instead

on the final pages.

I cleaned it up.
All the names left can be mentioned.

You use Loulou's real name?

No.

I call him "L".

I hope he can be proud

of his dad one day.

That's totally dumb.

No one needs to be

proud of their dad.

I just hope

he'll forgive me one day.

I did a good job with him, right?

I mean...

We did a good job.

Isabelle and I made a good team.

Ok, Mathieu pal, I'll go.

You have my keys?

Stay a bit.

No.

We'll get emotional

and you'll tie me up.

I've prepared for this.

I guessed it'd end this way.

Tomorrow morning,

don't come down alone.

Call the fire brigade

and they can break in.

I'll be there, don't worry.

I'm not worried...

I'm just tired.

- Don't blame me.

- I don't judge you.

I know you don't.

The others...

Starting with my parents.

My asshole of a publisher.

Screw them all.

Let it blow up in their faces.

No need to get angry.

I know.

But concealing my resentment

has become too hard for me.

You're more alive than you think.

What happened with your dancer?

He came last night.

And?

He's totally beautiful.

So perfect, I couldn't get hard.

I just gaped.

I barely touched him. Pathetic.

Promise me

you'll learn to sully beauty, my friend.