We were in Paris, at a dinner party, at a big table like the Cook the Thief his Wife and her Lover.
J was there. She was with L. They were laughing together a lot. J was the lady of the party. Everyone was loving her.
I was talking to her. She was hiding something.
What is it? I asked.
Nothing, she said.
I can't, it's really bad, she said. I knew she'd tell me. She always does.
Ok, I'll tell you.
And then she was at the head of the dinner table and there were thirty people seated (cool people wearing fashion) and she read from the book she had just had published.
And she read a whole lot of words then And the car smelt like The Existential Bunny Rabbit's breath.
And she used my real name. My immediate reaction was to be flattered she had chosen me to mention in her book. But then I realised what she'd said. I had bad breath?
I asked her later, Do I have bad breath?
And she nodded. She looked away. I took it in. I was grateful she'd told me.
What does it smell like, I asked.
Fish, she said.