Three small beds<

Listen

Anyone who has worked in a company has necessarily witnessed – most often in the canteen or at the coffee machine – macho exchanges whose triviality once went unnoticed. The feminist movements of recent years have severely limited this male propensity to make statements of this kind in the workplace, and no one will complain about it. A little throwback to the days of ordinary machismo in the form of a short story written more than 12 years ago...

─ Hey Tony! Have a nice week end ?

Antoine Hagopian, a tall athletic dark man in his thirties, shook hands with Daniel Bastide, alias Danny, mechanically before replying:

─ Wow! not terrible: between the youngest who is teething and the Créteil tournament, it was not joy. Still passes for the kid, but judo... Eliminated in the second round! And by a 60 kilo weakling on a school o-soto-gari. I don't tell you the shame!... And you, what did you do? Follies of your body, as usual?

Danny smirked, then leaned back, his back resting comfortably on his ergonomic seat while his screensaver scrolled by headless and legless girls in Aubade underwear.

─ Do you know Rachel, the assistant to that jerk Ménard?

─ Who does not know Rachel? Too hot, the girl!... Wait... don't tell me that you...

─ Yes, old man! That said, to be honest, I had already tried to connect it two or three times lately, but I had taken rakes. And now I meet her Friday evening in front of the elevator as I was leaving. She had just come out of taking a blower in Ménard's office. On the verge of tears, little Rachel...

─ I see the picture: you hastened to console her by playing her a tune on the mandolin...

─ Certainly not: given my previous failures in this register, I radically changed tactics by trying to provoke a feeling of revolt in her, with a speech like: “This guy has no respect for you. Listen, it's nearly 6:30 p.m., go home and let that asshole simmer in his juice all weekend. I expected to be dumped once again, and with a bang, given the circumstances and the girl's character. Well, not at all: the beautiful Rachel took my advice, pulled out her claws, and sent Ménard to graze through the intercom. This bastard was left speechless. Result: less than a quarter of an hour later, we were drinking a mojito on the Narval terrace...

At the same moment, Jean Tardivel, in his forties, entered the office and waved to his colleagues with a distracted hand.

─ Is the coffee ready?

─ He's passing, Bastide informed him.

─ We were talking about Rachel, Hagopian added.

─ Which Rachel? asked Tardivel. The brunette or the redhead? That of the Audit or the assistant of Ménard-le-asshole?

─ The redhead, the inaccessible Rachel Goethals. Finally, inaccessible, that's what we all believed. Imagine that Danny managed to pin him to his hunting board.

Tardivel pouted as he cast a sincerely admiring look at Bastide.

─ Congratulations, Danny! For a bit, I would be jealous, despite my legendary loyalty to Valérie. And you, Tony, doesn't she make you fantasize, the Rachel kid, with her tawny mane, her competitive airbags and her swaying hips?

─ Well, you have to admit that she throws some...

─ And how, that she throws some! Just her legs, pure wonders...

Jean Tardivel let out a sigh of annoyance before continuing:

─ And to think that this beauty will soon join the herd of victims of our house stallion in his famous evaluation book. Unless it's already been done...

─ It has been for twenty minutes, Bastide clarified, with a smirk.

─ Wait, don't say anything, let us guess. Bodied as it is, you must have taken a hell of a foot, said Tardivel. It's very simple, just talking about it excites me. I don't know how she is in the sack, little Rachel, but I imagine it must be worth the detour. For my part, I would be tempted to give him the maximum. What do you think, Tony?

─ I think there are damn moments in life and others that are damn worth living. I imagine that the experience must have been most enjoyable. That said, don't get carried away with appearances, my dear Jeannot: the most appealing of bottles may contain only one infamous pint, marketing men like us are well placed to know that! This is why I will be careful not to issue any prognosis. I defer to Danny's judgment.

─ Be it! admitted Tardivel, turning to the Casanova of the Commercial Department. So, Danny?

Daniel Bastide let a few seconds pass before stating the verdict:

─ Three small beds!... To be honest, I was tempted to give him four for his irreproachable physique and the exceptional softness of his skin. But the beautiful Rachel showed some technical shortcomings. Too bad, she just missed the flawless that would have allowed her to join Anne-Sophie Messager, an HRD from the Accor Group, in the firmament of the four small beds. But hey, three small beds, it's still an excellent appreciation, isn't it?

The other two dreamily nodded silently in approval...

*****

Since history is often marked by unpredictable events, a storm made Rachel the last to be listed on Daniel Bastide's list of female conquests: the market manager passed suddenly from life to death on Tuesday evening, killed dead by the fall of a scaffolding weakened by the violent gusts of a homicidal wind. Ironically, the tragedy took place near his home in Batignolles, in a street called... rue des Dames!

The news of his disappearance had, one suspects, a strong repercussion in the company and aroused, here and there, the furtive tears of an accountant, the contained sobs of a secretary or the visible pain of a manager. of product, in short of a few ladies and young ladies who succumbed one day to the undeniable charm and conquering stubbornness of the deceased. As for Rachel, no one saw her that day.

On the other hand, the affliction was much less marked on the side of the male sex, admittedly tested by the unexpected death of a colleague, but not really angry to see the same day freeing up a position envied by all and disappearing a lecherous faun whose the constantly repeated and triumphantly recounted feminine successes ended by becoming irritating to the pride of the males.

*****

They nevertheless dispatched two of their own two days later to the funeral: Jean Tardivel, as dean of the market managers, and Christian Cazenave, temporarily underemployed, and therefore available for a trip to the Montparnasse cemetery where stood the Bastide-Lapouge family vault.

Returning to headquarters after the ceremony, the duo went straight to Antoine Hagopian's office where the coffee – sometimes Ethiopian Sidamo, sometimes Mexican Maragogype – was by far the best on the floor.

─ So how did it go? Hagopian asked the funeral directors.

─ Rather well, replied Tardivel, taking off his raincoat. Lots of flowers, a few wreaths and lots of family members, all very dignified. All in all, a nice funeral, isn't it, Christian?

─ Indeed, confirmed Cazenave, it was a beautiful ceremony, despite the dog weather and a somewhat conventional speech by the brother of our late colleague. Nothing to say, however, about the performance of the undertakers: they were impeccable from start to finish. If he hadn't participated in this funeral in such a passive way, I think I can say that Danny would have given him a very good mark without the slightest hesitation. Let's say... three small coffins!

Also to read on a related topic: The funeral of a warm rabbit