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INSPIRED BY THE LIFE AND WORK OF NELLY ARCAN

ÉDITIONS DU SEUIL / ÉDITIONS POINTS

Once upon a time there was a tavern

Where we used to raise a glass or two

Remember how we laughed away the hours

And dreamed of all The great things we would do

Those were the days, my friend

We thought they'd never end

We'd sing and dance, forever and a day

We'd live the life we choose

We'd fight and never lose

For we were young and sure to have our way

-Come in. -Hi.

-Pierre, right? -Yeah.

I'm Cynthia. I'm happy to meet you.

Me, too.

Have a seat.

This is my first time.

Do you think I'm attractive?

Yes.

-Do you want me? -Yes.

I want you too.

Some johns only want to talk, and that's perfect too.

But you...

I'm glad you want to fuck me.

You turn me on.

I don't know why, but you turn me on.

You too.

Will you suck me?

It'll be my pleasure.

Yes, life has pierced me through.

I didn't dream up those men,

the thousands in my bed, in my mouth.

I invented nothing of their sperm on me,

in my face, in my eyes.

I saw it all,

and it still goes on,

every day, or almost.

You owned everything already.

We were helpless against the outcome of our encounter.

With you

I experienced the moments of languor known to those who feel death approaching.

I'm sorry, Suzanne.

I look horrible.

No, you're sublime, as always.

-Thanks. -Come, we're late.

Are you OK? Ready for this?

Always.

I'm sorry for being late.

I'm systematically late, without fail.

It's like champagne...

Beauty is a weapon that subjugates.

Beauty is an order that commands immobility and contemplation by all.

One must compel others to stop living,

for the time they look,

force them to become an audience,

arrange them around you,

up in the bleachers.

Here you have the Emperor.

That, with the Chariot...

A major professional success may await you.

But you have to be careful, go slow.

I won't bank on it.

Pack your bags, Isa. We're going on a trip!

-My turn now! -Shh! Mom's sleeping, sweetie.

Move over, big girl.

Do you have a question?

No.

The reversed Female Pope,

the Hermit...

What?

Nothing.

Pick a different card.

Something in me was always lacking.

Yes?

Yes, speaking.

I was sleeping, yes.

It's 5:30.

No, that's alright.

Which publisher?

In Paris?

Yes, that's my manuscript.

Really?

Yes, it's very good news.

Mathieu?

Yes, that's me.

-Hello. -Hello.

-I'm very pleased to meet you. -Me too.

It's an honor, miss.

It's not every day we travel to Canada to meet a new author.

Your writing is magnificent.

Thank you.

Your text sent...

a shock wave through the editorial committee.

Whiskey.

I guess I'll have the same. Whiskey.

Is it your first novel?

Yes.

Have you been working on it long?

For a few months.

How old are you?

I'm 26.

You're very young. I mean, for that style, that...

that density.

Thank you.

Is it based on your life? Is it your own story?

Is that important?

No, it doesn't alter the book's quality.

We read you and...

want to know everything about you.

Or to avoid you, perhaps.

But no one can remain indifferent.

Some things are true, others not.

Will you go on writing?

Apart from my writing, I'm nothing.

Hello.

Oh my god, your hair!

It's so awesome.

What smells? Did you cook?

-It's gonna be awful. -No way.

It's gonna be amazing!

Hey, babe! Your top is way cool!

-Thanks. -You are sexy.

-Nice shoes! -Thanks.

-Time to drink! -Wanna do some shots?

I swear, she comes out and says, all proud,

"The last john tipped me $200."

You just fucked him bareback.

-How's it look? -Fuckin' A!

-Did you buy it with him? -No.

He brought a Holt's bag and had me try it on.

-He has taste. -Seriously.

No john ever gave me a dress.

-But you're a great whore. -For sure.

-Wanna check our reviews? -Yes!

No, not again!

Thanks. Ok...

Here we go.

-There. -I'm ready to be humiliated.

Bad start, sweetie.

Must be the guy this aft. What does the pig say?

-You're a fucking beauty! -Go on.

Asshole!

OK, fine, stop.

I have my fans.

What about the Goddess?

-Come on, who cares? -No, keep going!

OK, the lovely Cynthia. 8:56 pm.

Warning, you'll be addicted to Cynthia in no time."

Bitch! What's your secret?

-Go on! -"Cynthia is a beautiful young girl.

A magnificent body, gorgeous ass,

and breasts close to perfection.

She has soft skin and she smells divine.

I got a very sweet welcome.

Her photos are accurate, no bad surprises.

She's a natural, loves her work as much as you do.

She gets wet, moans...

She gave one of the best BJs ever.

Deep throat. Sucks like she hasn't had cock in months.

She's ravenous, loves it.

No DATY, I don't know why.

She has the prettiest pussy.

Clean, shaven.

She said she never accepts being eaten.

You should see her ass doing doggy. Anal costs more.

Cumshot, she swallowed every drop.

Beautiful eyes you can get lost in.

Guys, treat her well."

I like making love with you.

So do I.

I'm glad I found you.

Do you love me?

Yes.

You?

Yes.

I'm not a good girl, but I love you.

I'm not a good boy, but I love you.

We're in love!

We're in love!

During this stage,

we lived the exaltation of our highs and the crash of early mornings.

Your hand, bigger than god, knew how to hit without hurting me.

-Not the sun, Frankie! The sun's rising. -Come, vampire!

What's the plan?

Go to sleep?

Fuck sleep.

What time does Fred's dealer quit?

Six o'clock.

-It's 5:47. -Let's call him!

Take me away, my steed!

Suzanne!

-Everything's good? -Marvelous.

How many drinks?

Just enough.

Guillaume Rival's here.

A rising star. A genius, pure and simple.

The genius of the century, I'd say.

-Where you going? -To meet this genius.

Are you sure?

It all happens to someone else.

I'm there,

just next to myself.

I'm there watching,

but it's not really me.

I watch her.

I see her talking, drinking,

dancing, fucking,

laughing,

crying.

I see this blonde woman,

lying on the couch facing her analyst.

But I'm not that woman.

Though I play that woman well.

I need to be seen,

but it's not me I reveal.

So I disappear a bit.

Do you understand?

I appear to disappear.

Felix,

from math class.

-So you two are dating? -Yes.

-Since when? -Monday.

He left me a letter in my locker.

-He did? -He said

I'm the prettiest girl in class.

-That's so random! -No, it isn't.

Anyway, Tuesday after school we went to the handball court.

-By yourselves? -Yeah.

Did you French?

Yes.

That, and lots of other stuff.

Come on. What?

Well...

He touched me.

The...

Over your shirt?

No!

Under it.

And what else?

It's personal.

Come on!

What?

He fingered me.

-You wanted him to? -Sure.

Did it hurt?

No. It was just...

really nice.

Really fun.

When I watched her,

the burning spread from the plexus.

The burning burnt. The sensation of traumatism.

It flashed on me

in bursts of clarity that it wasn't her fault if she was she

and I, just me.

As those glimpses of truth hit me like a thunderbolt,

it was myself I cursed.

And life became even harder.

A literary revelation, here and in France,

the wildly talented young Québécoise spews her loathing...

-Stop! -Wait, wait!

Her novel is a litany strewn with rhetorical flourishes.

Stop, it's unbearable!

Why does it say you're 26 on the cover?

I'm ashamed.

I wanted to be published before I turned 30.

-You lied about your age? -I'm so ashamed.

You're amazing.

Your book's great.

Thanks.

You? You're not drinking?

I'm pregnant.

Bravo.

Thanks.

-Yes? -Mathieu?

It's me.

Hi, what time is it in Montréal?

Late.

Early, actually.

I can't sleep.

What's going on?

Nothing.

I'm happy to hear your voice.

Me too.

How's the book doing?

Incredibly well, as you know.

How well?

Let me repeat it:

We're atop the lists in Québec and France.

We've sold 30,000 copies.

We'll print a second run.

Is that good?

5,000 copies is a bestseller, so 30,000 is better than good.

-You're sure? -Yes, it's a hit.

I find it hard to believe.

We make a beautiful duo, babe!

-He was happy, huh? -Disgustingly happy!

That fat filthy rich fucking shithole bastard.

One whore's good, two's better!

Has fatso put on even more weight?

Probably. I try not to look at those pigs.

Hand me my cash.

He always has you finish him.

-No idea why. Count yourself lucky. -At least he's fast.

Exactly. You came, now beat it, man!

He insists on his full hour.

He's a businessman.

We put on a great show. He keeps coming back.

You lick really well.

Yeah? I'm never sure what to do.

No, you're good. Your fingers, tongue. Really not bad, no joke.

-When I moaned it wasn't all an act. -Really?

If fatso wasn't there, I think I'd come for real.

How 'bout another try?

Please, sweetie!

-Silly! -C'mon, I'll pay you!

It was a new world. I was captivated.

In my captivity,

I suffered like a martyr.

Something inside me broke.

Something ripped in two like a tree trunk split by lightning.

I swear that at that moment,

I heard it crack in pain.

After our session last week I walked home. It was dusk.

A few streets from home I saw a man laying bricks.

He was wearing a tank top and work boots.

He was sweating.

His hair was filthy.

In fact,

every inch of him was filthy.

I stopped beside him

and asked if he could take a short break

to fuck me in the alleyway

right there.

He looked a bit surprised

but did what I wanted.

Exactly.

He followed me to the alley.

He hardly spoke.

Neither did I.

He took me by the neck

and pressed my face against the damp bricks.

He reached under my skirt

and stuck his fingers in my pussy.

I was dripping wet.

His whole hand was wet.

He was rough.

He never let go of my neck.

He pinned me there.

But I wanted to be pinned down.

He took his cock out of his jeans.

I felt it hard against my ass.

He fucked me,

fast and hard.

He smelled of sweat and wet cement,

a mixture of the two.

I could hear the sounds of the city.

Passers-by,

their banal conversation.

His cock pounded my pussy.

He moaned softly in my ear.

He came fast,

on my thigh.

I felt perfect,

like in a daze.

I pulled up my panties and left.

I couldn't describe his face.

And what...

How do you feel about it?

I needed to belong to someone.

I belong to those who take me.

What are you doing?

I don't want to talk anymore.

Let's be reasonable, OK?

I want you so badly.

-And so do you. -My wife's right outside.

I know.

No, stop it! Stop.

Pretty good waist.

Nice line of the hips.

Your ass is just as it should be.

The finest of the finest.

Your breasts are starting to sag a bit.

Legs, knees, belly...

No complaints.

You have everything you need where you need it.

How have you been since last time?

Fine.

You haven't changed jobs?

No.

How many clients do you see?

Ten or twenty a week.

You always use protection, no matter what?

-Yes. -For oral sex too?

Yes?

Not always.

You've never been treated for an STD?

No.

Are you pregnant?

No.

Noticed any changes in your health recently?

No.

Alright, let's examine you.

Put this on, I'll be back.

I prefer the biggest number.

The accumulation of clients,

professors,

doctors, psychoanalysts.

Each one has a specialty,

busying himself with one part of me or another,

for the healthy development of the whole.

One man in my life would be dangerous;

too much hatred in me for one head.

I need the planet,

the full range of humankind.

Since you didn't look at me,

I placed myself in your gaze.

Hello.

Thanks for agreeing to meet me.

My pleasure.

I'm a huge admirer.

Everyone at the magazine is.

Thank you.

A new novel, you must be feeling the pressure.

Why?

Sales, reviews, nominations for Europe's most prestigious literary awards...

You must dream of repeating that.

I'd prefer to have won the awards.

People buy my novel for my face on the front cover.

But do they read it?

I don't know.

That's rather dark.

I feel like it's sort of a mess.

The mess is part of my vision of the world.

What do you mean?

There are too many watching.

reflecting back my beauty or my ugliness,

my talent or my stupidity.

I am lost,

knowing people think things about me

over which I have no control... It's very upsetting.

It's part of the mess.

And what do they think?

I don't know.

I don't want to know.

Maybe I shouldn't have exposed myself.

I think I don't like being exposed, in fact.

Now I keep a low profile.

Success must have calmed you down?

I lost something with that book.

I have the impression

something's been soiled.

I think it's starting to kick in.

I'm sorry.

Do you want to go on?

What is your next novel about?

Mathieu?

What if my new book doesn't sell?

Don't worry, it'll all go fine.

But if it doesn't, what'll we do?

Well, nothing. What can we do?

But if no one likes what I wrote?

I like it.

I'm here.

I'll be there, I always will.

You won't abandon me?

Never.

And if the critics demolish me?

First, critics demolish books, they don't demolish you.

You know it's the same thing.

It won't happen.

I can't breathe, Mathieu.

It's absolutely suffocating.

I missed you, Cynthia.

Me too.

You're really beautiful.

Thanks.

Am I your favorite john?

I think so. You're one of my best, yes.

Turn over, I want to take you from behind.

OK.

You're beautiful.

You're so beautiful!

-I'll fuck you in the ass, OK? -No.

Come on, Cynthia.

No.

I'll pay you extra.

I don't want to.

I'll give you $100 more.

No.

Two hundred.

OK.

Thank you.

I won't hurt you.

It's so good.

Tell me you like it.

Say it.

-Hello? -Where are you?

At home.

What the fuck? Your first client was at 8. He's mad.

I'm sorry.

I think I want out.

Get some rest.

I'll find a replacement for you today.

OK, no. I'll come.

You sure?

Yeah.

I'd describe the beauty of the world if I could see it.

Write how faith and courage can overcome the worst misfortunes.

But I'm too busy dying.

We have to cut to the chase,

to what's killing me.

Good, it'll be simple. Come with me.

Maybe my mouth too.

I'd like a mouth with more punch.

It's really not necessary.

That's kind.

But just a bit, OK?

Come.

It'll heal fast.

Can you stay with me tonight?

Yes.

Suzanne?

Yes?

The tragedy, when people love you,

is they can stop loving you

at any moment.

Hi, Patrick.

Hi.

I'm happy to meet you.

Me too.

OK, you like it rough.

So do I.

Not too rough, OK?

Don't speak. Don't speak.

That's so good.

What are you doing?

Stop!

Stop!

Don't scream.

-Hello. -Hello.

I have a delivery for you. Sign here please.

Thank you.

-Are you alright, Madame? -Sure.

I really like your work. I'm a big admirer.

Thanks very much.

Your first novel's still my favorite, but I like all your books.

Thank you.

Are you working on something?

Yeah.

Can't wait to read it.

I have to find the ending.

OK.

Thank you.

Thanks.

Aren't you coming?

Who's that bitch?

What?

Leave with that slut if you want.

What's going on?

We're waiting for you.

We're all having fun.

Don't touch me!

OK, I don't get it.

I saw you with that fat cow!

I saw you!

You're fucking nuts.

I saw you!

-I saw you, shit! -How much have you drunk?

It's time to end it for real.

This isn't fun anymore.

What'll I do with her?

I don't know what to do with her.

I haven't found the ending.

Will I have to kill her?

I can't really have to kill her.

I'll have to kill them.

I'll make my death a poster that will multiply on walls.

I'll die like you die on stage,

in a storm of emotion.

I expected that you'd still love me or that you'd kill me.

Because you are so great,

I expected something grandiose.

When death comes,

I don't want to be there.

If you move,

you're dead.

What are you doing? I'm not finished.

Crazy bitch!

In the end what counts is the crash,

the place of my defeat,

when chance gives way, and the actions embodying me

finally have me on a leash,

forcing me toward my end.

I will lower my body into death,

where my soul already lies.

You have to eat, miss.

You're thin as a coffin nail.

Go on!

Mathieu...

Let's walk a bit.

Get me out of here.

Do you dislike it?

Only the insane like being in an asylum.

It's not an asylum,

it's a rest home.

I've rested enough.

I feel better.

I'm happy to hear it. Really.

I'm not like them.

I'll truly go crazy if I stay.

Get me out of here.

What are you doing?

You saved my life.

What are you doing?

You saved my life.

I missed you.

Me too.

We'll be good to each other.

Yes.

I can't live without you.

Neither can I.

OK.

Now don't freak out.

What is it?

I want us to stay together.

OK...

Will you marry me?

What?

We can get engaged, and get married next year and have kids.

Ideally you'd be this pregnant at the altar.

You want to marry me?

-You're crazy! -I know. I don't understand.

I want us to be together.

Come on, we've dicked around enough.

Will you say yes?

Yes.

Yes?

-Mathieu? It's me. -I'm happy to hear your voice.

-You got home alright? -Yes.

I'm writing.

-That's great. Are you happy? -Yes.

I'm writing as I, with strong emotions.

I'm on track, I feel it.

I'm working fast.

That's extraordinary.

I'm so happy. When can I read it?

I should have a first draft in 6 months.

-As soon as we're married, we'll stop. OK? -Yeah.

You have some there.

Come, come, come.

We'll be OK, right?

-Yeah. -OK.

-Should we invite some people over? -Sure.

Is that all we have?

Fuck, did you sneak some?

Course not.

I'm sure you had more than me. It's almost gone.

No.

Like when you shared our coke with that slut.

Fred's new girlfriend.

It was a party. Everybody shares.

What are you doing?

We can order more or go out for some. Chill!

What's your problem?

-Why'd you take it all? -Fuck off!

There are two of us, we share.

Fucking junkie!

You're the fucking junkie.

The fucking whore and the fucking junkie.

Don't you ever push me again.

Christ, you're a cunt!

Christ, you're a dick!

-Hello. -Hi.

Am I too early?

No, I was expecting you. Come in.

Thanks.

-Thanks for seeing me. -You're welcome.

We're eager to read your novel.

Can you describe it?

It's a...

I can say that I write with passion.

Good.

You've never matched your early success. How do you live with that?

What?

Maybe I'm wrong, but I read that

your latest novels sold a tenth as many copies as the first one

in France and Québec.

Yes, that's possible.

Are you alright? Should we postpone this?

No, that's fine.

From day one, people wanted to know if what you write is true,

if your books are autobiographical.

People lack imagination.

That's true.

Like in that magnificent passage...

A prostitute jumps from the 20th floor

to escape a dangerous client.

Did I write that?

Yes.

Once upon a time there was a tavern

Where we used to raise a glass or two

Remember how we laughed away the hours

And dreamed of all the great things We would do

Those were

the days, my friend

We thought they'd never end

We'd sing and dance, forever and a day

We'd live the life we choose

We'd fight and never lose

For we were young

and sure to have our way

I haven't confessed for many years.

I'm not exactly sure what to do.

I've done many stupid things.

I'm too ashamed to tell you the details.

I have the feeling...

that everything is killing me.

Words kill me.

For a while I thought writing would save me

but writing took chunks out of me.

Writing brings you too close to death.

I invented Nelly to protect Isabelle,

but I think the opposite happened.

I did things to write about them.

I shouldn't have.

Love kills me too.

Sex kills me.

Beauty, ugliness,

success,

failure...

I feel myself dying in everything I do.

But now I'd like to move on.

I'd like to feel better.

ISABELLE FORTIER ENDED HER LIFE ON 24 SEPTEMBER 2009 AT THE AGE OF 36.

SHE PUBLISHED FOUR NOVELS, ONE POSTHUMOUSLY.

WE SINCERELY THANK HER FAMILY, FRIENDS AND ALL THOSE WHO LOVED HER.