Ten percent?
You ought to give me twelve, you hear?”
“I hear you.
But I don’t want to make you fatter by six hundred francs.
You’re not worth it.”
Salomon’s little red eyes get even smaller.
His heavy hand on my shoulder is patting me, with the urge to crush me:
“Oh, you’re nasty!
Look at her, Brague!
A kid who I got her first booking!”
“A damn grown-up kid, my good man, and one who needs to refresh her wardrobe!
My costume for Dominance has had it, you know.
For a decent costume, six hundred francs, plus footwear, plus a dancing veil, not to mention accessories!
You’re not going to pay me for them separately, are you, old scoundrel?”
“Look at her, Brague!” Salomon repeats . . . “I’m ashamed for her sake, in front of you!
What will you think of her?”
“I think,” Brague says calmly, “that she’d do well to accept the tour, but not to give you six hundred francs.”
“Fine.
Give me back the paperwork.”
The big hand releases me.
Frowning and pale, Salomon returns to his English-style desk without so much as glancing at us.
“Salomon, you know, no hanky-panky between us!
I’m as malicious as can be when I put my mind to it, and I don’t give a damn about missing out on a good deal if I’m annoyed!”
“Madame,” Salomon replies in a dignified but frigid tone, “you’ve spoken to me as to a man beneath contempt, and I’m sore about it!”
“Damn fool!” Brague interjects, without raising his voice. “Are you going to stop sounding off?
Six hundred francs’ commission from her, four hundred forty from me . . . do you take us for German acrobats?
Give me the papers: we’re not signing today.
I request twenty-four hours to consult my family.”
“Then the hell with it!” Salomon blurts out with an impetuous stammer. “All those managers run very stylish houses, they’re people who don’t like dawdling, people . . . ”
“With their behinds in a pan of frying fat, I know!” my partner interrupts. “Well, tell them I’ll stop by again tomorrow . . . Coming, Renee? . . .
Salomon, for us two it’s seven and a half percent.
And I consider that noble and generous.”
Salomon wipes his dry eyes and his damp forehead:
“Yes, yes, a pretty couple of pigs you two are!”
“Salomon, no one can say there’s anything pretty about you . . . ”
“Let him go, Renee, the man is a honey!
He’ll do whatever we want.
To begin with, he loves you. Right, Salomon?”
But Salomon is sulking.
He turns his back on us like a huge child, and says in a whiny voice:
“No.
Leave.
I don’t want to see you again.
I’m deeply hurt.
Ever since I’ve been making bookings, this is the very first time I’ve been so humiliated!
Go, go! I need to be alone.
I don’t want to see you again.”
“Okay.
Till tomorrow!”
“No, no!