Comme toujours, en français sous « lire la suite «
Following the excellent article by Servetus, I have slightly delayed the publication of this one because I felt the need to develop certain aspects of my thinking. What I found particularly interesting in her article is that she conjures different characters played by Mr A in her fantasies. Richard as himself, or at least as she sees him, only came later, when she allowed herself to fantasize about him. Personally, I’ve never fantasized about one of his character, ever. I understand the attraction they may have for some, but not for me. Only Mr A as himself takes part in my fantasies, because as I said during the 30 day RA challenge , my favorite of his characters is his public persona, therefore it’s logical that he’s the hero of my scenarios. Why should I be embarrassed to admit this ? The vision I have of Richard is as fictional than the one I have of Guy or Lucas, so I see no reason to police what I say.
After my childhood fantasies, the one that makes me endure my job when it exhausts me or when there’s a tension with le BF is Richard. I only have two fantasy about him, and only the most recent (and most powerful) interests me here. This is a not a writing master piece, I’ve simply tried to summarize the scenario I play with so do not expect a work of art! 🙂
Journalist for a magazine, I’m on my way to the Hobbit press conference for the movie promotional tour in Bordeaux (even if it’s a major french city, it’s far from enough to attract the Hobbit but… fantasy :)). I’m dogged by misfortunes, the tram I’m in goes down and I have to finish the journey on foot. It starts raining and my shoes hurt. I wanted to be a « real woman » by wearing heels, but now I regret it. I always have a pair of flat shoes in my bag, so I changed, keeping the other pair in hand, and resume my route. I finally get to the hotel, drenched and exhausted, only to realize that I missed the conference.
Annoyed, I’m about to leave , thinking about my boss’ future scolding when I see two men coming off the hotel bar. I know it’s him. His back is turned to me, accompanied by his publicist, but I’d recognize him amongst a thousand. I know I look miserable, hair dripping, mascara probably streaming on my cheeks, heels in hand, but I can’t miss this opportunity. I approach him but his agent is standing before him, putting a distance between us. He tries to push me away, but I insist. Richard intervenes, interrupting his agent to let me speak, staring at me from head to toe, which makes me even more self-conscious of what I look like. I’m mortified but gathering my courage, I quickly explained my situation, begging for a few minutes of his time. Something in my words or my attitude makes him took pity of me because he accepts my offer, much to the chagrin of his agent. I ask him how long he can give me. 15 minutes. If he gives me 10 more, I take him to a pub next door to be out of the Hobbit madness . A pint of beer is an excellent argument because once again he agrees. Follows an idle chatter on the way.
I keep for myself the questions I’d ask him because they change depending on my mood – and they’re too dear to me. The interview goes well, I’m professional, I don’t fangirl, which might embarrass him, and I even managed to gain his trust despite a difficult start. I’m especially interested in him, I try to capture him in the time allotted to me. Some questions are very specific other completely anecdotic. He’s sometimes elusive, but he avoids no questions. I’d be lying if I said I don’t flirt a little with him, but it’s not what this whole fantasy is about. Mr A isn’t famous in France, not yet, so we aren’t disturbed in the pub or on the way.
Once the interview ended, I pay for our consomations and accompanies him to his hotel. On the way, an idle chatter again. I ask him if he had time to visit Bordeaux since his arrival. No, their schedule is too tight so they have no time for sightseeing, to his chagrin. I stop and stare at him. Without even thinking, I suggest, if he wishes to and if he has time, to give him a tour of my city. Polite, he smiles and replies that he’d love to but can’t. I interrupt him by saying that it’s okay, I understand. He laughs again and goes on, saying that if I want him to, he can join me once his obligations fulfilled. A stupid grin on my face, I scribbles my number on a piece of paper and hands him before I leave.
Does he call me ? Yes. Do I give him a tour of my beloved Bordeaux ? Yes. Another pub that I love ( beer+me = the perfect equation), a wine bar whose main room is built around a huge fake real-looking tree, a parking with a car giving the impression of to be about falling into the void, the narrow streets and crooked places crawling with restaurants and nightlife, a huge square with a massive fountain, the ruins of a Roman arena, the quays of the Garonne and « Le miroir d’eau » for a final evening walk. It’s adorable, funny, moving. In one word, perfect. Does he kiss me or more ? No. I touch his hands, his face, he does the same. Nothing more, nothing less. But there is this connection, just this once, just once, for one evening. And that’s all.
This fantasy is deeply rooted in reality. I’m not nice with myself, on the contrary, I’m in trouble (rain, tram going down). I try to take an exacerbated femininity that isn’t mine (the shoes). As a child I wanted to be a writer. Growing up, I told myself journalist would be a good financial alternative. Adoring film critic, it’s a job I’ve considered for long. In the end, I took a different path but it’s something I could have done. As in my real life, I’ve just started my job and I suffers from pressure from my boss. I see Richard as a case study I want to dissect and solve his mystery. I take him to a place where I feel comfortable, I control the setting if not the effect he has on me. A pint of beer always helps ! What I want is to see the world through his eyes and let him see the world through mine, hence the proposition to visit my town.
I’ve always have this fascination with what happens in people’s head. We all have a different way of seeing, feeling and thinking, and I find it extraordinary.The differences are further exacerbated between two people from different cultures and languages. The language we speak and the words we have shape our thoughts, so I’m often frustrated when I speak/write in English, because words fail me and therefore my thoughts are not as precise as I’d like. I always have in mind this example of Inuit languages with about thirty words for « snow ». Thus an Inuit succeed to think and express nuances that I would be unable to seize, as French.
End of aside.
By paying the bill and proposing to give him a tour, I keep control while remaining independent. I take the lead, leaving him my number, but doesn’t ask for his because he has to come to me. If he wants to see me, let him come. I’m definitely proud. But by leaving the choice to call me or not, I leave an opening that prevents me to suffer the full brunt of rejection. My insecurities. In real life, I’m in a relationship, but not in my fantasy. However, nothing happens between me and Mr A. Not because unconsciously I refuse to « cheat » on le BF, but because it’s not what I want. I’m looking for this connection, the communion between two minds, just once, just one night. Nothing more, nothing less. Therefore an autographed photo will never satisfy me 😉