THE JULIEN PROJECT

4

Knock Knock knock!

Someone knocks on the door or rather someone hammers the door. It’s surely another indelicacy of Paul! But what time is it? Have I been in the shower all this time? Judging by the colour of my skin reddened by hot water, you have to believe so!

I tie a small towel around my waist and go to the front door for the pain in the ass who keeps knocking on it unceremoniously!

“Okay, I’m coming!”

I glance through the spyhole and bingo, it’s Paul. I’d never seen him outside of our daily professional life. In my other life, Paul doesn’t even know my address. He doesn’t know anything about me. I’m not interested in him. He’s far too busy courting the other girls in the department, sexy working girls who scratch the floor with their sharp stiletto heels.

I watch him for a moment and find him even cuter in this casual outfit. Admittedly, it’s a little distorted by the magnifying effect of the spyhole, but he’s nonetheless sexy. I love his clothes! But what’s wrong with me? I can’t both get hard when I see a girl and fantasize about Paul! Damn it, get it together, man! You are a guy now! I finally decide to open the door for him.

“Hi!” I said.

“Ah, finally! I was starting to take root. Happy birthday again, buddy!” he said, throwing himself on me to hug me.

I completely ignore his hand holding a wrapped package.

“Take it, it is for you! It was given to me when I turned thirty. It was gathering dust in my house, I thought it would be more useful to you than to me. Feeling any better?” he asks me.

“Not too much…” I said, unwrapping my present.

It’s a book titled The Dude's Guide to Manhood.

“Thank you!” I said, tossing the book on my couch. “I don’t know what to wear.”

“Well, put on something cool! You never know if you’re going out after...”

“Uh, go out again? But we already went out last night!”

“Julien, yesterday was just an after work. Do you think we’re going to stay with your parents until late in the day and go to bed quietly after dinner when it’s your birthday? This isn’t our style... Your memory hasn’t come back to you?

“Uh... Not too much. So what do I put on?”

Paul sighs, exasperated. With a determined step, he goes to my dressing room. With a single glance, he scans its contents. He selects a fitted white shirt, a grey sleeveless v-neck vest, a pair of black socks and dark jeans. He glances at me, opens my underwear drawer, chooses a pair and hands them all to me. He goes so far as to select a pair of dress shoes, visibly freshly polished.

“Here, put this on, it’ll be perfect. And do your hair quickly! We’ll end up being late. It’s packed on the road.”

“Okay, I’ll hurry. Take something from the fridge, sit down, I’m coming!” I tell him when he has already grabbed a car magazine and turned on the TV without looking at it.

“Don’t you have a beer?” he shouts from the living room.

“I don’t know! Look! Make yourself at home!”

“It’s misery in this fridge! Do you never go shopping?”

I have a little thought for Odette and her shopping cart full of provisions. Next time, I’ll ask her to bring me a pack of beers. I answer him:

“I didn’t have the time! I had a crazy day.”

“Hmm…”

Okay, I lost his attention. He sips a can of Coke Zero, flips through the magazine and doesn’t listen to me at all. Meanwhile, I’m struggling with my hair. How can such short hair be so difficult? I decided to put everything back with a dab of gel. I look more like Fonzie. Okay! I ogle myself over and over again. It’ll be fine to go to my parents. I use cologne. A squirt on each side of my ears, a squirt on my chest, a squirt under the armpits, well what? And finally, one down there… well, because I don’t control all my actions and gestures, I’ve already said that. From the living room, I hear:

“Hey, stop the perfume! You’ve had enough! I smell it from here!”

“I’m ready! Are you okay with the hair?” I say, doing a pirouette on myself.

Surprised, Paul looks at me. I admit that the pirouette, worthy of a ballet dancer, wasn’t necessary, but as I said above, I don’t control all my actions and gestures.

“It’s different from your usual style but it’s okay. You’re still handsome!” he adds.

“You sure, eh?!” I said, looking at myself in a mirror for the umpteenth time.

“Damn, Julien, yes, your hair’s good, now let’s go!” he said on the doorstep, and suddenly, pressing the button of a small console that’s next to my front door and that I hadn’t noticed before, all the lights in the apartment go out simultaneously.

“Paul, can I ask you a favour?”

“Yeah. What?”

“Could you stop saying damn? It’s an assault on my ears.”

“I’ll try because it’s you and because it’s your birthday. But you have to try not to say it too, okay?”

“Easy!” I say as if it was won in advance.

It is the woman who’s in me speaking. I’m never vulgar in life. My parents punished us whenever one of us said a bad word. With each vulgarity, we had to put pennies in a piggy bank. As I was the oldest, I had to set an example for my sisters. Thanks to this, I’m calm in all circumstances. I never or rarely get angry. I never insult anyone. And even when I’m pissed off, everything happens on the inside. But that was before… Before I became Julien.