Anticipation

Anticipation

Before the season begins, you are waiting. Everything prepared, all that remains is for the snow to arrive. 

The telephone. A whispered ‘yes’, a nod of your head and suddenly you become animated, excited, almost to the point of frenzy.

Your apartment bursts in to frantic  life. The maid dashes to and fro, garments piled high. The housekeeper, her round face red, prepares the hampers for the journey and sends the boy out to the stores. You are laughing, singing and dancing all at once - friends call.

‘Can it be so early?’

‘Yes, ma cherie! It’s so wonderfully true! Just think in three days...’

‘Tomorrow night? Us? No, the following’

You do not waste time. Out you fly, to the hairdressers, the beautician, the department stores on Boulevard C..... Your radiant beauty, illumined with anticipation draws attention from everyone.

‘See the pretty lady...’

‘What a beauty!’

 ‘Who does she think she is, trying to look important.Try working for a living!’

You do not care and do not even notice the looks, admiring or admonishing.

The snow has come! As you hurry along the wet streets, you scheme - how you will dress on the slopes, how prettily you can arrange your hair, so the frost can also frame your face and how you will look stylish, happy and yet vulnerable. A ski bunny with a heart...even if it is made of ice.

Time for a chocolate. You arrive at the fashionable cafe and wave across to a group of women. They wave back, less enthusiastically than one might hope. You approach, but they do not make space at their little table, where the cups of rich chocolate sit steaming. Finally, another chair is brought by a waiter and you sit, neatly and elegantly.

‘Another cup!  Mademoiselle?’

You incline your head and smile demurely. A less polite member of the clique raises her hand to her small mouth, stifling a laugh.

‘Will you travel tomorrow, Mademoiselle?’

You nod and smile. The ladies thaw and resume their chatter. Their hands flutter like wings and their excited voices carry across the packed salon.

‘Too much, darling!’

‘ Another baby - no slopes for her this year! How dull! And her poor husband...

‘ Oh, I shall die of boredom. The same old sights and the same old faces’

You speak little, but you communicate much; your luminous eyes shine with interest at the dullest tale. Noon, and you take your leave; refreshed, you must continue your business. You kiss the proffered powdered cheeks and slide on your gloves. Gracefully, you make your way to the door, which is held for you by a dark man, who devours your loveliness.

‘Not so bad really, is she? For what she is?’

‘ You heard what K.... said’

‘She’s done mighty well for herself’

‘We’ll have to put up with her. She’s a great favourite of X.....’

Are you unaware? Or does their gossip reach you through the thronging midday streets to haunt you in your loneliest hours?