Chapter 11
Arlette
Arlette, my room mate, arrived a few days before lectures were due to start. She was from Nice, where her father was a well-known plastic surgeon, catering to the whims of the rich and famous.
Her father was obviously quite wealthy but had decided that it would be a good education for his daughter to spend some time without the luxury she had grown accustomed to and had arranged for her to stay at the university rather than renting her an apartment. He had also decided that she should learn the value of money and was sending her only a modest monthly allowance. She was not at all pleased about these decision and spent hours complaining about the student accommodations which she considered below her standard.
After she had calmed down a little, she told me that she had just returned from cruising the Mediterranean with her parents and some friends on her father's yacht. It seems that she spent most of the time on the sun deck working on her deep seamless suntan which she would eagerly display to me later on. When I asked her if she didn't feel embarrassed to be naked in the presence of her father she just said, "No. Why?"
I explained that my father would get very upset, should I ever show him even as much as half a nipple. Arlette said, "You see, in his job he gets to see some of the most beautiful women in the world without clothes on. He won't get excited about a blotchy teenager like me."
It made me think of Ramon who - at least in my imagination - spent his working day surrounded by semi-naked models but got still very excited by me - although I didn't exactly consider myself a blotchy teenager.
I asked her if she had a boyfriend in Nice and if she was missing him. She answered that there had been a few young men she had been sleeping with - if that was what I meant by boyfriend - but that she had no commitment towards them and would probably soon find new sex partners.
"I'm a liberated woman," she declared. "I'm not interested in a long lasting, steady relationship with just one man which inevitably leads to marriage and the slavery known as being a housewife and mother."
On occasions like this, when Arlette made it quite clear that she considered herself the owner of the truth and wouldn't accept any different point of view, I found her unbearable and considered her a stupid little brat. It probably had something to do with the fact that she thought of herself as superior to 'ordinary' students like me.
I reminded myself that we were only room mates, we didn't have to become close friends or even agree on all aspects of life. I simply informed her that I had a steady boyfriend and, as I was extremely happy with my relationship, I didn't see any need to look for anyone else. I also told her that I was spending the weekends at his place and that she was free to bring whoever she wanted to our room when I wasn't around.
That seemed to please her and she soon got into the habit of spending Friday and Saturday nights with a man of her choice. Sometimes she would tell me about her adventures but more often than not her comments were confined to calling her partner an egoistic male chauvinist pig. I gathered that meant he wasn't in the running for a future weekend encounter.
I didn't talk much about my own sex life to her. She knew that I spent the weekends with my boyfriend, so she probably deduced that we were sleeping together but I didn't comment on the kind of things Ramon and I got up to. Only once - I don't know what devil possessed me - did I give her a hint of our love marathons.
She had complemented me on my good figure and asked what the secret behind my lean, trim body was.
"There isn't any secret to it," I answered, "you just have to remember to eat only as many calories as you burn; or burn all the calories you eat, whichever way you want to look at it. A little care when you eat and some physical exercise should do the trick."
"I hate physical exercise!" she exclaimed.
"Well, it all depends on which exercise you choose. Did you know that making love for one hour burns twice as many calories as one hour of jogging?"
"One hour of making love!" she gasped.
She probably meant to say that she considered herself lucky when her partner lasted as long as the statistical average of eleven minutes, but I deliberately misunderstood her exclamation and said, "Well, sometimes we are in a hurry or have an appointment to go to and there isn't time for more than an hour. But we usually make up for it at the next opportunity."
I checked her face to see if my comment had had the desired effect and left the room smiling.
We were two liberal-minded women and didn't see any need to hide our bodies from each other. Therefore, it was nothing unusual for either of us to walk around the room naked before or after having a shower, when getting dressed or before going to bed. Arlette usually put on a nighty to sleep whereas I had become fond of sleeping without a stitch on, a freedom which I had not been able to enjoy in my parent's house.
Arlette was particularly keen on displaying her top-to-toe suntan and stayed naked whenever she had a chance. But I saw this more as a show-off than an exhibitionist streak or an attempt to get me interested in her. She was very proud of achieving such a uniform colour and had told me on several occasions that her weekend partner had been completely knocked out when he discovered that she was tanned all over.
Arlette had a very pretty face and her body had all the right things in the right places, but I found her a little overweight and a bit too short to be perfect. My impression was that she had never made love to another woman and wasn't particularly interested in trying it.
But maybe I was wrong. One Friday afternoon when I was getting myself ready to go to Ramon's apartment and had just put on a new bra and panty combination he had given me, Arlette came closer and said, "Oh my, that's some sexy underwear you've put on, where did you buy it?"
In fact, the set I was wearing was a particularly beautiful creation, a mere whisper of brilliant white silk and lace which caressed rather than restrained, emphasized rather than hid, and made my curves appear in the best possible light.
In the early stages of our relationship I had made a point of not wearing any underwear when I went to meet Ramon. It was my way of paying homage to our first encounter when I had removed my panties and handed them to him before I even knew his name. But Ramon had showered me with presents of sexy lingerie, much of which he had designed especially for me. While I was still living with my parents I refused to take the presents with me for fear that they might be discovered and lead to loads of tricky questions. But since I had moved into my own place there was no longer any reason to deny Ramon the pleasure of removing these delicate garments from my body - which was the real reason for giving them to me in the first place.
As I had put on the bra and panties my mind had already raced ahead to the moment when he would take off my clothes ever so slowly and ever so gently while covering my whole body with kisses and making my heart pound in anticipation of the pleasures to come.
"I didn't buy it, I got it as a present from my boyfriend," I said.
Arlette had put her hands on my breasts, gently rubbing my nipples which had already hardened as a result of my daydreaming.
"He gives you underwear? Doesn't he like to see your naked body?"
"Of course he does. He considers this as a gift wrap and he enjoys unwrapping his present very much."
One of her hands moved between my legs and started stroking my pussy through the thin material.
"Oh, he's one of those men who consider women their sex objects, a present for their male ego. I wish I could be your lover tonight."
"To tell you the truth, I too consider myself a gift to him, just as I consider him a gift to me. Giving yourself to your partner - isn't that what love is all about? And as for you being my lover, maybe another day, today I've already got an appointment."
With that I removed her hands from my body and proceeded to get dressed. Then I left, wishing her a pleasant weekend, just to show that there were no hard feelings on my part.
Arlette would take me up on the 'maybe another day' promise during the following week. I had been to the gym for a thorough workout and returned to the room, dripping with perspiration, dying to have a shower. I stepped out of my track suit, peeled off the skin-tight leotard and went to the bathroom, only to find that Arlette was in the shower.
She didn't usually take a bath in mid afternoon but I hadn't exactly reserved that time for myself, so I had no reason to complain. I returned to the bedroom and sat on my chair, waiting for her to come out of the bath. My body temperature soon returned to normal and my nipples hardened in response to the cool air.
When Arlette came out of the bathroom, dressed in a white towelling robe, she said "You look so beautiful when you come back from the gym, covered with sweat, your breasts still heaving from the effort. This is when I find you most attractive."
The sweat had already dried and my breasts were no longer heaving, but that didn't stop her from cupping them with her hands and rubbing her thumbs over my nipples. I couldn't help getting turned on by her words and touch but I felt uneasy about my sweat covered body - I had never thought that sweat could be a turn-on. As she pulled me up from the chair and embraced me I told her that I needed a shower first.
"Let's shower together, shall we?" she said and dropped her robe to the floor.
The shower booth was tiny, it obviously hadn't been designed for two students having a bath at the same time. The only way we could fit inside was by standing very close and putting our arms around each other. Arlette had decided to give me a treat. She put copious amounts of shower gel into her hand and then applied it to my skin, working up a rich lather. This gave her an opportunity to caress every part of my body.
The only problem was that our position limited her reach to my back. With a few careful moves and our arms raised above our heads we managed to change position so that Arlette was standing behind me. She told me to keep my arms lifted and applied more shower gel to my front. This time she really went to town. She ran her hands all over my body, exploring every part of it. Particularly my breasts were visited innumerous times and my pussy had probably never before been cleaned that thoroughly.
After the shower Arlette dried me meticulously with her fluffy bath towel, again making sure that no part of me would be forgotten. Then, after having dried herself and having slipped her bath robe back on, she told me to lie on my bed belly-down and rubbed moisturiser into my skin.
When she had finished my back she made me turn around and treated my front with great attention to detail. I was quite surprised by the treatment she gave me and it certainly had the desired effect. I got increasingly aroused and arched my body towards her hands. I hadn't been pampered like this by another woman for a long time.
When she finally started to apply the moisturiser to my pussy, I could no longer remain passive. I opened her robe and started to fondle her full breasts. Then I slipped the robe completely off her shoulders and pulled her onto the bed, next to me. We embraced tightly and pressed our naked bodies against each other. Soon we were stimulating each others nipples, making one another moan with delight, and it didn't take long for our hands to find each other's pussy.
Arlette opened my pussy lips and started to stroke my clitoris and I did the same to her. She pushed a finger inside my vagina and I returned in kind. Everything she did to me, I would do to her. With this tit-for-tat stimulation we brought each other slowly but steadily to a climax. When we finally came, almost simultaneously, we embraced and lay still for a while.
When I replayed in my mind what had happened, I realised that there hadn't been any kissing. Not on the mouth, not on the breasts, nor between the legs - nothing. It reminded my of an article I had recently read. It stated that in a survey of 14 to 18 year old girls, a large majority had thought of kissing another woman as a lesbian act.
The same majority had considered lesbianism 'unacceptable' or 'best avoided'. (This survey may already be out of date, thanks to Madonna's and Britney's valiant efforts.) The same group had found nothing wrong with mutual masturbation among girls. So, on reflection, what Arlette and I had just enjoyed was innocent schoolgirl sex: clean harmless fun.
I was trying to decide whether this was the right time to treat Arlette to a 'Jacqueline's special', driving her out of her mind by exploring every part of her pussy with my mouth, when she said, "Have I told you that I now have a steady boyfriend?"
"No, you haven't. How did this happen?"
"Well, I realized that I was dating a large proportion of real arseholes and I didn't have much hope of finding any better material. So I decided to go steady with one of the less bad guys, kind of 'give him a chance to improve', you know? That's how I ended up with Claude."
"Well, let's hope that it turns out OK for both of you," I said, wondering why she would bring up this subject right now.
"He says, for our relationship to grow, we need to see each other more often, not just on the weekend."
As I didn't comment on her observation, she continued. "So I've taken the liberty of asking him around this evening."
I started to smell a rat, but just to be sure I hadn't misunderstood, I asked, "So when is he going to pick you up?"
"Well, he isn't exactly going to pick me up," she said sheepishly, "I thought we might be able to use this room for a while."
That confirmed my suspicion. "Oh, I understand. When he says you ought to see each other more often he doesn't exactly mean 'see', he means 'fuck'".
She was feeling uncomfortable about my direct language. "Well, you know how it goes."
I realized that I was in danger of being misunderstood. So I explained, "Look, I'm not criticising you and your boyfriend for wanting to have an active sex life. It's just that we share this room. And what do you want me to do in the meantime? Sit in the reception until you're finished?"
"Actually, I thought you might want to join in."
This remark took me by surprise. I could feel my anger rise but tried to remain calm. "I wonder if you realize what you are suggesting. 'Joining in' wouldn't just mean you having sex with your boyfriend and me having sex with you. It would also mean me having sex with your boyfriend whom I have never met. I'm not in the habit of having sex with anybody I've never met before. Maybe you ought to contact one of those women who do it for money; they don't care who they do it with. I have sex for pleasure, so I have the right to pick my partners."
"I'm sorry," she said, becoming aware of my anger, "I didn't mean to offend you. It wasn't really my idea. Claude suggested it."
"Claude suggested it? He doesn't even know me!"
"No, he's never met you, but I told him what a beautiful, sexy creature you are, so he suggested I should try to seduce you."
"Thanks for the compliment, but the answer is still 'no'. If I had met him before and come to the conclusion that we tick together, sexually, there might have been a chance, but I don't go for seduction by proxy."
We were still lying naked side by side on my bed, one arm around each other's shoulders, the free hands resting on each other's upper thigh. Looking at us made me feel a little more conciliatory.
After a short silence I said, "Listen, what we did today was really wonderful. You were very sweet to me. I enjoyed it tremendously when you took me to the shower, when you dried me, rubbed moisturiser all over my body and when we climaxed together. I had even thought of taking it a little further. It's a pity it had to end like this."
It was my way of telling her, and especially myself, that 'Jacqueline's special' was definitely off the menu for today. Arlette was touched by what I had said about our lovemaking and hugged me, which softened me up a little more.
"I suppose he'll be coming in any case?" I asked.
Arlette just nodded without saying a word.
"I guess, room mates ought to be flexible enough to let the other one use the room on her own sometimes. It's just that I have to get up early tomorrow, I have an important lecture first thing in the morning which I can't miss, so I don't want to go to bed very late tonight. I don't think it's fair of you to spring this on me without giving me any choice.
"Anyway, this is what I suggest: I'll leave in a short while and let you have your privacy. But I'll be back at eleven sharp. I'll ring the doorbell, but I won't come in straight away. I'll give you ten minutes to finish whatever you're doing, clean up, get dressed, whatever. Then I'll ring the doorbell again. If you're finished, you open the door, if not, I'll give you another ten. When I ring the third time it means I'm coming in, no matter what. Is that acceptable?"
"Thank you, Jacqueline," she said, giving me a little kiss on the cheek.
I had a meal at the students' restaurant and then went to the cinema around the corner. They were showing an old Hitchcock film which was probably very interesting, but I was unable to focus on the plot. My mind kept wandering back to the events of the afternoon.
Were Arlette's advances towards me really just a ploy to get me to agree to a threesome? And had I been foolish to believe that she was interested in sex with me? I decided that she had been interested in me all along without admitting it to herself and that her boyfriend's suggestion had given her a motivation to do what she wanted to do anyway.
But what kind of a boyfriend was that who wanted to grow their relationship by including another woman? Sure, I had read about couples whose sex life had become stale and who had managed to put some pep back into it by including a third person in their love life. But their relationship had only just started. Did it need a booster already?
I also examined my own attitude towards the situation. Had my steady relationship with Ramon turned me into an inflexible bore? After all, my sex life before and with Ramon was anything but conventional and would probably raise quite a few eyebrows if I were to tell anybody the full story. So why should I sit in judgement of other people's attitudes and behaviour?
Also, it wasn't true that I only had sex with partners I picked myself. Most of the boys I slept with in the early stages of my sex life had been chosen by Charlotte and I had obliged without much protest. I had no reason to get on my high horse over her suggestion. Was I just venting my frustration about not getting to eat her pussy? I concluded from all this that I needed to watch out for any signs of intolerance in my attitude towards other people's sexual behaviour and fight this attitude before it became a problem.
I returned to the room at eleven and rang the door bell. As I turned away to give Arlette and her boyfriend some more time, as agreed, a lanky young man opened the door.
"Hi, you must be Claude, I'm Jacqueline," I said, holding out my hand to greet him.
But he just stood there, shell-shocked, ignored my hand and looked at me with a face from which all signs of intelligence had disappeared. I said, "Do you mind if I come in? I live here." With that I walked past him into the bedroom where Arlette was sitting on her bed.
Claude came eventually out of his stupor and followed me into the bedroom. "Haven't we met somewhere before?" he asked.
It made me laugh. I retorted, "Surely, you don't expect me to react to such an old pick-up line. And in case your next question is 'do you come here often?', the answer is, 'yes, I happen to live here'".
"No, seriously, your face looks so familiar, I feel like I've seen you many times before. Do you appear on television? Is your picture in the papers? Or maybe on the cover of a magazine?"
When I shook my head to all his questions he said, obviously puzzled, "That's strange. I could have sworn that I've seen you or your picture somewhere. And not just once, many times."
As far as I was concerned this was clearly a case of mistaken identity, or maybe a vague similarity with someone else that I wasn't aware of. But he kept racking his brains and, suddenly, he snapped his fingers in the air and exclaimed, "I've got it! Caroline!"
Arlette, who had been watching the whole scene with amusement said, "Her name is Jacqueline, stupid, not Caroline."
"I know that. Caroline is a colleague at work, in fact her desk is next to mine, and she's got a poster with your picture hanging on her wall. The reason it took me so long to make the link between you and that poster is that on that picture you are ...," he hesitated for a moment, blushing slightly, "well, you are not fully dressed."
"Oh yeah? What is the woman on the picture wearing?"
"Sexy lingerie. A black bra and black panties. And you look extremely appetising, if I may say so."
Something dawned on me. But, if it was the picture I was thinking of, how would it end up on some civil servant's office wall?
"Is there anything written on the poster?" I asked.
"I think so, but I'm not sure I remember exactly what it is. Something like 'jolie jeune fille' maybe."
"Vous êtes très jolie," I offered.
"Could be. And then there is the name of some guy, but I can't remember what it is."
"Ramon," I said, confirming to myself that the picture was the one I had been thinking of.
This gave Arlette, who had been fairly quiet so far, a chance to join the conversation. "So you admit, that it's you! Jacqueline, you surprise me! Have you been moonlighting as a semi-nude model! Or is this another gift wrap?" she asked mockingly.
"Yes, it's me," I said, sitting down on my bed. "The explanation is really quite simple. I just don't know how this poster ended up in the possession of this colleague of yours."
"You mean someone took your picture and then used it without your permission," asked Claude, hoping for some detective story.
"No. It's all one hundred percent legit. The picture was taken for a test launch of a new line of luxurious ladies' underwear. The posters were distributed to a small number of selected shops which specialise in this kind of product. The idea was to display the poster inside the shop in a place where it would be easily noted.
"When a customer asked about the garments on the poster, they would be informed that they were not yet available on the market, but the shop assistant would then ask the customer a number of questions. Would they be interested in this style of sexy lingerie? Which kind of garment would they consider buying? How much would they be willing to spend? What size did they require? Etc. This information was then used to estimate the potential demand and to finalise the product range. You see, it's quite straight forward. No murder mystery, no body."
"Oh yes, there is a body," said Claude, "Yours. And it's very beautiful."
I gave him a big smile. His compliment was rather clumsy, but it was a compliment nonetheless.
"This still leaves us with a question. How did your body, or rather, how did you end up on an advertisement for fancy knickers? Are you pursuing an alternative career?" Arlette wanted to know.
"The sponsor who finances the project didn't want to invest a lot of money before he had an idea of how much demand there is for this type of product. There wasn't any money to pay a professional model. I agreed to be the model and Ramon took the pictures himself."
"So you know this Ramon whose name is on the poster?" Claude wanted to know.
"Yes. He's my boyfriend." I said. It felt like I had just given away a state secret.
"Ah! Mr. Gift-wrap!" Arlette beamed. "Now it all starts to make sense."
"But how did this picture end up on Caroline's wall?" asked Arlette after a short while.
"Maybe she went into one of the selected shops, saw the poster and liked it so much that she asked for it and the shop owner gave it to her. Maybe she knows someone who works in one of the selected shops and they gave her the poster instead of putting it up in the shop. There are probably many other possibilities. The only way to know for sure how it happened would be to ask her."
As I spoke I thought about what might have happened if one of these posters had found its way to Villiers, but I wasn't overly worried.
"Why don't you ask her?" suggested Claude.
"I don't think it's that important. Besides, I don't know the woman."
"Let me tell you what I know about her and then I'll rephrase the question," said Claude.
"She's about twenty years old and really good looking - and I mean really good looking: tall, black hair, charcoal black eyes and a mouth that just seems to be begging to be kissed. I think you get the picture.
"When she joined the department all the men - and that includes me - literally fell over each other asking her out for a date, but she gave us all the brush-off. It almost seems that she's embarrassed about her good looks. She seems to consciously select clothes which de-emphasise her curves, hide her beauty.
"Anyway, one morning she arrived at the office with a bunch of photographs, all showing beautiful women in sexy underwear, and put them up on her wall. Your poster got pride of place, bang in the middle of them all. Now, when someone asks her out for a date, she just points at the pictures and says, 'I'm surrounded by so many beautiful creatures. Why would I want to go out with a man?'"
"You mean she's a lesbian?" Arlette interrupted.
"Well, she never used that word and nobody has ever seen her in the company of another woman. I suspect that it's only a ruse to distract her male admirers, keep them off her scent, so to speak.
"The other day, when I suggested we go for an ice cream during the lunch break, she turned me down as usual. So I pointed to the poster, Jacqueline's picture, and said 'I get the impression you'd sooner go out on a date with her than with me.' 'You can say that again,' she replied, 'but then this wonderful woman is probably a world famous fashion model and wouldn't want anything to do with me.'
"So to come back to my question: would you be willing to meet Caroline if I manage to talk her into it?"
"I don't quite understand what you expect to get out of this, but I won't stand in your way."
I turned to Arlette. "But what do you think of all this, Arlette? Doesn't it bother you that your boyfriend is plotting to date another woman?"
"I'm a liberated woman," came the answer, "and besides, if she's really that good looking I might want to get into the action as well."
So we all agreed that Claude would tell Caroline that he knew the woman on the poster and that he could arrange for Caroline to meet me but that he and his girlfriend would want to come along as well."
After that was settled Arlette asked, "Where are you going to take her? There isn't much fun in inviting her to the movies and going to a restaurant for a meal offers also very limited choice for seduction. It would have to be some sophisticated place, maybe with dancing."
"I've got an idea: Le Chambre Séparée," I announced.
Arlette shook her head. "Three months waiting list." And Claude added, "And much too expensive for the likes of us".
I wasn't dissuaded that easily. "We can eat somewhere else before we go there and we don't have to order Champagne," I said. "If we stick to orange juice it won't break the bank. And as far as the waiting list is concerned, I may be able to work something to get us in."
There probably isn't a person in Paris, or even in the whole of France, who hasn't heard of Le Chambre Séparée. However, for readers from further afield, it might be useful to say a few words about this unique place.
It takes its name from the private rooms which were available to noble and illustrious visitors to some theatres and ballrooms in times long gone. They were directly accessible from the boxes in which these guests were watching the spectacle and allowed them to retire, with their respective companions, to an intimate area where they were protected from the prying eyes of other members of the audience.
What exactly happened inside the chambres séparées of old is anybody's guess but it probably wasn't much different from what happens anywhere in the world between two people who are attracted to each other.
The new Chambre Séparée was the brainchild of six young enthusiastic Parisians. They had discovered an old-style ballroom which had shut its doors many years ago and fallen into disrepair. They tracked down the owner and persuaded him to sell them the building for a modest sum. That purchase ate up all their savings.
The six came from a variety of professions which covered a wide range of disciplines including architecture, business administration, catering, marketing, entertainment and electronics. Jointly they prepared a detailed plan for the proposed enterprise: they wanted to create a new variety theatre which would offer top class entertainment to an open minded adult audience.
The plan included the restoration of the original features of the ballroom including the already existing chambres séparées. They would also add new chambres séparées to each and every box in the five rows of balconies which ran around three sides of the ballroom. There would be a sophisticated restaurant. The stage lighting and sound system would be completely replaced with state-of-the-art equipment. The whole place would become a hi-tech entertainment complex within a renaissance shell.
Armed with their plan, which also included detailed estimates of the cost involved and a forecast of the expected income, they set out to find a financial backer. It wasn't easy, but their contagious enthusiasm eventually won over one of the best known venture capitalists of the country. The restoration of the building took longer than they had expected but their backer accepted the delay and budget overrun with good grace.
All in all, almost three years passed between the start of the project and the grand opening. Two months before the scheduled opening, they hired musicians for the house band and the members of the dance troupe which they called 'Les jeunes filles de chambre', the chamber girls, a play on the name of the venue and the French word for chamber maid.
The venture ran into controversy right from the start. Conservative circles with strong backing from the catholic church demanded the immediate closure of this 'Sodom and Gomorrah', trying to turn their point of view into a public outcry against the decline of moral standards.
What had happened was that, by accident or by design, the guests who came to the opening night - and the pattern continued on subsequent nights - did not see this as a place where you went to watch a show; it was a place where the audience was part of the show. If the venue offered facilities for making love, why should the libidinous activities be confined to the isolation of the chambres séparées? After all, everybody here was a consenting adult.
Many of the women arrived in attire which would have done a nightclub stripper proud - and the attire diminished as the night wore on. And if they were going to submit to their partners wishes a little later on, what was wrong with letting them get a head start? There was fondling of breasts - both clothed and bare - and stroking of buttocks and thighs on the dance floor or wherever else one might look. The media people soon coined a term for this by calling the place a 'public foreplayground'.
The six consulted a lawyer to find out whether they or their guests were breaking any laws and were advised that it would be best not to permit copulation in the public areas. The lawyer did not see any problem with any of the other activities.
In the meantime, one of the newspapers checked the register of ownership and 'discovered' that the financial backer of the enterprise was Michel Meunier, a wealthy businessman who was known for his shrewd investments in start-up enterprises. The front page headlines the next morning accused Michel of living off the wages of sin. However, if they thought he would withdraw his financial support because of this personal attack, they had misjudged him.
Michel Meunier went on the counter-attack. He called a press conference and read a prepared statement.
I was still living in Villiers when these events took place. At that time I knew nothing about Le Chambre Séparée, but I immediately recognized the man who appeared on television to defend it as Roxanne's husband, or the man who had spanked my bare bottom so mercilessly and so deliciously. It had never occurred to me that the Michel Meunier I knew was the Michel Meunier, one of the top businessmen in the country. Although, on hindsight, I should have guessed that the luxurious mansion could only belong to an extremely wealthy person.
I watched the press conference and some of the ensuing interviews on television with great interest and was impressed by his forthright manner of presenting his views.
Michel started his statement by telling the assembled reporters how six young entrepreneurs who were planning to convert a decaying ballroom into a luxurious variety theatre - possibly the most sophisticated venue for adult entertainment in Paris - had approached him and asked him to finance the project and how he had agreed to their proposal, not only because he considered the enterprise financially viable but also because he thought that it would bring back some of the glamour which Paris was in danger of losing.
That venue - they probably all knew that he was talking about Le Chambre Séparée - had opened only a few days ago and was already an outstanding success. However, he, Michel Meunier, had been accused by one newspaper - and he mentioned the name of the paper and the chief editor - of living off the wages of sin. This was, of course, a ridiculous accusation, because only a hypocrite could confuse love with sin. Even though the accusation had no foundation in reality he had called this press conference to set a few points straight.
Paris was known, not only to French citizens, but throughout the world, as the city of love. Every year hundreds of newly-wed couples came to Paris to spend their honeymoon here; thousands came for romantic weekends or stays of longer periods. He reminded the audience that the Beatles, when they created the song 'All you need is Love' - one of their biggest hits - found it appropriate to include a short citation of the Marseillaise, the French national anthem. This meant that for them France, and more specifically her capital, Paris, was the place which best represented the idea of love. Not London. Not Amsterdam. Not New York. Not Moscow, Bangkok or Rio de Janeiro. No. Paris, France.
Every night thousands of couples in Paris - and Michel admitted that in this respect Paris may not be very different from the rest of the world - fell into each others arms and, before going to sleep they made love. Earlier that evening, these lovers may have taken a ride on the Seine in a Bateau Mouche, watched a show, had a meal in one of Paris's many famous restaurants - possibly a romantic dinner by candlelight - or been dancing to soft music.
All these activities had one thing in common: they did not allow the lovers to show each other how strongly attracted they were to their partners. A kiss which was maybe a little too long or too intense, a touch, a caress that was maybe a little too daring, could earn them the disapproval of the other patrons; they might be called to order by the maître, or they might even be expelled from the place in question. The rules of our society were such that lovers were not allowed to demonstrate their passion to each other until they reached the privacy of their own home or their hotel room. Up to that moment they had to behave like celibates.
Le Chambre Séparée had dared to break this rule. In its ballroom a caress was not an offence. Patrons were allowed to demonstrate how much they appreciated each other's company without fear of disapproval or expulsion.
The huge success of Le Chambre Séparée, the fact that every seat in the house was sold out for weeks to come proved that Le Chambre Séparée was offering something that both citizens of Paris and visitors had been waiting for.
Passion was not something one could turn off and on at the convenient moment like a hot water tap. Making love, that most wonderful of human activities, was not a one course meal, nor fast food. It was a succession of dishes, each one more delicious than the previous one, each one to be savoured in full and without hurry.
Only a hypocrite could call this 'sin'. Only a hypocrite could call for the closure of Le Chambre Séparée. Michael ended his presentation with the slogan 'Down with sin. Long live Love'.
After the statement Michel did not accept any questions but announced that he would be available for interviews to all the major television channels, radio stations and newspapers. This was a very clever move on his part, because this way his statements were not reported just once at the time of the press conference, but repeated whenever he gave an interview. In fact, for about two weeks Michel's views on the subject were a constant feature on television, radio and the front pages of newspapers and magazines. After that, the calls for the closure of Le Chambre Séparée all but died out.
Nevertheless, Le Chambre Séparée continued in the headlines. Publications specializing in gossip about the rich and famous published stories about who had been there and what they had been wearing, or who had been seen disappearing into a chambre séparée with whom.
It is sometimes said that there is no such thing as bad publicity. The attacks and Michel's defence had been an invaluable help in turning the recently opened venue into a household name within a very short time. But the gossip reports were bad for business. A number of prominent figures cancelled their reservations, saying that they had chosen Le Chambre Séparée for the privacy and discretion it afforded them. They were not prepared to see their names dragged through the gossip column of third-rate newspapers.
The managers were quick to act. Previously, anybody who presented a press card had been able to gain access to the house. Now, clear rules on the presence of news reporters were established. The worst offenders were banned altogether, others were only allowed on the premises when the house was closed to the public. They were free to inspect the facilities and talk to management and staff. A handful of Arts and Entertainment correspondents were given access to the theatre during the performance, but were reminded to report on what the house had to offer, not on what the individual members of the audience got up to.
Even before these measures were put into place, Le Chambre Séparée had been the subject of raving reviews in the press. Journalists were impressed by the professionalism of the operation, the slick, efficient and unobtrusive service, the quality of the food, the originality of the show and particularly by the chamber girls - 'Les jeunes filles de chambre'.
They seemed to have been recruited from the four corners of the world, one more beautiful than the next one, each one displaying the charms specific to her origin. Apart from their beauty and sensuality they also showed great talent and stamina - for it took the stamina of an athlete to keep up the fast and furious pace of their presentations. There was also a special mention of the girls' costumes, designed by one Ramon from Argentina who apparently already had a reputation over there but was a surprise discovery here.
Le Chambre Séparée became the place to go to, the place to be seen. Soon, reservations had to be made several months in advance. Having a reservation became a trump card when inviting someone for a date, there were even some newspaper adds where proud owners of tickets invited candidates, usually of the opposite sex, for the privilege of accompanying them.
One interesting fact was the variety of people who were attracted to Le Chambre Séparée, compared with other adult entertainment venues. Firstly, there was the unusually large proportion of women in the audience, but this could be explained by the simple fact that it isn't much fun to disappear into the chambre séparée with your business associates.
Apart from this factor, there were many people who wouldn't normally be seen 'in a place like this'. Of course, there were the curious who only came to watch - both the show and the audience. Happily married couples looking for some extra excitement were rubbing shoulders with bosses taking their secretaries for a treat (and expecting a special treat from them in return).
Mature ladies were proudly showing off their toy boys while Lolita look-alikes were putting their sugar-daddies through their paces. There was a small number of threesomes; hunky males accompanied by two smashing females or ravishing beauties sandwiched between two handsome fellows. Swingers had adopted the place as an excellent location for making first contact with potential new partners. One section of the ground floor had been set aside for adepts of bondage and sadomasochism, where fierce looking masters and dominatrices displayed their bound slaves to anyone who cared to watch.
Unaccompanied singles were accommodated at a small number of telephone tables where they were able to contact other members of the audience by phone, the number of each table being prominently displayed.
But let's get back to the story.
"What do you mean 'work something'"? Arlette asked. "Don't tell me you have connections to Le Chambre Séparée."
"There are two options," I said. "The first one is to ask Ramon for help. He's done an excellent job designing many of the costumes the dancers are wearing. Alain, the Artistic Director, thinks he owes Ramon some favours. Ramon and I have been there a few times and we always got our reservations through him on short notice. But I don't feel like bothering Ramon with this."
"You've been to Le Chambre Séparée? And not just once! A few times!" Arlette asked, showing her surprise. I had obviously risen in her estimation.
"Yes I have, and I can say that it always lived up to its reputation."
"The second option," I said, picking up my thread, "is to ask Michel Meunier to let us use his VIP box."
I knew that, as part of the sponsorship deal, Michel had one box permanently reserved for him which he only rarely used. Most of the time he made it available to friends and business associates. I thought I might be able to persuade him to let us use it.
This time both of them stared at me, open-mouthed, voiced their astonishment and wanted to know more about my connection with the famous businessman. I just told them that this was a long and complex story, too long for tonight as it was already way past my bedtime. It was also too late to call Michel now, so it would have to wait until the next day. Besides, we weren't yet sure that Caroline would accept the invitation and when she would be available.
In the end we agreed that I would call Michel the next evening after Claude had reported on the success or failure of his mission.
When Claude arrived the next evening, there was no need for him to say anything. The broad smile on his face told us that he had achieved what he wanted. He was clearly pleased with himself and started to tell the story of his success immediately. This is what happened (probably slightly embellished by Claude to suit his ego):
"When I arrived at work in the morning I saw that Caroline was already at her desk. I got myself a cup of coffee from the dispenser and strolled casually into her cubicle for a chat. 'If I told you whom I saw last night, you probably won't believe me.'
'Try me', she said without even looking up from the papers on her desk.
'Your favourite fashion model. The one you would like to ask for a date', I said, pointing at the poster behind her. She looked around, following my pointing finger.
'Oh yeah, was she on television?'
'No. I saw her in the flesh. In my girlfriend's room. The two are room mates at the university.'
'You're having me on. This woman doesn't need to share a room with anybody.'
I said, 'Well, if you don't want to believe me, it's your loss. I just thought you might be interested.' With that I started to walk slowly in the direction of my cubicle.
Caroline came after me. 'Hang on a moment. How can you be so sure it's her and not someone who looks vaguely similar?'
'I asked her. I told her about this poster and she confirmed it was her. She even told me exactly what's written on it. I also told her that you were infatuated with her and would like to meet her.'
'Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm infatuated with her. Yes, I would like to meet her, but I feel a little apprehensive about it. I mean, what would we talk about?'
'Ladies' underwear' I offered, half jokingly, 'but if you think you're not yet ready for a tête-à-tête, I could come along as your chaperone.'
"Modesty apart, I think this was a brilliant move. I, who had been trying ceaselessly to get her to agree to a date with me, was offering to be her guardian on her first meeting with another woman.
'Would you do that for me?' she asked, 'I would appreciate it.'
'Of course', I said, 'that's what friends are for. But I will have to ask my girlfriend to come along as well, otherwise she might get the wrong idea.'"
Claude did not manage to complete his story because Arlette broke into a hysteric giggle and hugged him like crazy. However, he was still able to tell us that the meeting had been fixed for next Wednesday and that she had been very impressed by his suggestion to go to Le Chambre Séparée and even more so by his affirmation that he had a reservation.
"Hi Roxy, this is Jacqueline."
I didn't have Michel's direct number so I had called the one which Roxanne had given me at our last encounter. She was pleased to hear my voice and asked how I was doing and also inquired about Ramon. She complained that I hadn't been in touch for some time. I apologized for having neglected her and explained that I had been very busy with my studies, but promised that I would see her some time soon.
After some polite conversation - I was keen to avoid subjects of a more intimate nature in the presence of Arlette and Claude - I asked her if it was possible to speak to Michel.
When Michel got on the phone he also complained that I hadn't been in touch, but soon asked what the reason for my call was. I explained that I had been talking to some friends about Le Chambre Séparée and they had become quite interested in visiting the place but that the long waiting period was a turn-off. So, to come to the point, would he be kind enough to let us use his VIP box, specifically, we had been thinking of going next Wednesday.
My heart was beating like mad as I waited for his response - after all, I didn't know him that well and he might easily get upset about my cheek.
"I think that should be possible" came his reply, "but I don't keep track of the reservations for this box. You'll have to check with Alain if it's free that evening. I'll talk to him in a moment and let him know that it's OK to let you have the box. Then you call him, say in half an hour to confirm that it's available. Don't leave it too late, because once the doors open he'll be busy chasing his girls around."
The girls he referred to were of course Les jeunes filles de chambre, Alain's contribution to the success of Le Chambre Séparée.
Overjoyed, I thanked Michel very much and was about to ring off when he said, "There's just one more thing, young lady. I think you know very well that nothing in life is for free."
This took me a bit by surprise, but I said quickly, "Of course, we pay you for the use of the box."
"Don't be silly," he said, "you know that I wouldn't take any money from you. The kind of payment I'm thinking of isn't quoted in euros, but in swats, doubles to be precise. So, what's your offer?"
Damn! I had completely forgotten his predilection for spanking female bottoms. And being the shrewd negotiator he was, he now had me by the short and curlies, able to demand just about anything he wanted.
"Thirty," I said, knowing full well that I wouldn't get off that lightly.
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, otherwise I would have to get angry."
"Alright then. Fifty."
"That's an improvement, but I think you can do even better."
Arlette and Claude had been listening intently to my half of the conversation, trying to guess the other half. At this stage they were utterly confused and showed this by making gestures and drawing question marks into the air. I didn't want them to know what this bargaining was about and was keen to end it as soon as possible.
I decided to be bold and said, "One hundred."
Michel was impressed. "That's what I call a brave girl. You've got a deal. But I expect you to pay your debt soon, otherwise I'll have to add interest."
After I hung up I remained quiet for a while, thinking about what I had just agreed to. My heart sank. One hundred swats and another hundred strokes with his belt on the bare bottom! That was more than I had ever received. And I knew there was no way of wriggling out of this punishment.
Arlette and Claude noticed the change in my mood and asked me what the matter was.
"It's just that Michel is such a kind and generous man, he treats me like a father." I realised the irony in this statement as soon as I completed the sentence. "So when I talk to him it makes me think of how strained my relation with my real father is."
They swallowed this outright lie and wanted to know if I had had any success. I said, "Just one more phone call and we can celebrate."