Romans de Plumeauvent

— Allô? Fit Pénélope d'une voix chantante.— Oui, bonjour. Voilà, j'ai trouvé votre annonce et je voudrais visiter la Casa Bella, annonça une jeune voix.— Votre prénom?— Annabelle, vingt-sept ans.— Vous &e

Les portes de la Casa Bella s'ouvrent à notre nouvelle colocataire. La Casa Bella, c'est 245 mètres carrés de beauté en plein Vincennes, une grande véranda s'ouvrant sur un jardin avec cabane, un facteur sympa qui oublie de vous livrer vos factures, quatre amies qui, insatisfaites de leur vie tentent de s'en inventer une autre. Vous avez moins de 30 ans? Vous êtes positive et savez tenir une maison?

Quatre mois plus tardMamie Jocelyne était partie, mais sa demeure retrouvait son souffle de vie. Judith, sirotant une limonade sur le canapé du salon, attendait avec impatience Lara, Garance et Pénélope. Au premier regard, les trois jeunes femmes avaient été conquises par le charme des lieux.La sonnette du portail de la Casa Bella fit bondir Judith du sofa. Elle traversa à grandes enjambées l'allée en gravillon blanc pour accueillir ses amies.—&n

Un jour d'hiver, L'automne avait filé à la vitesse d'une voiture de course, emportant avec lui les dernières feuilles des arbres. La ville accueillait à présent, non sans réticence, le grand froid hivernal. Les passants, comme pris au dépourvu, avaient regagné la chaleur de leurs manteaux. Les décorations dans les rues annonçant l'arrivée des fêtes de fin d'année rendaient Judith aussi mélancolique qu'envieuse. Elle pensait à toutes ces familles nombreuses qui se partageaient la saveur d'un chapon. Elle s'imaginait les coupes de Champagne échangées au coin du feu entre amis. Les photos prises pour immortaliser c

Le mois d'août, après avoir offert ses nombreux rayons de soleil, prenait congé. La lumière du jour se cachait derrière les nuages qui trônaient fièrement sur la capitale. Judith, fidèle à ses habitudes les observait de la fenêtre de sa chambre, cachée derrière les rideaux rouges. Imperturbables, ils dessinaient des personnages à l'âme souriante. Judith se sentait protégée des regards inquisiteurs de la rue. Elle n'ouvrait la fenêtre qu'à moitié. Coincée dans l'embrasure, elle respirait l'air frais que le vent laissait échapper. Le mois de septembre, celui de sa naissance, s'ouvrait timidement. Elle se mit à rêver, les yeux grands ouverts sur la beauté que le paysage offrait.

Quelques mèches éparpillées sur le sol plus tard, Judith se sentait allégée. Les cheveux lui arrivant aux épaules, elle se trouvait rayonnante et tournait dans le salon tel un mannequin devant un parterre de photographes de mode.— Alors?— J'adore, tout simplement, dit-elle en laissant un copieux pourboire. Vous êtes une artiste, vous avez de l'or dans les doigts, vous...— N'exagérez rien, j’avais juste un très bon mod&egr

—Hello? Penelope said in a singing voice.—Yes, hello. Look, I found your ad, and I would like to visit The Casa Bella, a young voice announced.—Your first name?—Annabelle, twenty-seven.—You are single?—Uh yes, why? Does it really matter?— It does. Men are not allowed to The Casa Bella, Pénélope said in a stern but efficient voice.—I am okay with it. I do not have a boyfriend, Annabelle answered, astonished that such a question was asked to her with a disconcerting naturalness.And then, she continued, by the way, who told you that I preferred men anyway? Judith snatched the receiver from her.—Enough about that. So tell me

The doors of Casa Bella open to our new roommate. The Casa Bella is 245 square meters of beauty in the heart of Vincennes, a large veranda opening onto a garden with a cabin, a friendly postman who forgets to deliver your bills, four friends who, dissatisfied with their lives, try to create themselves a new one.Are you under 30? Are you positive and know how to keep a house clean? We would be delighted to meet you and give you the keys to our haven of peace. Do you want to be our roommate? Have you always dreamed of it? So have we! Let us hear from you. Send us an email! Only non-smoking candidates will be offered an interview. Ah, right, I almost forgot! It goes without saying that men do not need to apply. The messages will go directly to spam. See you soon? W

Four months laterGrandma Jocelyne was gone, but her home was returning to life again. Judith, sipping lemonade on the living room sofa, impatiently awaited Lara, Garance, and Penelope. The three young women had been conquered by the charm of the place at the very first glance. They would have been picky not to. The doorbell to the Casa Bella made Judith jump off the sofa.She strode across the white gravel driveway to greet her friends.—I still have one suitcase at the back of the taxi, Lara said.— I'll take the room on the first floor, Pénélope said.— I will have the other one left then, Garance said. Lara, Garance, and Pénélope had not long hesitated to agree to be roommates. The desire to unite against the excess of sentimental disillusions had led the four friends to write a new chapter in their life together.&nb

August left after so many rays of sunshine. The light of day hid behind the clouds, which proudly sat over the city. Faithful to her habits, Judith watched them from her bedroom window, hidden behind the red curtains. Unagitated, they drew characters with a smiling soul. Judith felt protected from the prying eyes of the street. She only half opened the window. Stuck in the doorway, she breathed in the fresh air that the wind let out. September, the month of her birth, began timidly. She began to dream, her eyes wide open to the beauty that the landscape offered. Her phone rang and disturbed her peace. Eric! It's Eric! A thin glimmer of hope could be read on her face. But, quickly, a look at this unknown number got the better of her smile. At the other end of the line, a female voice was trumpeting —Hello? — Judith on the phone, I'm listening. You are...? — Hello, I'm Penelope

Judith followed her and sat down in front of the large mirror. She paid close attention to her face, which was starting to brighten. The lack of makeup in no way interfered with her beauty. It made her look even more charming under Garance's fingers. She put the newspaper back on the edge of the table, looked at Garance's hairstyle, which she considered unprovided with charm. Her brown hair, trapped in a ballerina bun, was careful not to arouse the slightest jealousy.—How do we cut? Do we keep the length? Shall we go for a gradient? —A bitchy cut, that's what I want. Said Judith, as naturally as possible. The hairdresser gave an embarrassed smile before laughing out loud. Garance is used to collecting the confidences of her clients despite hers

She never took a single gram. The bathroom scale was always kind to her. As slender as a model, she had countless 6 size jeans in her closet. In her teens, she joined a competition organized by the local bakery. She had swallowed heaps of candies until she dropped, but the numerous devoured were not enough to win her victory. A young boy whose corpulence showed high gluttony had won without too much trouble. Judith had nicknamed him Charlie. He loved devouring chocolate by handfuls. Ranked at the second position, she had greeted a bit of frustration when she saw the already chubby kid take off proudly with his weight in chocolate.***A handsome man looked at her with appetite. The young woman gave him a win. She seemed pretty amused and, before he could approach her, she ran to the sidewalk opposite. She observed her reflection in the mirror of a drugstore. Another client loaded with drugs and, no doubt, bruises

It was my first visit to a therapist's office. I didn't know what to expect: diplomas all over the walls to show that he knew what he was talking about, plants to relax me, Kleenex for crying, a lovely couch to lie on. And the therapist himself, I don't know why, but I had imagined him bald and with a big belly. Before entering, I had heard his voice. I hadn't liked it. I had found it without warmth and emotion. As cold as a washcloth placed on the forehead to reduce fever. I don't want to sound crazy, but I really wanted to run away when I heard him behind the door: What am I doing here? I am in a therapist's office because I left a breakup letter on a kitchen table? I thought I was wasting his time, that other more grieved patients would need his miracle recipe. But I am not sure, when I heard

I would like to throw the phone in a trash can and run away, but again, that would prove my cowardice. I have to face Paul, tell him that the words left in the kitchen were telling the truth. He will be in pain. It will make me cry because deep down, I know he's the loser in this game.My phone is ringing once more. Why is Paul insisting? He still hasn't understood? I thought I was clear, though. I knew he was head over heels with me, but now it clearly seems like I have lived with a lunatic. What if he's a psychopath? I'm afraid he'll blackmail me and starts talking about suicide!And here we go again, at this simple thought, I just can't help it! Tears come to tickle my eyes. I feel like a little girl deprived of a snack when everyone is eating in front of me. Making Paul suffer tortures me and he doesn't know anything about it. He has no idea that I am in front of Agn&

654B. A code that can lead to pleasure as well as to the worst affliction. I don't even know if I want to dial it anymore. I stare at it quizzically and wonder if it wouldn't be the worst mistake of my life. I thought I had made a big mistake living with Paul for eight years, but I tell myself that we can continually innovate, that nothing remains the same. Even pronounced on a poorly lit evening, love is allowed to think that the time to leave has come.It's awful when you think about it. But why does this deep feeling of guilt approach me and prevent me from breathing? Damn, I'm free! I have my suitcases, and I am in front of Agnès' building. I am ready to rebuild my life. I'm 38, and it's not over yet. My life is ready for a new beginning.And yet, there is a problem. I'm afraid, and I had not planned this nasty fear in my suitcases. I thought leaving Paul with a short note near his croissants would solve the matter, but I am back to square one. I

A glance at my watch shows me that it is 8:37 a.m. What precision! That is at least one thing I had in common with Paul. This consideration for detail and clarity. It is still early, and I feel good in the almost deserted streets. I believe in a possible second life for me. I want to believe in it, and I tell myself that at 38, everything can be rebuilt. We destroy houses to make them more beautiful. I, too, am entitled to it. I want to break with this old life. I end up making a long list of desires: dancing salsa half-naked, drinking hot chocolate in an Egyptian pyramid, making love in the ruins of a castle, sleeping in a field of flowers, bathing in a frozen Swedish lake … I love my freedom, and thanks to it, I start planning simple things. I begin to think about what I would like to do in the future now that I no longer feel doomed. I'm ashamed. It bothers me to speak like a former inmate. It's so unfair to Paul. He's probably asleep at this hour, or he's dreaming of bot

Deep down, I was seething. It had nothing to do with love but regrets. I had the same dissatisfaction that one feels after swallowing a huge apple pie. When you do, it's sweet, fresh, tasty. But then? What's left? I blame my sorrows. I had sex with Paul while he was making love to me. He whispered words to me that I don't even want to repeat. Tender words, but I don't want them anymore. I felt he had changed his method. He tried to innovate. He switched position three times, probably trying to extort cries of excitement from me. I was not a good girl. That is the least you could say. I kept looking at the clock above the sofa and hoped it would go faster, much like when you are at sc

No, I wasn't expecting it. Of course, I had noticed this slightly lost gaze of his. How else could it have been? He reminded me of a teenager who was after a girl's phone number at all costs. I had anticipated everything but that! When will I finally drop my hypocrisy? When will I realize that Paul and I have been together for more than 8 years and after such a long time spent together, we need something else than a plain 'good morning' each time we wake up. And last night, I can't help but shudder when I think about it. I really think I felt his hands caress my chest. With a soft and light hand, yes. But had I invited him to? Carole doesn't understand me. I have what she does not have and what she would like to have. Nocturnal caresses, little atte

C'était la première fois que je rentrais dans un cabinet de thérapeute. Je ne savais pas à quoi m'attendre: des diplômes partout sur les murs pour montrer qu'il maîtrise son sujet, des plantes pour me relaxer, des Kleenex en cas de pleurs, un joli divan pour m'y allonger.Et le thérapeute lui-même, je ne sais pas pourquoi mais je l'imaginais chauve et avec un ventre bien rebondi. Avant d'entrer, j'avais entendu sa voix. Je ne l'avais pas aimée. Je l'avais trouvée sans chaleur et sans émotion.Aussi froide qu'un gant de toilette placé sur le front pour atténuer la fièvre.

J'aimerais jeter le téléphone dans une poubelle et partir en courant, mais encore une fois, ça prouverait ma lâcheté. Je dois affronter Paul, lui dire que les mots déposés dans la cuisine disaient vrai. Il aura mal. Ça me fera pleurer car dans le fond, je sais qu'il est le perdant de l'histoire. Mon téléphone sonne encore. Pourquoi il insiste? Il n'a toujours pas compris? Je pensais avoir été claire, pourtant. Je le savais attaché mais là, j'ai l'impression d'avoir vécu avec une sangsue. Et si c'était un psychopathe? J'ai peur qu'il me fasse chanter et me parle de suicide à coup de médicaments! Et là, à cette simple pensée, c'est plu

654B. Un code qui peut mener au plaisir comme au pire des tourments. Je ne sais même plus si je veux le composer. Je le fixe, l'air interrogateur et me demande si je ne suis pas en train de faire la pire erreur de ma vie. Je pensais avoir fait une grave erreur en vivant avec Paul pendant 8 ans mais, je me dis qu'on peut toujours innover, que rien n'est figé.Un amour, même prononcé un soir mal éclairé, peut se dire que l'heure de repartir est arrivée.C'est terrible, quand on y pense. Mais pourquoi ce profond sentiment de culpabilité m'approche et m'empêche de respirer? Bon sang, je suis libre! J'

Un coup d'œil à ma montre me prouve qu'il est 8H37. Quelle précision. J'avais au moins ça en commun avec Paul. Ce respect du détail et de la clarté. Il est encore tôt et je me sens bien dans les rues presque désertes. Je crois à une seconde vie, du moins à sa possibilité. J'ai envie d'y croire et de me dire qu'à 38 ans, tout peut se reconstruire. On détruit des maisons pour les rendre plus belles. Moi aussi, j'y ai droit. Je veux rompre avec cette ancienne vie. Je me surprends à découvrir une longue liste de désirs: danser la salsa à moitié nue, boire un chocolat chaud dans une Pyramide Egyptienne, faire l'amour dans les ruines d'un château, Dormir dans un champ de fleurs, me baigner dans un lac suédois glacé...

Intérieurement je bouillonnais. Non, pas de plaisir ni d'amour mais de regrets.J'avais le même regret que l'on ressent après avoir avalé une énorme tarte aux pommes. Sur le moment, c'est doux, c'est frais, c'est bon. Mais après? Que reste-t-il? Je suis désolée d'éprouver des regrets. J'ai couché avec Paul pendant qu'il me faisait l'amour. Il m'a susurré des mots que je ne veux même pas répéter. Des mots tendres mais je ne les veux plus.J'ai senti qu'il avait changé de méthode. Il a tenté d'innover. Il a changé trois fois de position, cherchant sans doute à m'arracher des cris d'excitation. J'ai été incorrecte. J'ai regardé l'horloge au-dessus du canapé et j'ai espéré qu'elle avance plus vite,

Non, je ne m'y attendais pas. J'avais remarqué son regard légèrement perdu. Il me faisait penser à un adolescent qui, après avoir repéré une fille dans la cour de récréation tenait absolument à rentrer chez lui avec son numéro. Je m'attendais à tout sauf à ça ! Quand vais-je enfin cesser mon hypocrisie ? Quand vais-je prendre conscience que Paul et moi, ça fait plus de 8 ans et qu'au bout de tant d'années, on ne peut plus se contenter d'un simple ' Bonjour' matinal ? Et la nuit dernière, je frissonne quand j'y repense. Je crois vraiment avoir senti ses mains caresser ma poitrine. D'une main douce et légère, oui. Mais l'y avais-je invité ? Carole ne me comprend pas. J'ai ce qu'elle n'a pas et qu'elle rêverait d' avoir.