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Man Who Loved Women The

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One funeral is just like another.
However, this one is special.
Not a man in sight...
only women...
nothing but women.
Yes, I think Bertrand...
would have enjoyed the sight of his funeral.
This is the moment of truth. From where he lies...
he can take a last look at what he liked best in us.
"Women's legs are compasses...
which circle the globe...
giving it its balance and harmony. "
Here, sir, your laundry!
Madame Carmen...
there is something in your hair...
Thank you.
6720 RD 34...
Yes, we could find the car's owner...
but we couldn't give you his name.
That's too bad.
You see, I gave someone a lift in my car.
She left something in my car.
A camera.
She left a camera on the seat. I want to return it.
- And you don't know her name? - Only her license plate number.
I'm sorry, it's not permitted. It's impossible.
You see, if she had damaged your car, your insurer could track her down.
I see.
When I returned, my front right fender was smashed.
Didn't the person who hit you leave a note or anything?
Nothing. But I saw the car taking off and I got the license number.
Good, give it to me. I'll write it down, Monsieur Morane.
6720 RD 34.
Thank you, M. Morane...
we'll find the owner and call you back right away.
Don't worry about disturbing me, even at my office.
No, I'll call you.
We must find this woman.
How do you know it's a woman?
- How do I know? - Yes, how do you know?
It's intuition.
Bertrand! Telephone!
Your insurance agent.
Did you find the owner?
It's not that simple. The car was rented from Midi-Car.
There is no police report. You'd have to sue Midi-Car.
It's not easy.
Okay, we'll sue Midi-Car.
Yes. Midi-Car!
After all, it's one of Midi's cars that smashed my right fender.
So, if I ask for the name of the driver of that car...
it shouldn't be illegal.
We can't let you look at our files.
But if your insurance files a claim and sends us a bill for the repairs...
there should be no problem at all.
No problem, no problem. But believe me, ladies...
it's not just a matter of being reimbursed.
My car was parked. I wasn't in it.
Some driver hits it, smashes the fender and just drives off.
Well, I want to find this idiot and tell him what I think!
I understand, Monsieur, but I can't change the rules for you.
Well, I won't give up.
Good bye, ladies!
Monsieur! Monsieur!
I saw your car, and I think you are right.
Here is the name of the person who rented the car.
Mlle. Desdoits, Avenue Paul Ricquet, Béziers.
Thank you, madame.
You're very nice.
If there's any problem, come back to see me.
My car is seriously damaged.
I wanted to ask Mlle. Desdoits if she finds it normal to hit parked cars.
You've taken me by surprise, Monsieur.
My daughter will be back for lunch. Can she call you back?
No. I'm calling from Montpellier.
I'm coming to Béziers to talk to her in person.
Yes, I'm listening.
May I speak to Mlle. Desdoits?
Wait, I'll call my daughter.
It's the same man who called before.
Yes, it's me.
What's this story about a smashed car?
Don't worry, Mlle. My car is okay.
It's fine.
I needed a pretext to find you. That's the truth.
There never was an accident.
Ever since I saw you in Montpellier...
I haven't been able to stop thinking about you.
I couldn't have talked to you right then in the street...
but you were so beautiful that I was overcome...
I would have been speechless for sure.
I had trouble finding you, but I don't regret it.
I would have crossed all of France.
I've come a long way to see you.
Don't refuse to meet me.
I need to see you.
I think you're playing a big joke on me.
Frankly, Mlle...
do I sound like somebody who is joking?
No, you're right.
But tell me, how did you get my name and address?
From Midi-Car.
Ah! I see.
Where are you now?
Five minutes from your house at the Monte Carlo Café.
Say you'll come.
Yes. I'll come.
Pardon me, Monsieur...
Are you the owner of the car that wasn't in the accident?
Fresh lemonade.
Great idea.
The same for me.
You were more talkative on the telephone.
Does it surprise you that I came, just like that...
to such a strange rendezvous?
I don't know if you'll answer me sincerely...
but now that I am seated in front of you...
aren't you disappointed?
Absolutely not.
There's something different about you.
Perhaps your hair?
Weren't you wearing a scarf?
What did you like about me when you first saw me...
that made you go to all this trouble?
It's hard to explain.
Well, there you were in this laundry.
Then I saw you leave.
You were wearing a pale green silk dress...
with a scooped neck.
It was fringed at the arms and knees.
The movement of your walk...
and your dress was so beautiful to see.
When you crossed the street, I thought you were about to conquer the town.
It was really my dress you wanted to find, not me.
It was everything.
I don't want to prolong the misunderstanding...
that could embarrass the both of us.
Look at this picture.
That's me, and that's my cousin Marianne.
She's the one you saw in Montpellier.
She does have a gorgeous body.
She was just visiting here.
She lives with a Canadian near Montreal.
She's on a plane now.
I'm sorry.
I can give you her address.
She won't come back to France for two years.
Oh, I know Montreal.
I was there a few years ago.
I'm sorry to have bothered you.
Well, I'll go back to Montpellier.
If there's any problem come back and see me.
- She has left. - Thank you.
Good evening.
Remember me?
Did you find the person from Béziers?
Yes, it's okay.
I wanted to thank you.
Oh, yes, yes. You didn't have to do it.
Listen, may I invite you to dinner?
You don't have to repay me.
It's not to repay you. It's my pleasure.
It's to get to know you.
Well, then, okay.
What evening?
Why not tonight?
Tonight? Now?
I don't know this island.
Does it really exist?
Oh, yes. It's a...
I don't know, a tiny island...
where some women came to live among themselves...
alone without any men.
You mean, there are only women?
Nothing but women?
How many?
I don't know.
I read an article on it.
There are about a hundred.
I thought of going there, but it would have been crazy.
I like men too much.
Is that why you agreed to have dinner with me?
Oh, I don't know.
I think it's hard to refuse you anything.
You have a special way of asking.
It's as if your life depended on it.
But then, perhaps it's just a ruse on your part.
The lady killer who doesn't look like one.
The wolf with a worried look.
I'm not a lady killer.
They disgust me.
I think they're pitiful.
I don't like lady killers either.
Yet anyway, here we both are!
This is nice.
I make toys in my spare time.
They're not bad.
You could sell them for sure.
this style of glasses would look better on you.
The ones you have are too wide for your face.
How do I look?
Oh, yes!
You're right. Not bad at all.
You have to leave?
You can spend the night here.
No. I have to go.
You look sad. Are you?
No. I'm not sad.
I have to get up early.
Here's my telephone number.
You can call me if you want.
No obligation.
We're free, right?
Yes, we are free.
Bertrand... Yes, it's me again, Isabelle.
I typed the envelope...
to be sure you wouldn't tear up my letter...
when you saw my handwriting.
Why the silence for a month?
If you didn't want to see me again, you should'vejust said so.
I won't bother you again.
Call me if you feel like it.
If not... good bye.
This is your wake-up service. It's 7 a. M...
Don't hang up. It's you.
What a relief.
Relief? Why?
I'd know your voice in a thousand.
There are only twenty-seven of us.
I only want to be awakened by you.
You don't know what they did last time.
They had someone else wake me.
I'm sorry to hear that.
If it happens again, how can I reach you?
What's your name?
I can't say. I must hang up.
Please, one more minute.
I'm going to call you Aurore.
Why Aurore?
Because you wake me at dawn.
The old styles are coming back.
Oh yes... as before.
I think they're prettier.
But no matter what...
women will always be women.
Remember that miniskirts became popular some years ago?
Men were wild about them.
But not me. I thought...
"Well, now, they can't get any shorter.
They'll have to get longer."
That's just what happened.
And it really is prettier, no?
Obviously, I'm not the only one who thinks so.
Will these Paris fashions sell here?
Come back and I'll let you know.
We're ready, Madame. In the fitting room.
I'll be right there.
Did you see this client? She has gorgeous breasts.
Ah, I didn't notice.
Gorgeous. They used to be blah. Blah.
Then she went to a clinic in Japan.
I have to go. Bye.
I forgot.
The granny gowns just arrived.
Tell the woman you saw the other day.
I don't see her anymore.
With some women, you wonder if they're really interested in love.
Others, it's written all over their face.
One day there will be something between that woman and me.
I'm not in any rush.
Wait a moment.
We'll be talking about the X 15 next week.
Yes. Okay. Good... Hurry, Philippe...
We thought so.
We'll wait for the report.
We'll need to talk to Morane.
Maybe you can ask him to come for a drink.
That's all we can do until we get the report from the Captain.
What's with Morane?
Philippe is looking for him.
I'm calling Toulouse again.
Then we'll see what happens.
What's with Morane?
He's not coming.
You'll never see him in the company of men after 6 p. M...
You asked to be awakened at 8 a. M...
Get up, lazybones.
Ah! Aurore, I've got you back at last!
Where were you yesterday morning?
Asleep in my bed.
In your bed.
Alone, I hope.
None of your business.
You're really mean to me.
I haven't told you the worst.
Yesterday, a man's voice awakened me.
They've hired men now. It's mixed.
Mixed! "It's mixed."
That's an amusing term.
But to be awakened by a man is unbearable!
I nearly cancelled my service!
Ah! I love your laugh.
Aurore, we have to meet.
Set a time.
No, absolutely not. Anyway, you'd be disappointed.
But why?
I'm pigeon-toed. I'm hunchbacked and one eye is smaller than the other.
How deceitful... how sneaky!
Just when you're ready to meet me you tell me how ugly you are...
so I'll be pleasantly surprised.
You're way off.
That's not it. You'll never see me.
I'm just the 7 a.m. Aurore.
What happened?
Did the Montpellier Moral Society make you remove the black lingerie?
Far from it!
I'm sold out. They went like hotcakes.
I'm leaving.
You can stay a minute!
- Is this Hélène? - Oh, it's you.
Hold on a minute.
You're all set, Madame.
Allow me.
- I'm sorry, but I'm not free tonight. - Oh, you're not free tonight.
Well, that's okay.
I'll eat, then go to a movie.
- Good. I'll call you tomorrow. - I'll be here.
Sorry, I just wanted to tell you.
Sorry. I wasn't listening, but I heard.
Instead of eating alone, why don't we have dinner together?
And then, if you want, we can go to the movies.
Sure, why not.
It's yes?
I'll be happy to.
Pick me up at closing time, okay?
I was very shy as a kid, too.
You, shy? Oh, no!
That's like saying I'm a virgin.
I said, when I was a kid.
I don't believe you.
My veins would swell, I'd turn pale.
What shall we do now?
- We could go to my place. - Your place!
That's it.
Listen, I have to talk to you.
I don't want to play games with you, or play innocent.
I like you a lot.
I hope we'll remain friends after what I tell you.
Sure, tell me.
Okay. I know men well.
At least, I think so.
I know what would happen if I went to your place.
I know what you'd expect, and I wouldn't agree.
So you'd be disappointed and angry.
Let me explain, Bertrand.
I'm forty-one years old.
I'm very sentimental, but I'm only attracted to boys...
younger than myself.
I like young boys.
I don't cruise the local high school, but I don't know why...
I don't even look at anyone over thirty.
Time is very hard on us.
Our faces aren't beat up like a boxer's...
but it's all the same.
It happens to everyone.
I find it hard to accept aging.
I can't accept that love adjusts to it.
Does that sound absurd?
I'm sure you are attracted to young girls...
with young skin...
who don't have this... and this...
and this.
Isn't that true?
There is a certain logic in what you say.
However, when I was younger, I was attracted to older men.
Too bad we didn't meet each other then.
Yes and no.
I would have probably found you too young then.
You're not angry with me?
No. Absolutely not.
I really enjoyed spending this evening with you.
I'll take you home.
My God! I look like a witch tonight!
No, you don't look like a witch.
I find you beautiful.
Really? You find me beautiful?
I have for a long time.
May I kiss you?
No, a real kiss.
So the pretty bra salesgirl can make love...
with soft-skinned boys only.
It's not my first turn-down, but it's the most unexpected.
I always thought it would happen with a young girl.
But a woman my age rejects me!
That's why I'm going to try to write this book.
Also because with all the photos I've accumulated, I might start to forget.
I've already forgotten so many of their names...
even though I remember the faces and places.
I had kept my date books for several years.
I threw them out when I left Paris.
I'm going to try to remember as far back as possible to my first woman.
The one who is never forgotten...
As is the case for nine out of ten men of my age...
my first erotic experience took place in a brothel.
I had waited for a long time on a busy street...
then I chose a woman just as she was moving away from the passersby.
She took me to a room...
where I waited for instructions...
or at least for a sign as to how to proceed.
I noticed that she was staring at me.
This is not the first time you're with a woman, is it.
Yes, it is.
You should have chosen a prettier girl...
prettier and younger.
Wait here.
Wait for me. Don't move.
During her absence...
I noticed an empty shelf.
A library...
without books.
This is Ginette.
Thanks to that generous gesture...
I'm lucky to have a good first memory...
and an unfailing fondness for streetwalkers.
It would be too easy to assume that virtuous women...
are those who walk fast.
I remember a Parisian whore who walked the streets at top speed.
Her trick was to create doubt in a client's mind.
He would follow her, wondering, is she a whore or not?
And he would go up in the hope of conquering a lady...
rather than a professional who would simply quote her price.
My mother walked fast as well...
in a black pleated skirt...
and a look on her face, that would discourage any man.
"I would be better off with a broken leg...
than with a little idiot like him. "
But anyway, I remember precisely the day...
she saw me at the entrance of the park, talking to a little girl my age.
She stopped for a second, then continued on...
as if I were a complete stranger.
"Who was that flat-assed little goose?"
I remember as if it was yesterday.
"You don't make up such things.
But why is it a good memory?"
The little goose was named Ginette.
She could seldom go out...
because she had to take care of her baby brother.
I had always suffered being an only child.
I loved other children.
So Ginette would invite me over.
In order to spice up our games of hide-and-seek...
she would turn off all the lights...
which would invariably make the baby howl.
It was thus in playing with Ginette...
"that I realized...
that the company of women...
was indispensable to me.
I need to be with them...
or, at least...
to look at them. "
For me, nothing is more beautiful to see than a woman walking...
as long as she is wearing a dress or skirt...
that moves to the rhythm of her stride.
Some women walk towards a goal...
a rendezvous perhaps.
Some arejust passing the time of day.
Some are so beautiful from the back...
that I hesitate to catch up so as not to be disappointed.
But I'm never disappointed.
When they turn out to be ugly...
I feel somehow relieved...
because, unfortunately, I can't have them all.
Thousands of them walk the streets every day.
Who are all these women?
Where are they going?
To what appointment?
If their heart is free, their body is available.
I don't have the right to let a chance go by.
The truth is, they want the same thing I do.
They want love.
Everyone wants love...
all kinds of love.
Physical love, sentimental love...
orjust the tenderness of someone...
they know will never look at anyone else.
Not so for me.
"I look at everyone.
Like certain animals...
women hibernate."
They disappear for four months. No one sees them.
Then with the first ray of March sunlight, as if on cue...
as if given the order to mobilize...
they amass in the streets, in light dresses and high heels.
And life begins again.
At last you can rediscover their bodies...
"and see two categories:
The fillies...
and the kittens."
There's a filly...
a kitten.
A beautiful leg is very pretty...
but I am not against heavy ankles.
I'm even attracted to them.
There's the promise of greater harmony at the top of the leg.
The mystery of the mail...
is fathomless.
The legs of women...
are compasses...
"The legs of women are compasses."
They circle the globe...
giving it its balance and harmony.
I recently realized that in winter I'm attracted by big breasts.
However, in summer small breasts suit me fine.
Two kittens walking arm in arm.
What do all these women have?
What do they have that is different from the ones I know?
Well, the difference is...
"that they are unknown to me."
Wake-up service!
Get up, lazybones. It's 7 a.m.!
You're kidding.
7 a.m. already?
I hadn't realized.
It's unbelievable.
I wasn't sleeping.
I spent the entire night writing.
To whom? To me?
No, I'm writing a book.
- Well, I'm trying to. - A book... fantastic!
I hope you mention me in your book.
We'd have to meet first.
You don't give up, do you?
Aurore, I'm not kidding. I feel very troubled.
Maybe it's because of this book.
I want to know you.
I need to.
I'm so lonely.
Up to now I've said "no". Now I'm saying "maybe".
I think about you a lot, you know.
I'll think about it.
Aurore, what are you wearing?
No, don't laugh.
It's very important.
I'm wearing slacks. Disappointed?
You want to know if I'm naked under my sweater...
No, I'm wearing a Lejaby bra, that's the make.
Oh, yes. Lejaby's the one that closes in the back...
and has adjustable straps...
and a plastic S-shaped clasp.
Brave. You won 1,000 francs. What do you want?
I want to see you... as soon as possible.
I have to hang up. My supervisor's coming.
Those two believe in Santa Claus.
Today it's true love...
but in seven years she'll run off with another guy...
or he'll have found a younger girl.
The house will be sold and the children farmed out.
Bertrand, that fellow the other day was a lawyer, right?
Yes. His name is Blady.
Could you give me his address?
It's just not working out with my wife.
I want a divorce.
A divorce?
When did you decide that?
Two months ago, but I'd thought about it last year.
If I were you, I'd take a second look before going to a lawyer.
You have a wife. She seemed nice to me.
You have a son.
I know...
everyone is getting divorced these days...
but there's no need to follow the trend.
What do you want? Your freedom?
And what will you do with it?
If I were you, I'd wait two or three months.
That's my advice.
Now, if you want Blady's number, I'll give it to you.
Excuse me, madame. Madame Duteil, please.
- At the top of the stairs, sir. - Thank you.
- Madame Duteil? - Yes, sir.
I was given your address. I understand you do freelance typing.
Yes, please come in.
Come in quickly.
The little beast is as fast as it can be.
Is it a thesis?
No. It is not a thesis.
I'm not at the university.
It's sort of a manuscript, the first draft of a book.
Oh, a literary manuscript?
Yes, somewhat.
I've done those before.
Oh, there's already a first draft.
Yes, I typed it with two fingers.
There are a lot of mistakes.
And I am too impatient to make copies.
Only sixty pages.
The first five chapters.
I'll bring the rest as I finish them.
I suppose you want five copies of this.
I charge nine-and-a-half francs per page.
It'll be ready in three days.
When I moved to Montpellier, one of my first mistresses was Fabienne.
She taught at the conservatory.
Fabienne and I agreed on almost everything.
And though our relationship lasted quite long, we parted friends.
"No. To be honest, we didn't part on such good terms."
I had almost forgotten that unpleasant evening.
Before she arrived, I had a fire in the fireplace.
Women love that.
She said to me, "Basically, you're kind, very nice, really.
If you'd love mejust a little, you'd be perfect. "
Hello, taxi depot?
Yes, hello.
I want a taxi. 12, rue des Peupliers.
Wait a moment, sir. We're getting your cab.
I can stay if you want.
In three minutes.
Three minutes. Thanks.
I can sleep here with you.
No, it's best this way.
I'll see you Friday.
No, I don't think so.
I don't want to see you anymore.
I know I don't offer you a lot.
It's too unequal.
I'm tired of this one-way relationship.
I know you're right.
I'm free. You're free.
Everyone's free.
I know one thing: You don't even pretend to care about me.
You're unbelievable.
You don't want to love, and you refuse to be loved.
But you just love the idea of love.
I was happy with you.
You remember our second date when you asked me:
"From now on, am I allowed to put my hands on you?
Am I allowed to touch you everywhere, under your dress or skirt?"
I was shocked.
No one ever spoke to me that way.
I know what I should have done, told you nothing and kept the baby.
You wish you were somewhere else, huh?
Don't worry. I'm leaving.
I've got something in my shoe.
Five years ago I hurt a man.
I'm sorry.
I was too young to understand.
Now I'm sure of one thing:
He who hurts me, gets hurt.
I'm sure of it.
- You're going to suffer, Bertrand. - Who says I haven't already?
I don't think so.
You wouldn't be so nasty.
You'd be more compassionate.
I'm not angry with you, you know.
I think it's best for me to stop seeing you now.
Kiss me again.
You're a fool.
I'll caress myself while thinking of you.
Fabienne was right.
In order to win her, I let her believe...
that I would be part of her life...
which wasn't at all true.
I've managed to avoid that mistake again.
After Fabienne's departure, I found myself alone again.
That was quite fine with me, because I've always liked solitude.
However, it was this solitude...
which two days later led me to a theatre to see a documentary...
though I've always only liked fiction.
That night the real show was not on the screen.
The usherette had beautiful legs and she knew it...
because she was constantly shining her flashlight on them...
instead of showing the way.
I wondered how I could meet her.
Two days later I returned to the theatre.
It was a Saturday evening and the theatre was full.
She put me in a folding chair, right next to her.
Since the sound of the film was low...
I could hear her crossing and uncrossing her legs...
her stockings rubbing against each other.
That noise so excited me that it gave me the courage...
to give her a note asking for a rendezvous.
My pretty usherette was a young widow.
Was it the operetta The Merry Widow...
which made the word "widow" intriguing to me?
I must add that Nicole was deaf and mute.
The first time I was at her house...
I found myself playing with a radio receiver.
She told me in sign language...
that it belonged to her son, who was away at school.
She had had him punished, so she could spend the day with me.
This cruel information made me very sad.
Was it definitely impossible...
"to find pleasure without hurting someone?"
The unhappy fate of this poor child sent me back in time...
to the saddest period of my childhood...
when my mother would leave me alone for days...
to be with her lovers.
My mother used to keep a record of her love affairs.
Going through her belongings one night, I found a stack of photos and letters...
a list of her love affairs with names and dates.
But I, Bertrand, son of Christine Morane...
"30 years later, what was I doing, with my numerous mistresses...
my lists, my drawers full of photos?
An unending collection?
Isn't this book I'm writing nothing but a detailed list?"
Hello, he'll call back in two hours, sir.
Thanks, Liliane.
Good morning.
- Good morning, Liliane. - Good morning.
Just a moment, sir.
I must write about Liliane in my book.
We have a good relationship.
It goes back to when she was a waitress where I sometimes dined.
- Please. - Thank you.
Do you smoke?
I quit a month ago.
Here's the menu.
Thank you, Germaine.
My name isn't Germaine.
- Thank you, Janine. - Or Janine, either.
It's okay.
What'll you have?
Yes, today's special.
Veal stew.
Not the veal.
Then give me the chicken and a green salad.
Chicken, green salad. Very good, sir.
- What will you have? - I'll have the veal stew.
Yes, stew. Very good, sir.
And a veal stew.
Are you from Montpellier?
I'm just passing through.
Here you are.
- I'll bring you the salt. - Thanks.
That's enough now, buddy!
That's no way to treat a customer, Miss Liliane.
You're fired.
Luckily, an operator's job was available at the lab.
I got Liliane thejob.
She was never my mistress.
She is the exception to the rule.
She is probably proof that friendship can exist between men and women.
M. Morane, someone from the police.
Hey, Bertrand, some guy's looking for you.
The police.
The police?
- M. Morane? - That's me.
I came to talk to you about Mme. Grézel.
Do you remember her?
Come this way, please.
Mme. Grézel is to be released from prison.
For good behavior.
But there's a problem.
One of the prison guards informed us that she often spoke of you...
sometimes in a menacing way.
So be careful. I've been asked to alert you.
So done, sir.
Good bye, sir.
Well, Delphine Grézel is out of prison!
Of course I remember her.
The first time I saw Delphine was in a country restaurant.
I was alone, and as it is my habit, I was checking out the women.
It's coming, sir. It's coming.
It doesn't take forty minutes to cook two lamb chops!
- I'll see. - I hope so.
A restaurant is an ideal place for budding lovers...
but dreadful for married couples.
Those two are bored to death.
But they don't dare admit it.
Since this fellow is incapable of amusing his wife...
I'd like to try.
Will he dare to start without her?
No, of course not.
What first drew me to Delphine was the way she moved...
like a piece of seaweed.
She didn't look at all like a woman who would one day end up in prison.
She sensed my interest...
and gave me looks that were for me...
like a promise of complicity.
I'm not hungry at all.
Yes, that look definitely promised yes.
- Is this Dr. Grézel's? - Yes, it is.
- What luck you answered. - Whose luck?
I followed you from the restaurant. I must talk to you immediately.
Where are you calling from?
From the café across the street from you.
Listen, come down and join me.
- What? - Yes, it'll only take five minutes.
It's very important. Find an excuse to go out.
What time is it?
It's 11:20.
Are you coming?
I don't know... Meet me in the stairwell.
Don't take the escalator.
Wait on the fourth floor. I promise nothing.
Well, good.
I left my purse in the car. I'll park the car in the garage while I'm at it.
Don't bother. I'll go.
No, I've got my keys. I'm already out the door.
Who are you? What are you doing here?
Who do you think I am? I called you.
Let's not stay here. Come.
I hope you realize I came here against my will.
I'm here to avoid a scandal.
My husband is well known here.
We can have a drink at my place. It's just five minutes away.
Yes. Okay.
Let's go to your place.
Don't think that you're going to get me drunk.
You can drink what you want.
I also have mineral water, fruit juice...
What sign are you?
Your zodiac sign?
Turn back immediately!
- But... - Take me home!
I've always been told to beware of Aquarians.
Here we are.
Well, you're home. Good bye.
You know what would be nice?
I have to put the car into the garage.
You could go with me. It's not safe at night.
Once again, good bye.
Wait. I have the right to know.
Why did you do that?
It's very simple.
I saw you in the restaurant.
I thought you were very pretty. I couldn't take my eyes off you.
And you looked at me, too.
I took that as a go-ahead.
I looked at you in the restaurant?
I didn't even see you.
You can't say that you didn't look at me.
Even if I misinterpreted it, you can't say that.
Why try to convince you? I'm going.
You don't like me anymore?
Careful. My neighbor's car. Hide.
He mustn't see you here.
Kiss me again.
I noticed you right away in the restaurant.
When I got to go upstairs...
it was to attract your attention.
It took me a while before I understood what Delphine wanted.
What she liked, what she needed...
was to drag me into precarious situations...
where we risked discovery each time after making love...
in a doorway, in a park, or in her car...
and she had shown me the wildest abandon.
My God! The things you make me do!
In the beginning of our relationship...
I found her accommodating, then jealous. Both were true.
If a pretty girl came towards us, she'd tell me to look.
The girl is pretty, isn't she? Graceful.
Oh, yes. She is pretty.
You disgusting rat!
Why don't you just leave me here and go after her?
I'll go first, but I forbid you to look at my legs.
Love-making brings good colors.
In Delphine's case...
so much that she had to wait quite a while before she could go home.
We'd noticed that the only thing that helped was...
sticking her head out the window going eighty mph.
Remember the first time we saw each other in that restaurant?
How pitiful you looked, all alone...
reading a newspaper.
I wasn't pitiful at all.
I like being alone, even in restaurants.
And I love to read.
Which do you prefer: To read... or to kiss me?
Oh, listen. Come on, Delphine!
I kept asking her to come to my place.
But that was too easy for her complicated being.
She preferred to choose the time, the place, and the way.
That tie couldn't have walked off on its own.
What tie?
The tie I was wearing!
The striped one.
I think Maurice suspects something.
He found your tie under my pillow.
My tie?
The one I lost in the dressing room?
I'm the one who took it!
You knew I was looking for it.
Oh, don't get angry.
I did it because I wanted something of yours.
Something I could hold while I slept.
It looks like a real apartment.
Come here.
Come on, Delphine!
Delphine was becoming too dangerous.
One night when I came home, I noticed a body lying on the landing.
What are you doing here?
I fell asleep waiting for you.
How long have you been here?
I don't know. They wouldn't open the door.
What is this? Is it yours?
Yes. It must have dropped out of my purse.
They wouldn't let me in.
But there's no one in my apartment.
You're just saying that.
I heard a woman walking about.
A woman walking about!
But there's no one there.
See, it's double locked.
She must have locked it from inside.
This is the kitchen.
This is the bathroom.
And here the bedroom.
See, no one's here.
It's true.
I was worried.
You haven't caressed my legs for a week.
Delphine! You forbade it!
Do you believe everything you're told?
I love your shoulders.
Don't you think you should change your sofa?
It's beginning to look old.
It's in terrible shape.
The springs are completely gone.
It's disgusting.
When I think of what's gone on on this sofa!
I am sure.
Why do you think I never wanted to come over?
You make me sick! I feel sorry for you.
You're exaggerating.
I have friends over.
They sit on the couch.
You don't have friends.
You only have mistresses.
Your friends are old mistresses.
If this couch could talk...
it would mention every name in the phone book.
But really, Delphine, why such a scene?
For the past three months, I've been asking you to come here.
Now you're here, and I'm happy.
It's true.
It's true.
I know why you've been avoiding me.
I love you too much.
Men don't like to be loved for their bodies.
For ages I made sure...
that no woman spent the entire night in my bed...
and here, this morning, I woke up next to Delphine.
I knew that it was herjealousy that had made her come to my place.
But now, hearing her humming in the apartment...
I felt we had finally reached a simple and harmonious relationship.
What are you reading?
Is it interesting?
Well, I think that book is worthless!
How do you know? You haven't read it.
What do you know?
I'm not an idiot.
I'm not unliterate.
The word is "illiterate," not "unliterate".
Anyway, this book was just published.
It just arrived in Montpellier yesterday.
I ordered it special. I really wanted to read it.
You're lying through your teeth!
Anyway, you're just pretending to read.
You read to annoy me, to avoid me.
Yes, yes!
So you won't have to talk to me.
You disgust me.
I had to go down to the street in my pajamas to retrieve my book.
"If I were free, would you live with me?"...
Well, by that night she was free.
She had shot her husband.
But the next day she was no longer free. She was in prison.
"Luckily, her husband was only wounded.
But the law is the law.
I tried to chase from my thoughts...
the role I played in this newsworthy crime of passion."
After Delphine's arrest, I went through a gloomy period...
gloomy and chaste.
Delphine had made my life difficult, but, at the same time, exciting.
She had a gift for living.
Now that she was no longer aggravating me, I felt a void.
I even missed her fits ofjealousy.
I had to admit to myself that with Delphine there was never a dull moment.
Since she was many women in one, she could not be replaced by one woman.
So I had many superficial affairs at the same time.
I remember some of them with pleasure.
For a short time, women came and went in my life.
Yannick... I liked the way she looked when she put her hair up on her head.
But the chignon gave her a headache.
But to please me she would keep it for an hour or two.
At a county fair I met this beautiful woman...
who said her name was Alphonsine.
She was the star of a bizarre act.
Lying in a coffin lined with mirrors...
she gave the impression of revealing her skeleton.
She would proudly say that her act was so well faked...
that even doctors believed it.
Lucette was a statuesque woman with an old-fashioned look.
She hated her nose...
and constantly talked about having it fixed.
Not without difficulty, I convinced her not to.
Evelyn thought that I jumped on her the moment...
she came through the door.
One day she arrived in a dress...
which she had inherited from her grandmother.
It had porcelain buttons.
It took me thirteen minutes to free her body from those 137 buttons.
That pretty redhead was my neighbor.
Her name was Maité. Now that I am writing this book...
I realize that what attracted me to her was seeing her read.
I owe my love for books and reading to my mother.
Once again she had forbidden me to play...
to move, or even to sneeze.
I was not allowed to get up from my chair...
but I could read all I wanted...
as long as I didn't make noise turning the pages.
She used to walk half-naked in front of me.
Not to provoke me, but rather, to reassure herself that I didn't exist.
In giving me her love letters to mail...
she showed me confidence I didn't deserve.
They seldom reached their destination.
"My love, I don't understand your silence.
I haven't received a letter from you in two weeks.
I wonder whether mine ever reach you.
The mysteries of the mail are unfathomable. "
Have you had this burning sensation for long?
Since yesterday.
You were wise not to wait. It's silly to suffer needlessly.
In short, you have gonorrhea.
A mild infection that will disappear in three days.
You know the person who gave it to you?
I guess you wouldn't tell me even if you knew.
It doesn't matter.
Try to remember whom you had sex with in the last twelve days...
and tell the person you were with to go see a doctor.
It's contagious.
To tell the truth, in the past twelve days...
I've had sex with half a dozen women.
You're something!
I see your problem. You hate women.
What youth!
What appetite!
But look what's happened now.
When I was young, I was like you.
I was never allowed to eat an entire bar of chocolate.
It would make me furious.
I told myself, when I grow up...
I'll eat a bar of chocolate at every meal.
When I finally realized my dream, I came down with jaundice.
You can't make love all day. That's why work was invented.
I see you're looking at my books.
I'll show you...
So... no alcohol.
And especially no beer.
And remember, no carbonated mineral water.
And, of course, no sex...
during the entire treatment.
Here's your prescription.
Since you like books, I have something to show you.
Look at this one.
The Evolution of Trout Fishing.
It's my book.
My first and last.
I can see, it's not fishing...
but hunting that interests you.
I had the book published at author's expense.
"Author's expense?"
You mean you paid the publishing expenses?
It's too specialized a subject to interest publishers.
I'm curious because I'm writing a book.
A novel. I was wondering how to go about it.
Well, if it's a novel, you can send it to publishers.
But don't get your hopes up.
If you don't have a newspaper column or a lot of pull...
it's close to impossible to have a book published.
But you can always try.
You're young. Try your luck!
There's nothing more satisfying than to see your own book published.
Except, perhaps, giving birth to a baby...
which you have carried in your belly for nine months.
But that's something we can't do. At least, not yet.
Last night I had a terrible nightmare.
Hello, get up lazybones, it's 7 a.m.!
My God! It's impossible!
My alarm must have stopped during the night.
No, it's 3 a. M...
I felt like talking to you in the middle of the night.
I'm alone on duty.
You angry? Shall I hang up?
No, no, no. Certainly not.
You had a very good idea.
May I ask you something?
Turn off the light.
I feel like talking to you in the dark.
Just hang up when you're fed up listening to me.
Did you turn off the light?
Yes, I did. But tell me-
No, don't ask me anything.
I just felt like it, that's all. Are you alone?
It's almost dark here, too.
I turned off all the lights.
There's just the switchboard lights.
Listen... why don't you come over here tonight?
I was already there.
What do you mean?
Just after midnight, on my way to work.
I don't believe you.
I knocked gently on the door.
When you didn't answer, I left.
That's inconceivable.
Didn't you see the bell?
Of course I saw it.
But I was too shy to ring it.
Up to now, I almost believed you.
You want proof?
You live at 12, rue des Peupliers...
on the fifth floor of an old building.
There's a stained glass window on the landing.
So, you really did come?
Yes. I didn't ring, but I knocked.
I was afraid the bell would make too much noise.
I hate noise, I hate light.
Listen carefully.
I'm listening.
- Are you listening? - Yes.
One night, if I come back to your place...
you'll hear me knocking.
Don't make a sound. Don't say a word.
Turn off all the lights. Okay?
Okay. But why don't we make a date right now?
Are you still there?
Yes. I'm listening to your breathing.
Listen to mine, too.
Your lips are too far away.
Move closer to the receiver.
It's fantastic!
Tell me, why did you come by here?
Aurore, we can't go on like this.
Make a date...
any time, any place.
What if you're disappointed?
That's my problem.
Well, it's mine, too.
I'm not sure you could recognize me.
- In a thousand. - How about in twenty-five?
Today, exactly noon...
I'll be at the Post Café.
I won't make any move towards you. It's up to you to recognize me.
And you, how will you recognize me?
You're average height, thin, dark...
hollow cheeks, mysterious look.
You move your head like a little bird.
You often look preoccupied.
Sometimes you even look like a killer.
So that's what I'm like.
I know everything about you.
The women just come and go in your apartment.
It's seldom the same one. A real parade. It's scandalous!
Now, listen...
Yes, really, it's scandalous, a real parade.
Shall I tell you their names?
"Rendezvous cancelled. Bye, lazybones. Aurore."
What's the matter? Are you crying?
Why are you crying?
If I had a pretty red dress like yours, I wouldn't cry.
My sister won't let me use her skates.
Well, she's afraid you'll ruin them.
Or that you'll hurt yourself.
I hate her.
Sometimes I wish she weren't my sister.
It's a pity to cry like that.
I'm sure you're unhappy...
Nevertheless, when you cry like that, don't you enjoy it just a little?
- Tell me. - No, that's not true.
Think hard what you feel deep down.
You're crying, you're very unhappy.
But at the same time you're enjoying it a little.
Am I right?
Yes, it's true. I do enjoy it a little.
What's this book? May I see it?
The Little Ghost and The Witch's Island.
Is it good?
Was it your idea to put this cover on it, to protect it?
That's good. You're right to love books.
How old are you?
I'm nine.
And you can't wait to grow up?
How old would you like to be?
You're nine. You'll be seventeen in eight years...
in 1985.
Last night I was at home, not alone.
I went to the kitchen to get something to drink.
A surprise awaited me.
I was going to leave.
I could hear someone with you.
Yes, there is someone.
May I?
How did you get in here?
I wanted to surprise you.
It's my birthday, today.
I didn't want to be alone tonight.
Look, I brought something.
Well, open it.
We'll have a drink, then I'll leave.
You know... I changed a lot in prison.
I wouldn't go back there for anything.
But it really taught me to love life.
When you're locked up all day, all alone...
you realize what's important and what isn't.
You have only one desire: To be outside and to walk around.
Well... nothing else matters.
When I think of all the crazy things I did to you.
But I changed a lot.
To the core.
Admit that I was a pain in the neck.
Not at all.
I always found you charming.
Bertrand, what are you doing?
Oh, listen.
Let me bring her some champagne.
Okay, but not like that. Take off your raincoat.
Oh, no, it's impossible.
I can't take off my raincoat.
Hello, Mme. Duteil. Am I disturbing you?
No, please come in.
I came to pick up what you've typed and brought you some more.
Thank you.
And this is for you.
For me? What is it?
They're chocolates. I know you like them.
Thank you, M. Morane...
but you embarrass me.
I thought you might come today, and I wanted to tell you something.
I don't want to continue typing your manuscript.
Oh, it's much more interesting...
than my usual work.
But having to read and re-read all of this embarrasses me.
It disturbs me, even interferes with my sleep.
Please understand, M. Morane, I'm not a prude. I was married.
And though I do live alone, I do have a love life.
And I think I'm quite open-minded.
But I can't go on typing...
about all those interchangeable women.
It makes me sick.
I had to tell you this.
I don't want to hang you up.
I'll give you the address of a colleague.
I understand how you feel.
Anyway, who knows if I'll ever finish the book?
Yes, yes.
Tell me, how much do I owe you?
To write...
to express yourself...
is also to expose yourself to judgement.
The typist's condemnation of my book...
was all the more painful because it was done with kindness.
My very first reader had blacklisted me.
At first I stopped writing. I lost interest in everything.
Then I began to read nineteenth Century autobiographies.
How do you write about yourself?
How did others do it?
What were the rules?
I realized that there were no rules, that each book was different...
and expressed the author's personality.
Each page, each sentence of an author belonged to him alone.
His writing is as personal to him as his fingerprints.
This discovery gave me courage.
I took a week's vacation from the lab and locked myself up at home.
I moved the typewriter into the bathroom...
so I wouldn't be distracted either by the day, or by the sky...
or by the sun, or by the nightfall.
Images and memories rushed through my mind.
I typed as best as I could with two fingers.
The motion of the machine made my thoughts flow.
It was as if the book was writing itself.
I wrote about what seemed important or what seemed merely odd.
The ancient past, the recent past...
even the encounter with the crying little girl.
"If I had a pretty red dress like yours...
I wouldn't cry."
From that innerjourney, I emerged like a sleepwalker.
I felt exhilarated...
exhausted... walking on air...
stiff, yet laughing with fatigue.
On September 9 I collated the manuscript...
and wrote "The End. "
Only the title was missing.
Without wasting any time...
I took the first one that came to mind...
The Skirt Chaser.
Taking Dr. Bicard's advice...
I sent four copies to the top four Parisian publishers.
Sir, we regret to inform you...
that your manuscript, which we read with interest and which has potential...
has, however, not been retained by our committee.
We're returning your manuscript to you...
Sincerely yours...
The Skirt Chaser...
by Bertrand Morane.
Well, this one gets sent back to its author.
Sent back? What do you mean?
We could at least talk about it.
I'm sorry, Geneviève...
I have four reports here on the book.
Yours is the only positive one.
Really? You didn't like this book?
Frankly, I can't get interested...
in a man who takes himself for an irresistible seducer.
Here, M. Bétany.
I'll take a paragraph at random. Read it yourself.
"Somehow, I always manage to establish contact with women...
without having to approach them directly.
However, the pretty blonde..."
whom I was following would have gotten away...
if I hadn't decided to go up and talk to her.
Once again, fate intervened.
The opportunity for an indirect contact arose.
A bulletin board invited customers to pin up...
personal announcements.
My pretty shopper offered her services for baby sitting. "
Good evening. I'm the baby-sitter.
Very good. I'll show you around.
This is the living room.
I'm having dinner out tonight.
I'll be back around midnight.
Okay. And the baby?
He's in the next room. No, no, he's asleep.
I'll bring you some juice.
What's the meaning of this?
Where's the baby?
The baby...
it's me.
Well, if I understand...
The Skirt Chaser... I don't like the title at all.
It's the story of a womanizer who has never grown up.
Yes, more or less.
For me, the best part of the book...
is when Bertrand Morane talks about his childhood...
and his relationship with his mother.
Unfortunately, that's less than a chapter.
And psychologically, it doesn't hold.
It's filled with contradictions.
You don't know what to think of him.
Is he sick... a maniac...
a pathological case... a disillusioned romantic?
He's just a man!
It's true the book is filled with contradictions.
But since the book is about reality...
it's obvious these are the contradictions of life.
You say: "It's difficult to see what he's trying to prove."
He doesn't want to prove anything.
He simply relates...
without discriminating between details that mean something...
and those that simply show the absurdity of life.
M. Bétany, this is a good manuscript...
instinctive and sincere.
He's never exploitative, lots of anecdotes are cruel for him.
"He's mixed up. He pounces on all women."
Yes, he's mixed up.
But he knows it.
And it's often the women who throw themselves on him.
Like the one who was always pouncing on him in public places...
and then would say: "The things you make me do!"
Flight Air-Inter 5212 for Paris-Orly...
boarding at Gate 1.
Of course I sent this book so it would be published.
But I expected it to be more difficult.
You're sure it can be published the way it is?
I'd like to rewrite it, improve it, perhaps.
You're free to do so, but I think it would be a mistake.
In fact, it's the simplicity of your style I like.
It's clear you wrote it for yourself...
not to enhance your image as a writer.
Anyway, you have the proofs to correct in a few weeks.
The only change I'd suggest has to do with the title.
We don't like it very much.
"The Skirt Chaser."
I liked it better than The Woman Chaser.
I had considered The Ladies Man...
but in retrospect, I don't like it.
It's conceited. No, The Ladies Man.
But it's odd you should have thought of it...
because I wanted to suggest...
The Man Who Loved Women.
Oh, it's good.
It's a good title.
Yes, it's intriguing.
It's good.
But why "who loved"?
Why the imperfect tense?
It just sounds better.
And also, I think it works well with your style of writing.
You're not afraid to tell a story.
You're probably right.
Anyway, I believe in leaving it up to the experts.
It's agreed, The Man Who Loved Women.
It's perfect.
Is the hotel room we got you satisfactory?
Yes, yes. Very good.
I haven't been in Paris in a long time.
You undoubtedly prefer Montpellier.
According to your book...
it's the city with the most beautiful women in France.
Anyway, I'll go see for myself.
M. Bétany bought a printing house in Lunel.
Your novel will be printed there.
If you want, you can come there with me.
I'd love to.
I suppose you have friends in Paris.
Well, after a while.
Is Josiane there?
She's in the studio.
I'm going to take you to see the layout artist.
She designs all the covers.
She'll show you what she has in mind for your book.
So, we'll meet again in Montpellier.
Everyone here liked your book.
It was accepted unanimously.
Well, almost.
Bertrand, didn't you see me in the lobby?
How are you?
Fine, just fine. You, too, I hope.
I was so shocked to see you. I didn't expect it.
I'm in Paris for a few days.
Do you still live in America?
No, that's over with.
I live in London now. I found a good job there.
Tell me about you!
Well, similarly.
I'm here for a few days.
I live in a city in the South.
That city has a name. It's called Montpellier.
Why are you always so mysterious?
I have to go. Someone's waiting for me.
Someone's waiting for me, too. But since we're here...
I think we could talk.
Okay, I'm listening.
I don't intend to give a lecture or a monologue.
I think we should be able to talk together, the two of us.
Is that too much to ask?
I'm just afraid I have nothing to say.
You're not making it easy for me.
I often think about you, Bertrand.
And always with tenderness.
I often started to write you, then decided it was best not to.
You were right.
So you still hate me?
Believe it or not, I've held no hard feelings towards you.
I never thought it was your fault.
I had to do what I did.
Or go crazy.
I'm not exaggerating.
Obviously, I didn't know it would be so painful for you.
You hid your feelings so well.
But even after I heard about it, I did not regret my decision.
I knew you loved life and would fight to pull yourself together.
It's true. I fought and pulled myself together.
At first, thanks to medication.
Sleeping pills... tranquilizers... stimulants.
There are even pills to make you cheerful.
It's not very romantic, but it's amusing...
that broken romances can be cured by the medicine chest.
No, it's not amusing.
Perhaps you've forgotten...
or maybe we remember things differently...
but you were the one who initiated the split.
I'm sure you had been preparing for it for a long time.
All the books you took from the house and deposited I-don't-know-where.
And then... oh, do I remember!
Each time you took a trip, I was never allowed to help you pack.
You always wanted to show me your independence.
The attitude, "I like my solitude. I don't need anyone. "
In reality I needed only one person...
But I didn't realize it.
At first I loved you without knowing it.
And when I knew it, it was already over for you.
Yes, it happened little by little.
I know, it's pointless to rehash everything.
But I think I should have been absolutely frank with you...
more explicit.
You didn't need to. Your face said everything.
Towards the end I observed you.
Your eyes looked younger... prouder, too.
That's how I knew I was losing my place in your life.
At that time, had I known how to be direct, I would have said to you:
"Vera, you're freeing yourself of me.
You're lucky. I envy you. "
Yes, I did it to free myself from you, but it wasn't easy.
I went through a horrible period.
I spent all my days in the dark...
reflecting our relationship.
When did things start to go wrong?
I no longer knew who I was. When I walked in the street...
I had the feeling of total unreality.
I couldn't feel my head or my body.
I blanked out.
For a long time, I would go out of my way to avoid Place Clichy.
By the way, they tore down the Gaumont Theatre.
You'd be sad to see what they've done to the Place Clichy.
At first I didn't know you had left Paris.
Every time I went to a restaurant...
I would say to myself, "What if he's here...
eating alone, with the newspaper?"
You would have preferred to see me with someone.
Oh, I did... at Orly.
Ayoung lady with an accent... English, for sure.
She said something funny.
I immediately recognized your laugh. I left in a hurry.
I could have sworn you saw me.
No. I would have remembered.
You were always affectionate with me.
Yes, you, too. You were always affectionate with me.
But now, I no longer have the right to touch you.
No right?
You talk like a lawyer.
It's true. I no longer have the right to touch you.
Bertrand, perhaps we could have dinner together, now after four years.
Not four. Five years.
We can't hurt each other now.
We can finally become friends.
No, no, Vera...
I don't think so.
Anyway, I never go to London.
And you never come to Montpellier.
I think about you sometimes, too, but less and less often.
And it's normal. We've almost become strangers.
We have to accept it.
We have to leave it like that.
It's okay.
It's best.
Let's not say good bye. You leave first.
I'll wait here for you to leave, then I'll go.
Hello. Yes.
It's you.
I thought there'd be one chance in ten...
of finding you in your office tonight.
Nine chances in ten.
During the awards we always work late.
It's too bad your book won't be ready for Christmas.
It doesn't matter.
I have something important to tell you.
I'm worried about the book.
Honestly, everyone loves the book.
I don't care.
No, I'm pleased, of course.
What I have to say is confidential, but I trust you.
Something incredible has happened.
I've just realized I wrote this book because of one woman.
But she's not even mentioned in it.
I have to rewrite the manuscript.
No, don't do that.
I fought for this book, so listen to me carefully.
I've been an editor for ten years.
I know writers.
They all worry that they've left out the essential.
You want to write one book and you end up with another.
If this woman meant so much to you...
devote a second book to her. Take notes!
What? I'm not capable of writing a second book.
I know you can do it.
Look, you've got to stop putting yourself down.
You have to learn to like yourself more.
What do you mean by all this?
It's very simple.
If you don't like yourself... you can't like anyone else.
I'll explain it better...
when I see you next week.
So we're agreed? Do you trust me?
Trust? Why?
Trust me for the book and the rest.
Okay, you win.
Another expression to erase from your vocabulary.
Look, I just want what's best for you.
See you next week.
Good bye.
Hello, M. Morane. My car's over there.
Let's go.
The Man Who Loved Women
Why are you crying?
If I had a red dress like yours, I wouldn't cry.
May I still make a change?
Yes, sir.
Instead of"red dress, " I'd like "blue dress. "
If I had a blue dress like yours, I wouldn't cry.
Does it bother you if I drive?
Not at all. I love to be driven by a woman.
I haven't yet discarded all of my male vanity...
but I don't carry it to extremes.
I gathered that from reading your book.
You're not a Casanova. You're not a Don Juan.
You know how I see you, despite your obscure manner?
You don't try to play up your virility.
Look at that. It's awful.
Where are they taking us?
It's a detour.
You know how I see your book?
As a testimony to man-woman relationships...
in the twentieth Century.
You're well aware that it's all changing.
Yes, yes, perhaps.
But I'm not so sure...
how wild I am about this buddy-buddy aspect.
Up to now, there's always been a sort of game in love.
To me it's indispensable.
There'll always be a game...
but it's just that the rules are being changed.
The first thing that's got to go is the play for power.
We'll still play, but on equal footing.
Maybe. Maybe.
Quite honestly, my ideas on the subject aren't clear.
But I feel I'm changing.
Bravo! But don't change too much.
You're not bad the way you are.
I read this someplace.
Women think of love in more general terms than men.
But I assure you, we are also subject to curiosity...
to sudden urges.
I can tell you now... the first time I had a yen for you...
was in the office, when you were talking to the layout artist.
Oh, really.
I remember it well.
It was hot out. You took off your pullover.
You had a cigarette in your mouth.
You were so absorbed in the conversation...
that you did it mechanically.
So you pulled your sweater up over your head...
without removing the cigarette.
It made me want to make love to you.
The second time I wanted you...
was the next day.
You were in the restaurant Place de L'Odéon...
with Josiane, the layout artist.
By chance, I suppose.
I assure you, I never touched the layout artist.
I didn't say you did.
Though I'm sure she would have liked to.
In any case...
when you see a man you're interested in...
with someone else, you want him even more.
I don't know if I'm making sense.
You're making sense.
It's enlightening.
You smile so rarely, but I love it when you do.
I must be crazy.
Not at all. You seem very level-headed.
Appearances are deceiving!
Don't come with me. I hate that.
We'll say good bye here in the car.
Okay. I'll return it to Midi-Car.
Will it be a warm handshake or a tender kiss?
Tender kiss.
In any case, can't M. Bétany transfer his firm to Montpellier?
Or open a branch here?
You could transfer your lab to Paris.
The Caravell Montpellier-Paris takes exactly forty minutes.
I'll make a note of that.
Also note that I have no plans for Christmas.
If you have no other plans...
None that are better.
Could I kiss you again?
Do I have the right to put my hand there?
Yes, you do have the right.
We'll be careful that it never becomes a duty.
Good bye.
Behave yourself.
Certainly not!
May I speak to Christine, please?
She's out of town for the holidays.
May I take a message?
Thank you, madame. No message.
The number you dialed is not in service right now. We regret...
Valérie Bontemps is not in Montpellier.
You have thirty seconds to leave a message...
on the answering machine.
Thirty seconds? I have just enough time to tell you...
that I would have liked...
to see you and to have caressed your legs under your pleated skirt.
I'm going to admit something. I loathe answering machines.
Good bye.
Well, Bertrand. Good evening.
Good evening.
How are you?
Remember me?
Of course I remember you.
I'm sorry. I have a date.
Oh, well. Good bye.
Be careful when he wakes up.
He mustn't move.
Give the instructions to the night nurse.
Yes, sir.
My book...
I want my book.
No, you can't read.
The doctor says you mustn't move.
I know what I'll do after my book.
I'll leave everything.
I'll go to that island for women only and live among them.
I'll try to make them accept me.
They will accept me.
I'll explain...
You need to change the IV in 14 at 6.
- I'm leaving now. - Okay.
Say, Martine, is there enough serum?
Yes. I'll take care of it.
Bertrand often told me he didn't like the end of his book.
He didn't dare dream his hero would die.
And yet, it's so very logical.
I have the feeling that all these women...
are now writing that last page.
And I am one of them.
Yet I have a strange feeling...
that of being Bertrand's accomplice.
I'm the only one here who knows everything about him.
The women he hurt were wrong...
to expect something which he didn't have in him to give.
To those who wanted pleasure he gave pleasure and affection as well.
I have no doubt that he loved them all, in his way.
And he was right to.
No one is the same...
each one has something the other doesn't.
Each one is unique.
Bertrand loved them all as they were.
This one for her myopic look and metal-rimmed glasses.
This one for her intensity and passion.
Here's one who's really crying.
She's genuinely upset.
This girl looks like an orphan.
I'm sure he liked this beautiful woman for her red mane.
This one's amused.
She's the only one.
Here's the one who's shy and gentle...
followed by one who's straight out of a Russian novel.
What he loved in her was her fight to remain seductive.
This one looks like a student.
This one had her nose done, perhaps to please him.
She could be his widow, if he'd been married.
Bertrand thought that in quantity he might find happiness.
Why do we have to look at so many people...
for what we're taught can be found in one person alone?
A token of remembrance...
a rectangular object...
320 bound pages.
We call that a book.
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