Double Twenty

Chapter 11 - (I've Had) The Time of My Life (Bill Medley and Jennifer Warnes

"The future belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams." – Eleanor Roosevelt

6:00 PM, Malakoff. "The Metro, what do you mean you want to take the Metro? I'll call a taxi!" "But Matthieu," Victoria says, laughing, "the Metro is much simpler." The last time Matthieu took the Metro in Paris, he almost got into a fight with some gypsies who wanted to steal his phone and saw a crackhead blocking the tracks, shouting that he was Black Jesus—an even stranger claim since he was white as a sheet and had red hair. Also, at 20, Matthieu isn't very athletic, to put it mildly. A bit of soccer, tennis, and swimming during vacations, but nothing like the daily two hours at the gym and weekly boxing classes he's been doing since he turned forty.

"Here, I have tickets if you need them." Reluctantly, he follows her down into the mouth of hell. Whether it's his imagination or the result of his newly recovered breath (he hasn't smoked a cigarette all day, even though you could still smoke almost everywhere), he finds that the characteristic smell of the Paris Metro is less overwhelming than in 2024. There are certainly people around, but they seem less aggressive, even less crazy.

Matthieu isn't out of touch with the times; for the past 20 years, fashion has been recycling the iconic styles of the '90s every season. The same can't be said for hairstyles... Old-lady ozone-depleting perms (at least two cans of hairspray to hold the structure) or Tintin-style quiffs, a few mullets here and there, but no face tattoos, no red, blue, or green hair. Some people are reading books, newspapers, or magazines; others are chatting. There's no overabundance of technology, which intrinsically unsettles Matthieu.

As they approach Trocadéro station, a group of Asian tourists wearing masks are mocked by the other passengers. If only they knew... On the station walls, there are flashy ads for products or brands that have long since disappeared or been banned, with utterly outdated slogans. Posters for the film "La Vérité si je mens!" which is coming out at the end of April. "It looks funny! Shall we go see it?" Matthieu can't contain himself. He's almost doubled over with laughter. "And what brings you here, Serge? It's not a breeze that brings me, it's a tornado, asshole! You'll see, it's hilarious, a real laugh riot," he stops abruptly, realizing he's blundered yet again. "A cousin who works in cinema managed to show us a test copy on VHS. The production wanted to know if it was offensive. You know, to avoid stigmatization issues, a polite way to engage the community at the same time." "Oh, okay, and so?" "So it's really funny. Mostly it's Sephardic Jews, like Tunisians, who are gently mocked. Anyway, it'll definitely stir things up in the Sentier district." And that's how Matthieu turns into a juggling act to limit the damage.

"We're getting off at Trocadéro, right?" "Yes, Matthieu... are you sure the burglars didn't hit you on the head? You seem different, a bit more, I don't know, confident and yet lost. I like this change, it's strange but intriguing. I'll have to get you to drink so you reveal all your secrets..." she leans slightly against him. But it's the Metro and the car is full, no need to overinterpret. Matthieu doesn't know how to react. He finds a way out, "Can I cook dinner for you?" "You want to cook?" Victoria giggles with pleasure and surprise. "You, really? Sure, what do you want to make?" "Wait, let me think. You don't have any allergies, gluten, peanuts, lactose?" "No, I don't think so, why?" "Sorry, it's a reflex, okay, I'll surprise you!"

Once out of the depths of the earth, Matthieu struggles to hide his amazement. He's in the heart of Paris, in front of the Trocadéro, with the Eiffel Tower even more beautiful in the background, cars polluting freely in the general indifference, no bus lanes or bike paths. Smokers everywhere. Children aged 12 or 13, backpacks on, without adult supervision. He never would have dared say in 2024 that it was something else back then. Victoria, still amused, waits for him to snap out of his reverie. She takes the opportunity to greet several people she knows: preppy guys, traditional Catholic types ready to be teleported to Cap Ferret in 2024, trendy girls from the 16th arrondissement, wearing black sunglasses and Chanel bags, or in full denim looks. Men his age from before the rejuvenation, in suits and ties, looking rushed and haughty. A few rare joggers, without AirPods or wireless headphones, trying to cross without breaking their stride. No smartphones. No one staring at a screen, talking to themselves, sending voice messages, or checking their stories. A true digital desert. There are a few mobile phones, but it's nothing like his present.

"Victoria? Just a moment, please." He opens his backpack, looking for a notebook or an agenda that might contain her contact information. Bingo! First page, her name circled in red with hearts next to it. "What are you looking for?" She watches him, suppressing a laugh. Matthieu blushes. "No, it's not me, I would never do something like that!" "Yeah, right!" She pretends to be shocked. "Hearts, really?" Matthieu doesn't know where to hide. "No, I just wanted to make sure I had your address and the building code, my memory's playing tricks on me, it's not even my handwriting!" He wants to tell her that he's not into such childish things and vouches for his former self—he has plenty of flaws but not that many. He gives her a smile so convoluted that she can't help but smile back. "Well, I don't know if I did the right thing inviting you; you might be a dangerous psychopath!" He's starting to get annoyed. "Yeah, you might be right." He lowers and shakes his head, very angry, and throws his agenda into the bag, closing the zipper with a snap. Victoria takes a few steps in the opposite direction. Matthieu is thinking that, anyway, it's not important. He doesn't care at all. Humiliating, sure, but not surprising; he's inheriting a past that must already be quite heavy. When he looks up, she's standing in front of him, hands behind her back, swaying from side to side. She takes his face in her hands and kisses him on the corner of the lips. A fleeting, light, and soft kiss, lemony, almost tangy, containing in potential part of what he's always secretly hoped for. A real chance to smile at life. "Do you really think I'm going to let go of you that easily?" Despite the discomfort Matthieu feels due to their age difference and the speed at which everything is happening, he regains his confidence, and even more. "Well, you have no choice! I'm going grocery shopping. In the meantime, you can rest or get ready." "Get ready for what?" she asks with a mischievous smile. "Uh, for dinner?" "Alright, I'll get ready then. Don't be too long!" She walks away, deliberately accentuating her stride, aware of the effect she's having.