At the end of the first week, a conversation took place in which I felt like what I was: a teenager. Madame Dunois explained to me in a gentle way, as popular and accessible as possible, that in order to promote my popularity not only as an artist but also as a person, it was necessary to communicate a lot with different people, to make useful and not so useful acquaintances.
In general, I spent an hour and a half listening to an educational lecture about what I knew from my life but didn't know how to use. And I also found myself thinking that Lucy Dunois is an excellent mother, and that she can handle this role much better than Junko.
That same evening, Lucy and Laura went through my closet, threw out the traditional Japanese clothes, looked at the rest, and announced almost unanimously in an unquestioning tone that we would get my new closet in the morning, because — this tastelessness is only enough for a simple man, not for someone who brings beauty to the world.
The next day, from ten o'clock in the morning to three in the afternoon, we went shopping, and I was very interested, because I learned many new things. It is remarkable that a sense of beauty is a national trait possessed to some extent by both the women and the men of these countries. And in the evening we went to a private reception.
The concept of a "real vacation" is understood differently in different parts of the world. In my first home country, for example, a real party is necessarily noisy, delicious, hearty and with lots of alcohol! The holiday of Sophie Herran — the most famous poet, writer of lyrics and songs — was not easy for me and did not correlate with the word "holiday" in my mind.
A light buffet, that is, on the tables were snacks that strongly resembled crackers, chips, lemonade "Bell" and processed cheese "Wave", although there was not much wine, but all light. In the huge two-story apartment, people walked, wandered, staggered, moved. People gathered in groups, groups and groups.
Talking, chatting, socializing. There was a constant lazy, unhurried movement along elusive trajectories, but there was no need for dispatchers — no one collided. I had the impression that people were deliberately gathering in someone's garage and rehearsing "passages".
Of course, the apartment is awesome! And not only by the fact that it is big, the owner has arranged everything so that when you enter you feel an elusive mixture of the mystery of the place where they create and a subtle home comfort, where you can sit in a deep armchair, cover yourself with a plaid and immerse yourself in the enchanting world of some book. I can't even imagine how Madame Erran did it, apparently it's just a woman's trick, but I like it.
The "Light of Modern Texts of Both Worlds" turned out to be a middle-aged, but still elegant lady in a blue cocktail dress and a designer jacket with pearls and a neat beret on a chestnut-colored hair. Her gray-green eyes sparkled with a mischievous fire, and her thin lips and lively expression displayed the full range of the madam's fleeting emotions.
We arrived at a special room with some strange statues in striking clothes, where we were met by a young man of unclear orientation, whose name I did not remember on principle. We went to the hostess, who was chatting happily with a couple of ladies, and a gaggle of children were making noise off to the side.
This surprised me even more, as there were many children among the adults, which immediately ruled out the possibility of direct politics or fornication. After introductions and greetings, I learned that the hostess had won some kind of writing award, and that her novel had been made into a movie, so she was celebrating. Yes, the locals are watching a simpleton's movie.
Standing next to four women, held by my elbow (I think, so I wouldn't run away like Laura, who immediately ran off somewhere), I had to listen to a lot of absolutely useless gossip, rumors and gossip about the latest scandal. For about fifteen minutes I had to keep an impenetrable "samurai" face so as not to yawn, and then the conversation touched me, but again I didn't join in.
The ladies simply and unobtrusively explained who I was, described my accomplishments and talents. Then again there was a discussion about the topics that had "surfaced" about the studios, about a famous artist-drinker, about a singer who had recently died of drugs, and again they came back to me.