Right, right, left, right. As the men swirl their partners on the dance floor, Marie taps her foot under the table.
Marie holds a cigarette in her right hand while Jeanine jitters her fan next to her face. Both are contemplating the rejoice of men and women dancing in unison to a frantic tempo.
Jeanine hides her face from the back of the restaurant. Her ex-fiancé Marc is stationed a couple of tables behind with his new conquest.
“Don’t worry, Jeanine, he cannot see you from where he is,” Marie whispers into the ear of her vulnerable friend.
Jeanine feels in disharmony with the world which whirls around her. Hurt and uncomfortable in her own body, she sits quietly like a statue. It’s a beautiful Sunday afternoon in Paris. Ladies are wearing their most colourful and airy attires. Men sport their marine suits with elegance and panache.
Marie does anything she can to boost her friend’s morale. She also feels that it’s a little unfair that she has to sit through an entire afternoon consoling Jeanine when she could be dancing too. So she taps her foot under the table. Right, right, left, right.