A few days later, I receive a call from my editor and I'm surprised that I can still use a possessive adjective before the noun "editor".

-Hello Saah? It's me, Anastasia from Hugh, how are you? Listen, I call to tell you everything is set up for London. We made the reservations, everything is OK! Monday 9th of January, around four we will be at St Pancras. The day after, we should meet Nancy Briggman and Vanessa Clarkson, your British editor and your translator, for brunch and after that, we fly to your signing session at Waterstone Piccadilly. Four hours and you are free. Wednesday 11th, the morning is yours, meeting at Foyle's' from one pm to five for another session. At six we have an interview at the same place. Your evening is free. The next day, we wake up at five to catch a flight for Dublin, signing session at Chapters Bookstore from one to five pm. Finally we go back to the airport and the next stop is Paris.

-Where do I sleep?

-Mercure London Bridge.

I swallow hard and close my eyes before starting the fight. If all of this stops as fast as it started, at least I want to enjoy it without restriction, it would be so dumb to miss an opportunity because I didn't have the guts to ask.

-No. I want the W London Leicester Square.

-...

-The Mercure, is a no because I don't like Mercures. Find a solution, I want the W London. Else, I will do my autograph sessions at the FNAC of Velizy 2* and the Brits will have to move their flat asses to meet me. Or not. And the sales will drop.

Rude.

Honestly, I'm ashamed. If my parents could hear me, I would have to endure a long and painful speech about my education. But Hugh & Bro want to sell, therefore they can conform to my demands and this one is far from big. This is how I obtain the Pically Circus' beautiful hotel reservations without any excessive complaints, just a few sighs. Those three days' mantra sounds good to me: calm, luxury and cup of tea.

Two months later, under a London rain, at the St Pancras' train station, a black limousine comes to pick us up. I thought I'd have to take a double-decker bus or a taxi for a more authentic trip but Hugh doesn't let his 'products' get out of the well-organised globalization of his editorial line. To make it worse the "us" it's just me and Anastasia. I hate this woman and the idea of having her with me three days in a row makes me want to puke. She reminds me of a character from The Witches of Eastwick. The sixties coming, short peroxided hair styled with loads of texturizing products and too much kohl around the eyes. Her gaze is heavy from all the Chick lit and Bit-lit she must have read. My fan fiction is maybe the culprit of the dark circles she's trying to hide, a delight for my mood.

Perfidious pleasure.

The W is restless when we arrive. Messengers run everywhere, grooms get busy, receptionists panic and the janitor seems exceeded. Photographers try to shoot someone or something. If I'm right, they are waiting for a big fish. A hostess finally calms down and starts registering us when two Mercedes Benz park in front of the entrance. Eight men get out of them and form a tight circle with their bodies, coats, scarves and hoods. All the cameras flash quickly and the group comes in to reach the elevator in a rush. The scene lasts around forty seconds. The paparazzi are gone as fast.

The calm is back.

-This is why I had a hard time with the reservations, there's a crew here to promote a movie, says Anastasia as if I was her friend and we had secrets to share.

-And why did we come? To eat Fish & Chips? You think a book should be erased because of the big Hollywood? Is there a SPA here? Because until tomorrow we have nothing else to do.

Leaned against the counter, I'm purposely execrable. I'm sweating, I stink, and I want to be left alone. Anastasia is talking just to say things I don't care about.

In my room, all regrets disappear. Acting like a cheap diva was worth it: the room is magnificent. I take off my coat and my shoes. Finally I get rid of jeans and sweater before I go wild in joy. Wearing only my underwear, I jump and I sing:

"Thank you Dylan! Thank you Clement! Its straight fire my kitties!"

After thirty seconds of trampoline, I got to take a shower. I can't hold my happiness, I'm still laughing. Three days face-to-face with my book and people who liked it. Three days without the alcoholic I continue to tolerate.

Freedom! As an old friend of mine would say.

I get out of the shower wearing a soft bathrobe. Two missed calls on my phone "Nicolas". I will not ruin my mood. I send him a message "Meeting with my editor, I'll call you later."

The spa is tempting but I choose to go out and find something to eat, I don't feel like sharing a dinner with the witch. I buy a Fish & Chips and I eat while so hot it burns my fingers and my tongue. It's greasy, salty, trivial and welcomed after all the glitter and rhinestones I had earlier.

Being in London to sign a novel that has been translated in English. Being invited to a splendid hotel, in a city I've dreamt of for years. Walking under the rain smelling like fried fish. Living the moment alone. Need company.

I enter a small shop and pay a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a can of soda.

Back to the W. I go upstairs, to the terrace. The shower outside doesn't stop but the rain never kept someone from smoking. The view of London is wonderful.

On the opposite side of the terrace, a masculine frame I didn't notice before is yelling at a cell phone with a strong American accent.

-Fucking iPhone! Fucking weather! Fucking London! Fuuuuck!

From my spot I see him go towards the door and disappear. I take a puff on my cigarette and giggle before gulping down some of my soda. His reaction reminded me of the Leopard's beginning. I take another puff and focus on the view in front of me. For me and myself.

*FNAC of Velizy 2 : Famous french bookshop