The Small Room

Steve waited in the hallway when Marie left the conference room. “I'll take you to your room.”

It wasn't a polite suggestion, but a statement of fact. Marie understood that she could not move outside strictly defined boundaries without him. He was not a bodyguard assigned to protect her, but her guard, whose job was to prevent her from straying from her assigned rooms and routes. She shrugged and followed him to the elevator.

The conversation with Étienne had upset her more than she wanted to admit. Until then, she had hoped that her colleagues from the European delegation would support her in her role. They didn't have to chant feminist slogans and aggressively demand equal rights for all women in US society. But at the very least, she would have liked not to be reduced to her role as a woman. Especially not by the head of the delegation.

Now she had to realize that she couldn't expect any support. Instead of aggressively demanding more rights for women, she had to defend herself against losing the freedoms she had enjoyed until now. Her direct superior demanded that she adapt. How far should she go, how much independence should she give up?

At the door to the hotel room, she reflexively searched for her key card until she remembered that she still hadn't received one.

“I'll take care of it.” His voice sounded neutral, without any undertone. And yet it got under her skin.

He held his wrist loosely against the reader and the door swung open almost silently. More than anything else, this little episode proved that she was not free, but dependent on him. He accomplished with a casual gesture what was impossible for her.

Of course, he followed her closely. The door closed automatically behind him. The room wasn't large to begin with, but now it seemed too small for two people who barely knew each other. Marie stopped to take in the situation. He simply walked on, looked out the window. Then he sat down on the chair where he had presumably spent the previous night. Everything seemed routine, nothing coincidental.

Marie felt her body tense up as if it had to prepare for a fight—or an escape.

She lifted her gaze and looked at him. He looked at her. Their eyes met.

Something changed. It wasn't visible, but Marie could feel it. It was as if the temperature in the room had risen slightly. There was a tension between Steve and her that could discharge in an electric arc at any moment.

Suddenly she understood what was troubling her. It wasn't the worry that she would have to adapt and submit to him. The frightening thing was that she could accept his presence, his closeness, without having to fight him. He was just there, strong, present, irrevocable. Normal.

Her tension eased and other, mundane, very pragmatic considerations came to the fore. She wanted to shower, get changed, go to bed. How was that going to work?

“Are you staying here?”

“Yes.” He gave a curt answer, no explanation.

“How long?”

“Until there's no longer any danger.”

Silence fell. Marie didn't know what else to ask.

She looked around, as if to survey the room. There was no place to get out of each other's way. The bathroom door was made of glass, frosted but not opaque. There was nowhere she would be unobserved if he stayed.

She wondered if she should protest, and whether he would even understand that she felt uncomfortable if he stayed in the room. Steve was a man who was just doing his job, professionally and attentively. Should she be less professional?

She thought she heard Étienne's voice: We don't want to impose our moral values on the Americans. And yes, we pay a price for that.

Was that the price she had to pay, to undress in Steve's presence?

Marie unbuttoned her blazer and hung it on a coat hanger. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she took off her shoes. She paused and pondered. Was it unprofessional to be ashamed of something she couldn't change? Was it naive to hope for privacy after everything she had learned and experienced about this country?

“Steve?”

He looked at her, immediately alert.

“I’m going to take a shower.”

“I’m staying here.” The sentence sounded calm, clear, and final.

She nodded slowly. She imagined how it would feel to walk past him into the bathroom. To undress behind the glass door while he sat a few steps away and could see her, at least in outline. What it would be like to step into the shower, let the hot water run over her skin while he listened and his gaze was inevitably drawn to it.

She stood up and took the first step. At that moment, she wondered if she was giving up a boundary she would have defended yesterday. Shouldn't she actually say no?