Sometimes Eric puts me in weird headspaces. I try to get all artsy fartsy with textures and typefaces, and then I remember who Eric Packer really is.
I searched the text for the word “smirk,” but alas…that does not exist. Instead I got stuck in another one of my favorite scenes and found this bit:
She held the soup spoon above the bowl, motionless, while she formulated a thought.
“It’s true, you know. You do actually reek of sexual discharge,” she said, making a point of looking into the soup.
“It’s not the sex you think I’ve had. It’s the sex I want. That’s what you smell on me. Because the more I look at you, the more I know about us both.”
“Tell me what that means. Or don’t. No, don’t.”
“And the more I want to have sex with you. Because there’s a certain kind of sex that has an element of cleansing. It’s the antidote to disillusion. The counterpoison.”
“You need to be inflamed, don’t you? This is your element.”
He wanted to bite her lower lip, seize it between his teeth and bite down just hard enough to draw an erotic drop of blood.
I suppose I can imagine him smirking here. Did you read the fantastic interview with Patricia McKenzie about her experience with David Cronenberg and Robert Pattinson? I guess that’s what sent me into this smirk-y, lip-biting, artistic phase.
I dare you to smirk at everyone you pass in the street this weekend. Do it for Eric. You know he’s a smirker. 🙂