Hell Is Other People

Therese stared at Carol. Even if Carol's sudden appearance had jolted her for a second, Therese quickly regained her balance. Her expression didn’t give away a single thing, it remained blank and emotionless. Carol had prepared herself for anger or at least for some form of irritation on Therese's part but this was quite unexpected. It was a look of indifference, of mere faint recollection far too willing to turn away.

The photography class passed by uneventfully, and Carol even managed to focus on her camera’s functions. She’d bought it the day before and hardly knew which button to press to turn it on. She didn’t want to make too big a number of her being there and whenever she had a question about what Therese had just said or demonstrated she rather relied on the help of her fellow students. Every once in a while she thought Therese might have glanced her way but then again it might’ve been just wishful thinking.

The session flew by and afterwards she thought her photos had turned out okay. For a landscape class they weren’t too panoramic, though. Most of them featured a brown-haired woman who stood next to a student asking questions or showing what he or she had come up with. Carol made sure Therese never caught her taking her picture.

When their time was up for the day, Therese seemed to stiffen slightly, to expect Carol to make a move of some kind. She did no such thing. Instead Carol packed up her camera and took off quietly, nodding her goodbye to those few who had helped her out the most. She did feel a bit out of place, uncertain if her presence in the class had been such a bright idea after all. Determined to follow her plan through, she shook the uneasiness away.

Two weeks later the class had its third session at Central Park. Carol was standing by the lake watching the model boats gliding on its surface when Therese suddenly came by. “Do you need help?” she asked politely. Carol was looking for a suitable angle to capture just the right perspective for her photo of the Boathouse.

“No, thank you,” Carol replied in her subdued manner, “I think I’ve got this covered.” She recognized Therese’s tone as one belonging to a teacher who was worried she’d neglected one of her students. She raised the camera back up and tried to calm her racing heart by hiding behind it. Without any further questions, Therese hovered around her for a little while. Then, as if realizing that what she was doing was decidedly questionable, she turned her attention to a couple who had come looking for her advice.

By now Carol wasn’t at all sure if her actions would yield any results at any given time. Therese’s demeanour seemed unaffected at best, and it depressed Carol incessantly. Truth be told she wasn’t sure if she had known what to expect in the first place. Who was she to Therese anyway? Certainly not a friend, just a rich client who had provided her with yet another traumatic experience – a stranger who had dragged her to an unknown house with some seriously mean people in it.

Still Carol couldn’t put the weekend behind her just like that – she was unable to ignore her conviction that there had indeed been more to it than a mere business transaction. But then again how would she know ? Maybe she had just been treated to the full Therese Belivet experience before all hell had broken loose? Perhaps Therese was truly a pro in everything she set her mind to – photography, teaching, being the ultimate escort money could buy? And what had become of her after all that had happened? A middle-aged, lovesick puppy, who read way too much into what Therese had said and allegedly done? What was even more disheartening was the fact that if it was indeed so, that measly day-and-a-half with Therese was still so much more than what Carol had been privileged to encounter in an entire past decade of her life.

What a fool I am, she scolded herself at night when she lay on her bed unable to sleep, to get rest from her frenzied mind. And when she once more started piecing the fragments of their forty hours together, she got even more afraid. The details, the ones she’d viewed as facts, appeared more incongruous the more she thought about them – the smiles less convincing, the looks less meaningful. Even the random hair on the bed picked up an innocent air – maybe Therese had at some point taken the opportunity to lie down on the luxurious mattress while she’d been taking a shower? I can’t torture myself with doubts right now, she agonized, I need to find the real answers whatever they are.

Carol was sitting at the back office when she heard unexpected noise from the front of the shop. It wasn’t Abby’s style to argue with the customers but something was definitely up, and she sneaked into the corridor to get a better idea what was happening.

“You heard me alright.” Abby’s tone was menacing. “I have no idea why I have put up with your shit all these years but believe me when I tell you that I am done with you...” The other person in the room kept quiet. “You are nothing but an arrogant, hateful bitch and I hope you rot in hell of your own making!” Her eyes widened in sheer shock, Carol couldn’t believe her loving friend would ever hurl such contemptuous words at another human being. “Get the fuck out of her!” Abby continued, “And if I ever, and I mean ever, see your pathetic face again in any social function I will make sure everyone knows what a waste of everybody’s time your sorry life is!” She was beside herself with anger.

“Abby…” The other woman started sheepishly. Megan. Carol’s whole being was suddenly pumped up with an overdose of adrenaline. “Maybe it was ill-advised of me to ask you for…” Carol could see Abby take a few steps towards the person she now knew to be Megan.

“GET THE FUCK OUT!” Abby yelled at Megan. “NOW!” Carol saw her friend almost leap over the intruder who suddenly retreated quickly to the door. Abby slammed it shut behind her.  

Carol snuck back to the office and pretended to be absorbed in her work when Abby came in. “I saw you standing in the corridor,” she said calmly.

Carol looked up at her friend who was still clearly shaken by what had just happened. “Want to tell me about it?”

Biting her lower lip, Abby sat down and lit a cigarette. She hardly ever smoked. “Megan wanted me to be a witness for a law suit she was contemplating.” She took a long puff from her smoke and it made her cough. “She was planning to bring charges against Therese for the croquet accident. Apparently it had caused some severe, maybe even irreparable damage to her olfactory system…” Seeing the frightened look in Carol’s eyes, Abby pressed her palm soothingly on top of her hand. “I talked her out of it… and then some.” Abby was regaining some of her sense of humour. “I don’t know why it took me this long to see what she was all about,” she continued apologetically. “I guess I’m a slow learner.”

Carol smiled warmly at her best friend. “Slow or not, there’s one thing I’ve always known about you, dear Abigail.” Her friend looked at her quizzically. “You are simply marvellous.”  

The following week Carol attended a university lecture. She had an academic degree already so going to one might have struck as foolish to anyone other than her but she had her reasons. Well, a reason. As much as she’d started questioning her plan to get closer to Therese, to know the details of her life and even her right to do just that, Carol felt she needed to do this one last thing. At least it would provide her with an opportunity to speak – maybe not her mind but at least address issues she found intriguing and far too close hitting to leave untouched.

Carol had called James, an old friend of hers who was a professor at NYU Tisch Drama. He was also Harge’s long time golf buddy. She had asked him whether it would be okay for her to sit in at one of the upcoming student lectures she’d found particularly interesting. Of course she’d been granted admission. The theme of the lecture was to be Jean-Paul Sartre or rather his play No Exit. The announced lecturer was none other than one Therese Belivet who minored in drama at NYU Tisch.

Waiting for the lecture to begin, Carol grew exceedingly nervous about her decision to show up for it. For a moment she contemplated leaving altogether but when she felt a pair of green eyes sharpen on her she knew it was too late to hesitate.

“What are you doing here?” Therese’s voice was almost rude.

“I am here for the Sartre lecture,” Carol replied meekly.

“It’s for students only,” Therese stressed growing visibly aggravated by Carol’s presence. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

Carol took out a printed email from her handbag. She had seen this coming. “Here,” she handed it over to Therese. “But if you insist I leave, I will of course do so.”

Therese looked at the print and her professor’s name below the short message. She shoved it back to Carol’s hand and entered the auditorium.  

The room was filled to the brim with only a few seats available in the front. Hesitating, Carol sat down at one of them. The look on Therese’s face spoke volumes – she was going to ignore Carol as totally as she possibly could.

One of the associate professors introduced Therese telling the crowd that her presentation was part of her preparation for the set design she’d planned for the upcoming Tisch production of No Exit.

“Can anyone of you tell me what Sartre meant by saying ‘Hell is other people’?” Therese asked in her opening remarks.

I have nothing to lose, Carol thought. She raised her hand. When no one else seemed to know the answer to Therese’s question, she was forced to turn to Carol. “Yes..?” she mumbled avoiding her eyes.

“First of all Sartre never really said that,” Carol started apprehensively, “It is one of the characters in his play who says something like that – the line would in fact be better translated as ‘hell is the Other’.” She fell silent for now.

Carol had Therese’s full attention now. “Well, that’s very clever of you,” she said almost scoffing. “But I think we’re missing the point of this lecture if we start splitting hairs, don’t you think?” She was clearly ticked off by Carol’s comment.

Carol raised her hand once more. “YES?” By now Therese was not only angry but also very impatient to move on.

“Sartre himself pointed out that his words had been repeatedly misquoted,” Carol clarified, “I think we should acknowledge that, don’t you?” Her voice was tender, pleasing. “And I think you are just the right person to correct that misapprehension.”

Therese seemed to find some sense in what Carol was saying since she forgot about her for a while. “Contrary to the popular belief, Sartre never meant it to be taken literally,” she said, “He didn’t see human relations invariably hellish or poisoned, he only wanted to point out that if a relationship you have with someone is twisted, it makes the other person hell for you.”

“As in giving me hell?” asked a young man in the back row to others’ great amusement.

“No, not that,” Therese was quick to rectify, “Sartre referred to the influence others hold over us as mirrors of our selves.” She glanced at Carol briefly. “We can never avoid being affected by other people’s judgment of us – and that can and will be hellish.”

Once again Carol asked for a permission to speak. “But every person, every Other, you meet is nothing but a distorting mirror, a one that can’t be trusted. Ever.” She kept quiet for a while. “Why is it then we are so quick to define what is good or lacking in us according to them?” Carol looked at Therese who for once didn’t look away.  

“In my set design for the play I have imagined Sartre’s hell to be this frighteningly narrowing space,” Therese said changing the subject after a small interval. “The walls that close in at times grow arms that extend mirrors for the protagonists to see,” she elaborated, “but the scary element here is the fact that these mirrors don’t reflect anything. No matter how much the characters hunger to see themselves objectively, the mirrors give out nothing.” She reached for a glass of water.

“Your design is not only a delightful homage to Jean Cocteau but also a very powerful reference to vampirism,” Carol spoke up abruptly. Therese was pleasantly surprised to hear her sharp observation.

“Very much so,” she replied, “for there is a case to be made of Sartre’s characters being sort of vampires themselves – after all they are more or less damned in their selfish essences, only interested in others as targets of manipulation or objects of greed.” Therese stopped as if waiting for Carol to continue.

“Should we get back to the original question?” Carol asked after a short silence.

“Please do,” Therese quipped sarcastically but not at all unkindly.

Smiling self-consciously, Carol managed to say what she wanted to. “Whatever Sartre’s underlying motive to use his sentence may in various occasions be, the play actually stands in direct opposition of its debated truth,” she explained gravely. “He doesn’t give much hope for his characters, does he?” Carol mused out loud. “But there could be – if only they would see that it is up to them who have created their private hell in the first place to take it apart as well.”    

After the lecture Carol stood up and headed for the door. When she glanced over her shoulder she saw Therese watching her every move.