Skin [antikvár]

Ihave very pale skin, very red lips. The lips are a fleshy cushion of pink, but I colour them dark scarlet. The skin is naturally pale, that prized magnolia of lovers, the skin of fairy tales and calves, and it is dusted with Shiseido, a white powder. The journalists have always talked about my skin.Today I'm walking through the Jardin du Luxembourg on my own. It's April, there's a sore yellow light teasing the shadows between the trees, and young English nannies push babies along the paths and stop at the sandpit.The shaded section soothes me. I must protect my face from the divings of sunlight because I am using Retin-A, a vitamin A-based cream that sheds layers of skin like sheaves of paper. If the sun reaches my face, it will burn. So I use sun block all over, that gives me a greased sheen when I first step out, but which is later absorbed, and will protect me from second-degree burning. I am Adele Meier, something of a celebrity, and I must protect my skin. The Retin-A plumps and dissolves the surface wrinkles, and makes me only faintly sore. It comes in a harmless little tube, with just a touch of the medicinal about it so that beyond the acidic, my skin exudes the rosy-pink smell of cosmetics.As I walk around, I can observe who looks at me and who doesn't. Today I'm wearing a closely fitting dress coat over a long skirt. The coat falls just above my knees and its darts arei