His case against Morini was the talk of the Argentine literary world for a week or so.
Morini had left that morning to spend a few days with his parents.
His best friend at the law firm, who was not particularly interested in literature, advised him to sue Morini for copyright infringement.
He went through the pockets of his jacket looking for the cell phone that he had managed to extract from Riquelme, and called Morini.
She liked French cinema, and before long they got onto Morini.
It took a few seconds for Morini to react, but then he leaped to his feet, let out a cry of terror, and disappeared down a corridor.
It was as if Morini had distanced himself from Rousselot or, under pressure from creditors and swept up in the whirlwind of the movie business, had neglected the relationship.
He said he was an Argentine journalist who wanted to interview Morini for a well-known magazine with a big circulation, widely read all over Latin America, from Argentina to Mexico.
For half an hour, Rousselot walked around in the vicinity, wondering if the woman who lived with Morini had sent him on a wild goose chase, until eventually he began to feel tired and headed for the port.
When the novel came out in Paris, from a different publisher, Morini had already made his fourth and fifth films, a conventional but engaging French detective story and a turkey about a supposedly amusing family vacation in Saint-Tropez.
Surprisingly for Rousselot, Simone was not at all surprised by the revelation that he was a writer or that Morini had plagiarized or copied his work, or freely adapted two of his novels to make his two best films.
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