been seen in public with her. Not to invite her on a second date would be the ultimate humiliation. It would be like slapping her face in front of everyone. One chateaubriand and au revior—it simply isn’t done! It’s barbaric!”
“Who makes up these rules?” His face purpled. “And how do you know what we had for dinner?”
“What else would one order on such an occasion and such a night as this?”
“Listen, Didi, I repaid the woman’s kindness for her invitation to sniff her posies. As far as I’m concerned, I’m done with her. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“She’ll kill herself.” The girl said it with unfazed nonchalance.
“What?”
“That’s what’s expected of a Parisian woman of high society when she’s been publicly humiliated. Oh, it won’t be a successful suicide. Grand dames never accomplish anything they set out to do. That’s why they have servants. But the attempt will make all the newspapers, including your own. Your name will, of course, be dragged through the mud as the man who drove her to it.”
Fulbert smacked his forehead. “It’s a catastrophe!” He paced the room with frenetic vigor. “How many dates do I need to have with her?”
“I’d say at least four.”
“Four!”
“Two would be too obvious. Three would seem pre-planned. Four gives the appearance of randomness.”
“A catastrophe!” he fumed.
Under extreme duress, the man went on three more dates with Madame Bergeron—two more dinners and one picnic lunch. Didi’s hope was that she’d grow on him. However, the only thing that grew was his distaste for the widow, and he was adamant in his refusal to see the woman again socially once their fourth date was concluded. That meant, if Didi’s plan was to succeed, she’d have to shove Fulbert into the arms of some other wealthy lady. Fortunately, Paris was full of them, mostly widows whose late husbands left them set for life. It was just a matter of casting the right bait.
Again, Didi made use of the “impressive weaponry” ploy. She also upped the ante by making loud and opportunely mentioned statements that Fulbert was being considered for a diplomatic post. There’s nothing high society loves more than the dashing aura of an embassy. Invitations from eligible, gullible ladies poured in.
“I can’t possibly take them all out to dinner,” groaned Fulbert.
“No,” agreed Didi. “But you have to take at least one of them out so you have an excuse for why you can’t see the others right now.”
“I hate Parisian social gamesmanship!” he grunted. “I tell you, it’s all a diabolical plot to get men to feed women who can afford to feed themselves!”
“Don’t worry, Fulbert,” said Didi. “You still have me.”
For the next several months, Didi poked, prodded, and shoved Fulbert into one social encounter after another with the various ladies who made their availability known.
First was Madame Villenueve. She was chubby and jolly and laughed like a hyena in heat, even if nothing was funny. Fulbert hated her almost instantly.
Then there was Madame Mercier. She was tall and wore her blonde hair so high that she had to duck to pass through doorways. Fulbert was never at ease with her, fearing she’d get her hair caught in the talons of some low-flying bird and be carried off through the streets of Paris, banging into notable monuments and statues.
Mademoiselle Foss—one of the few non-widows in the bunch—was heiress to a textile manufacturing company. As such, she had the most lovely clothes. She wasn’t bad looking, either. Undoubtedly, she’d have already been snatched up by some worthy beau if it weren’t for the fact that she was mostly deaf and had the habit of screeching in the ear of whomever she was with, as though her companion were equally hard of hearing. After a date with her booming every word at him, Fulbert nearly was.
Then there was Countess Sarkozy. Didi had high hopes for her. She was originally from a foreign land. Her husband, the Count, had ditched her for a younger girl, but not before Countess Sarkozy transferred his fortune to her own name. She had dark hair, stark features, a full bosom, a tiny waist, impeccable manners, and she spoke with a pronounced accent. Even Fulbert was impressed with her at first. Then one evening he came to call on her. When she didn’t answer the door, he feared she might be in trouble. So he entered the house, where he eventually found her in bed with another man…and another woman…and a small sheep. Fulbert never looked back as he ran down the street.
And so it went as a bevy of ladies paraded in and out of the man’s life—all of them disastrously flawed in one way of another, much to his chagrin. His opinion of the feminine sex dwindled to an all-time low.
Meanwhile, Didi never lost hope. Somewhere out there was the right wife for Fulbert. She sat in her bedroom one Saturday morning perusing the newspaper’s social page for news items regarding ladies of high station who might be potential matrimonial targets. Suddenly, she heard a commotion on the floor below. She bounded down the steps to see her mother at the door with Fulbert. It was unusual for him to be there on a Saturday. Even more unusual was that he wasn’t alone. Standing at his side was a young lady. It wasn’t any of the ladies Didi had set him up with, but she looked familiar.
Then it came to her. The young lady was the blonde in the pink dress she’d seen him talking to on that day when Didi first resolved to find him a bride. The railroad baron’s daughter from across the street. She wasn’t wearing pink but, rather, a yellow dress on this day. Still, it was unmistakably the same girl.
“Didi!” called out Fulbert as he caught sight of her. “Allow me to introduce you. Didi Dupuis, may I present Mademoiselle Lili St. Pierre.”
“How do you do, my dear?” The blonde spoke in a soft, feminine voice and extended a cordial hand, which Didi accepted in a perfunctory manner as she sized up the woman.
Lili St. Pierre appeared to be about twenty years of age, with a fresh face and a slim but well proportioned body. Her cheeks were rosy. Her pale red lips parted to present a most pleasant smile. The yellow dress and purple feathered hat she wore bespoke high fashion that could only be purchased by those who had sufficient wealth to afford it. It caused Didi to recall Fulbert’s earlier assessment that her family was loaded.
Of course! Why hadn’t she thought of the blonde sooner? She’d been searching the social register for eligible, rich women for almost a full year now. And this one was right across the street!
“Won’t you come in?” offered Madame Dupuis.
“We can’t,” said Fulbert. “We’re going to lunch and then a concert. I just dropped by to introduce you…and also to let you know I won’t be coming by tomorrow. We’re going to a lake where her family keeps a boat. There will be a party.”
“Papa loves to entertain on his boat,” the woman in yellow added.
“How lovely!” gushed Madame Dupuis. “I hope the weather’s nice.”
“Oh!” Lili St. Pierre gave a sudden turn toward Fulbert. “I forgot my gloves. Wait here. I’ll be right back.” And, with that, she took off at a fast clip to the other side of the street.
“She’s pretty.” Madame Dupuis winked at the man.
“Yes,” he nodded. “Very.”
“And how did this come about?”
“Well,” he explained, “after a year of being in the company of a lot of women who were just so terribly wrong for me, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands. SoI took a bit of advice you gave me some time ago and just knocked on her door. When she answered, I said, if she wasn’t doing anything that evening, would she care to go for a stroll.”
“And she just accepted?” asked Didi.
“She did!” Fulbert exclaimed as though still in shock over that result.
“And you think she might be the one?” the girl asked.
“Now, Didi,” he said, “let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ve been on one date.”
“Yes,” interjected Madame Dupuis with a devilish grin. “But now you’re on a second. And the third is r
ight around the corner.”
“It does look promising,” he admitted. “It’s refreshing to be in the company of a girl who’s not trying too hard.”
Undoubtedly, there would have been a lot more questions. But the blonde re-emerged from her home, and Fulbert sped off to be at her side. They hailed a carriage and were gone a few moments later.
“Such a nice looking couple,” mused Madame Dupuis as she watched them depart and closed her door. “Don’t you think so, Didi?”
“Perfect,” her daughter murmured.
Didi returned to her room and sat on the edge of her bed. She had been working toward just this sort of thing for so long and expected she’d feel ebullient at a moment like this. However, there was an unexplainable undertone of something that was keeping her from fully enjoying it. Perhaps, she thought, it was anger at herself for being so stupid as to have overlooked a prospect that was so nearby. Had Didi only been more observant, Fulbert and that girl might already be married, and Didi could have already been his mistress, living the life of a respectable courtesan.
Yes! she concluded. That was it. She was miffed at her own stupidity. That’s what was putting a damper on this otherwise joyous occasion. She’d feel better the next day when she saw Fulbert and had a chance to apologize to him for that egregious oversight on her part.
Then she remembered she wouldn’t be seeing Fulbert the next day. He’d be at the boating party. Her heart sank. It would be the first
Didi: The Tale of a Would-Be Courtesan Page 4