Late that afternoon, with half an hour to herself before she had to dress to leave for the theater, Eve sat huddled in an armchair in front of the tall windows from which, only a few months before, she had been able to watch the slow setting of the sun of autumn. Now it was almost dark outside, but the day itself had been sunny, that one bright March day which keeps the spirits of Parisians from withering completely during the winter; the day on which the waiters in the cafés hastily set up tables on the sidewalk for a mob of customers, although they knew perfectly well that tomorrow they would have to take them inside again.
Eve shivered and held a cup of hot tea in her hands to warm them. All afternoon, during rehearsals with her accompanist, she had felt cold to her bones in spite of the stuffiness of the theater, and even now, wrapped in her coziest dressing gown, she couldn’t get comfortable.
Why, she asked herself for the hundredth time, why had she been subjected to the words of Jacques Charles and why had she had to hear the sincerity in his voice and why, oh why, had she had to feel the leap in her blood when he talked about Maddy who could be famous, Maddy who could become a great star? The modest little stardom he had spoken of with such kindness—had she ever been guilty of hoping for more than that? Had she ever even allowed herself to dream of more? Wasn’t it enough to dare to sing at the Olympia? Why should she be asked if she wanted more? Any success greater than that which she had achieved would mean that she would lose Alain. Why should she be tempted so cruelly?
Eve got up from the armchair and went to look for a warm scarf to wind around her neck. In the bedroom she stood for minutes in front of the huge armoire in which Alain’s suits hung in an impressive row. She opened the door and inhaled the scent that came from the expensive wool, an odor that had seemed, for the last two and a half months, to be all that was left of her lover in the apartment. Although she visited him in the hospital as often as possible, it wasn’t the same. The aroma of his tobacco, his cologne, his hair oil, and his body all blended into a marvelous smell that left her more desolate than before. She put her cold hand under her dressing gown and brushed her fingers lingeringly over her breast, trying to arouse a sense memory of his touch. She ached for him.
“Eve.” A voice spoke from the doorway to the bedroom, and Eve screamed and whirled around.
“Alain! My God, Alain! Oh, you terrified me, coming in like that, what are you doing here?”
He laughed at her consternation, and held her tightly in his arms. “The doctors let me out an hour ago. I wanted to surprise you. Give me a kiss. Ah, that’s so good. So good—in that hospital bed it never tasted like this—I was in danger of forgetting, I tell you. I’m so glad to see you, sweetheart. I’m glad you didn’t let me chase you back to Dijon.” He held her at arm’s length and inspected her face. “You look different, Eve. I’ve never seen you put makeup on your eyes before. It makes you look older. I don’t like it. Who taught you—Vivianne?”
Hastily, Eve nodded her assent. “Alain, darling, are you sure you’re strong enough to be home? Did the doctors give you an examination before they let you go? You’re so thin.”
“You sound too much like my mother. I’ll have to prove to you exactly how strong I am,” he said, picking her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed. “Give me your mouth, first give me your mouth and then, then I’ll take all the rest of you … you’ll find out just how strong I am.” His laugh was triumphant.
As he put her down on the bed and stood over her, taking off his jacket, Eve saw the time on the clock that stood on the night table. She had to leave for the theater in ten minutes or risk being late. She sat up. “Alain, my darling, not now.”
“What do you mean, ‘not now’? Is that the way to welcome me home?”
“I … I have to go out. I have an appointment … I can’t be late. I’ll be back … later … and then we …”
“Then we what? What the devil do you mean, an appointment? Since when have you been going out at night alone?” He thrust his arms back into his jacket angrily and stalked into the salon where he kept his brandy.
“Perhaps I should have let you know that I was coming,” he shouted over his shoulder, “but it seems to me that whatever appointment you have is less important than … Eve, come in here! Come in here right now!”
Frantically Eve flew into the salon, her hands covering her mouth in sudden fear. Alain stood in front of an enormous basket filled with a bonfire of red roses that had arrived by messenger in the morning.
“Are you so rich that you’re spending a hundred francs to buy yourself roses, is that it? And from Lachaume, no less. What the hell is going on here? Who sent you these things?” The muscles of his right cheek contracted and his mouth was stiff. His dark highwayman’s face, that Eve knew in love and laughter, became that of a dangerous stranger. She was speechless as she watched Alain pick up the thick, cream-colored card that lay on the table in front of the roses. A card engraved with the name of the sender, Jacques Charles, his last name crossed out with a stroke of the pen to indicate that the roses had been sent on a first-name basis.
Thank you, Maddy, for last night.
It was even more than I had hoped for.
And tonight you will have no need to be nervous.
Until then. Jacques.
Alain read the words out loud. He crossed the space between them in one step, took both of her hands in one of his, and hit her openhanded across her cheek as hard as he could
“Whore! You whoring bitch! Even more than he’d hoped for—I’ll bet it was, after all I’ve taught you. How did you meet him? Vivianne. Of course, Vivianne! She was your pimp. I’ll kill her and then I’ll kill you.” Again he hit her.
“Stop, it’s not that, for God’s sake, stop and let me explain,” Eve screamed, struggling out of his grasp.
“Christ, you must really think I’m a fool. Explain? Do you think I have to read it twice? You fucked him, that’s all. Maddy from Dijon, the newest whore in Paris,” Alain grunted, the muscles of his cheek working, his breathing hard and fast as he prepared to rush at Eve and hit her again.
“I’m singing, last night was my opening, my tour de chant!” she shrieked desperately. At these insane words Alain stopped in his tracks, and lowered his hand.
“Get out. It’s not even worth the effort to beat you up. A whore is one thing, a madwoman another. Get out and get out fast, while you can still walk.”
“No, Alain, no! I beg of you, listen to me. It’s the truth. I should have told you but … I was wrong not to … I had to do something to get enough money for us … so … I auditioned for Monsieur Charles and I … it’s not much, just a few songs …”
“Your tour de chant? At the Olympia? At the theater of Jacques Charles? Why, you don’t know how to sing, you whore. You only know how to fuck. You make me puke. How stupid do you think I am? You have five minutes to get out.” He turned away from her in disgust and walked to the buffet on which the decanter of brandy was kept. “What the devil? More flowers? Orchids this time. So you’re really in the business, eh? If one, why not two? If two, why not a dozen? Who was this grateful customer?” he asked harshly, scornfully picking up a second card.
Eve knew what he was reading to himself; she had memorized the few words. “A thousand bravos, Maddy. I was proud of you last night. Your colleague of the boards.” Helplessly she watched Alain’s shoulders fall as the blow hit home. The name engraved on the card was that of Harry Fragson.
He did not turn around to look at her, but put the card down on the buffet and left the apartment without a word.
Weeping convulsively, Eve dashed into the bedroom to dress to go to the theater. What else was there to do, what else was there to do? she asked herself as she left the apartment to which she knew she would never return.
“Say, Maddy, do me a favor, all right? Take care of this little thing for me while I do my number? My maid didn’t come in this morning,” said Suzu, one of the showgirls, thrusting a baby into Eve’s arms.
She disappeared in a flutter of feathers before Eve could say yes or no, for everyone backstage at the Olympia knew that Maddy was a soft touch.
It had been two months since her debut, and not only had her head not been turned by her overnight success but Maddy was still the best of good kids, they agreed, who didn’t put on any of the airs or graces of a star. She’d sit down and eat steak and fried potatoes at the café around the corner with anyone who happened to be hungry, from the dressers to the acrobats. She was the first one in and the last one out of the theater at night. No one could understand why she refused the invitations for supper in elegant restaurants, the invitations to galas, balls and nightclubs, that she received every day with baskets of flowers from her admirers in the audience. Maddy wouldn’t even let them come to her dressing room to present themselves in person, the showgirls told each other, shaking their heads. Either she had a very jealous protector, which didn’t seem possible since she had no jewels, or she didn’t like men, which seemed even less possible
Eve held the baby gingerly and contemplated it with alarm. It was sleeping now, but what if it should wake up and begin to cry during the show, before Suzu came back?
“Julie,” she called, “come here quick and help me.” But Julie, the dresser, who, with three others, was responsible for making sure that none of the showgirls went out onstage in a sequin too many, didn’t respond.
“Julie,” she called again, unable to get up and go to look for the woman, since she was sitting in nothing but the pale pink teddy that she wore under her costume. “Oh, Julie, where are you?” Hopelessly Eve listened to the brouhaha of backstage—the smothered laughs, the nonstop gossip, the ordered confusion—and realized that as long as the showgirls were performing their number onstage to the sound of the full orchestra, no one would hear her voice.
“Maddy, you decent? You have a visitor,” Marcel, the assistant stage manager called out cheerfully, and pushed open her door without ceremony.
“You’ll wake the baby!” Eve whispered, looking down at it in a panic.
“A baby,” a woman breathed in horrified tones.
Eve jumped at the familiar voice, the baby opened its eyes and began to howl. “Aunt Marie-France!”
“A baby! It’s even worse than I thought. Oh my God, what will I tell your poor mother?”
“Tell her it isn’t mine,” Eve said, beginning to laugh so hard that she had to deposit the baby in the young stage manager’s arms. “You, Marcel, you’re so smart that you don’t even wait for me to say ‘come in’—you take this kid to Julie and be quick about it, hear? And don’t drop it. Suzu will want it back eventually, I suppose. Sit down, Aunt Marie-France, and make yourself comfortable. And Marcel, hey, Marcel, when you dump the kid, go and get us some coffee, there’s a sweetheart.”
“You still owe me two francs from yesterday, my angel,” Marcel complained, using the familiar form of address that everyone in the company employed except when they spoke to the producer.
“Isn’t my credit good with you, darling love?” Eve asked.
“Maddy, for you, always. Anything. Anytime. Do you desire my body as well as my heart? Just ask. Sugar too, Mesdames? And some little cakes?” He disappeared cheerfully, forgetting to close the door behind him, blowing them kisses and balancing the baby on one hand.
“Never mind him, Aunt Marie-France. He thinks he’s irresistible. Why should I disillusion him?”
“Eve, will you please put something on over your underwear? I never saw anything so indecent. And saying tu to that frightfully impertinent young man, what could you be thinking of?”
“At least it wasn’t my baby. Sit down, and tell me how you found me.”
“Your uncle found out. He saw a caricature by Sem this morning, and it looked exactly like you. Underneath it said, La Belle Maddy, the newest pupil at the university of the Olympia,’ so I knew where to come. I haven’t said a word to your parents yet because I didn’t want to upset them. Ever since you sang that tango in your mother’s boudoir, I’ve been afraid of something terrible happening to you—but this is so much worse than I’d imagined,” the Baronne wailed. “How will I ever break the news to them?”
“What, exactly, is so terrible? I’ll give you tickets for the performance tonight—you’ll see, I’m perfectly respectable. I sing fully clothed.”
“You can call that respectable—singing in a music hall!” the Baronne said with incredulous contempt.
“Not a music hall, the music hall, the best in France, the best in the world. And I have my little moment of glory. You might try to be a tiny bit proud of me, Aunt Marie-France.”
“Proud? You’re ruined. Completely ruined! Don’t you comprehend what that means, you stupid girl? You don’t deny that you’re living in sin?”
“No longer,” Eve said coldly. “I live alone.”
“That fact is of no importance—no one will believe it anyway. Now, when they see that drawing of you, by the most famous caricaturist in France, everyone will know that Eve Coudert, daughter of Doctor Didier Coudert, is singing in a music hall. For a girl from a good family to fall so low is worse than having a lover, far worse.”
The door popped open. “Where’s my brat, Maddy?” Suzu asked. “Oh, good day, Madame,” she added, extending a hand to the Baronne, who shook it automatically, stunned at the sight of the girl’s naked breasts.
“I sent it to Julie. She knows how to deal with that sort of object. And I don’t understand kids. Please remember next time, darling.”
“Sure, Maddy.” As she spoke, the sound of a violent voice broke out in the corridor just outside the dressing room.
“Oh, the shits, oh, the stinking turds of the sidewalks, oh, I’ll get them for this, I’ll wipe their asses on sandpaper, I’ll stuff their heads in the crapper! Maddy? Maddy! Did you see the bloody shits who did this?”
“Did what, Baldy?” Eve called.
“Nailed my shoes to the floor, beautiful. What do you think? They did it last week, in the same place. I’ll bet you know who they are.”
“If you didn’t take them off and leave them waiting in the corridor until you’re ready to go onstage, it wouldn’t happen,” Eve answered, shaking with laughter.
“You just wait, gorgeous, until you have corns. Then you’ll understand. Julie, another pair of shoes and be quick about it. I’m on in two minutes, for God’s sake!”
“Coming, coming.” Julie bustled into the room, the baby under one arm. “Suzu,” she shouted over her shoulder, “come here and give your nipper a tit right away or the Patron will hear it yowling.” She handed Baldy his shoes and rushed out in a flash, to be replaced by Marcel, carrying the coffee and cakes on a round platter.
“Voilà, Mesdames. My treat, Maddy,” he said gallantly, giving Eve a kiss on each cheek. “Since you have a guest …”
“You’re a sweetie. Oh, I forgot my manners—just as predicted. This is the Baronne de Courtizot, Marcel.” The young man bowed low in the direction of Marie-France de Courtizot’s hand.
“I am enchanted, Madame la Baronne,” he said with a flourish. “Allow me to present myself. I am the Duc de Saint-Cloud.”
The Baronne could not bring herself to nod, much less to speak.
“Marcel, I’ll see you later, all right?” Eve said, nodding toward the door. Understanding, he left them alone.
“Eve,” her aunt said urgently. “It’s not too late! If you go home today on the night train, I’ll accompany you, and by tomorrow everybody who matters in Dijon will see that you could not be the girl in the caricature. If they should even mention it, you will know nothing about it, and your father and mother can say that there must be someone who looks something like you who performs on a stage. Nobody can prove otherwise. Thank God you didn’t use your real name, and with all that makeup on your face no one will have recognized you. Oh, Eve, no one has to know!” Her tone was imploring.
“And why would I want to do that?” Eve asked.
“Why? Because if yo
u don’t, my girl, you’re finished, that’s why. You have made yourself completely déclassé, Eve, ruined, disgraced. But you don’t have to be cast out from decent society! Don’t you understand, there’s still time, just enough time.”
“It’s you who don’t understand, my poor Aunt. I’m not the same girl who left home last August. I’ve written every week, as you know, but I left out all the important things.”
“Do you think your parents care now that you had a lover? Do you think that’s the only thing that matters? If it’s over, so much the better,” the Baronne said angrily. “Forget it ever happened. You were always so protected that I’m not surprised someone was able to take advantage of you. Although how you were crafty enough to meet a man, none of us will ever understand. But don’t be a fool, girl. Don’t throw away your future.”
“What if I feel that my future is here?” Eve said.
“Here? In this squalid, grubby little room? With these low, gross, vulgar people? In this barnyard? It’s not possible. I simply will not allow it.”
As she spoke the door opened, although again no one had knocked, and a showgirl, down on her hands and knees, her bare breasts swinging freely from side to side, scampered into the room, barking like a dog. She had started to sniff in an interested manner at the Baronne’s feet as if she were about to lift her leg, when Eve jumped up.
“Enough! Morton, this time you have gone too far!” she yelled. “Get this girl out of here this minute, Morton, do you hear me?”
Sheepishly, the most famous magician and hypnotist in France poked his head into the room. “I thought you were alone, beloved. A thousand pardons, Madame. Alice believes she’s a dog. Come along, Alice, there’s a good doggie, come along and don’t bother the nice lady.”
Judith Krantz Page 10