THE “BABY MONITOR”
I do not wish to love anyone,
for I have no faith in my faithfulness.
—LOUISE DE VILMORIN (1902–1969), Notebooks
Standing in the child-care aisle, Louise was sweating. Her distended belly felt heavy. Inside, she felt the movement of vigorous little fists. She was attempting to decipher the user’s guide to a device she had heard great things about. With one hand, she tenderly patted her rounded uterus; in the other, she held that marvel of technical progress, a “Baby Monitor.”
A saleswoman, taking pity on Louise’s swollen ankles, came toward her.
“Can I help you, madame?”
Louise gave her the grateful smile of a first-time mother.
“Yes, thank you. I’ve heard a lot about this device, and I’d like to understand how it works.”
The woman launched into a sales pitch that would have delighted her department head.
“With the ‘Baby Monitor,’ you can wave good-bye to all your worries! Your baby—and I can see that the little darling will be with us soon!” she added, with a simper. “Your baby will never go unmonitored; you will be able to hear even the slightest breath, or the quietest sigh.”
“How does it work?”
“The ‘Baby Monitor’ consists of two parts: a transmitter, which you place near your child’s crib, and a receiver.”
“So it’s a bit like a walkie-talkie?”
“Yes, but the difference is that communication is only one-way, so your child won’t be woken by any noises around the receiver.”
“So I can hear my baby, but my baby can’t hear me?”
“Exactly. In this way, you can speak as loud as you like without fear of upsetting your baby, and at the same time you can check how the baby is sleeping, giving you perfect peace of mind. This sophisticated sensor is only triggered when there is a noise. Otherwise, it remains on standby. So you can leave the transmitter on all the time, and switch on the receiver whenever you wish.”
“That does sound practical. Does it take batteries?”
“Nine-volt batteries. But both parts can also be plugged into an electrical socket.”
“How far does it transmit?”
“Fifty meters.”
“I’ll take one.”
“Excellent choice, madame. I’m sure you’ll find it extremely practical when your baby arrives. Do you know if it’s a girl or a boy?”
Louise smiled.
“Yes, it’s a girl. Her name is Rosie.”
* * *
Rosie was born a few days later. Back at home, she slept in her crib in a delightfully girly lilac-colored bedroom. And with the “Baby Monitor” Louise could hear every cry and whimper Rosie made.
“What the hell is that?” asked Louise’s husband, André, rendered rather surly by the night feeds and the way his life had been turned upside down by the arrival of this bawling, insatiable being.
“It’s so I can listen to Rosie no matter where I am. It’s really practical. I can go down to see your mother on the first floor. I can even go across the road to buy bread.”
A staticky sound came through the receiver, followed by a quivering cry of hunger.
“Oh, our little angel wants more milk!” sang Louise.
“Ugh, how do you unplug this thing?” André sighed.
* * *
She could attach the receiver to her belt. Louise never tired of hearing that light, fragile breathing, all those sweet little baby sounds.
At the other end of the apartment, far from the mauve bedroom, she held the receiver to her ear and listened to her daughter breathe. Terrified, like all mothers, by the thought of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome, Louise kept the device under her pillow at night, the volume turned to its lowest setting. Her husband was oblivious to this fact. Sometimes, when the silence seemed too loud, she would get up in a state of dread and tiptoe to Rosie’s room to check that she was still breathing. Then Louise would return to bed, reassured by the little start her baby made when she stroked her cheek.
* * *
“I still think you should try to lose some weight,” said Julietta, Louise’s best friend.
Julietta was tall and slim. You would never have guessed she’d had two children.
Three months after Rosie’s birth, however, Louise’s ankles were still swollen.
Louise shrugged. “I know, I know. André tells me that every day. But I don’t have the energy to start a diet.”
“You should do it before it’s too late.”
“Too late?”
“The longer you leave it, the harder it gets. You’re nearly thirty, Louise. Be careful.”
“Oh, give me a break.”
“I’m saying this for your own good. And anyway, think about André.”
“What about André?”
“Well, he probably wants his wife back. You were slender, before Rosie.”
“I know.”
“Men are fragile after a birth. My husband became depressed after our second child. It was him, not me, who got the famous baby blues! And my cousin’s husband kept cheating on her after the birth of their son.”
“André would never cheat on me.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“He has too much respect for me. He puts me on a pedestal. He would never do that.”
“I admire your confidence, but I don’t think any woman can really be certain of that.”
“Did yours cheat on you?”
“I hope not. But to be perfectly honest, I have no idea.”
“How would you react if he did?”
“I’d be devastated. Crushed.”
Rosie screamed through the receiver.
“She’s always hungry, your daughter,” Julietta observed.
Louise struggled to her feet and began walking toward the baby’s bedroom.
“You’re right, Julietta. I need to lose ten pounds.”
“More like twenty,” said Julietta.
“I hate you.”
“I’m the only one who can tell you the truth.”
* * *
Louise often went down from her fourth-floor apartment to see her mother-in-law on the first floor. The sexagenarian was very fond of her son’s wife.
“I’m going to start a diet,” Louise told her.
“That’s a good idea.”
“Oh, am I really that fat?”
“No, my love. Just a little plump. It’s normal, after you’ve had a baby.”
“But I’ve put on over fifty pounds!”
“It happens. I put on sixty when I was pregnant with André. But I lost it all afterward.”
“Can I leave the ‘Baby Monitor’ with you? I have to go to the butcher’s, and the reception doesn’t work when it’s that far away.”
“Of course, Louise. Go ahead. I’ll keep an eye on Rosie. Or an ear, rather.”
* * *
One month later, Louise had lost ten pounds.
“How do I look?” she asked André.
He examined her.
“Fine.”
“Notice any difference?”
“No.”
Her face fell. “I’ve lost ten pounds, and you can’t even tell?”
“Try to lose a little more.”
Louise froze. “You think I’m fat?”
“No, I didn’t say that—”
“You just told me I should lose more weight.”
“Well, it’s true, you are a bit heavier than before the pregnancy. Just lose a few more pounds and you’ll be perfect.”
“Are you and Julietta in on this together?” Suddenly Louise was filled with rage. “I hate you both! What right does Julietta have to talk to you about my weight? This is crazy!”
She burst into tears.
“Loulou, calm down. You’re too on edge these days. It’s not good for you.”
“I’m on edge because I’m not eating enough.” Louise wept.
André took her in his arms and stroke
d her hair.
“Come on, Loulou, be brave. Think of our baby. And try to eat properly.”
Louise sniffed, then calmed down.
“André, have you ever cheated on me?”
André took a step back. “No, of course not! What on earth made you ask me that?”
She shrugged. “Just wondering.”
* * *
Louise got on the scale. One hundred and fifteen pounds. She sighed with relief. Only a couple more pounds to go and she would be back to her pre-Rosie weight. She was sick to death of this diet. She was slim again, but she felt so strange, angry, lethargic. Dark thoughts filled her head during the day, and at night she had violent, bloody dreams.
The telephone rang. It was Julietta.
“I’m thin again. Well, almost.”
“Congrats! I want to come and see. Will you be home in an hour?”
“Let’s go out for lunch. Rosie’s in day care today. What about Japanese? That’s not too fattening.”
“Sounds great. Can you book us a table for one o’clock?”
“Okay. I’ll go grocery shopping first. We can meet at the restaurant.”
Louise hung up. The phone rang again. This time, it was André.
“I’ve lost my phone charger! I’ve looked everywhere—it’s not in my office.”
“It must be here. Let me check.”
She looked in their bedroom.
“It’s on the bedside table.”
“I’ll come and pick it up around noon. Will you be home?”
“No. Rosie’s in day care until five, so I’m going shopping and then eating lunch with Julietta.”
“All right. See you tonight, then.”
Louise hung up. She was getting ready to go out when the phone rang for a third time. It was the day-care center: Rosie had a fever and she wouldn’t stop crying. Louise had to go fetch her.
After giving her lunch, Louise went down to the first floor with the baby to see Madame Verrières.
“Could you look after Rosie while I go out for lunch? They wouldn’t let her stay in day care because she has a slight fever. I’ve booked a table at the Japanese restaurant for me and Julia. I’ll take Rosie to the doctor in the afternoon.”
“Of course! Don’t worry, Loulou, I’ll take care of our little darling. Go eat lunch with your friend. When Rosie gets tired, I’ll take her up to her crib. And make sure you eat plenty—you’re looking a little thin to me! Give me the ‘Baby Phone’ and your apartment key.”
“Damn it, the light’s not working. The batteries must be dead! What time is it?”
“Half past twelve.”
“Okay, I’m going across the road to buy batteries. I’ll be back in a couple of minutes. Here, take Rosie.…”
* * *
A few minutes later, with the new batteries installed, the red light shone brightly again. Louise turned the volume to its highest setting.
“I’m turning the sound up, because I’ve had to move the transmitter further away from her crib, near the hallway. She kept grabbing hold of it, the little devil! It’s hidden behind a chair now, so she can’t see it.”
“Louise, you’re going to be late.”
Madame Verrières took the receiver from her daughter-in-law.
“Good-bye, my little Rosinette—see you later!” Louise chirped.
Suddenly the receiver emitted a bestial grunting noise.
“Did you hear that?” Louise asked.
“Yes. Very strange.”
Louise took the receiver from her mother-in-law and examined it.
There was another grunt, followed by a sensual sigh. Then a woman’s voice said, “Oh yes, that’s good! That feels so good! Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Louise and her mother-in-law were frozen to the spot.
“What is that?” Louise muttered.
“Yes, again! Yes! Yes! Do it again! Oh, it’s so good!”
“It sounds like two people making love,” whispered the old lady, embarrassed.
Louise listened, in a trance.
A man’s voice made them both jump.
“That’s how you like it, isn’t it? Huh? Tell me!”
“Yes!” the woman bleated. “Yes, fuck me hard!”
“Louise, I don’t want to listen to those people anymore,” mumbled Madame Verrières, who was blushing. “Please, switch it off.”
“Fuck you hard? Oh yeah, I’ll fuck you hard. You like that, don’t you?”
“Oh yes, yes, yes!”
“Louise, switch it off! This is horrible. Please!”
But Louise did not respond. Her thinned-down face was deathly pale.
“It turns you on to do it standing up in the hallway, doesn’t it? To do it in our home when Louise is away! You little slut!”
“Oh my God!” breathed Madame Verrières.
Louise looked at her without a word. “It’s Julietta and André,” she said in a flat voice, while the couple three floors above groaned with pleasure.
She switched it off.
Silence.
“My poor d-dear…,” her mother-in-law stammered.
“Wait here,” Louise told her. “I’ll be back in five minutes to get Rosie.”
“Louise, where are you going?”
Face blank, Louise opened the door. She climbed the stairs quickly and jerkily, like a robot. Her eyes shone.
“Louise, what are you doing?”
Rosie, frightened by her grandmother’s anguished voice and by her mother’s white face, began to whine.
Madame Verrières could now see nothing of her daughter-in-law but her hand on the bannister.
“Louise! Answer me! You’re scaring me.”
The hand kept moving smoothly up the bannister, imperturbable.
“Don’t worry,” Louise called out in a voice that sounded almost normal. “I feel perfectly fine. To tell the truth, I’m starving. I was really looking forward to that sushi. It’s a shame, really. I won’t be able to have lunch with Julietta because I’m going to kill her.”
“Louise! Have you lost your mind?”
Louise was now on the fourth floor. She leaned over the bannister and saw her mother-in-law, petrified, three floors below, the crying baby in her arms.
Louise gave her a pale smile that looked more like a grimace of pain.
“It won’t take long, with my meat cleaver. Don’t worry—I’ll spare André. See you in a minute!”
Then she opened the front door of the apartment, walked inside, and closed it soundlessly behind her.
A Paris Affair Page 2