After a long while, after I stopped sobbing and let the sound of the waves soothe me, Astruc took me gently by the arm. He said the last train to Paris would be departing soon and that we'd better hurry. On the way, he told me all the latest news from the art world, such as who was sleeping with whom and who had been fired from what places.
I laughed and asked for more. He was a truly wise and elegant man; he knew that my tears had drained everything out of me and buried it in the sand, where it must remain until the end of time.
"We are living through the greatest period in France's history. When did you arrive?"
"During the World's Fair; Paris was different then, more provincial, though it still thought it was the center of the world."
The afternoon sun streamed through the window of the expensive room at the Hotel Elysee Palace. We were surrounded by all the very best France could offer: champagne, absinthe, chocolate, cheese, and the scent of freshly cut flowers. Outside I could see the big tower that now bore the name of its builder, Eiffel.
He also eyed the huge iron structure.
"It wasn't built to remain after the end of the fair. I hope they move forward quickly with the plans to dismantle that monstrosity."
I could have disagreed, but he'd just submit more arguments and win in the end. So I kept quiet as he spoke of his country's belle epoque. Industrial production had tripled, agriculture was now aided by machines capable of single-handedly doing the work of ten men, shops were teeming, and fashion had changed completely. This pleased me very much, as now I had an excuse to go shopping to update my wardrobe at least twice a year.
"Have you noticed that even the food tastes better?"
I had noticed, yes, and I wasn't very pleased about it, because I was starting to gain weight.
"The president told me that the number of bicycles on the streets has increased from three hundred seventy-five thousand at the end of the last century to more than three million today. Houses have running water and gas, and people can travel far and wide during their holidays. Coffee consumption has quadrupled, and people can purchase bread without having to queue in front of the bakeries."
Why was he giving this lecture? It was time to yawn and return to playing the "dumb woman."
Adolphe Messimy--former minister of war and now a deputy in the National Assembly--rose from the bed and began to put on his clothes with all his medals and awards. He had a meeting with his old battalion and could not go dressed as a simple civilian.
"Though we loathe the English, they are right about one thing: It's more discreet to go to war in those horrible brown uniforms. We, on the other hand, feel we must die with elegance, in red trousers and caps that just scream to the enemy: 'Hey, point your rifles and cannons over here! Can't you see us?' "
He laughed at his own joke. I also laughed to please him, and then began to get dressed. I had long since lost any illusion of being loved for who I was and now accepted, with a clean conscience, flowers, flattery, and money that fed my ego and my false identity. For certain, I'd go to my grave one day without ever knowing love, but what difference did it make? For me, love and power were the same thing.
However, I wasn't foolish enough to let others realize that. I approached Messimy and gave him a loud peck on his cheek, half of which was covered by whiskers similar to those of my ill-fated husband.
He put a fat envelope with a thousand francs on the table.
"Don't misunderstand me, Mademoiselle. Given that I was just speaking of the country's progress, I believe it's time to help the consumer. I'm an officer who earns a lot and spends little. So I need to contribute something, stimulate consumption."
Again, he laughed at his own joke. He sincerely believed that I loved those medals and his close relationship to the president, whom he made a point to mention every time we met.
If he realized it was all fake, that--for me--love obeyed no rules, perhaps he would pull away and later punish me. He wasn't there just for the sex, but to feel wanted, as a woman's passion could truly arouse the feeling that he was capable of anything.
Yes, love and power were the same thing--and not just for me.
He left and I got dressed leisurely. My next encounter was late at night, outside Paris. I would stop by the hotel, put on my best dress, and go to Neuilly, where my most faithful lover had bought a villa in my name. I thought of also asking him for a car and driver, but figured he would be suspicious.
Of course, I could have been more--shall we say--demanding of him. He was married, a banker with a fine reputation, and the newspapers would have had a ball if I insinuated anything in public. Now they were only interested in my "famous lovers," completely forgetting the extensive body of work I had struggled so hard to create.
During my trial, I heard that someone had been there in the hotel lobby, pretending to read a newspaper but actually watching my every move. As soon as I'd go out, he would rise from his seat and discreetly follow me.
I strolled down the boulevards of the most beautiful city in the world. I saw the overflowing cafes and the increasingly well-dressed people walking from one place to another. As I heard violin music issuing from the doors and windows of the most sophisticated places, I thought how life had been good to me after all. There was no need for blackmail, all I had to do was know how to manage the gifts I'd received and I could grow old in peace. Besides, if I said a word about a single man with whom I'd slept, the others would flee my company for fear of also being blackmailed and exposed.
I had plans to go to the chateau my banker friend had had built for his "golden years." Poor thing; he was already old, but didn't want to admit it. I would stay there for two or three days riding horses, and by Sunday I could be back in Paris, where I'd go straight to the Longchamp Racecourse and show all those who envied and admired me that I was an excellent horsewoman.
But why not have a nice chamomile tea before night fell? I sat outside a cafe while people stared at the face and body that was on various postcards scattered throughout the city. I pretended to be lost in a world of reverie, with an air of someone who had more important things to do.
Before I even had the chance to order something, a man approached and complimented my beauty. I reacted with my usual look of ennui and thanked him with a stiff smile, then turned away. But the man did not move.
"A nice cup of coffee will salvage the rest of your day."
I said nothing. He motioned to the waiter and asked him to take my order.