A Paris Affair (3 page)

“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 Andr
é
.”

“What about Andr
é
?”

“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.”

“Andr
é
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 Andr
é
. 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 Andr
é
.

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.

Andr
é
took her in his arms and stroked her hair.

“Come on, Loulou, be brave. Think of our baby. And try to eat properly.”

Louise sniffed, then calmed down.

“Andr
é
, have you ever cheated on me?”

Andr
é
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 Andr
é
.

“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 Verri
è
res.

“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 Verri
è
res 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 Verri
è
res, 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 Verri
è
res.

Louise looked at her without a word. “It’s Julietta and Andr
é
,” 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 Verri
è
res 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 Andr
é
. See you in a minute!”

Then she opened the front door of the apartment, walked inside, and closed it soundlessly behind her.

T
HE
R
ED
N
OTEBOOK

The man who loves normally under the sun

adores feverishly under the moon.

—G
UY
DE
M
AUPASSANT
(1850–1893),
On Water

MAY 2

Guy is irreproachable. He is deathly dull. The only thing to be done is to cheat on him, a course of action I have been pursuing for quite some time now. I dream of a husband who’s a lady-killer, a heartbreaker, a womanizer, a skirt chaser, a charming Casanova, a beautiful bastard! Alas!

I share a sterilized bed with a faithful man. I am married to an easygoing family man who takes me gently, paternalistically, whispering words into my ear that are more tender than exciting, kissing me in a way that is more respectful than earthshaking. To reach nirvana, I must sink into some bawdy vision of lust and debauchery, a delicious dream of sinful violence, complex positions, and coarse language.

MAY 21

My husband bores me.

It’s sad but true.

My children are beautiful, but they have never awoken any maternal instinct. I love them, of course, but it’s the nanny who brings them up. The idea of taking care of baby bottles, diapers, vaccinations, and walks in the park is utterly foreign to me.

I cheated on him for the first time one month after my wedding, with an ex. I told myself that didn’t count, as it wasn’t new.

Then I realized it was the only thing that did count.

I soon had to face facts. Cheating on a husband who suspects nothing is almost as boring as not cheating on him at all.

JUNE 4

I have been unfaithful for five years now. Everyone knows, except him. He is ridiculous. If only he would insult me or do the same thing in return!

If only I could find him in bed with my sister or my best friend or the cleaning lady or even his cousin, his niece, his goddaughter … what joy! What a gloriously ridiculed spouse I would be! What insufferable scenes I would make, followed by thrilling reunions in bed.…

Alas, the aforementioned conjugal bed has been unrumpled forever! And I am nothing more than a bourgeois wife who is bored with her goody-two-shoes husband, and who—at thirty-two years old—already has one foot in the grave.

JULY 11

I choose my lovers with subtlety and skill. They are rarely part of my circle. Besides, all these devoted dads make me want to scream. They are always in a rush, looking at their watches. I prefer young, firm-fleshed bucks who would rather surrender to my experience than try to get on top (in every sense), as their elders do. Why does Guy never suspect anything? I force myself to leave clues, just to pique his curiosity. But when he finds a man’s sock that is not his own at the foot of the bed, he just smiles and puts it aside.

There is nothing more stupid in this world than a faithful husband.

And, as a rule, faithful husbands don’t even exist. Guy is a freak of nature. The blood that crawls through his veins must be from some dynasty extinguished by a lack of passion, or impoverished by years of unimaginative inbreeding.

AUGUST 28

All the same, he’s not dumb. Poor Guy is simply faithful.

Ever since we were married, I have been devising Machiavellian stratagems to make him cheat on me at last.

I have recruited the most beautiful women and gotten them, without any attempt at delicacy, to sprawl naked at his feet.

In vain. He showed them all his wedding ring as if he were brandishing a crucifix at a bloodthirsty vampire.

So I have had to resign myself. Guy will never cheat on me. It is just not part of his genetic makeup.

SEPTEMBER 3

There is nothing more soporific than a faithful husband, especially when he is yours.

When he falls asleep in the evening after performing his conjugal duties and murmurs, “Sweet dreams, darling,” the night—still so young!—stretches out flatly in front of me like the Dead Sea, or an arid tundra without any surprises, any protuberances or hidden crevices.

A husband who never strays is a mediocre husband. What a marriage needs is an unfaithful man to spice it up! A sly, cheating husband exudes sinfulness, oozes lasciviousness, breathes concupiscence. When you lie in bed next to him, you think of the libertine debaucheries of his day, of those other women he has brought to orgasm, and you listen in a blissful state to the convoluted lies he reels off so ingeniously.