The Great Husband Hunt (21 page)

It was also
chez nous
that Ava Hornblower abandoned Moo Greenaway and seduced Jane Speke. Feelings ran very high and so did Moo, who went up into the
mansarde,
and threatened to throw herself from our maid's window. And whatever Nancy Lord may claim, it was
we
who erected a boxing ring in our salon so that Chip Angus and Desmond McGrath could settle their differences in accordance with Queensberry Rules, and it was in
my
house that Badgirl Duprée first wore her transparent gown.

And my family expected me to return to dreary old New York!

It was rumored that my cousin Addie had also declined to return to the United States after peace broke out and had stayed on in Paris. I welcomed this information. Cousin Addie promised to be the type of kin who would add to my standing as an interesting person. She had been a trailblazer, after all.

I made inquiries and discovered her next door to an abattoir in the shadow of the Salpêtrière hospital. She was wearing a sack suit and smoking black cigarettes and wasn't pretty at all.

I said, “I'm Abe Minkel's girl. We're cousins. Just fancy we both come to be living in Paris, France.”

“Just fancy,” she said.

I told her how Gil and I were creating a salon where wild and shocking events might occur and invited her to attend our next costume party.

“Cousin Poppy,” she said, “I'm here to work. I've already seen a lifetime's worth of wild and shocking.”

I believe she was acting superior with me on account of being older and having gone to war.

I said, “I know about the ambulances you bought. I wanted to do the very same myself, but I hadn't come into my money and my uncle wouldn't permit it. I was needed at home, too. My ma was a delicate widow. But I did roll bandages and avert a crisis with my French interpreting.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” she said. “Well, the work goes on.”

She had a lecturing tone about her that reminded me of Yetta Landau.

I told her about Coquelicot, lest she think I didn't understand the meaning of work.

I said, “And what line are you in now?”

She took me through her malodorous little house to a workroom, and there I saw a sight that made me jump out of my skin. Men's faces lined up on a shelf, ghostly gray. They were made out of plaster. Two women were at work. One was molding thin sheet copper to a plaster form, making a metal mask in its likeness. The other was painting a mask with oils, turning it the very color of a person's skin.

I said, “Are these for
bals masqués
?”

“No,” she said. “These are for life.”

Then she showed me photographs of the men they were being made for. Soldier boys who had lost their faces. No jaw. No nose. A mouth that gaped open right up to the ear. I believe she was trying to shock me. I believe she was testing what kind of stuff I was made of. To tell the truth, I was disappointed in Cousin Addie. She wasn't at all friendly. She hadn't even offered me a chair, or a glass of wine.

I said, “Do you need a donation?”

“If you want to,” she said, “but I wasn't soliciting funds. I'd be happier if I knew I'd given you something to think about. And pass the thought along to your salon. What happens to a man when you take away his face? It's an excellent subject for discussion.”

I didn't care for her tone or her suggestion that our friends didn't talk about the aftermath of war. They talked about it often. It was the reason Gil had decided to reject rationalism, as he announced to me only the day before.

“Where did rationalism lead?” he'd asked. “I'll tell you. It led to the trenches. Therefore, I reject it.”

Of course, Cousin Addie didn't know Gil. Also, she was from Minnesota. And it didn't escape my notice, Beluga hadn't warmed to her either.

28

By the fall of 1923 I was flying my own two-seater pumpkin-orange Oriole out to Bois de Vincennes to see the trotting races. I could always depend on the company of Humpy Choate, and people at the racetrack would gather to watch me land my plane, eager to see my latest aviatrix ensemble.

Humpy was rather elegant, with the droll English way of speaking. He never shouted or got excited, except toward the end of a closely run race, and he always remembered to hold the door. Gil didn't care for Humpy. He declared him to be both a fairy and a seducer of wives, and I could never make him see the inconsistency of these accusations. He'd just fly into a rage whenever I tried. Rages were something that plagued Gil. Also a tendency to melancholia whenever he drank red wine. It should have been a simple matter of just not drinking the stuff, God knows there was choice enough of liquor, but oftentimes he was so wrapped up in planning a better world, he'd forget and then next day I'd be expected to endure his remaining in bed, silent and unsociable.

Apart from this, and Stassy's constant pestering me, life was pretty sweet.

“If you don't want to work anymore,” Stassy'd say, “let me take it. I'll pay you. Some now, some later.”

And she'd start grubbing banknotes out of her pocketbook.

But I didn't see why I should. Coquelicot was
my
name. And I did still like coming up with originations and picking out the fabrics. I just didn't want to do it every day of my life.

Then, during October, I became aware of a certain familiar indisposition, feeling too tired and nauseated to go anywhere or do anything. I lay in bed one morning, considering whether to confide in Nancy Lord and ask her for the name of a hygienist, or sail home to New York and take care of things there.

I turned to look at Gil who was asleep beside me, recovering from the effects of red wine, and I don't know what happened, maybe he just looked so cute curled up there, dribbling a little from the corner of his mouth, anyhow, I got to thinking it might not be so bad to get a little baby. He'd look just like Gil, and he could go everywhere with me. I'd design him an adorable flying suit and teach him French words and we'd have such fun.

Ignoring my queasiness, I got up immediately, dressed and took a taxicab to Samaritaine. It was a fresh and wonderful day.

I asked my driver if he was a grand duke.

“Not very grand,” he laughed. Those Russians were always so cheerful about being dispossessed, I was inclined to think they couldn't ever have possessed very much in the first place.

I said, “See the color of the sky? That's the shade of blue I'm looking for. I'm going to make my baby boy a silk flying suit.”

“Beautiful!” he said. “What is his name?”

I said, “Oh he isn't born yet. But I'll probably call him Abraham Gilbert, for his grandpa and his daddy.”

He turned and looked at me.

“Well, many years,” he said. “God grant him many years.”

Beluga always found shopping quite prostrating, so I allowed him to ride all the way home in Abraham Gilbert's new bassinet. He sat there, surrounded by packages, causing passers-by to smile, and I began to appreciate how just the sight of a bassinet improves the mood of people. I was eager to show Gil the layettes and nightdresses and squirrel fur coverlets I had bought, but by the time we got home he had defeated the melancholia enough to go out and face another evening of revolutionizing. I laid out all my purchases on the bed, had the maid bring me my dinner on a tray and waited. I heard midnight. After that I guess I must have fallen asleep, and Beluga didn't stir himself either, being accustomed to the sound of Gil's footsteps.

The first I knew, the lights were blazing and Gil was yelling, “What in tarnation is all this stuff? You branching out into the nursery business?”

I said, “Yes, I am, sweetheart, and so are you. We're going to have a little baby and he'll be named Abraham Gilbert Catchings.”

“Not me,” he said. “I don't want any baby, and neither do you if you have a lick of sense. You'll have to take this nonsense back to the store. Tell them you made a mistake.”

I loved Gil and I hated to discommode him, but something had taken hold of me that day. The grand duke taxi driver had thought a baby was a good idea and the shop girls at Samaritaine had thought it was the best possible idea.

Gil said, “You been forgetting to douche?”

Sometimes there were too many things to remember.

I said, “You just need time to get accustomed to the idea. My brother-in-law Harry was the same at the start.”

This was a lie. Harry had been more than happy for Honey to have a baby. He had picked out names and considerately dined at his club in the evenings instead of going home and making conversational demands of my sister. But I wanted to reassure Gil. I could see the taint of red wine on his teeth again, and I didn't want to provoke another fit of depression. His hand moved so fast I never saw it. It caught me under my jaw and sent me flying back into the display of matinée coats. Beluga growled a little.

“Get it fixed,” he said. His face was right up close to mine. “It's the easiest thing in the world.”

I had already decided I wouldn't get it fixed and the excitement kept me awake long after I thought Gil had fallen asleep. Suddenly he spoke.

He said, “How can you be sure it's a boy?”

I said, “I just know.”

My jaw was still stinging. Sometimes, when a person drinks red wine, they find it hard to stay in command of themselves.

I wrote to my sister informing her she would presently become an aunt but I asked her not to tell Ma the news until I felt strong enough to face an inquisition. Honey, of course, never could keep a secret. Toward the end of November I received a letter from Ma. “My dearest Poppy,” she wrote.

How odd that I should hear your important news at second hand. I suppose Paris has made you forget your New York manners.

I hope this finds you in good health. How strange it feels to know that my little Poppy is now a “complete” woman. I recommend you to leave off those elastic girdles of which you young people are so fond, and to take extra milk, eggs and butter in your meals, for a strong baby, and a sugar sandwich every afternoon, for energy. The sooner you return and enter the care of a good New York doctor the less racked with worry I shall be. In the meanwhile be most vigilant against hot baths, overflavored foods, and the raising of your arms above your head, which is a well-known cause of infant strangulation.

Your aunt sends her good wishes.

Please let us know the name of your boat and the date of its arrival. Judah insists our help must be sent to your apartment to air it and prepare it. I know you will remember to write and thank him for his generosity, though how I am expected to spare both girls for the hours and hours it will surely take I can't imagine. It would be altogether more satisfactory if the lease was terminated. Harry can see to it. You have a home here with us until you can find a more suitable address for the raising of my grandchild.

By the way, I have advised Judah against sharing the news with your stepbrother. At seventeen it is better for a boy not to have his attention drawn to such things and Murray is, in any event, quite put out by the duration of your honeymoon.

Your ever-loving Ma

PS: Will your husband sail with you? Perhaps you should keep on that place after all. Bachelor quarters are always useful while a woman needs her rest. Please advise.

It had never crossed my mind that I would return to New York. Babies were born every day in Paris and I saw no reason mine shouldn't be one of them. I was in the habit of calling him my baby. Gil had gradually acquiesced to the idea of having a child and had even kept his promise that in future he would take only white drinks. He had resumed calling me “Princess” and then, as my condition became more visible, “Lady-in-waiting.” He worked hard preparing to write his novel and going to happenings and debating with Romanians at the Café Dingo.

Letters plowed slowly back and forth across the Atlantic Ocean. I declined to return to New York for my confinement. Ma regretted that motherhood had done nothing to improve either my sense of correctness or duty. I announced that I had secured the services of a good French nurse. Ma wondered how early in the long hours of agonizing travail I should regret throwing myself on the mercy of an ignorant foreigner. I offered to visit with Abraham Gilbert as soon I felt strong enough for the voyage. Ma questioned whether she would live long enough to see the day.

It was Honey who broke the deadlock.

“I am coming to be at your side,” she wrote. “Sherman Ulysses has to go to the Tilton School in Connecticut, to be gotten ready for a good college, which will leave Aunt Fish and me far too much in each other's company. I believe the time has now come for her to return to her own house, and your greater need of me in Paris will surely make her recognize this.”

But Honey's decision only made Aunt Fish recognize that she was, to quote her, a burdensome old widow whom no one should be expected to care for.

“STAND FIRM,” I wired Honey. “COME SOONEST.”

I should have adored to fly my sister from Cherbourg to Paris, but by the time she arrived, in May, I could no longer fit into the cockpit of the Oriole. I took the train to meet her and was glad I'd done so when I saw how Honey's own girth had expanded in the three years since I left. And then there was her luggage to consider. As well as ten boxes of gowns and hats she had brought with her a trunk of her favorite violet creams, an oil painting of Sherman Ulysses and a traveling water closet.

“Poppy!” she cried when she saw me. “I have decided to enjoy travel. Sailing the ocean wasn't half as frightening as I expected, and I met the most fascinating person, a doctor who has the very remedy for my slow digestion. An elixir of cayenne, to burn away unwanted tissues. I purchased a supply for each of us. I remember how sluggish the system can be after a confinement.”

I had obtained a suite for her at the Lutèce, but she was inclined to go to the Prince de Galles instead because that was where the digestion doctor had said he would be staying.

“In case I mislay the regime he wrote out for me. I think it would be better. Don't you think it would be better?”