A Paris Affair Read Free Page A

husband—is that what you’re saying? But you also said that all husbands are unfaithful, so why are there any couples who are still together? That must mean there are women who accept the infidelity and stay with their husbands. They close their eyes, or at least they don’t go through their husbands’ things, they don’t read the texts on their husbands’ cell phones, they don’t ask questions if they change the brand of aftershave they use or if they buy new suits or come home late or whistle in the shower. You think we have a choice when we find out we’re being cheated on? Either you get the hell out, or you shut up and put up with it? You would advise me to get the hell out? Without even talking to him about it? I just grab my daughter and leave? I don’t even say to him, ‘Who’s this Lili?’ Because I want to know who Lili is, madame! I refuse to let this Lili steal my husband! That husband of mine is important to me! Maybe you were happy to get rid of your husband: maybe he smelled bad or he snored or he beat you, I don’t know, but it’s not like that for me. Gustave and I have been married for four years, and he can be a very kind and devoted man— You think there will be other Lilis? Excuse me for saying this, madame, but I find you depressingly pessimistic! You’re against marriage? Yes, I thought so. You must despise men—I can sense it. So, in your opinion, if some poor guy has a brief fling with a waitress or a receptionist, we should dump him on the spot? So a wife who finds ridiculous texts, full of clich é s and spelling mistakes, on her husband’s cell phone, should just pack up and leave? Well, good for you, madame! I wish you luck in your narrow, boring little life. I bet you look like an old maid and you live with some mangy cat and spend your evenings watching reality TV shows! Oh, you think that’s funny? Go ahead and laugh. I would much rather be an understanding wife than a liberated woman. Good night, madame.”

 
    T HE “B ABY M ONITOR ”
    I do not wish to love anyone,
        for I have no faith in my faithfulness.
    —L OUISE DE V ILMORIN (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