and my heart gave me that unpleasant unease I used to feel hoping a certain guy would talk to me or ask me out. I was aware of a male power over me that I have always resented. This elderly Frenchman, so full of will, experience, moral force, political passion, was affecting me like a man. How totally odd, I thought afterward, walking Gennie home, how almost embarrassing. But of course he couldn’t have guessed my inappropriate emotions.
12
The two wretched creatures who alone in the world knew each other and alone were capable of consoling each other, now seemed to be irreconcilable enemies bent on mutual destruction.
—Adolphe
W HEN C HARLES -H ENRI MADE it known that he wanted to divorce, Roxy at first did nothing, took no steps, in no way tried to resolve the issue. I thought it might be a kind of inertia hormone that goes with pregnancy. Except for strange outbursts, about pigeons or a metro strike, she even seemed happy enough most of the time, going to her studio, portfolio in hand, attending her seminar on Thursday nights, having Sunday lunches in the bosom of Charles-Henri’s family, for it was she (we) and not Charles-Henri who continued to go to these occasions. “I know Suzanne wishes Charles-Henri would pick up Gennie and come himself, but he hasn’t even suggested it,” said Roxy. The lunches were civil, and neither divorce nor Charles-Henri were ever discussed. As far as we could learn, Suzanne still had not yet met or even seen the Other Woman, Magda Tellman.
Following Charles-Henri’s request for a divorce there had been several weeks of uncertainty and discussion, always initiated by him or his mother. Suzanne would call to talk to Roxy in person, always expressing support, and Charles-Henri wouldtelephone to plead or threaten, conversations that would leave Roxy tearful and furious. “These are your own kids, Charles,” she would say, or “Over my dead body!” At last, convinced by Suzanne that she had better find out what her rights were, Roxy did consent at least to go with Charles-Henri to meet with a lawyer suggested by Monsieur de Persand, a Maître Doisneau. I think that is why she consented to go to the lawyer, it was a chance to see her husband. She dithered about what to wear. She wanted to look her best for Charles-Henri. I had not realized that vanity would continue during the misshapen months of pregnancy. If I am ever pregnant, I don’t expect to care what I look like.
Maître Doisneau was a darting, slender man behind a large desk, who explained to them what they would have to do. “In general, in a divorce matter, it is in everyone’s interest to agree,” he said. “If the two of you make a motion together, I can prepare it, and it is all simple. The court follows your wishes as to the distribution of property, you wait several months, we enter a second motion to say that you are still of the same opinion, the court grants a divorce and you are free.”
“When—when would remarriage be permitted?” asked Charles-Henri, with fatal insensitivity.
“You could remarry in a week or so. Madame de Persand, of course, could not marry until after the birth of your child.”
This shocked Roxy. The unfairness of the female lot, of European sexism, of her particular fate, stabbed at her heart. She said fiercely, “That’s unbelievable! You mean that the law is different for men and women?”
“For obvious reasons,” said Maître Doisneau, seeming to indicate Roxy’s pregnant belly.
“It isn’t obvious to me! I could marry as soon as I wanted in California, and France could not stop me!” Roxy snarled, wishing at that moment for a California suitor so she could leave France, marry immediately, and give Charles-Henri’s child another man’s name. Charles-Henri and Maître Doisneau exchanged glances of masculine commiseration.
“There is no property to speak of,” said Charles-Henri, sliding smoothly along. “I would return any gifts given to me,and of course I
12
The two wretched creatures who alone in the world knew each other and alone were capable of consoling each other, now seemed to be irreconcilable enemies bent on mutual destruction.
—Adolphe
W HEN C HARLES -H ENRI MADE it known that he wanted to divorce, Roxy at first did nothing, took no steps, in no way tried to resolve the issue. I thought it might be a kind of inertia hormone that goes with pregnancy. Except for strange outbursts, about pigeons or a metro strike, she even seemed happy enough most of the time, going to her studio, portfolio in hand, attending her seminar on Thursday nights, having Sunday lunches in the bosom of Charles-Henri’s family, for it was she (we) and not Charles-Henri who continued to go to these occasions. “I know Suzanne wishes Charles-Henri would pick up Gennie and come himself, but he hasn’t even suggested it,” said Roxy. The lunches were civil, and neither divorce nor Charles-Henri were ever discussed. As far as we could learn, Suzanne still had not yet met or even seen the Other Woman, Magda Tellman.
Following Charles-Henri’s request for a divorce there had been several weeks of uncertainty and discussion, always initiated by him or his mother. Suzanne would call to talk to Roxy in person, always expressing support, and Charles-Henri wouldtelephone to plead or threaten, conversations that would leave Roxy tearful and furious. “These are your own kids, Charles,” she would say, or “Over my dead body!” At last, convinced by Suzanne that she had better find out what her rights were, Roxy did consent at least to go with Charles-Henri to meet with a lawyer suggested by Monsieur de Persand, a Maître Doisneau. I think that is why she consented to go to the lawyer, it was a chance to see her husband. She dithered about what to wear. She wanted to look her best for Charles-Henri. I had not realized that vanity would continue during the misshapen months of pregnancy. If I am ever pregnant, I don’t expect to care what I look like.
Maître Doisneau was a darting, slender man behind a large desk, who explained to them what they would have to do. “In general, in a divorce matter, it is in everyone’s interest to agree,” he said. “If the two of you make a motion together, I can prepare it, and it is all simple. The court follows your wishes as to the distribution of property, you wait several months, we enter a second motion to say that you are still of the same opinion, the court grants a divorce and you are free.”
“When—when would remarriage be permitted?” asked Charles-Henri, with fatal insensitivity.
“You could remarry in a week or so. Madame de Persand, of course, could not marry until after the birth of your child.”
This shocked Roxy. The unfairness of the female lot, of European sexism, of her particular fate, stabbed at her heart. She said fiercely, “That’s unbelievable! You mean that the law is different for men and women?”
“For obvious reasons,” said Maître Doisneau, seeming to indicate Roxy’s pregnant belly.
“It isn’t obvious to me! I could marry as soon as I wanted in California, and France could not stop me!” Roxy snarled, wishing at that moment for a California suitor so she could leave France, marry immediately, and give Charles-Henri’s child another man’s name. Charles-Henri and Maître Doisneau exchanged glances of masculine commiseration.
“There is no property to speak of,” said Charles-Henri, sliding smoothly along. “I would return any gifts given to me,and of course I
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