CHAPTER 6

I needed a change, a fresh start. I was twenty, the mother of two small children, not a wife, yet not a widow, but I no longer had a husband to try to please. By the law, I could not remarry as long as Alexandre lived; separation and divorce were not the same thing. I decided to go to Fontainebleau, to visit Aunt Edmée and Papa de Beauharnais, who swore I would always be his daughter, come what may, Alexandre be damned.

A charming village surrounded by lush green forests, Fontainebleau was the traditional hunting seat of French kings. During hunting season, everyone who was anyone congregated there for three weeks, jockeying for royal favor and to be seen and meet the right people. It was the perfect place and time to form lucrative alliances, for business and pleasure, so I decided to join the crowd and see if I could make myself stand out.

It was time to put the lessons the ladies of Panthémont had taught me to good use. Five thousand livres a year would not go far, and I wasn’t even certain Alexandre would pay it. I had a feeling that he would part with his money as readily as a vain coquette did her teeth. If the payments came at all, they would not be prompt.

One of the ladies at Panthémont had given me a letter of introduction to Denis de Rougemont, a banker with an eye for the ladies. He was still handsome, vigorous, and virile, despite his advancing years, with a charming crooked smile, and his curly dark hair was still thick and barely touched by silver. I liked him, and he liked me. He was generous and kind. We made each other laugh. It was far easier than I feared it would be. “You were made for this!” he breathed rapturously as he caressed me. A part of me had to agree. I found his company, and his caresses, most agreeable. I didn’t feel like a whore when I took his money and gifts and welcomed him into my bed to thank him for his generosity.

Soon I was living in a lovely little ivy-covered cottage with a wardrobe full of new dresses, and all the other accoutrements of an elegant and well-groomed lady. I even saw the best dentist in Paris, who did what he could for my unsightly teeth, filling yet again the deep cavity island sugar had dug into my left incisor. The children had a governess, toys, and a lovely garden to play in, and I was able to spend several bliss-filled, worry-free hours with them every day. Our bellies never rumbled with hunger; the table was always well laden. I had a beautiful rose garden with a fountain at its center; a pug dog named Fortune; a rope of pearls nearly as long as I was tall in my highest-heeled shoes; a black-lacquered carriage driven by a handsome liveried coachman; and lean, high-stepping horses to ride, and a crimson velvet riding habit to wear, when I followed the King’s hunt.

Monsieur de Rougemont took me to supper parties, sophisticated salons, balls, concerts, the theater and opera, and for long leisurely strolls and picnics beneath the trees or a full, silver-coin moon. We had champagne and breakfast in bed every morning when he stayed the night with me. He was fond of the children, and always had a ready smile and gifts for them. They called him Uncle Denis. We were almost like a little family. And when business in Paris kept him from me, I need never be alone if I did not want to be.

My time was valuable and men were willing to pay for it. My bed was rarely cold or empty. I had by that time made the acquaintance of other kindhearted aging gentlemen. Between Monsieur de Rougemont, the Comte de Crenay, and the Chevalier de Coigny I never lacked for comforts or company. Money flowed through my fingers like water, and I could never have enough of it. One benefactor simply wasn’t enough; I needed three or four, or even more.

Now when I looked in the mirror I knew who I was—“la belle Creole,” a woman who depended on the kindness of men. They petted me, praised me, gave me presents, took me out and showed me off, and paid my bills. They asked little of me in return except that I be pretty, charming, and obliging, in bed and out, and wear as little as possible when we were alone together. But they paid to keep the fires roaring when I entertained them wearing only a sheer peignoir with my legs bare and my breasts spilling out. They were not jealous, exacting, possessive, controlling, or demanding as a younger lover might have been. They bought my body, not my soul.

Though I would sometimes catch myself staring wistfully after the handsome young men I passed in parks and public ballrooms, especially those in uniform, who reminded me of the gallant, sensual playmates of my island youth and how handsome and regal my husband had been in his silver-braided white uniform, I remained steadfast in my resolve, even when they smiled and looked at me in a way that made my whole body throb. I resisted the temptation. I would not have another Alexandre in my life. I had myself and two children to support and I could not promise fidelity. I would have no jealous scenes, wrecked nerves, or guilty conscience. Such men could be of little help to me; they were as prone to living beyond their means as I was. In the world I lived in youth, beauty, and debt seemed to go hand in hand. I had to be practical. So I looked and sighed, and sometimes fantasized, but I said no to the handsome ne’er-do-wells who would demand my exclusive devotion.

I had become accustomed to doing as I liked. My life was much calmer and easier now than it had been when I lived each day desperate to please Alexandre, agonizing over where my husband was and who he was with. It was liberating in a way to finally be able to please someone and to hear only sweet words and compliments instead of constant criticisms.

Alexandre, as I had feared, was tightfisted and constantly late with my allowance; I had to threaten him with the lawcourts just to pry a few precious livres out of him. He was completely unreasonable—he wanted me to account, precisely down to the very last sou, exactly how the money was spent! He hated me more than ever now that Laure had left him. In Martinique, where he took her, she’d become reacquainted with her childhood sweetheart. They had fallen in love all over again and, acting on a sweet, spontaneous impulse, married; the deed was already done before Alexandre found out. I had to bite my tongue not to tell him it served him right for the way he had treated me.

I had grown up. I was mature, sophisticated, and seasoned, no longer the crude provincial island export Alexandre had seen every time he looked at me. I was a woman of the world who haunted public ballrooms, theater boxes, salons, sidewalk cafés, and parks, like a beautiful spider smiling come hither and hoping to ensnare flies who could provide me with sustenance and luxuries in my web. I had many acquaintances but no real friends and none of my lovers truly loved me. And every time I stood before my mirror arrayed in my new jewels and gowns, practicing my close-lipped smile, I tried very hard to pretend I liked myself as much as my benefactors did. I was glad I had stopped writing to Aimee, spinning tales and making promises brittle as piecrust that I knew I would never keep; I didn’t want her to see me like this. Though it now seemed to have shrunk to the size of a seed pearl, I still had my pride after all.