Read Online Lovers at the Chameleon Club, Paris 1932 by Francine Prose - Free Book Online Page A

sense of justice was as fierce as her compassion, and who might be planning to make the baroness pay for her rudeness? Would our lives have been different if I’d grabbed Suzanne’s hand and dragged her out of that den of the blood-sucking rich and found a deserted corner and had semirough sex with her against a wall?
    Why did I do none of that? Because when Suzanne finally turned toward me, I saw the face of someone witnessing a miracle, and when I looked over my shoulder to see what the miracle was, I saw a waiter heading toward us with a giant platter of oysters.

From the (Unpublished) Memoirs of Suzanne Dunois Tsenyi
    To be destroyed on the occasion of its author’s death
    (1928)
    Â 
    ONCE A BOYFRIEND told me, “Suzanne, there are two kinds of people. People who lean toward you and people who lean away.”
    I said, “What about people who sit up straight?”
    He said, “They haven’t decided.”
    If I were like Lionel, I would write a book: Obvious Lies, Bad Advice, and Wrong Information I’ve Gotten from Men . A book? An encyclopedia! But in this case my friend was right. Gabor’s baroness not only leaned away, she seemed to levitate above the table and peer down at us from a great height as we waited like naughty children until her ladyship said, “Join us.”
    For all I cared, she could have been looking at us through a telescope from Mars. There was a chance, a very good chance, that she was going to buy us dinner.
    She asked Lionel, “Do you like oysters?”
    Lionel said, “Suzanne loves oysters.”
    â€œI’ll bet she does,” she said.
    Oysters was the magic word the waiters lip-read across the room. Or perhaps they’d already been ordered, and the telepathic waiters knew to bring more.
    Lionel had told me about a club where women perform erotic acts with fluffy kittens and lambs. Disgusting! But I could perform with oysters. Too bad no one was watching me have sex with a dozen bivalves. Lionel, Gabor, and the baroness were too busy talking. Well, fine. More oysters for me. I slurped a few and waited politely, then finished off the platter. I was never one of those girls who require constant attention.
    Another boyfriend used to tell me, Watch and learn, Suzanne. And though he only said it in bed, I took his advice to heart.
    I watched the baroness order. More oysters, escargots stewed with butter and cream, a mushroom bisque, lamb steaks, bloody, please tell the chef, haricots verts, and mashed potatoes. Then cheese, a sherry cake, wild strawberries, and coffee.
    She’d let the waiter choose the wine. Something expensive, red, and delicious. She asked Gabor and Lionel, “Will that be enough?” Before they could reply she said, “If not, we’ll order more.”
    When the second round of oysters came, the baroness forbid the men to speak until they’d eaten. How much did it cost to earn the right to tell people what to do? After the empty platter went back and she’d grabbed the champagne bottle from the waiter so as to refill her own glass, she began to question Lionel about his writing. In other words, was he famous, or was she wasting her time and money buying him dinner?
    Disappointed by Lionel’s answers, she pouted at Gabor. Who was this American phony he’d swindled her into feeding? Three things kept me from jumping to Lionel’s defense: First, the baroness hadn’t actually said anything insulting. Second, I was still hungry. And third, I’d decided to leave him.
    The baroness’s disdain had no effect, or almost no effect, on my decision. I was tired of his jealousy, sick of his belief that the only permissible topic of conversation was his unrecognized genius. In all our time together, he had never once asked how Mama was, or how my day had gone. Of course, had I been in love with him, none of that would have mattered.
    The baroness remarked that her husband’s cousin had