Peggy: A Novel by Rebecca Godfrey

Author:Rebecca Godfrey [Godfrey, Rebecca]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Historical, General, Biographical
ISBN: 9780385538282
Google: FvniEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0385538286
Publisher: Random House
Published: 2024-08-12T22:00:00+00:00

* * *

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At one o’clock, when I should have been in a lawyer’s office, I walked away from the busier cafés and strolled toward the Stryx, which was most often empty.

Before I even reached the terrace, I saw her sitting by herself, reading a newspaper. Her hair was a dark red, pulled back tightly. Her lips were painted into a Cupid’s bow, an even darker red, especially in contrast to her pale skin. I felt terribly frightened just looking at her. She seemed not to be a mortal. The most brilliant woman alive, Helen had said. She tilted her chin in a haughty way, but there was something lonely and forlorn about her as well.

She must have spotted me, for she stood up and called out. Her voice with a rasp, without the desperate French accent. Peggy, she called.

I walked toward her; I hoped I was not trembling.

Will you join me? she said. She called for the waiter. I’ve been here a month, she said, and I’ve figured out how to avoid the pretentious crowds. I see you have too.

I do like this café, I said.

I wondered how she recognized me. Had she been at one of my parties? I never drank, so I couldn’t imagine that I’d been dazed when she’d been in my home.

Oh, I recognized you from Man Ray’s studio, she said. I saw your portrait on the wall. I asked who the beautiful woman was. All in silver, the slink. Fantastic, she said. And I heard from Bernie that you bought her a camera. I think she’s in love with you.

I laughed at her frankness. When people were polite, I felt faraway, but when they were direct, even blunt, I was perversely comfortable.

Was the portrait boring? I haven’t seen it. He’s furious with me for buying Berenice a camera. And asking her to take my portrait.

Oh, it’s sensational, she said. I’ll steal it for you the next time I’m there.

She took my hand. I’ve been wanting to thank you. Helen said you wanted to be a private donor, but she slipped up. Said your name. Peggy this, Peggy that. I’ve been meaning to write you a letter. It was incredibly kind of you. I wouldn’t be in Paris if you had not helped me. I had one hundred francs to my name. Pitiable. I’m a pitiable wench, she said, laughing.

You don’t need to thank me. I’m a tremendous admirer of yours. I read the article after Helen mentioned you would be arriving in Paris.

The article, she said, with a slight bite. I’ve written four hundred articles.

Oh, I’m sorry. I know you have. I mean the one about force-feeding the suffragettes. How terrifying. To go on a hunger strike.

It was dreadful. They really did stick a red rubber tube down my throat. Spray my nose with cocaine and disinfectant. You either swallow or choke. One should have the right to die for their beliefs, I would say. But what good did I do? They’re still torturing those women in Britain.

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