A week later, dressed in a simple cotton dress, her hourglass figure proudly displayed, Marthe walked in to the Gouget Brothers’ dress shop on Rue Montorgueil to interview for a position as a seamstress.
She began the new job at once, but she found no comfort in her needle and thread. She had a restlessness inside her that would not leave her. Still only twenty-one, her beauty had returned to her and she was hungry for things that existed outside the store. Paris was aflutter with excitement. Monsieur Eiffel had begun constructing his impressive tower of steel. And the streets were full of the most extraordinary fashions.
She could imagine herself with great ease in these sumptuous dresses made from luxurious silks and lace. The other women who came into the Gouget Brothers’ store rarely had a figure to rival her own.
But none of these women noticed the poor seamstress on her knees, who fitted the muslin patterns against their virtuous, white corsets and who hemmed their dresses and adjusted the cuffs of their sleeves.
On a whim, she decided to go to an audition for chorus girls with one of the other seamstresses from the dress shop, who had one day whispered to her about an open call at the upscale theater, Les Ambassadeurs.
“I wish I could,” she had told Camille. “But I fear my dancing and my voice are rather unremarkable.”
“What you might lack in your vocal cords, you make up in how you would fill out the costume,” Camille teased.
She knew it was true. All traces of her pregnancy had evaporated. She had a neck as long and as slender as a tulip stem, a generous bust, and a waist that could be encircled by two firm hands. When she stood in for a fit model at the store, the other seamstresses would fawn over her perfect proportions. And her face would come alive as the silk draped against her skin.
So she went to the theater with Camille. She stood on the wooden stage with the lights radiating off her skin. She gazed out on the expanse of near-empty seats and was not afraid. On the contrary, she was thrilled by the vastness of the space. Almost instantly, she could imagine every seat filled, with all eyes on her and the other singers dressed in costumes far lovelier than anything she owned.
A man named Julian called out the names of the girls who were auditioning. He told them they could each choose what song they would like to sing. Marthe knew few songs by heart, so she chose “Vive la Rose” because it was romantic and lyrical. The range of the song was also not too challenging, so she knew she would be able to project.
When the list of those who had been selected was posted outside the theater, she huddled close next to Camille, both of them searching the list for their own names.
“Your name!” Camille cried out. “‘Mathilde Beaugiron!’ There you are!” Her finger tapped the line of cursive black script. Camille, who had not been selected, only showed excitement for her friend, not jealousy or envy.
“This pays five more sous a week than working at the shop!”
But it wasn’t only the extra money. It was the chance to reinvent herself, to feel alive and to sparkle under the glow of lights. A sense of exhilaration came over her.
She walked back to the shop with Camille, and later that afternoon, after she put down her needle and thread for what she believed would be the last time, she gave her notice to the Gouget brothers.
“You’re leaving us for the chorus in a dinner and dancing show?” one of them asked her in disbelief.
She straightened her back and looked at them with her wide, Gallic eyes.
“Why, yes. Plus, a little bit of acting, too.”
She saw both of the brothers’ eyes fall to her breasts one last time, as though their departure was what saddened them the most.
Seeing her name on the list had given her a newfound confidence.
“But first, I’ll need this week’s wages.”
Her forwardness shocked them, and even she had been surprised at how quickly they went to retrieve the ten sous they owed her.
“Well, good-bye then,” she said as she folded the bills and placed them inside her purse. “If you ever miss me, you can always come see me perform at Les Ambassadeurs.” With that, she picked up her bag and walked proudly out the door.
***
In the beginning, the girls at the theater had not welcomed her. They looked at her ample cleavage, her sculpted calves, and saw their newest member as competition. Behind her back, they laughed at her demure underpinnings, her milk-colored corsets, and petticoatwithout an edge of lace. But they underestimated her eye for detail. Her desire to do more for herself than just dance and sing.
She had never been one for gossip or mindless conversation, preferring instead to observe. So she studied the other women as though they were their own form of education. When she was alone in the changing room, she secretly examined the labels of their clothes to discover the names of the dress shops they preferred. She took note of their festive colored corsets, the ones they wore beneath their silk dressing gowns, with the flashes of color peeking out like an invitation. She learned what exotic blooms impressed them, and what flowers were left behind.
During her first months at Les Ambassadeurs, she had not yet learned how to fully exploit her charms. She sang with her eyes straight ahead, focusing on the back door of the theater, and never played the coquette. And so evening after evening, not a single bouquet arrived for Marthe. It wasn’t until one of the other dancers felt pity toward her, that she was given some advice that would change her fate.
“When you sing, search for a single pair of eyes in which to anchor yourself. So that the man believes you’re singing only to him.”
The girl came closer to Marthe. “And don’t forget, sometimes the most sensual part of the body is the part they never anticipated seeing.”
So the next performance, Marthe took those words to heart. She searched the audience for a pair of eyes that burned the brightest, finding a pair that belonged to a slender, handsome man in a dinner jacket, sitting at one of the tables closest to the stage. She took note of how his eyes lit up at the sight of her, and she immediately latched on to his gaze, directing the words of the song solely to him. When her sleeve slipped off her shoulder, revealing a globe of white polished skin, she could feel his eyes hard upon her. He smiled, even after the lights had dimmed.
