Scene from Bonnard's Life

Here's a satirical scene from the life of Pierre Bonnard, loosely inspired by events entailed in Michael Kimmelman's The Accidental Masterpiece.

Bonnard enters from the balcony, writing in his journal. Marthe stands at the kitchen table, disapproving.

Bonnard

            Ah, c’est très beau aujourd’hui. Vivre la France!

Marthe

            Pierre, get your scraggly-bearded ass in here!

Bonnard

            Merd.

Walks over to Marthe.

            What is it, my dear?

Marthe

            Your little whore killed herself today, genius. You’d better not be going to her funeral.

Bonnard

            What? Who’s dead? You don’t mean…Renee?

Marthe

            How many other little whores do you have? Wait a second…just how many other little whores do you have?

Bonnard

            None, none, none but Renee. Quite obviously, she was my only mistress. The only woman I ever slept with outside of marriage.

Marthe

            So there were at least two others?

Bonnard

            Merd…how did you find out about my fling with Renee, anyway?

Marthe

            Well, I use my shopping budget to hire men to spy on you.

Bonnard

            That explains why you spend the money and never actually buy any clothing…I should have caught on sooner.

Marthe

            Maybe you should have paid more attention, you crapbag!

Bonnard

            I did break things off with Marthe. Poor thing must have killed herself over it! Oh, how did she die?

Marthe

            Well…

Bonnard

            No, no, no, I can’t bear it! It’s too unbearable to hear!

Picks up a newspaper. Marthe raises an eyebrow.

            I never said anything about it being to unbearable to read.

Marthe

            You artists are all crazy.

Bonnard

            Thank you, dear…Well, this is a bit odd.

Marthe

            What is?

Bonnard

            Well, this first paper says that Renee shot herself, but this paper says she drowned herself! And this third one says that she was found in a garden!

Marthe

            Well…maybe it was all three, Pierre.

Bonnard

            What are you talking about, Marthe?

Marthe

            Well, Pierre, you know I’m sort of the jealous type.

Bonnard

            I’m quite aware, sweetie. You insist on modeling for me, and you won’t let any other artists in for fear they’ll steal my ideas. You won’t even let Matisse over for a beer.

Marthe

            Don’t even get me started on that Matisse. And you insist on me modeling for you, dumbass! Anyway…I decided to make sure she wouldn’t try and steal you away from me again, so I went over to her house yesterday.

Bonnard

            You killed Renee?

Marthe

            Yep.

Bonnard

            How? Did you shoot her? Or did you drown her? Or did you bury her alive in her garden?

Marthe

            Wow, you’re taking this pretty well…

Pauses.           

            I drowned her in the bathtub. Then I shot her for good measure, and chucked her out the window for good measure.

Bonnard

            That’s a bit over-the top, Marthe. I didn’t know you had it in you.

Marthe

            Oh, for God’s sake, you dumbass, I didn’t kill Renee! I just said I did to scare you out of cheating on me again.

Bonnard

            That would make a lot more sense, I suppose. I mean…you’re not really a bodybuilder.

Marthe

            I would have hoped that a man who spends half his waking hours painting nudes of me would know that.

Bonnard

            That’s true…well, I’m off to Renee’s funeral. Don’t wait up, dear.

Marthe

            Oh, hell no! First off, it’s eight in the morning. Second of all, you’re going to spend your days getting rid of all the pictures of her! Photographs, paintings, and so on! You’re never talking about this skank again, comprenez-vous?

Bonnard

            Oui, Madame.

Marthe

            Bon. Now go to your room!

Bonnard

            Oui, Madame.

He exits. SCENE.