No Regrets - Carolyn Burke [64]
That autumn, Piaf showed her dedication by multiplying broadcasts and engagements. On several occasions she lost her voice. Friends stepped in to replace her, including Montand, whose name was still linked with hers in the press. After an article about their affair appeared in Cinévogue, Bourgeat told Edith that the journal had contacted him but that even if he had known the reasons for their breakup he would not have divulged them. Le Journal du dimanche promoted the idea of Piaf as a present-day Messalina with nine lovers—an image at odds with her new song “Si tu partais,” a lushly orchestrated ballad inspired by her feelings for Takis Horn that begins, “Notre bonheur est merveilleux / Notre amour fait plaisir à Dieu” (“Our happiness is marvelous / Our love is pleasing to God”). But the popular press—perhaps in response to her defiant recent hit “Je m’en fous pas mal” (“I don’t give a damn”)—continued to sensationalize her love life.
This negative publicity, as well as her regrets about Horn, may have influenced Piaf’s desire to spend more time abroad. Pro-American feeling was at its height in the postwar years. Like many French entertainers, she wanted to sing in the United States, where Chevalier had been warmly received (and richly remunerated) before the war. About this time, Barrier made contact with Clifford Fischer, an impresario from New York who came to see Piaf perform at L’Etoile. Although Fischer was unsure how New Yorkers, who were accustomed to lighter fare, would respond to her sober style, he drew up a contract and told her to learn English. Les Compagnons could not believe their luck when Edith announced that they were going to New York. After they gave her a fur coat for Christmas, she teased that, since there were nine of them, each had given her what amounted to half a sleeve.
Toward the end of 1946, Edith met two young performers, Pierre Roche and Charles Aznavour, who had won a following in Paris with their adaptations of swing and bebop. Like Piaf’s family, Aznavour’s were entertainers; he too had begun by singing in the street. When the young Armenian came to her apartment one night, she tested him by asking in slang if he could waltz. He said he could, both forward and backward, and after rolling up the rug, he demonstrated his skill with Edith. Assured that he was the real thing, she asked him and Roche to join her on a tour of Switzerland in March 1947. They would come on before Les Compagnons, and Aznavour would introduce Piaf in the second act.
From the start, she treated the young singer like a brother. One night in Geneva, when the take was minimal, she declared, “We’re street kids, we can cope, but the others have to eat”; they burst out laughing at the idea of the well-brought-up Compagnons passing the hat. Fred Mella got on well with Aznavour and Roche, but Jean-Louis Jaubert worried about the duo’s propensity for living it up, which meant encouraging Edith to misbehave. (Aznavour stocked their train compartment with beer hidden under the seats and in the luggage rack.) After leaving the tour in April, Charles realized that he cared for Edith. “I wasn’t in love,” he wrote. “I was dependent. In a few days I saw … it was the same for her: ‘I’d never have thought I’d miss you so much,’ she wrote, signing the cable, ‘your little sister from the streets, Edith.’ ”
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