She knew he knew. He was only trying to force her into the same old degrading patterns because she was going to have his child. As she spread her hands across her ever-growing stomach, she was determined to no longer allow him to treat her this way. She was, after all, the product of one of the best liberal colleges in the Northeast. She had given up everything - her beautiful shaved scalp, her fulfilling job in an intellectually stimulating work enviroment, her nicely furnished one room studio flat - everything she had, she had given it up for him. And this - this was how he repayed her? With this reinforcement of her negative value as a woman? She would not stand for it. Her conscience would not allow her to.
Yes, he'd been cruel to take her away from all that "fulfillment." Did she really think her boss was going to leave his wife... for her? His wife was a Kennedy, for God's sake! A Kennedy! (Well, her mother's mother had been a Kennedy. Or been drowned by one. Or something. Whatever.) Intellectually stimulating job indeed, he brooded. Wasn't betting on horse-racing intellectually stimulating? For Pete's Sake! If you didn't know the dame's sire you could be completely taken in! But who was he kidding, she was as likely to yell "move yer bloomin' arse!" at a horse race as Eliza Dolittle. Why had he even married this midwestern, first-generation college, once-removed blue-collar, public-school, tie-dyed indie rock wannabe anyway? Oh yeah... he was drunk and it was July in Monte Carlo. For the rest of his life he'd warn young men from Martha's Vinyard; don't vacation in Monte Carlo. Who knows who your waitress will be?!