by Rex Baron
Molly's eyes widened and a faint smile moved across her lips.
“And what makes you think I'll do as you say? I have a lot invested in my relationship with David,” she replied.
“And a poor investment it is from what I hear,” Celia said flatly. “If I were you, I would consider a more profitable venture, something that better met my financial expectations.”
Molly eyed the older woman coldly.
“And what do you suggest?”
“I always feel that money is far more secure than the capriciousness of romantic intrigue. I know David, he is my husband after all, and I'd wager that he's promised you a good number of things that have yet to see the light of day.”
Celia sipped her tea with satisfaction as she noticed a fleeting glimpse of confirmation on the young woman's face.
“Let us consider it a business deal, an exchange of sorts. I understand that you are a talented couturier and can only suggest that with the money I am willing to offer, and the influence of my friends, The House of Madame Daphne will flourish within a year. If you refuse and continue with David, those same influential people will make it impossible for you to get so much as a seamstress’s wages.”
Molly leaned forward with interest. “How much?” she asked.
“I am a fair person, but I am not versed in the ways of blackmail, so I will make one offer and one only. And since I am unaccustomed to haggling, you will forgive my straight-forwardness.”
Molly shifted anxiously in her seat.
“I am prepared to give you ten thousand dollars,” Celia stated without emotion and as clearly as she could.
Molly did not answer, but Celia could see the inner workings of her rival’s mind, weighing the possibilities.
“I realize I have to make it worth your while,” Celia admitted in a businesslike way, “but I assure you it is a single offer and there will be no others. I expect a clever career woman like you could build an empire on less.” Celia made a sweeping gesture with her hand that drew attention to the panorama of the room and its fine furnishings. “You must understand that my career is marriage,” Celia explained, “and I have married well. Other women are not so fortunate. David is my husband, and therefore the source of all I have. You must also understand, absolutely, that I shall defend what is mine. If you comprehend this simple fact and agree, we might even prosper together. After all, I am in a strange sense becoming a patroness of sorts for your future enterprise.”
Celia lifted a sealed envelope from the side table next to where she sat and extended it to Molly. The younger woman stared at the offering for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Celia to catch a fleeting smirk of defeat cross her lips, before she reached out and accepted the envelope filled with money. Molly had the discretion not to count it. She said that she had no reason to mistrust Celia's arithmetic.
Within a matter of a few moments, the entire matter had been settled.
“You might find, after a time,” Molly said, “that you might even want to invest a little more, as a strict business venture. You see, I have no intention of failing. I always get what I want. Sometimes it's necessary to make a trade, or change teams, but be assured, I always end up on the winning side.” She extended her hand to the older woman in agreement.
Celia nodded and took her hand. She felt a strange respect for this woman and an excitement at dealing on a level that was above the hysteria of a woman's world.
She closed the door as Molly left, her heart pounding with self-satisfaction that she had taken care of the matter and won. She reached for the strand of pearls that hung down against the front of her dress, a small gesture of habit, caressing the anniversary present that David had given her as a token of love when they were first married.
Her fingers touched a small emerald brooch in their place. The pearls were gone. They had brought twelve thousand dollars, ten of which had just walked out the door with Molly. But the pearls had been put to good use. David had called them an investment in their marriage when he opened the velvet box and had first shown them to her. Little did he know that they would guarantee the happy future he so aptly prophesied long ago.
CHAPTER NINE
Lucy’s villa, Los Angeles
Lucy stared out the window of the sunny little breakfast room at the neat row of orange trees just outside the villa's wall. It was February, and yet, in this strange place of unnatural sunlight it was always summer. She rubbed her forehead to try and clear her confused mind. It was as if one lived in a perpetual sunny dream, where the constant blazing sun created shadows all around, dark ominous giants lying in wait, mocking your every gesture and tainting everything with oppressive darkness.
She turned away from the window and noticed the red beaded dress, like a pool of shimmering blood, still where she had left it at the foot of the foyer stairs, and wondered if the night before had only been a dream.
Her mind kept returning to the encounter between Helen and Paulo. Now it was clear that Helen was more than just an ambitious girl who was making the most of her assets to try and gain a film celebrity lover. She had somehow, mysteriously entered that garden room when the lights went out, without coming through the only door possible.
Miss Auriel appeared in the hallway and gathered up the red dress. Lucy watched her fold it into a neat square and place it into a box filled with tissue paper.
“Ellen,” Lucy called through to the hallway.
The girl looked up from her work. She placed the box on a side chair and came into the light of the breakfast room.
“Good morning,” she said brightly.
“Ellen... I want to ask you more about this ring you said you saw… in that book of yours.”
The girl nodded.
“You said it was magic, but do you know what function it performed?”
“No Miss,” the girl replied, lowering her head with disappointment.
“But you surmise that if someone had such a ring as the one you saw, they might have powers of some kind over other people.”
Miss Auriel's face brightened.
“Oh, yes Miss, I'm sure of it,” she said with certainty. The jarring sound of the telephone in the hallway forced her to interrupt her answer.
Lucy took up her tea as Ellen scurried out of the room. It was cold. She put it down with mild disgust.
The little dresser poked her head in the door and announced the telephone call was for Lucy.
“If it's some well-wisher with congratulations, tell them I'm not here Ellen.”
“No, Miss Lucy, it's someone else.”
Lucy rose, gathering her dressing gown around her and made her way to the hallway.
“I'm sorry to disturb you,” a voice said, “but I just wanted to make absolutely sure that you weren't too upset about that little item in the morning's paper... I mean you know how these reporters are.”
It had possibly been telepathy, or even her own thoughts and the questions churning in her mind that had prompted the call. It was Helen's voice on the other end of the wire.
“I'm afraid I haven't seen the paper,” Lucy answered coldly.
“Well, I just thought I would call. I wouldn't want you, of all people, to be unhappy about what you read about Paulo and me. You know, sometimes I wonder where these reporters get these stories anyway. Well, goodbye Lucy. I'll be seeing you.”
With that the phone went dead.
Her heart pounding, Lucy called for the newspaper. She sifted hurriedly through the pages, letting the discarded sheets fall to her feet on the marble floor. On the society page, in the top column, a single paragraph read:
Paulo Cordoba, currently working on a new moving picture play, THE BULL RING, was seen last night escorting a fiery little beauty to the Jesse Lasky party. The party was given in honor of famed opera diva Lucy von Dorfen, whose picture FAUST had its dazzling premiere last night. Although Mr. Cordoba was seen kissing the hand of the German leading lady, our sources tell us he was seen kissing the dark-eyed
mystery woman more passionately later in the evening. Are we to believe that Paulo has exchanged the frozen Rhinemaiden for someone a little hotter and homegrown?
Lucy crushed the paper in her hand. She called for the car to be brought round and raced upstairs to change.
She chose a yellow suit with a tight skirt and a wide brimmed straw hat, which she knew would look dazzling in strong sunlight. She inspected her appearance in the bureau mirror, then wiped at the lip rouge on her mouth. Any makeup at all would only make her look harsh in the pure morning light, and she knew that she must look no less than captivating for the confrontation.
•••
Paulo’s hidden place, Los Angeles
The sky was an uninterrupted expanse of perfect blue as the car traced its way up the twisting canyon that led to the flatland on the other side of the mountain. Short, lush trees stretched out in every direction. The fastidiously cared-for rows of citrus, their colored fruits ablaze in the sunlight, led the car to the place where Lucy knew she would find Paulo. He had told her that he spent an hour or so each morning in his special place, hidden away from watchful eyes, while he bathed in the sun to make his skin the beautiful golden brown that everyone wanted to imitate.
At the end of one grove, near a small planter's house, a gauze awning appeared, veiling a small clearing amongst the trees in a beautiful silvery, diffused light. In the middle of the clearing, she saw him sleeping. His dark tanned body was defined by the sunlight. It was divided into hollows, where the muscles joined, and gleaming planes of mahogany-colored flesh that were highlighted by oil.
He lay stretched on a canvas palette, motionless, unaware. She watched him for a time, the subtle movement of his chest rising and lowering with each casual breath. He stretched his arms and shifted the position of his legs.
Lucy realized suddenly that he was completely naked.
It was absurd to confront a naked man to talk about the truth. The state of undress always seemed to bring out lies and excuses, an uncomfortable fear that more than bodies might somehow be revealed. One must cover up at all costs, to invent a deceit to clothe the naked thoughts.
Lucy picked up an over ripe orange and tossed it in his direction to alert him of her presence. It landed a foot from his divan, and he sat up with a start.
“Helen, is that you?” he called.
Lucy stepped out from under the veiled shade of the fruit trees. “It's Lucy,” she answered.
Paulo drew a white robe across his oiled body and rose to greet her.
“Lucy, what a surprise. I suppose you're out for one of your walks. It's a lovely day,” he said sheepishly.
“Actually, I've come to see you,” she answered with a directness in her tone. “It would be rather extreme to come all the way to this side of the canyon just to have a walk. Evidently you were expecting someone else?”
Paulo looked away before answering.
“No, I was expecting no one, least of all you.... but I am forgetting myself. Won't you sit down?”
Lucy eyed the oil-stained palette and remained standing.
“I suppose you saw the newspapers?” Paulo asked.
“Yes, but let's just say I was told about it.”
“It means nothing,” he laughed nervously.
“I thought that newspapers and what they said about you were your life's blood, the all important publicity that makes your career and your life work for you,” she answered with cold cynicism.
“Yes, but that is for my career only,” he tried to explain. “It is not real life and must not be confused with it. The papers can take the slightest thing and turn it into a scandal, and yet it means nothing.”
His feeble explanation made her feel stronger. She ventured her next comment to see what response it would bring.
“I really only came today to say goodbye.”
Paulo's expression did not alter as Lucy continued her lie.
“I spoke to David this morning, and he has arranged work for me in New York, a splendid sounding season, and something in England... if it all goes well,” she added weakly.
“Lucy, I shall be sorry to see you go,” Paulo answered. “There are so few truly talented people here, only immigrants who get typecast playing the nobles from the countries they hated enough to leave.”
His sentiment was unsatisfying. Lucy sat down on the oily palette next to him, unmindful of spoiling her dress.
“I don't understand,” she said, her eyes tightening with anger. “You make love to me and tell me how much it matters, and now, for no apparent reason, you are willing to say goodbye. You tell me the newspapers, full of stories of you and Helen, mean nothing to you.”
Paulo stammered but could not produce an answer.
“Is it Helen?” Lucy asked, only half breathing, “are you in love with her?”
Paulo shook his head but would not look at her.
“No,” he answered softly.
Lucy reached out her hand and placed it gently on his shoulder but he pulled away, letting it drop back into her lap.
“Then I must go,” she said. “There is nothing here for me.”
She rose to her feet and started toward the car.
Paulo bounded after her, stopping her in the shade of a lemon tree. He took her in his arms and silently kissed her. Her heart raced at the decisiveness of his action.
“Goodbye, my Lucy,” he said.” I shall always think of you.”
She pushed him away angrily. He fell backwards to the ground, parting his robe, and Lucy’s eyes fell on the copper medallion around his neck, glistening in the sunlight.
Lucy bent forward to get a better look at the necklace. She knew at once that it was a witch's amulet. She had seen many like it, innocently scattered about her grandmother's Lunarium.
In a flash, it all came to her. She now understood why he had acted so strangely toward her.
“Where did you get this?” she asked sharply, as she grabbed for the shining disk.
Paulo faltered as he spoke.
“Someone gave it to me.” He cupped his hand over the medallion to protect it from her grasp.
“You must not wear this thing. It’s evil. It is charmed in such a way that you have no control over what happens,” Lucy said earnestly.
“I've heard enough of your blasphemous nonsense. Do not speak to me of evil,” Paulo shouted, his voice suddenly filled with rage. “This madness is only the product of your jealous and sick mind. The woman who gave it to me meant it as a charming trinket, which she made for me, nothing more. It is you who make it evil with your twisted lies.”
“Did she hold it for her breath to touch before placing it around your neck? “
Paulo refused to listen. He struggled to his feet and backed away from Lucy's terrifying insistence.
“It was Helen who gave it to you wasn't it? Wasn't it?” she shouted.
“Yes.”
“You were expecting her just now when I came instead. You were intending to meet her here in this place.”
Again Paulo answered.
“Yes.”
“You must not see her,” Lucy shrieked. “Do you hear me?”
Paulo turned his back to avoid her fury. Lucy snatched up the chain of the amulet and tore it from his neck. She threw it as far as she could into the orange grove and ran in the direction of her automobile.
Paulo's mouth hung open in disbelief.
“You are a mad woman,” he called after her, shaking his fist. “I pray to the blessed Virgin to deliver me from such women.”
CHAPTER TEN
Lucy’s villa, Los Angeles
When Lucy returned home, David was strolling along the garden portico toward the drive with a young woman, her arm entwined inside his. It was Helen.
He smiled and waved when he saw the car approach. Lucy did not wait for the driver, but opened the door herself and climbed down from the running board of the motorcar with assistance from David.
“Well well, just in time,” he said g
rinning.
“So I see,” Lucy answered, giving Helen a piercing stare of hatred.
“Look who's here for a visit,” David said, unaware of the look that passed between the two women.
“Actually, it’s all business,” he said, patting Helen's hand and making a joke. “I wouldn't want either of our reputations shattered. Helen dropped in to discuss coming back with us to New York, when we go, and taking part in our upcoming season.”
“In New York… the opera?” Lucy repeated in amazement.
“I think she has a fine Mezzo voice. She sang for us at Jesse's party the other night after you left. With a little training to polish up the edges, I think we can find a place for her in the spring.”
Helen giggled coyly.
“Oh David,” she said, “you are too kind. I, of course, could never compete with singers of Lucy's stature, but if you're positive I won't make a fool of you, I promise I'll try my best not to let you down.”
David gave her hand another pat.
“Isn't she charmingly modest, something almost unheard of in even the lowliest opera company? What a refreshing change. I'm sure you won't disappoint me,” he said, looking into Helen's smoldering eyes. “What do you think Lucy? Don't you think it's a fine idea,” he asked jovially.
Lucy did not answer. She was mesmerized by the sight of a small silver medallion hanging round David’s neck, on a green silk ribbon.
“You've noticed my medal,” he said, dropping his chin to admire it. “Helen made it for me, as a good luck charm. Isn't that sweet?”
“It seems to have brought me all the good luck,” Helen said, squeezing his arm intimately. “I'm truly grateful for this opportunity.”
Helen nodded her goodbye to Lucy and stepped up into her motorcar. David closed the door behind her and waved as the car pulled out of the drive.
“I'll let you know more about it when things are more firmed up,” he called to Helen.