A Race to Splendor

by Ciji Ware

  J.D. removed a slice of toast from his father’s plate, tore off a piece, and popped it into his mouth. Then he settled more comfortably into his chair and gazed across the table with an unblinking stare.

  “Ling Lee was a very clever person, you know,” J.D. said in a pleasant, unemotional voice. “Good with figures and with a memory that was truly astonishing.”

  “How do you have the unmitigated gall to speak in my presence of this person who caused such scandal to our family and—”

  “You mean the woman you forced yourself on, Father? Or should I use the technical term? Raped.”

  James Thayer’s brow furrowed. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about.” He seized his fork and attacked a morsel of scrambled egg on his plate.

  “Well, then, allow me to refresh your memory. Ling Lee is a woman you impregnated at a brothel off Jackson Street that specialized in virgins and young boys for the amusement of white gentlemen of means with peculiar tastes. I’ve since learned that silent investors in the enterprise on China Alley like you and Kemp apparently got special favors.”

  “How dare you talk to me like this. Get out!” The senior Thayer threw his linen napkin on the dining table in a characteristic display of rage and pushed back his chair to stand, glaring at his son.

  J.D. also jumped to his feet, shouting now, unable to rein in his temper any longer.

  “She was fourteen years old! You don’t remember Ling Lee because all ‘Chinks’ look the same to you, don’t they, Father? You don’t remember her name or her face or that night in China Alley when you walked into a room dead drunk where they held her prisoner and she begged you not to take her. And several months later, when she saw you another night and pleaded with you to care for the child—your child—you treated her like just another slant-eye. Just another body.”

  “She was an extortionist,” declared his father, spitting out the words. “She thought she would force me to acknowledge her half-breed when she had no proof whatsoever that I was the one who’d gotten the slut in the family way!”

  “Ah, so you do remember the woman you raped.”

  “I didn’t rape anybody,” said Thayer. He heaved his girth into his chair once again and tucked his napkin in his shirtfront, affecting disinterest in their heated conversation. Then he picked up his fork and made a show of eating his eggs. “I paid for the right to be in the room with that woman and do whatever the hell I pleased. My investment in China Alley bought the food you ate and this roof over your head and Ling—whatever her name was—merely tried to pry money out of me.” He scowled at his son. “Now that you mention it, I do remember that.”

  J.D. grabbed his father by his shirtfront and pushed him and the back of the chair sharply against the dining room wall as tiny pillows of scrambled eggs spattered Big Jim’s starched shirtfront. “Ling Lee was no extortionist!” His face was so close to his father’s that he could make out the tiny red capillaries on his purplish nose. He released his hold and his father fell back into his chair, appearing stunned at his son’s ferocity. “Fourteen years old and she’d never been with a man, and you hardly even remember the occasion! She was the mother of your child all right.”

  “I think it more likely you were the father,” parried the elder Thayer. “You lived with the whore all that time.” Big Jim lapsed into stony silence while J.D. reclaimed his seat and refilled his father’s cup from the silver pot to give himself time to steady his nerves.

  “Ling Lee escaped China Alley a few months after you’d taken her virginity and came begging to me in the dead of night, ill and afraid what her circumstances would do to her unborn child. She hoped that the Thayer son would take pity on her since the Thayer father had spurned her every plea. After she had your baby at the Mission Home, I supported them both for five years.” J.D. leaned to within several inches of his father’s face. “And yes, I loved her, Father. Like a brother loves a sister. I loved her for her courage. For the care and fierce protection she extended to her daughter. And I still support the child—my half sister—to this very day.”

  “That’s rubbish! The bastard is your spawn, not mine.”

  “I didn’t meet Ling Lee until she was five months pregnant. Her daughter—your daughter—is alive. Half Anglo. Half Chinese. A converted Christian, which was the price her Buddhist mother had to pay to keep her protected from the highbinders and so-called Christian people like you and Kemp. And by the way,” he added, reaching out with his forefinger to jab at the hollow dimple on his father’s face, “the poor child is cursed with the Thayer chin, just as you are—square with a cleft.” He pointed to his own smooth chin. “I look myself in the mirror and thank God I was spared that mark at least.”

  “I’ve never considered you a real Thayer, and your relationship with that slut proves my judgment was sound.”

  J.D. gazed at his father with a murderous stare.

  “Of course you never considered me a Thayer. Just like your little daughter, I’ve always been a half-breed in your eyes too, haven’t I, because my mother was half Spanish? Consuela Diaz-Reims, the little brown enchilada you were willing to marry because her German father had struck it rich in the Comstock Lode and you were up to your muttonchops in debt. From the first day, you called her ‘Connie Thayer’ in front of your friends, didn’t you? That is, when you spoke to her at all. You ordered her to make herself scarce and to stay out of the sun. You’ve treated her like dirt your entire life!”

  “I’m warning you, J.D.…”

  “I’m warning you, old man,” he said, seizing his father’s shirtfront again in a powerful grip. “You used your Yankee lawyering and your double-dealing to hound your wife’s own father to suicide.”

  “That’s absolute balderdash!”

  “I know what you did! I’ve had my own lawyers and accountants trace the paperwork.” He shoved his father back into his chair for a second time and wished he could shove him through the wall. “Your brothels needed an infusion of cash, so first, you embezzled Grandfather Reim’s fortune and then made it look like he made idiotic business decisions. You deliberately broke the man, Father. You stole his money and covered it up. You had that quack Ellers prescribe medicines that brought his spirits low and then you made sure he was publicly humiliated so deeply that he jumped off the ferry, preferring to drown in San Francisco Bay than face the disgrace that he knew awaited him among the Thayers and their friends.”

  “You’ve lost a cog, boy,” said Big Jim, but his glance slid away and he stared at his uneaten bacon. “Reims was an unstable man and Connie and you are just like him.”

  “You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to me.” J.D.’s voice was calm now, and he spoke in a monotone. “I was fifteen and I saw him jump.”

  “He was a self-pitying fool and a—”

  “I’m putting you on notice, Father, and the same goes for your cronies who have invested in the Chinese brothels behind smokescreens and bribes to city officials. You’d all better move heaven and earth to put a stop to Ezra Kemp trying to extort me any further and from killing any more innocent people.”

  “Or you’ll do what?” his father said with some of his old belligerence.

  “Or I’ll go directly to Rudolph Spreckels and those Secret Service people from Washington who are nosing around San Francisco these days. I’ll let Jimmy Hopper of the Call in on the secret. I’ll lay it out before all of them exactly how you and some of the so-called cream of San Francisco society rape Chinese women without a care. How the ‘San Francisco Thayers’ really operate in this town. Where you invest your money. Where you bank your profits. I’ll show them the ledger sheets proving how Abe Reuf and Mayor Schmitz are just the fronts for men like you and Kemp. And if I do that, old man, you can kill me if you like, but your precious name and reputation will be ruined in the eyes of the people who really count.”

  J.D. took satisfaction in seeing his father slump in his chair, silent and shaken by his son’s furious assault. At length, Th
ayer senior waved a hand in the air and let it drop back onto the table.

  “I’ll take care of Kemp,” he said wearily, as if all the fight had gone out of him. “He’s been a thorn in the side of everyone on the Committee. He won’t be missed.”

  “How? And how soon? My supposed wedding is three days from now.”

  “I have to talk to some people, make some arrangements, but I’ll see to it in my own way—and when I wish it. Now, get out.”

  J.D. was tempted to force the issue of the timetable for retribution against Kemp, then thought better of it. If Ezra continued to think the wedding was going forward, he would be less dangerous to everyone concerned.

  “Let me know if you’d ever like to meet my half sister,” J.D. offered, smiling faintly. “Your little daughter will accompany Donaldina Cameron to the grand opening of my hotel on the Fourth of July.”

  “I won’t be there.”

  To J.D.’s chagrin, Big Jim’s expected refusal to attend the debut of his hotel—and all the other times he’d ridiculed his son’s efforts to strike out on his own—still had a capacity to cut to the quick. In that moment, the younger James Thayer recognized that attempting to gain his father’s attention and respect had been the primary engine that had driven his rebellious youth and his more recent desire to acquire trophy properties like the Bay View. He’d gambled everything he’d owned to get that particular possession, hoping with the pathos of an orphaned child that he’d win an even greater prize—his father’s love, or at least his grudging admiration.

  J.D.’s lust for the Bay View Hotel had begun the first time he gazed out Charlie Hunter’s big bay windows and watched the serpentine fog slither through the Golden Gate straits. His aspirations to get his hands on it were rekindled the day he’d heard that the flinty old man had been stricken by a stroke amidst the palms in the lobby of his mirrored palace, and that his wastrel son-in-law was running—and ruining—that wonderful place.

  J.D.’s insatiable hunger for Taylor and Jackson streets long predated his lust for the intriguing Miss Bradshaw, a woman whose existence he’d utterly disregarded until the day she slammed into his office, fresh from France.

  By then, J.D. had wanted to own the Jewel of Nob Hill so badly, he’d sold everything he possessed and even went into business with a known drunkard and an outright extortionist to show his father that he could add up to something, after all. He’d had the arrogance to believe that the supremely clever Ling Lee, whom he’d grown to love like a sister and to respect for the capable businesswoman she was, would help him make enough money in the first year of the gambling club to pay off both Ezra Kemp and Amelia’s father several times over. The place would be his alone and perhaps, at last, Big Jim Thayer might say, “Well done, son.” Or at least reluctantly respect the wealth and property his son had acquired.

  Nothing had turned out as he’d planned. Building the gambling club so swiftly had nearly broken him. In fact, to keep his financial juggling act going, he’d almost lost the prize several times in a few bizarre and foolhardy games of chance. It had been a wild ride, indeed, but now, he’d come nearly full circle. Lady Luck had favored him one last time on the morning of the quake. He’d retained control of the hotel and now would never sell, never risk losing it again, or let it fall into disrepair.

  When he first met Amelia, she’d presented a major obstacle, for she was as devoted to the Bay View as he was. What a strange and unpredictable twist of fate that he should fall in love with the late Henry Bradshaw’s daughter. Dear God, but it would be a hard price to pay if Amelia ever found out the truth about certain things—though he calculated that the odds were great she never would.

  J.D. figured he was the kind of a man who never showed his entire hand. If he put his cards on the table and people like Kemp knew that his feelings for Amelia Bradshaw ran much deeper than an enjoyable night in a Sears and Roebuck brass bed, he put her life at risk. If he didn’t tell her all the facts, and she found them out on her own, she’d probably walk out of his life for good.

  Which she might do anyway, should he ultimately decide to reveal the “unvarnished truth,” he reminded himself.

  His one hope was that Big Jim could strong-arm Kemp into a corner so he could no longer threaten Amelia’s life or shanghai him into marrying Matilda. If J.D.’s luck held at all, he’d later reveal Kemp’s putting the engagement notice in the Call and his own successful counter-moves to stop the wedding. Then J.D. and Amelia could make a home in the place they both loved to distraction and share in its value, fifty-fifty. It was a calculated gamble, this decision to not tell her everything, but he’d risked far more in the past—and won.

  And what of the poker game on the morning of the quake…?

  J.D. concentrated instead on making a quick exit from the family dining room. With a brief farewell nod to his father, whose gaze remained fixed on a cold cup of coffee, the younger Thayer exited the dining room and mounted the stairs to his mother’s apartments. He had a sudden compulsion to let his mother know that he understood everything now. Understood and forgave her—and himself—for their long separation as mother and son.

  He’d finally grasped the root causes of her morbid shyness. He saw the reason, now, for her pills and potions. Her desperate search for a kind word, a friendly face. Anything to assuage the loneliness and fear that came from feeling like an outcast. He understood because he also knew how it felt to stand outside the charmed circle of social acceptance in a city like San Francisco.

  Though Consuela didn’t know it, she had unwittingly colluded with Big Jim Thayer in convincing their only child on some unspoken level that he didn’t quite measure up to the almighty Thayers—and never would.

  Because he was one quarter Spanish, with skin almost as tawny as his mother’s, he’d been doomed from birth as an outcast too, in his father’s eyes, and it was this deep-seated racism felt toward Big Jim’s only son that had propelled J.D. out of his family home when he was just sixteen and taught him to fight for what he believed in and held dear.

  Thayer reached the landing and knocked gently on a door to his right. When bidden to enter, he disappeared into Senora Consuela’s private chamber.

  ***

  Blocks to the east of Octavia Street, Amelia stood in the hotel’s doorway dressed in coat and a hat that sat on her head at a jaunty angle—and she was loaded for bear. Angus McClure was just coming up the front steps.

  “Good morning, Amelia. Where are you going at such an early hour?” he asked. “I was just coming by to beg a bit of breakfast off you, now that your grand kitchen’s been installed. I’m picking up medical supplies at the dock this morning and need to borrow the Winton to take them back to the Presidio, but I don’t see the motorcar. Is J.D. here?”

  “No.”

  Amelia had checked J.D.’s newly furnished bedroom in the penthouse when he failed to appear for breakfast. She had no idea if he’d even been home the previous night. No one had seen him anywhere all morning and the Winton was not parked on the street or in the commodious garage she’d built for it. She had been so angry a few minutes earlier, she’d almost thrown rocks at the lobby windows.

  Angus regarded her for a long moment and then asked, “Is everything all right, lass? I trust the boilers are in fine fettle?” he added, with an amused lift of an eyebrow.

  “I’m sure you’re amazed to hear they’re perfectly operational. I’ve just completed my final inspection. Basically, the project here is done. I’m sorry, Angus, but I have an appointment. Shou Shou will fix you whatever food you like.”

  “Amelia!” He placed his hand on her sleeve to restrain her from leaving. “I can see something’s upset you. Tell me what’s wrong. Has your work crew been giving you problems?” He reached toward her and grasped her chin between his fingers. “Look at those dark circles under your eyes! You look exhausted. All this rush-rush to make the opening date has put you under a terrible strain.” He gave her cheek a little pat and seized her hand. “Come inside
with me and relax a bit. I’ve been telling you right along that this kind of work puts too much of a burden on your shoulders. You ought to—”

  “No!” Amelia yanked her hand away. “Please don’t tell me what I ‘ought’! I loved my work here. What I do not care for is your incessant badgering!”

  She glared at him, anger coursing through her entire body. She’d had her fill of domineering men this morning. J.D. had made absolutely no attempt to contact her in two days or explain one word about his engagement announcement. Nor had she had a chance to confront him about the playing cards she now had in her possession. And here was Angus, berating her for merely trying to complete the bloody hotel on time!

  Startled by her heated words, Angus could only stare. “Badgering you? What are you saying? I was merely observing that—”

  “Well then, let me put it in this fashion. Many men of my acquaintance seem to think that it’s perfectly all right to treat me as if I were blind, feebleminded, and thoroughly unable to discern my own intentions. Well, I’m not, and I have an appointment to keep, Angus. So if you will, excuse me, please.”

  “I’m just asking you to have breakfast with me, lass.”

  Amelia hardly heard him. “I don’t know why so many men seem to believe that they can simply put shackles on a woman and take from her what they will, be it her trusting nature, her freedom, her ability to choose her own fate, or her money and inheritance!” she declared with an uncharacteristic vehemence. “To take everything from us because they think we’re too stupid to look after ourselves!”

  Before Angus could reply to this tirade, Amelia stormed across Jackson Street and disappeared around the corner. By the time she reached California Street, she already felt contrite, knowing her fury was misplaced. The lion’s share of the speech she had just flung at the good doctor more appropriately should have been addressed to his best friend.

  ***

  Amelia took a seat at her old drafting board that currently resided at the Morgan architectural firm in the Merchants Exchange building and swiftly penned her thanks to Franco Pigati and his entire crew “for the splendid job you’ve done at the Bay View Hotel. I will forever be in your debt and hope we can work together again.”