Pearl on Cherry

by Chanse Lowell

  “All right—Maude.” Clarissa edged closer to her. “Can you tell me what it was like to play Peter Pan?”

  Maude’s eyes brightened, but then they slanted a little and narrowed. “There is no possible way to describe the elation of playing a flying creature that no man can possess.” Her eyes twinkled. “But then, I’ve been told that’s who you are without a stage.”

  Maude stood up, stuck out her hand at a passerby and greeted them.

  Clarissa swallowed, and her chest went heavy.

  What just transpired? Did Maude call her a stage whore? Was Clarissa no better than Lenora—the hag she used to attend to back stage?

  She glanced at William, and he was still engaged in animated conversations about the invention of his bra and how women would clamor after it. He spouted off about how women could breathe better, no more fainting spells due to restricted lungs and no more issues with their dreaded lungs having liquid pool in them from the same issues.

  “The corset’s to be used for the bedroom in a spirit of fun only. Women need to breathe,” William told a blonde, buxom woman next to him.

  The woman’s gaze moved over to Clarissa. “Can you imagine wearing such a thing as this bra to rallies?”

  Clarissa startled when William’s hand gripped hers. “I have never been to a rally. Are you referring to the women’s rights?”

  The woman laughed, fanned herself and then coughed. “Precisely. Any free-thinking woman should be there. And I can tell you’re one of us.”

  “She has other things to attend to other than this frivolous waste of time.” William grabbed his scotch with his right hand, tipped it to his lips but did not partake of it.

  A moment later, he set it back down.

  Clarissa waited to see what had him taking on so.

  “Do you think it counterproductive to have a voice, Mr. Ferrismore?” the woman asked. Her blonde curls bounced on her head as she leaned toward him.

  Clarissa held her breath when she realized this woman was awfully comfortable with William. Was she one of his past conquests? She definitely looked like his amorous type of woman with saucy eyes, pouty lips and a very curvy figure.

  “Not at all. Cherry here has a splendid voice, and I encourage her to use it all the time, but not for hollering about things that cannot be.” He tapped his fingertip on the rim of his glass and cocked his head at this woman. “Rebecca, you forget I know who your family is. If they knew what you were about . . .”

  “You wouldn’t dare spill my secret, William, for I hold the cards in this hand. I know about your marketing intents for your naughty bedroom clothing. How quick do you think I could spread that around?”

  “Quicker than I could ruin your rallies? Perhaps.” He smirked. “But to what avail?”

  “To the quick—always the way with you.” Rebecca puffed up her chest. “Always, even when your hands are grabbing at something you cannot have.”

  “And I will forever be grateful I came to my senses.” He jerked his head in a motion to silently tell her to leave them now.

  Rebecca only grinned like a hunting cat. “Oh no, no, sir. I am here to watch you fight. I have been told you’re to face the worst of fighters, and I have to be in the front to see it for myself when the great Ferrismore is taken down to the mud where he belongs.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” He sighed and wore a resigned look. “You were too young and entirely too good for me.” He dipped his fingers in his drink, then flicked the moisture at Rebecca.

  “Ahhhhh . . .” She moaned at the action and beamed at him, leaning her breasts toward him.

  “Now—find another man to reminisce with. Cherry—” He faced Clarissa and stood up. “Watch me devour this man since this is what you wanted.” He bowed, clicked his heels on the hardwood flooring and then he was out in the center of the floor before them, removing his waist coat, his jacket and tie.

  Next his cuff links came off and so did his somber look he’d worn like a tired rag for the last few weeks.

  His face morphed into a man very well-pleased with his surroundings.

  He waved at the crowd, his arms up in the air.

  Women cried out for him. Clarissa sunk back in her chair.

  What was happening to this man?

  He was reveling in inciting them into a frenzy, but why? It all seemed a brutal show.

  Was he trying to teach her a lesson?

  “Did you really let him fuck you?” Rebecca leaned in and asked.

  “No. I leave that for whores to do. I love him, so it results in touch. Something it seems you cannot possibly understand.” Clarissa folded her hands in her lap.

  William barked at the crowd, yipped and bayed as if at a ripe moon overhanging in the room like a frosty chandelier.

  What had she done?

  This was not helping him. He only seemed more lost than ever.

  A large man with dark curly hair, black beady eyes and arms the size of railroad ties walked out into William’s space.

  William was taller, but this man looked completely immovable.

  She sucked in a tight breath, her hands went to her stomach and she swallowed down the beginnings of bile.

  If he was hurt . . .

  Jesus, this was so wrong.

  She jumped up right as the men were circling each other, tossing out insults faster than an electrified train.

  Her hands yanked her sleeves off so more of her bosom was bared. She ripped up the side of her skirt and showed him what a beast of a man he was being. She could outdo him. She could show him how absurd he was in this moment.

  She burst into one of her bawdiest songs, pushed her skirt aside and hitched her leg up onto an unoccupied seat.

  Her hair came down next as she ripped the pins out and before she could sing the chorus, William was dragging her off and down one of the hallways.

  “What in tarnation was that?” he hissed in her ear.

  “You want a blood bath with that man to prove I was an idiot in bringing you here? Fine. But don’t you think I can act out, too? If you’re going to be an ass, I’ll reflect it. After all, Rebecca was too good for you, but apparently I am not. Maude Adams thinks me a great whore, so why not prove it?” She took her ring off and tossed it at him. “Enjoy breaking bones. At least, now it’ll match what’s broken up here!” She tapped his forehead, then backed away.

  “What is the matter? You wanted me to fight, so I was doing it.”

  “Not like this. That was not you. I don’t know that man that was frothing at the mouth and acting a criminal of the night.” She backed away even farther. “Find what you seek here without me. Find yourself. If you don’t, then when you come home and I find the same man that I left here at this club, then I am gone. I am nothing if I am not honest, and this new Ferrismore—he’s not someone I care to know.”

  She curtsied, gathered her breath and left.

  Samuel ducked his head down, drove her home and never once asked how she was.

  The only thing he said was, “Thank you, Mrs. Ferrismore.”

  “Don’t call me that,” she replied, fogging up the window with her breath in tufts of scorching fury.

  That man was gambling more than ever—gambling his soul to some unseen force.

  And only he knew why he was doing it.

  Chapter 22

  Craaaack, craaaack, craaaack!

  Fists pounded into William’s back.

  He spun, and a knuckle grazed his jaw.

  The meaty man before him was slow, but his blows were punishing.

  William jammed his fist into the man’s ribs, but they remained in place.

  Bones—he needed to break and destroy.

  This man was a brick wall with a hammering club for fists.

  William bounded after him repeatedly, but it did no good. The man merely stood there and swallowed each blow like William was a child.

  He reached out for the man’s arm, intending to grasp it and break the damned infernal thing off, but his qui
ckness this time backfired.

  The man took William by the upper inner arm and flung him over his head.

  Whhhhhopap!

  William thudded to the ground, and his back screamed in pain.

  Images of his father blinded him a moment later when the man’s heel came toward William’s face.

  William rolled out of the way, jabbed at the back of the man’s right knee, tumbling the man to the ground right next to him.

  He pushed the man onto his stomach, shoved a knee into his spine and was about to snap the man’s arm back and break bone when Rebecca cried his name.

  In that moment, he looked up and could see the lust for blood in her eyes.

  Cherry girl.

  The thought of her seeing him this way, but this time hellbent on destroying everything and everyone around him, was more than he could bear.

  He rolled off the brute he was about to destroy, stood up and waited.

  The man lumbered to his feet, and William stood there, staring at Rebecca as if in apology when the final blow slammed into William’s right temple and he flew three feet to the side, hit a chair and stopped breathing.

  The man was on top of him, crunching his ribs into kindling.

  William allowed it. What was his life if Cherry couldn’t stand him?

  She left him here so he could wallow since he was shutting her out.

  Well, then he deserved to be walloped.

  Women clustered, yanking at the behemoth above William, but his bloodied fists kept pounding William into the floor.

  Finally, Tyrone shoved the man off. “Enough. He’s barely breathing.” He pointed for the man to step aside.

  “The winner is Scott Landings!”

  William groaned and squinted. “Why’d you stop him? You hate me.”

  “That’s what you think, but I never stopped liking you. Just because you’re a foolish bastard and I envy your happiness does not mean I dislike you. Quit imagining yourself the martyr, my friend, and you’ll find you can actually enjoy your life without self-inflicted guilt. Now—” He extended his hand, William took it and Tyrone yanked him up to standing. “She left. What are you going to do as a broken man to get her back?”

  William shook his head. “I don’t know if she even wants me anymore.”

  “When a woman leaves tearless and fuming like that, it’s not because you’ve broken her. It’s because she was the only one rooting for you in the crowd, but you couldn’t see it because your own bloated ego was in the way.”

  “What do you propose?”

  “Well, seeing as how she basically sold herself to me as a starlet on my stage for you to have this tonight, I’d suggest you give her this back first.” He pulled a paper out of his pocket and passed it to William. “Rip it up in front of her face. Tell her thank you, but she’s freed. Tell her I’m happy to be friends with you both.” He took a breath and puffed his cheeks for a moment. “But I must say, if she ever has to sell herself again for the likes of you because she thinks she’s saving you, next time I won’t pull Satan off your ass if he’s eating your gut for lunch. You’d deserve it.” He smacked William on the arm.

  “Thank you.” William stared at the contract in his hands. “She really does love me?”

  “Yes, you besotted fool, she really does. Quit fucking wasting time. Go find her. Undoubtedly, she’s in your home, tending to your staff, taking care of others in an effort to care for you. Stop being an ass. Take her help, fix your body and then your head. Be the man she needs. Stop fulfilling your father’s idea of what you are.”

  “Have you seen him?”

  “Yes. He’s bad. Far worse than you. But I’ll make sure he’s all right. Now.” Tyrone pointed at the door. “You’re not welcome in my club again unless you and your cherry girl are straight again.”

  “You’d help us? Truly?” William’s stance shifted into a poised man, ready to handle anything. “I like her. She slapped me today—put my head back on straight. That’s a woman I can respect. Let her do the same for you.”

  William nodded, speechless, and shuffled out the door, ignoring the throbbing in his veins.

  What could he say to ever make this up to her?

  In a cab on the way home, all he could think about was Cherry’s soft lips twisted up into a smile of approval and then her in his arms as he apologized and told her he was a miserly pig for telling her to keep away from his money and to keep out of his affairs.

  * * *

  Clarissa yelped when William scooped her up out of her bed and woke her in the process.

  He kissed her face repeatedly as he carried her, limping his way into his bedroom.

  “You’re hurt!” she gasped.

  “Yes. But not as much as you. I’ve damaged your faith in me.” His eyes stung and crinkled at the corners. “I am so sorry.”

  “You are back with me? My William? Not this unthinking man that is lost in the dark?”

  “I am back, because you showed me the way.” He tucked her into his bed with care, removed his soiled, bloodied clothes, but before he could get in bed with her, she was up, examining his wounds.

  “You need medical attention,” she said, touching the tender spots on his ribs.

  “Broken ribs cannot be helped.” He winced when she prodded one that was particularly tender.

  Christ, it hurt to breathe. But then, it hurt simply being him, so in some ways this was better—distracting from the pain in his chest and wounded soul.

  “Let me call for Samuel. We will take you to the hospital.” She tipped her head up and watched his face.

  “No. I want to rest. And the police are still suspicious of him with Giuseppe’s death. He should stay here.” William sighed. Samuel was safe for now, but how much longer could William cover for him? “If we think my health bad in the morning, then we’ll go. For now, I want you in my arms. We need to talk.” He beckoned her into his hands.

  She went into his hold willingly. “I missed you, my love. You were so absent in spirit and mind.”

  “I know. I apologize. What am I to do when I cannot absorb the blackness in my soul without it tainting you?”

  She exhaled and went stiff. “That’s the problem right there. Do not hold it in. No one can contain the toxic excrement your father sends your way. Share it with me. That’s all I want. Together we can hold on.” She kissed his neck, snuggled into him and made the most exquisite cooing sounds. “You smell like Heaven, even though you’re filthy and bloodied to the core.”

  “Wash me?” His voice softened into something he barely recognized.

  “Gladly, sir.” She moved to his side and draped his arm over her shoulders.

  For once, he showed his weaknesses—physical and mental as he hissed with each step, leaning into her a little and letting the pain manifest itself in harsh breaths and wincing.

  She pulled him into the bathroom and started the shower. As her fingers removed what was left of his clothing, he broke down. His face twisted in anguish. “I almost lost you.”

  “Yes, you almost did.” She nodded, her fingers methodical as she bared his skin to the air.

  “Would you have left without a tear?”

  “William.” She straightened and went motionless. “Every time I cry, it’s because I am helpless. Every day I love you more, and I am more helpless. I rather doubt I could’ve gone a day without weeping for you when alone.”

  “Thank you!” He grabbed her back in his arms and cried without her ever realizing it.

  It was silent, it was pleading, but it was there nonetheless, buried in her soft brown hair all around him. He nuzzled into her neck, inhaled her scent and let the shame wash away.

  “You love me?”

  “I do.” She stroked his back.

  “You’ll still be my wife.”

  “Say when, Ferrismore, and I’ll take your name.” She molded into him further.

  “Tomorrow. Let’s leave for France. Let’s do what my father stopped us from. My plan is to contact so
me boutiques. I want to sell my naughty lingerie. No more hiding.”

  She nodded and sighed. “Thank God. This game of hide and seek can finally come to a close. I don’t need to be chased any more than you need to hide. We’re found, aren’t we?”

  “We are.” He held her tighter until all he could do was feel his ribs pushing into hers.

  Over the next twenty minutes, she managed to soothe him, wash him up with her gentle hands and breathe life back into him.

  He lay in bed afterward, soaking up her goodness.

  “Clarissa, if you ever want to use our money, you have my permission. I was out of line when I said you weren’t to—”

  “Shhh . . .” She stroked his chest. “Money is not for me. That was something I did against my nature. All for you, my love. Think not of it again. I won’t touch your money whether you give me permission or not.”

  “But I want you to. It’s ours—not mine.” He drew lazy patterns on her back with his fingers, staring at the ceiling.

  “Call it what you will. Just as you are not about to clean your own laundry because it’s not in you, touching your riches is not in me. Share if you like, but I won’t delve into your purse again.”

  “Delve into my head instead—that’s what I prefer.” He inhaled, and of course his ribs throbbed so his breath hitched. She went rigid at his side. “I prefer I open my damnable eyes and see when you are taking care of me. You arranged tonight for me—even dealt with Tyrone. I am grateful you care enough to do unpleasant things. I won’t take it for granted anymore.”

  She chuckled. “That is all you have to say?”

  “You want me to account for more? What have I missed?” He scratched her back and hummed.

  “You miss why I do it.” She snuggled into him a little more. “I do it not just because I want to care for you. Any nurturing soul can do that.”

  “Then why? What’s the impetus?”

  “You, silly man. I want to know everything about you, know what you know, be what you need me to be. And how am I to do that if I shy away from anything uncomfortable? When you decide to walk through hell to punish yourself, I will clear the way. Not because I’m kind or tenderhearted like you think I am, but because I cannot fathom a world worth living in if you’re not in it.”