Pearl on Cherry

by Chanse Lowell

  His chest exploded in heat, and his heart swelled so much, his ribs felt run through with a lance.

  “Well, it seems I must pluck my angel girl out of Hell now and put her back where she belongs. Do you think God will allow me near you now after making such a muck of things today?”

  “He will. I know He will. He’s seen inside you like I have, and the blackness is purged. My William is back, and that, dear man, is worth celebrating in the cosmos.”

  He smiled. “Sing?”

  “Yes, sir.” She hummed at first, then drifted into some sweet lullaby.

  Before long, he was sleeping, and it felt like he truly was in the clouds with an angel, because the pain he’d been draped in for weeks had dissipated.

  All that remained was his cherry, and she was sweeter than ever.

  * * *

  The banks were slowly crumbling. All William could do was hold on and invest his money as wisely as he could.

  He roamed down a Paris street with Cherry at his side and let her wander while he fretted over the most recent letter.

  “Will, look!” She pointed at a parasol in a shop window.

  “You like it? Will you finally let me buy you something?” He tucked his pocket watch away along with the letter.

  “No, sir. I’m not talking about that, though I do think it delightful.” She gripped his arm and pulled him closer. “After a month of being here, this is it! I can tell. They’d sell our lingerie. Look.” She pointed once more.

  Inside the store was a very beautiful, fair, strawberry blonde woman, stripping a corset and working on it with furious fingers.

  “Why is she doing that?” His brow furrowed.

  “Can’t you see what she’s doing?” Clarissa almost pressed her nose to the window. “She’s trying to do what you’ve done, but she’s unaware of how to trim the boning.” She yanked him toward the door.

  They stepped inside, and he froze.

  This was a place of ill repute. How was this seedy shop on a respectable street?

  He leaned into Clarissa and whispered, “I’m not selling my wares to prostitutes. That’s not my intent with my laces.”

  She turned to him and smiled. “Not prostitutes. Watch.”

  She stepped up to the woman. “Excusez moi, pourriez-vous me diriger vers les nouveautés en terme de corsets bon pour la santé?” She pretended to look around for the health corsets she’d just asked about.

  The strawberry blonde looked her over, and her lips pursed. “Ma chérie, nous ne vendons pas ceux-là. Trop démodé et inadapté aux gens de la scène.”

  Clarissa fought of a smile. She figured they wouldn’t sell them since they were out of date and Paris was a more progressive place for those on the stage, and she was right.

  “Oh, êtes vous une actrice?” Clarissa chirped, once more biting back a smile. She already knew this woman was an actress. The signs were all there, but she wanted to draw the woman out.

  “Oui, comment avez-vous deviné?” The woman nodded as she confirmed it and arched a brow in question at how Clarissa knew such a thing.

  Clarissa motioned her chin at the woman’s hands and eyed the paint on them. It was clear she made her own props. “Vous avez de la peinture sur les mains. Vous fabriquez vos propre accessoires, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Oui.” The woman shoved aside her project and stared at Clarissa with wary eyes. “Vous n’êtes pas ici pour acheter n’est-ce pas?”

  Clarissa pushed her shoulders back a little. This woman was no fool. She probably knew they weren’t in here to buy anything the moment Clarissa opened her mouth to speak. It was time to confess Clarissa’s profession and why she was here. “Non Madame, je suis aussi une actrice, mais ça n’est pas non plus la raison de mon intrusion.” Clarissa turned around, reached for her laces and undid the top of them.

  The woman gasped when she saw the back of Clarissa’s bra.

  “Qu’est ce que c’est que ça?” The woman stood and stepped closer, examining it. Her brows scrunched together as she tried to figure out what Clarissa was wearing.

  “C’est un remplacement pour le corset.” Clarissa pulled a shoulder down on her gown to show her the strap to this contraption that had replaced her corset. “Mon brillant future mari l’a conçu. Je chante et joue la comédie, et il voulait que mes poumons puissent bouger pendant que ma poitrine est supportée. J’adore.” She positively beamed as she gave the credit to William for inventing it.

  “Vous avez fabriqué ceci?” the strawberry blonde asked him with a look of intrigue and a little bit of disbelief. She was probably surprised a man could invent something so innovative and helpful with the female population.

  “Oui je l’ai fait.” He nodded and stood as erect as any street light around the area, but Clarissa was smiling so big it set him a little more at ease and made it less burdensome to take credit for it. His state of comfort dissipated though when he noticed the state she was in . . .

  Cherry was exposing her shoulder, and there were men possibly on the street outside that might peer inside and see her.

  He wound his way between her and the view of the window.

  “Est ce que . . . Pouvez-vous en faire plus?” The woman’s voice went up in pitch as she asked him if he could make more.

  His chest lifted and he breathed easier as he prepared to give her the good news about how he had dozens and wanted to sell them. “J’en ai déjà crée une douzaine. Nous souaiterions les commercaliser,” he answered, still guarding his beloved from prying eyes. “Cherry, cover yourself.” His voice dropped into a tight whisper.

  She did as he requested and went into an animated speech, touting all the wonders of this bra to the shop owner.

  The woman was spellbound, listening intently.

  Before he knew it, they’d departed the store with a list of other shops the woman recommended them to contact, and she had practically begged them to sell this new invention to her.

  William was breathless as Cherry girl all but skipped down the street.

  Who was this woman?

  The note in his side could fall to ash.

  The banks were going to crash very soon, and this might save them.

  As she beckoned him over to pet a little white fluffy dog while she talked to an owner, it hit him.

  Cherry saved people because it was as inherent to her as making money was to him.

  Together, they could do more good than he’d ever imagined, even if it was in the form of helping other couples enjoy what might be considered depravity in the bedroom.

  How could something that brought them so much peace and joy be wrong?

  He pulled his shoulders back, approached her, dropped down and petted the dog.

  “Soft and so white,” Cherry said with a purr in her voice.

  “Sweet and innocent—just like you, ma chérie. I’m ready to go home. Let’s go back to where we belong.”

  As he stood, he was greeted by the owner of the dog, and he gasped when eyes like his own met him. His blood froze when he saw the gash mark on her right cheek that extended from the corner of her eye to the edge of her jaw.

  “Mother?” he gasped.

  “I beg your pardon? Do I know you?” The woman harrumphed, picked up her dog and departed.

  “That’s your mother?” Clarissa asked.

  “Yes.” He swallowed hard.

  “How do you know?”

  “I gave her that scar on her face,” he said, and the wind left his lungs as he ran after the woman.

  What could he say? Would she keep on pretending she was unaware of who he was?

  As soon as he was behind his mother, she turned with a pivot and her finger jabbed into his chest. “Look here! I’m not about to be chased down in the street like some common criminal.”

  The dog growled in her arms.

  His eyes went wide, and his chest flared with aching heat. “I only meant to—”

  “Yes, I know what you meant to do. Your father already found and contacted me.
I’ll tell you the same message I gave him—this is my money! I’ve earned it. I don’t care if he’s ruined himself. I want nothing to do with him or you!” She hugged the dog tight into her chest. “He’s the one, not me, that broke our family. That’s all I have to say.”

  “Wait!” He tried to grip her arm before she left, but the dog nipped at him, so he flung his hand down to his side. “I have questions.”

  “And I don’t have answers. I don’t want to know you, or him. Goodbye.”

  “Please,” he cried out, lurching toward her again. “Just answer me this—did you care about me at all?”

  She sighed, dropped her head and shifted her weight away from him.

  “Did you?” he repeated.

  Clarissa placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

  “Please, I need to know that at least one of my parents loved me once.” His eyes closed. They were stinging too much, and he was making these ghastly wheezing sounds as he tried to take in an inordinate amount of air so his head would stop pounding along with his heart.

  “William . . . I never stopped. But I cannot be near your father. He’s . . . Well, he’s a beast.” His mother sniffed, and her lips jerked down into a deep frown.

  “Did you leave because of me?” His heart shriveled as he waited for an answer.

  “No, darling boy, I did not.” His mother huffed, then gazed in his eyes. “Evidently, you are unaware of exactly how cruel your father is.”

  Cherry girl convinced his mother in the next moment to take coffee with them in a little shop a few feet away.

  Once his mother was seated, he sat and merely stared at her.

  “What do you want to know?” she asked, stirring some cream into her coffee.

  “Why you left,” he said on a wisp of a breath.

  “Have you ever wondered why your father never remarried?” She scooped in some sugar and went back to stirring her drink.

  Was she avoiding something other than answering him?

  “No, not really. He’s wretched to deal with, so I figured no one else would have him,” he answered.

  She smirked and snorted. “Yes, that is true, but he can be quite charming when he wants to, and with the ladies, he is ever so.” She shook her head and let it fall again, focusing on her drink. “He does not lack female companionship. He is a master at concealing his urges.”

  “What does that mean? Are you saying he has scattered bastards around town?” He inched closer to her.

  She snorted once more, but even louder this time. “No—quite the opposite. I’m fairly certain he’s sterile. He tossed me out when I became pregnant. He’d already questioned your legitimacy as his son. After ten years of me failing to conceive and being in his bed constantly, he questioned me, and I told him I’d taken up my old lover. The very same I had when I’d conceived with you.”

  His spine snapped to straight and felt painfully solid. “Who is this man?”

  “First let me say, I am uncertain who your father is, and for that I’m deeply ashamed, but it does not mean I didn’t love you with all my heart.” She fidgeted with her spoon.

  “The man’s name,” he barked with a quiet, tight tone.

  “You already know who it is,” she replied, wilting away from his glare.

  “Are you honestly expecting me to believe that Tyrone Power is my brother?” He scratched his nails across his thighs and then gripped them to keep from toppling the table over.

  “I said I’m uncertain, but have you never noticed the likeness?” She blinked, and her eyes softened. “I’m sorry, but I loved Harold Power. Still do. He was always sweet to me. I should have taken him for my husband, but your father was very persuasive.”

  “This is why he hates me? And why you left?” His heart sunk.

  She pushed her coffee away from her. “I just explained to you—your father kicked me out. I had no choice. I wasn’t going to give up this new baby I was carrying inside me. He wanted me to get rid of it and kill the babe.”

  “Did you?”

  “No!” She stood and crossed her arms over her chest. “But because of him, I was living on the streets and I miscarried out in the gutters two months later.”

  “Power did nothing to help you?” He stood, too, gripped the back of his neck and ground his teeth together.

  “I was not about to ruin two lives. He was married—he had children. He couldn’t admit to what we’d done. I almost died.” She picked up her little white dog and stroked its back. The poor little creature was shaking.

  “I’m sorry, I just . . . It is a lot to take in.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Can you tell me this—now that I know, if I want to know you, will you let me be in your life?”

  “Why would you want that?” She took a step back, knocking into her chair.

  “That devil—the man that raised me—he’s disowned me, and now I know why. It was never about me or my success or lack of living up to his expectations. He knew I wasn’t his child. He resented me.” He swallowed hard, his mouth had gone so dry it felt like his throat would burst into flames.

  “All he probably saw was that I loved another. How could I love William? He was constantly criticizing me, telling me how worthless I was. It didn’t matter how many whores he seduced from the stage—they were never me, and they never would be. I ran to France the first chance I got and reclaimed what I could of my acting career. I used a fake stage name so he could never find me, but recently—well, he became desperate. He discovered where I was, and he accused me of ruining his fortune, of driving him to the brink of madness.”

  He shook his head and inhaled with a grating sound. “Ever the gentleman. Never taking the blame he deserves.”

  “Yes—he feels he’s entitled to my money and that I owe him since he put a roof over your head and clothed your body.”

  “Damnation! You will not pay him a cent! He treated me like a filthy rodent, living in his house against his will!” His hands balled into tight fists, and his nostrils flared.

  “I know, William. I know.” His mother nodded. “He won’t touch any of my money, but now that I know you don’t hate me, you are free to take any of it that you desire.”

  His jaw loosened. “That is not why I stopped you. I have money enough for now. Many of us will probably see it dissolve soon, but even so . . . I will never touch your earned wages.”

  “Then what? You only want to know me?” Her eyes widened.

  Without another word, he lunged forward and hugged the woman he hadn’t seen in almost twenty years.

  “Will you forgive me for clawing at your face when you were walking out the door? For smashing the violin you gave me in front of you? I didn’t know—I had no notion he was forcing you to leave,” he whispered, his legs unsteady as he shook.

  “There is nothing to forgive. I was glad you did it. I deserved it for not taking you with me, but I didn’t know how I would survive, and I wanted you to live. You had to live, William. I love you!”

  A moment later, he was barely holding back the tears and Cherry joined in on the hug and kissed him on the head, until he did finally shed a tear or two.

  His mother loved him.

  His father no longer mattered.

  Let the man die alone and miserable.

  He deserved it.

  Chapter 23

  October 22, 1907

  Ring, ring, ring . . .

  William’s phone rang incessantly in his office all morning long.

  He had answered all the previous phone calls and had grown tired of all the chatter, so he sat still, quiet and contemplated what to do.

  He got up, grabbed his hat and cane and ignored all his gawking servants.

  Most likely they knew what had just occurred.

  Everyone knew by now.

  But what could he do? He was only one man.

  Clarissa was at rehearsal with Tyrone and Samuel, his driver no longer—he was now her chauffeur, and her new chaperon, too.

  Even if h
e was now aware Tyrone might be a blood relation and they had come to terms to a certain degree, it did not mean he trusted that man implicitly with his cherry girl.

  As he drove down the street, his mind raced. His money was already depleting lately as he invested more and more in his inventions with naughty lingerie. Sales had not picked up yet, but he had been hopeful.

  Was it too late?

  Had he made a mistake trying to dream big and pursue his deviant interests and make money off them?

  As he neared Wall Street, the deafening sound of the shouts emanating off the swarms of people made him cringe.

  It was as if a sea of angry ants in suits had taken over.

  He parked his motorcar much further away than he’d wanted to.

  The moment he was out of his car, two bankers were at his flanks. “Right this way, Mr. Ferrismore. Mr. Morgan’s looking for you,” the man with the curled dark mustache and salt-and-pepper hair said.

  William nodded and followed after them with a brisk pace.

  The noise was so overbearing he had to cover his ears.

  Angry voices escalated as someone in the center of the mass of bodies tried to throw money out to the crowd.

  Within moments, the crush was moving and swaying, and someone shrieked in agony.

  Most likely the man throwing out cash was trampled or having some sense kicked into him.

  William was jostled back and forth as he was strung along at this point by one of the men trying to help him wade through the hostile crowd.

  “It’s bedlam!” Morgan shouted in his ear once he was near.

  William nodded. “What are we to do?”

  “Nothing right now. We must regroup and soldier on,” Morgan said, frowning and holding his hat on his head as people bumped into him, pushing past him.

  “What now?” William growled, angling his head after the men.

  “It’s probably Knickerbocker’s representatives again. They keep trying to appease these men, but it only enrages them further.” Morgan pointed toward the left a few feet ahead.

  “How could this happen? How could the stock exchange fall more than fifty percent?” a stranger to William’s right called out.