“Hey, hold on there, young lady! They say opposites attract. But I just proved they’re wrong. No attraction. Just opposites. What a relief!”
Austin went on and announced loudly to Prickly Pete at the bar, “Pour me something stronger than that red head who’s about to exit your fine establishment!”
At the same time, Monique took Brock by the hand and led him to a table and chairs where they could talk without needing to yell. As they crossed the room, they parted the thick, smoky air and made it swirl like heavy cream stirred in a cup of coffee.
“Discretion is absolute in my profession,” said Monique. “But what I’m about to say has nothing to do with my profession and everything to do with friendship.”
Chapter 27
Tonight Is The Night
Monday, April 16, 1906, 8:49 p.m.
Two days before the earthquake and firestorm
The Golden Palace was empty except for one uneasy customer: Butch. Blossom studied him, though she didn’t want anyone to notice. He was alone at his usual table, which had been cleared long ago. He fumbled with his napkin. He looked uncomfortable, like he had a stomachache or was surrounded by a bad smell.
For someone whose family did much to feed Chinatown’s bad reputation for dives and dance halls, opium dens and hideouts, Butch didn’t fit the profile of a tong member. Blossom and her friends called the gangs that controlled well-defined sections of Chinatown the “Six Companies.” They regularly and publicly fought to gain ground from a neighboring gang. Butch displayed none of the usual bravado and posturing of his family members. His attention was on his butcher shop and marrying Blossom. Butch’s business was successful. His love life was not.
Chang stood in the doorway. Grand Ma Maw observed from her stool as Blossom tidied up the tables so they’d be ready for tomorrow’s business. Butch fixated on Blossom. She didn’t fixate on Butch.
“Ming Yang!” Grand Ma Maw said loudly, with an edge sharp enough to chop through the raw carrots in her kitchen. “You sit there like a too-old head of cabbage.” She came closer. “Your name means wind! Push some wind through those lungs of yours and say something! Have you something to ask? You need something more this fine evening?”
Blossom thought that he looked even more uncomfortable now.
“Yes, Grand Ma Maw. I mean, no, Grand Ma Maw,” Butch muttered.
“Honestly, I believe you have more—”
“Tonight’s the night then,” answered Butch as he turned to Chang. “Yes, tonight. With utmost respect, I ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. Do I need to hire a matchmaker to make this match?”
Before Chang could answer, Blossom abruptly joined the conversation.
“Pardon me, but I’m right here in this room! Would someone like to ask me what I think or what I’d like?”
Blossom knew it was proper for Butch to ask her father, though Butch might have chosen a time to ask his question when Blossom wasn’t present. It sounded so formal, so rehearsed, Blossom thought.
The telephone in the reception area rang. Again. Again. No one moved to answer it.
“At long last, my friend, you speak up. However, you not only man in town to admire my Blossom. Her beauty and grace, they prized possessions. Much time pass and I begin to believe our only relationship destined to be between restaurant owner and young butcher who bring meat for our meals,” said Chang. “My answer: yes, yes, yes. No need for matchmaker.” It’s just like him to say “yes” three times, as if a single “yes” wasn’t intolerable enough.
Butch briskly rose from his chair, shook Chang’s hand and nodded his head. As he dashed toward the door he added, “I’ll be back with a gift to honor you and your decision.”
The crimson banner got stuck in the door as he left. Grand Ma Maw walked over to release it and read its message aloud with a few changes to mark the occasion. While looking through the door’s window to watch Butch hurry away, she said, “May good fortune follow you and Blossom on your path through life—together.”
She turned and added, “And so it begins.” With her arms folded in front of her, Grand Ma Maw had a visible sense of satisfaction.
“The beginning. The beginning? The BEGINNING!” said Blossom in three distinctly different ways. “He practically ran out the door. That looked more like an ending than a beginning to me!”
“My child, you wrong,” replied Grand Ma Maw with a knowing look. Blossom read the signals loud and clear. Blossom’s throat got tight. Since she was a little girl, Blossom was taught to respect and honor her elders and their thoughts while silencing her own. Other children could swallow it back, but Blossom usually surrendered to the overwhelming urges to speak her mind. This discussion was one of those boiling-over times. She knew it was a time to disagree and offer another point of view. However, she chose to bring the boiling down to a simmer. She restrained herself from commenting further, knowing that her words could trap her.
“We shall see what begins now,” said Chang without his triple-repeat pattern. Blossom didn’t know if that too was a signal.
Chapter 28
In Over Her Head
Monday, April 16, 1906, 8:57 p.m.
Two days before the earthquake and firestorm
Monique leaned in toward Brock, closing the gap between them and reducing the chance of someone overhearing what she was about to say. Loud enough to be heard over the gyrating group of revelers around them, yet soft enough to be discreet, Monique started.
“I’m a let’s-get-to-the-point kind of girl. Are you fine with that?”
“Sure,” Brock replied with a slight turn of his head.
“Blossom’s completely in love with you. It’s her first time, and you’ll destroy everything that’s good in her if you get married on Saturday.”
Brock was stunned into silence. That was definitely “to-the-point,” as she had warned, but it was not what he expected to hear at his bachelor party from a woman of Monique’s profession and talents.
“Yes, I know all about you and Blossom. She’s one of my best friends. Despite, shall we say, our occupational interests and differences, we’ve been good friends since we were schoolgirls. As you heard, I didn’t know this party was for you when Austin asked me to supply the entertainment. But now that I’m here—”
“Blossom told you about us?”
“She sure did. I guess she thought our paths would never cross. Boy, was she wrong!”
Brock slipped into deep thought—not panic, just deep thought. Monique gave him a few moments to consider his next move.
“Austin has kept me a busy girl at the Maison Bijou for some time now. I don’t think he’s ever talked about you. When we’re together, it’s all about him.”
“Now that doesn’t surprise me one bit. That’s my little brother.”
Monique leaned in closer. “Blossom came to me with a lot of questions about men. She figured I was an expert. Well, I don’t claim to be an expert, but I have picked up a thing or two about what motivates and satisfies a man. I admitted to her that what I’ve learned is not about love, though, just lust and laughs.” She looked around the room.
“Blossom is special. She’s special in a lot of ways. And you’re the first guy that’s captured her attention, and clearly something more than that,” she said as she pointed at her heart.
“Honestly, we shouldn’t have dared her. She’s in way over her head. When news about you two gets out—and it will in a small place like Chinatown—it will destroy her reputation. What’s so amazing is that she knows it, and she doesn’t seem to care. You mean that much to her.”
“What do you mean dared? Is this some kind of game?” Brock was growing visibly uncomfortable.
“Hold your horses, cowboy. It was all innocent girl games. It may have started as a dare to flirt with a customer, but it’s gone far beyond that for Blossom. And, to top it off, you’re getting married in a few days and it’s not to Blossom!”
Brock took in what Monique shared and was no
longer on edge. “Thank you for caring so much about Blossom that you talked to me tonight. You could have sat back, kept this to yourself and then reported what happened to her. With Austin in charge, I knew this party was going to be awkward, but this, well, this is—”
“I don’t expect you to open up and share your plans with me. But what the hell are you going to do? Say, you’re not one of those guys who, after they get what they want, they don’t want it anymore, are you?”
“No, I’m not one of those guys. I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. Is it possible to be in love with two women at the same time?”
“Hey, wait a second, did I hear you right? Like I told Blossom, I live and work in a world of fantasy, pleasure and a wagonload of lies, not love. You’ll need to talk to an old happily married couple to learn about love. Say, I’m pretty sure that I heard you just say you love Blossom.”
“Yes, that’s what I said and how I feel. I do love her. She’s so different from my fiancée.”
“Are you going to flip a coin?”
“What?” asked Brock.
“You have to pick one. Saturday is going to be either the happiest or the saddest day in Blossom’s life. It’s your call.”
“So, do you have a coin?” Brock asked in a somewhat defeated way.
“In this outfit? Are you joking? There isn’t even room for me in here! I couldn’t fit a butterfly’s wing inside this corset. There’s barely enough give to it for me to breathe!”
“I get it.”
Monique looked directly into Brock’s eyes. “Without thinking too much, can you answer a question?”
“Of course I can.”
“Does Blossom make you happy?”
“Yes, but—”
“Could she make you happy for the rest of your life?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then Blossom’s your girl. You just said it in very few words,” concluded Monique.
Austin broke into the conversation by painfully wedging himself between Brock and Monique. Brock took a deep breath. God, he can be like a wood sliver under my fingernail!
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d be worried about you horning in on my action, big brother. But, in all honesty, as inexperienced as you are, Monique would be way too much woman for you to take on.”
Brock blushed, and Monique playfully slapped Austin on the cheek.
Brock noticed how Monique looked at Austin…not as hired help, but as someone who has feelings for Austin. Or, she’s a good actress.
“So who’s going to lead whom on your wedding night, Brock? You two will be fumbling around like two virgins playing the I’ll-show-you-mine-if-you-show-me-yours game.” He amused himself to the point of having to hold his stomach as he guffawed.
“Maybe Uncle Alec needs to take you back to The Kensington Club for a few more lessons, if you know what I mean!” teased Austin.
Monique turned her head slightly and looked knowingly at Brock as she was all too aware of the exclusive clientele that The Kensington Club’s prostitutes entertained.
“That was really classy of you to say, Austin. I should threaten to reveal something embarrassing about you to Monique, but I’m sure you’ve already done plenty to embarrass yourself and her in the past 24 hours!”
“Oh, you have no idea!” Austin responded.
“He’s right. You have no idea,” added Monique.
Sadly, thought Brock, Austin was right about what was really a triangle of inexperience with Clarissa and Blossom. But he knew somehow that anyone’s questionable lack of expertise would not be an obstacle on his wedding night.
The real obstacle: choosing which girl to be the bride.
Chapter 29
Into The Fire
Monday, April 16, 1906, 9:16 p.m.
Two days before the earthquake and firestorm
In the St. Clair family, it was a rite of passage that when a boy turned fourteen, an elder male family member took him to a bordello to introduce him to the pleasures of women.
Austin’s earlier remark about Uncle Alec brought back a mixed bag of memories for Brock. Once Monique moved on to other bachelor-party guests, Brock’s thoughts traveled back to the night of his fourteenth birthday, and to what he did and didn’t learn.
While visiting a bordello for the first time was a family tradition, it wasn’t something that was celebrated openly or discussed in mixed company.
For weeks leading up to Brock’s birthday, his mind was filled with wild and racing thoughts of what his first encounter with a woman would be like. Adding to Brock’s expectations and uneasiness, an eleven-year-old Austin immaturely and inappropriately brought up the subject at the dinner table. Brock found that he was unable to look his mother in the face when the topic was raised. Austin couldn’t wait for his turn and was none too shy to say so to the men of the St. Clair family.
The morning of his fourteenth birthday, Brock was confronted by his mother, who would only acknowledge what was going to happen that night with one remark and without eye contact: “Brock, what a man and a woman share in love is not what will be shared with you tonight.” That was it.
While he was too young to fully grasp the wisdom of what she said, he was old enough to appreciate the courage it took for her to say it. It would be a number of years before he’d experience what she described: true love rather than consuming lust.
But lust was what that night was designed to be all about. For Brock, the lessons in navigating the landscape of a woman’s body would be taught by Chloe at The Kensington Club, one of San Francisco’s finest bordellos. Brock had been told time and again that no heir of a Nob Hill millionaire was going to lose his virginity at “a two-bit flophouse.” There would be time for that later in life, as was discussed by the family’s men when they were among themselves. But the first encounter was to be special. For Brock, in many ways it was.
Brock was handed off like a father hands off a bride at a wedding altar. He looked back at Uncle Alec—fondly referred to as Uncle Smart Aleck—to see the pride in his face. He did his best to block thoughts of what Uncle Alec’s fourteenth birthday night must have been like. After all, this was the man who taught Brock and Austin at much-too-early ages how to play poker, smoke cigars and drink a shot of whiskey like a real man, slamming the empty glass down on the counter. The crusty brother of their deceased father, Uncle Alec—even with only a horseshoe of hair left—could have easily been mistaken as Austin’s imaginary father with his wise-cracking wit, girl-chasing escapades and self-centered approach to life.
Living up to his “Smart Aleck” nickname, Uncle Alec not-so-gently stuffed a roll of paper money into the bodice of Chloe’s black-lace outfit with an all-knowing wink. Her corset was so tightly cinched that her body took an unnaturally curvaceous hour-glass shape. Then, for all to hear as Brock was being escorted away to lose his virginity, Uncle Alec yelled, “Bring him back to me as a man with one of those lacy garters for a souvenir. And he better be exhausted and spent.”
For the love of God, could he please be quiet, thought young Brock.
Chloe replied, “He’ll be well spent, just like the money you just gave me. It’s my pleasure to be of service.” She nodded and, in an exaggerated gesture, swiped back her wavy cascade of blonde hair as if to indicate she meant business.
To make matters even worse, as Chloe led Brock out of the bordello’s parlor he noticed a hand-embroidered sign above the hallway opening that read, “Into the fire.” Oh fine, thought Brock. Fire is the last thing I need to think about now. It almost made the burn scars on his ankles heat up just to think about fire.
“You’re in good hands. I’m going to teach you wrong from right.”
“You mean right from wrong?” Brock hesitantly asked.
“No, there’s nothing right about what we’re going to do. So, relax,” purred Chloe as they entered a door with the number six on it. Brock noticed that the room was filled with peacock feathers in bouquets in vases, on fans…even la
id loosely on the counter of her vanity. He scanned the walls that were draped with swags of purple, green and turquoise cloth. The space glowed softly with flickering candlelight emanating from scattered candles that were short and tall, thick and thin.
She struck a match and lit five candles that stood erect in an ornate silver candelabra. There was a red candle in the center and four white ones, each poised atop one for the arms that extended from the base, which was a sculpted naked woman.
“This one’s for you,” she said as she removed the red candle. His mind raced with possibilities, some not entirely erotic. She placed the candelabra on the nightstand.
“It’s my experience that men make love with their eyes, or at least that’s what stokes the flames inside them,” said Chloe knowingly.
Questions flew through Brock’s mind. All this talk about flames and fire? A room full of flickering candles? And I’m going to make love with my eyes?
She continued, “I’m going to teach you that it’s more about the touch than the look.”
Brock peered at her curiously and with obvious apprehension.
“Now, you take your shirt off and lay back on my soft bed. Or would you like me to help you with that?” she asked as she approached him with the burning and now dripping red candle in her hand.
“No, I can do it,” Brock quickly replied as he shed his shirt to avoid the need for her to get any closer with the flame.
“Close…those…dazzling…blue…eyes,” she directed. Her every syllable flirted. He did as he was told. She soothingly ran her fingertips from his forehead, over his eyes and down his cheeks.
“That’s right. Now take a deep breath and release it slowly.” As he did, he felt a sharp pain in the center of his hairless chest, which startled him. He began to sit up and open his eyes.
Blossom (The Blossom Trilogy Book 1) Page 16