The Rake's Proposition

by Bess Greenfield

As much as Maude’s unfortunate attraction for Fowler worked in her favor, Claudine couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. “You’re certain about that?”

  “I love him.”

  “He’s married.”

  “Hardly. His wife cheated on him and deserted him. He deserves better.”

  Claudine returned her teacup to her saucer with a clatter of porcelain. “That’s why you didn’t want me to find my cousin. As long as he’s with Odette, you think the way is clear for you and Fowler.”

  “He’s shown plenty of interest already.” A sensual, wistful expression appeared upon her face. “Twice, in my former dressing room, and then you showed up.”

  Claudine winced at the thought of all the torrid scenes played out in that dressing room. “I promise you the moment I find my cousin, I’ll leave The Crystal forever.” This was an easy promise to make as she was never going back. “Tell me where they are.”

  “You don’t understand. Odette needs to have a man who worships her. If she loses the pianist, she’ll only return to Jonas.”

  Claudine shook her head. “He won’t have her back. He told me so in very certain terms. So I am the only obstacle standing between you, top billing, a first-rate dressing room, and the man of your dreams.”

  For a long while Maude examined the teapot with a half wistful, half scheming expression. Then her body went as rigid as a wooden push-up toy. “They’re living on the top floor of The Pilgrim’s Arms. It’s a hotel for transients on 36th Street by the Hudson River. A real rat-hole of a place.”

  * * *

  The Pilgrim’s Arms was the sort of place where residents trimmed their toenails by sticking their feet out of the window. Claudine knew this because that was exactly what was occurring on the second floor. Toenail cuttings fell to the sidewalk at regular intervals while she looked up in astonishment. A withered male face glowered at her as though she were rudely interrupting a morning routine.

  The air smelled of noxious industrial animal processing, possibly hide curing. Nauseated, she hastened inside the ugly four-story brick tenement, but that did little to alleviate the odor, and the indoor temperature was stifling. Muffled voices spoke unfamiliar languages, and somewhere in the building, a baby was crying. It was not a healthy, robust sound, but a pitifully weak expression of misery.

  Claudine climbed the rickety wooden stairs in disbelief. Maude had to be wrong. Alex would never live in such a filthy, smelly place. He was a stickler for cleanliness and personal hygiene and always took great care with his attire. Having spent the early years of his childhood in abject poverty, he couldn’t take these things for granted. Beyond that, appearances mattered a great deal to a concert pianist hoping to draw female fans and fill concert hall seats.

  She reached the uppermost level and turned onto a narrow wooden landing that looked as though it had never been washed. There was only one apartment. She knocked on the door.

  After several minutes the knob turned, the door opened a few inches, and a face appeared. It wasn’t the face she remembered. Only the bright blue eyes were recognizable. They’d once been so reflective of wit, vitality, and genius. Now there was only despair in their depths, an intense emptiness that was painful to behold. “Alex?”

  The door opened all the way, and Claudine inhaled sharply at the sight of him. His brown hair was overly long and matted, and his once-noble face was now completely concealed by a scraggly beard. He wore trousers and an untied robe, which left his emaciated pale chest exposed. She tried not to stare at his prominent ribs.

  “Claude? Why are you here?” His words were slurred, and she realized he was drunk at half past ten in the morning.

  Though she was disgusted to find him in such a state, she was more grateful to find him alive. Reluctant to tell him anything about her involvement with The Crystal, she merely said, “I’ve come to see how you are faring.”

  She stepped inside the flat and embraced him, but his arms remained limp by his sides. With her ear pressed to his chest, his scent assailed her. He reeked of stale sweat and gin. “And it seems you’re not at your best. Why are you not dressed?”

  Bewildered, he looked down at his body in confusion. She followed the direction of his gaze and gasped at the sight of his right hand, misshapen, swollen, and yellowish. His fingers hung at odd angles, completely misaligned.

  A sharp pain shot through her nervous system, an involuntary reaction to what he must have experienced. “Alex, what happened to your hand? Was there some accident?”

  He clasped his thumbs together and covered his damaged hand with his good one against his stomach. “I don’t think you could call it that, no.”

  Someone had maimed her cousin, intentionally destroyed his career. Rage pounded inside her head, but she did her best not to let it show. She could see by the grim set of his mouth the memory upset him still, and she didn’t want him to suffer any more than he already had. “Do you know who attacked you?”

  He turned and walked over to the only window in the sitting room, propped open by a wooden board, and sat upon the sill. “No. I lost consciousness.”

  Was Mr. Fowler capable of such barbarism as an act of vengeance? “When did this happen?”

  “Weeks ago. Or maybe months. I don’t recall.”

  She’d thought she was protecting Alex, but she’d been too late all along. “I’m here now, and I’m going to fix everything.”

  He regarded her with a wistful expression. “This is one problem you cannot fix.” This time he did not slur.

  “I will. You’ll see. First, we must find you another place to live, somewhere he can’t find you.”

  “He?”

  “Whoever did this to you.”

  He frowned. “Where are your parents? Have you come here alone? This neighborhood is no place for you.”

  The room contained little furniture and what pieces there were saddened her: a grimy needlepoint covered settee, a sunken leather armchair, and a small round dining table. Pine boards barricaded the fireplace. “It’s no place for you either. Alex, we haven’t much time. Please get dressed.”

  “I can’t go outside. Odette says it’s not safe.”

  Claudine was prepared for his resistance. During the slow, lurching streetcar ride and the many blocks she’d walked to get here, she’d debated the rightness of trying to separate him from a woman she’d never met, a woman he might love. But his pathetic condition settled the issue for her. “If this Odette cared for you at all, she would not have let you deteriorate as you have.”

  His mouth twisted into a bitter expression she’d never seen before. “You’re wrong. I’d be dead if not for her. She was the one who found me in the alley and brought me here.”

  Claudine looked at the peeling wallpaper, the cockroaches chasing each other across the floorboards. “What a kindness.”

  “This is the best she can do. She can’t sing anymore because she’s afraid her husband will find her. He’s a violent man.”

  “Do you think he was the one who did this to you?”

  “Maybe… Probably. I suppose I deserved it.”

  She glanced at his hand. “No one deserves that. Only a monster would think to undertake such a cruel form of vengeance.” Her eyes stung at the thought of the talent stolen from him, the beautiful music she’d never hear him play again, but she resolutely forced herself not to dwell upon depressing thoughts. She needed to be optimistic for Alex. “That’s why you have to leave this place.”

  He looked haunted. “What makes you think he could find me here?”

  “I’m not willing to take that chance.”

  “Odette says I’ll be safe as long as I remain inside. She gets me whatever I need.”

  “What kind of existence is that? Do you intend to hide forever? Alex, you can still make a good life for yourself, start over in some other city.”

  He looked anxiously at the door. “I would never go without Odette, and she doesn’t wish to leave. Her family is here. Besides, what do I have to offe
r the world now? I’ve only ever had one talent and now it’s gone.” He raised his maimed hand. “Maybe I could join a freak show as the man with ten fingers pointing in at least five different directions.”

  “I refuse to listen to you wallow in self-pity. Now get dressed! Have some respect for yourself.” Peanut shells crunched underfoot as she invaded his bedroom in search of clothing. At least, she thought they were peanut shells. On one side of a sagging full-sized iron-framed bed, there was a short chest of drawers. On the other, a tall wardrobe partially concealed a window, blocking out most of the daylight. Beyond that, all she could see were more brick walls.

  “When did you become so bossy?” he said, watching her from the bedroom doorway. “You used to be so demure.”

  “I grew up.” She grabbed the first shirt she could find inside the chest. It was pale blue with thin stripes and a round collar. The bottom drawer contained a crumpled sack suit of gray broadcloth. She did her best to brush out the wrinkles and carried it over to him. “Put this on.”

  He shook his head.

  “If you won’t dress yourself, I’ll have to do it.” She tried, but he refused to cooperate.

  Finally, she threw the coat at his chest in frustration. “How can you just give up on yourself like this? You may not be able to play the piano any more, but you still have your talent, your brilliant mind. You could teach… You could continue to compose, just as you always have. Have you any idea how successful your songs are?”

  He grinned as though she was uttering nonsense. “What songs?”

  “The ones you wrote for Odette, the ones she put her name upon.”

  The grin faded. “Those were just for her.”

  “Well, she certainly used them to her advantage. Your music is all the rage on 23rd Street. How could you not be aware of it? She must have profited from the royalties on the sheet music sales.”

  He looked increasingly bewildered. “What royalties? You see how we live. Odette doesn’t have a head for finances.”

  “Don’t be so sure.”

  “Alex, you didn’t tell me we were expecting company,” a sultry voice called from the main room. “I’m hardly dressed suitably.”

  They both turned and gaped at the striking, voluptuous woman who had just entered the apartment. Her lace trimmed day dress of lilac silk looked out of place in such dreary surroundings, like a rare orchid in a field of weeds. She could only be Odette Fowler. Everything about her from her stunning face to her confident carriage announced her as a star of the stage.

  She stopped before a tree stand by the door and raised her arms to remove her large rose bedecked hat. In contrast to Alex, she looked well nourished, so plump in fact that her dress couldn’t quite contain her bountiful curves. She placed her hat on one of the hooks and checked her face in the mirror.

  When she was finished preening, she swept toward them. Even with the poor lighting, her complexion appeared flawless and her titian hair gleamed. Alex gazed at her like a drunk coveting his first bottle of liquor after a long dry spell. She scarcely looked at him at all. Instead, her gaze fell upon Claudine’s plain blue and white striped cotton dress. Her full, red lips formed a moue of distaste.

  The distrust that had been building inside Claudine with every new piece of information she’d learned about this woman turned to antipathy. She could barely manage to say, “Good morning. I’m Alex’s cousin, Claudine.”

  Odette’s slightly uptilted sherry colored eyes sparkled. “I know who you are. I’ve seen your act. I must say you’re quite different in person. On stage you have such presence, but now…” She let her expressive eyebrows and mouth deliver the insult.

  Alex seemed to awaken from his adoring fog. “What does she mean? What have you done, Claudine?”

  Everything came spilling out then in a rambling explanation. “I had to find you somehow. I was afraid he’d hurt you… but I was too late.” She turned her head so he couldn’t see her anguish.

  “That lying bastard!” The hostility in his voice made her turn back again. “You should have stayed out of it. You should have stayed in Paris.”

  “I was trying to protect you.”

  He lowered himself unsteadily into a sagging armchair. “The ultimate humiliation.”

  Odette wandered over to the small kitchen area. “Oh, don’t get so worked up, Alex. You can see she hasn’t suffered from the experience.” She foraged through the cabinet shelves, finding at last a small crumpled brown bag.

  The woman’s cavalier attitude appalled Claudine. “I don’t see how you can take this matter so lightly. Your husband maimed my cousin and destroyed his career.”

  “You’re mistaken. It was a random assault. The police said so.”

  “In which only Alex’s hand was injured? Who else would have done such a horrible thing? Should I disregard all the threats he’s made?”

  Odette removed a handful of peanuts and began cracking them open on the wood counter with her lace-gloved fist. “Jonas threatens a lot of people and then he forgets about them. He’s too busy making money to dwell upon any one person for very long. Unless she happens to be a fetching female. I suspect you’ve brought all of his attention upon you, and I thank you for that, really I do.” She brought a fistful of nuts to her mouth then and chomped with an aggressiveness that belied her blithe speech.

  When she was done chewing, she reached for a bottle of liquor and poured a healthy draught into a dirty tumbler. Then she swayed over to Alex, with much rotating of her hips, and handed him the drink.

  Claudine felt ill, witnessing the pathetic scene. “That’s the last thing he needs!” No wonder he smelled of gin.

  Alex took a long swig from the filthy glass. Odette sat on the arm of the chair and stroked his matted hair.

  Claudine could no longer contain her rage or her suspicions. “Tell me, if you’re so certain the attack was random, why do you tell Alex it’s not safe to go out? Could it be you don’t want to see justice done because you still love your husband? You used my cousin to make him jealous, but you only made him vengeful enough to wound Alex in the most vicious way possible. But that doesn’t bother you. You don’t care who gets hurt in your scheme as long as you achieve your aims in the end. Well, I have news for you. Jonas Fowler doesn’t want you back.”

  Odette came to her feet, glaring.

  “Or maybe you realized that already. And now my poor cousin, the victim of your twisted marriage, is all you have, your one-man admiration society. So you keep him trapped here like a prisoner, starved, inebriated and utterly dependent upon you. It must be a nice change after all those years of taking orders from your husband.”

  Alex rose unsteadily, spilling some of his drink. “Your poor cousin? You must think me pathetic.”

  “I never thought of you that way until now,” she said sadly. “I can’t stand to see you this way.”

  “I’d like you to go now. Until you can show some respect to me and the woman I intend to marry, I don’t see any place for you in our lives.”

  “Marry? She’s already married.”

  Alex threw the remainder of his drink against the wall. A liquor-scented yellowish stain spread over dingy daisy patterned wallpaper. She had no option but to leave.

  Downstairs in the grim little vestibule, Claudine leaned against a wooden grid of mailboxes and gave in to the tears she could no longer keep inside. Alex had fallen so far it was almost beyond comprehension. How on earth could she possibly help him?

  A young boy wearing mended knickers, a plaid vest, and a cap was loitering by the door. He flashed an intense look her way and quickly sped outside. She moved in that direction as well, but the door opened before she reached it, and the person she least wished to see stepped inside. Dressed in a white linen suit, Jonas Fowler closed the door, looked systematically around the cramped entryway, and assumed a wide legged stance on the dirty linoleum.

  His presence here seemed to confirm Claudine’s suspicions. Without thinking, she rushed toward him
and shoved his chest with both hands. “You’re a monster! You told me you wouldn’t hurt him, but you’d already done it.”

  He seemed to find her futile attempts at violence amusing, and made no attempt to remove her hands from his person. “Me? No. I never had to do a thing.” His eyes flicked to the ceiling. “She did it for me.”

  Panting, she gave up her attack. “Odette? That’s absurd.”

  He crossed his bulky arms before him. “Is it? She’s got plenty of money, and this city abounds with lowlifes who would be happy to maim a man for a few dollars. Nasty bit of work that was, but fitting. I couldn’t have come up with anything better if I’d tried.”

  “Why would she harm her own lover?”

  “I’ve never met a woman who wanted fame more than she does, but singers come and go, even the pretty ones. Those songs she’s known for won’t soon be forgotten though.”

  Claudine reeled at the horrifying possibility that he was telling the truth. The Fowlers were both such loathsome people she could now imagine either one of them harming Alex. “You never had any intention of killing him.”

  “Why should I risk jail for that fleeting satisfaction when I can watch him suffer slowly for his crime? I expect it will be over soon though. He’s pretty far gone. But I didn’t come here to talk about him. You missed the matinee. I had to send in Maude in your stead.”

  “I told you last night…”

  He raised his hand and shook his head. “It occurs to me that I’ve been working you too hard, asking too much.”

  The unexpected statement set her even more on edge. “Did you follow me here?”

  He tapped his lower lip with his blunt index finger. “I think I know just the way to lighten your burden. You’ve collected a very loyal group of admirers in a short time, and a certain few would like the opportunity to get to know you better. I have a club uptown for these sorts of occasions. A very classy place. You could live in complete luxury and sleep late every morning. And I’d cut you in on one-fifth of your earnings, which is a lot more than you are currently making. You could become a very rich lady in a short period of time. Doesn’t that sound nice?”