The Conjured Woman

by Anne Groß

  When the spins stopped, Elise raised her pointed chin to peek over the top of the mattress at her lover. Emmett was ardent, but not overly intelligent, a combination of character traits she found convenient. It meant he was too love-struck to shake off easily, and too clueless to feel any shame when she stood him up. As a result, other guys came and went, but Emmett was always around if she had an opening. Elise watched his broad chest expand when he took a deep breath and his abdominals tightened beautifully as he coughed. The situation wasn’t all bad, she thought lasciviously.

  When he coughed again, Elise hurriedly reached out and grabbed her skirt, which was bunched next to her knees. To avoid having to make excuses for her quick exit, she would have to move fast to get out before he woke up. The disappearing act would be much easier on both of them. Without getting up off the floor, she pulled the skirt over her skinny legs and lifted her hips to impatiently tug the tight fabric over them. Then she crawled over to the armchair to contort herself into her bra and tucked her soggy, wadded thong into her waistband. She used the arm of the chair to pull herself to her feet and was delighted to find her blouse partially hidden behind the seat cushion. She snatched it up to drape across her shoulders, and thus partially clad, she staggered outside with her purse and keys tight in her hand, only to swivel and return to collect her forgotten heels.

  The kiln-like heat of the Tucson morning caused Elise to blink, narrow-eyed, from Emmett’s porch into the unrelenting sunshine. It was the beginning of the monsoon season, and despite the clear skies, it seemed as though the entire world was enveloped in the smell of rain. In the yard, a palo verde tree spread its pale green branches over the wide expanse of gravel that substituted for lawn. Cicadas hid as best as they could behind the tree’s bean-sized leaves and added their high decibel trill to the sounds of traffic coming from Speedway Boulevard. Over the roofs of the homes across the street, the Catalina Mountain range loomed in shades of violet and burnt orange spreading from East to West. She had grown up in the Midwest, but the desert was her home. In the desert it never mattered what had happened the night before because every morning was a fresh start. The thought caused Elise to sigh contentedly, which caused another wave of nausea to hit.

  She fumbled in her purse and found her aviators, which she put on with relief, then pulled out a packet of cigarettes and knocked one out to dangle from her bruised lips. When she realized she’d left the lighter inside, she threw the cigarette at the tree in frustration. Anita would be finishing her night-shift at the hospital right about now, she thought as she dove back into her purse and looked for her phone. She could use a Bloody Mary and some female company.

  The drive from the downtown Barrio to Fourth Avenue was thankfully short. Even so, by the time she reached the dark bar, Anita, still in her hospital scrubs, was already seated with her dinner—a long neck and a hotdog. A swath of her curly brown hair had fallen out of her ponytail and puffy dark circles ringed her eyes.

  “Hey. How’d it go last night?” Elise asked. She could tell right away something was wrong.

  Anita shrugged and took a bite of her dog. Elise knew enough not to press. She’d come out with it soon enough, and insisting on hearing the story before she was ready to spill would only cause the water-works to turn on. Instead, she ordered her drink and ignored the dramatic sigh from her companion.

  “How ‘bout you. What’d you do last night?”

  “Emmett.”

  Anita rolled her eyes. “So where is he now?”

  “Probably still in bed. We got pretty hammered.”

  “Yeah. I gathered.”

  Elise felt self-conscious when Anita’s brown eyes took in the details of her sweaty outfit and smeared eye makeup. “Was it any good?” asked Anita. “Or don’t you remember?”

  “I’m getting flashbacks right now.” Elise swirled her drink in her glass with her celery stick. “Do you want an interpretive reenactment of the night?” She half stood off her stool, threatening improvisation.

  Anita laughed and playfully hit Elise. “God no, sit down. I bet he’s already texted you, he’s just that dumb.”

  “He hasn’t yet. I’ll give him until 10:30.”

  “Hopefully I’ll be sawing logs by then,” said Anita as she took another sip of beer, washing down her dinner. She sighed again. “It was a rough night. Room 410 passed last night.”

  There it was, thought Elise. “Which one was 410?”

  “The GI bleed you sent up last Tuesday.”

  “Oh him.” Elise studied her friend and wished she’d get a thicker skin. It had been just over a year since they’d graduated from nursing school together, and they were still trying to figure out how much of themselves to give to their patients. The amount of personal responsibility Anita took for the emotional welfare of others concerned Elise. Anita had entered the field to help people. Elise did it because she knew she’d need a job right out of college, and for the blood and guts. As a result, Anita worked the intensive care unit on the fifth floor, and Elise stayed behind the sliding double doors of the emergency room on the first floor. “He was already going when I had him. I’m surprised you didn’t bag and tag him earlier.”

  “I think he was hanging on for his son to fly in to say goodbye. He had such a nice family.”

  “How many of them were bedside?”

  “Just five, but still.”

  Elise nodded. Dealing with families that were holding vigil was a burden for sympathetic nurses who might run themselves ragged getting extra blankets or boxes of tissues for weepy relatives, all while maintaining the care of the patient. In the ER, however, none of Elise’s patients stayed long enough for her to get to know them, much less their family. The anonymity of her patients suited her just fine since what kept her interested in her job was not the prospect of developing relationships, it was the adrenaline rush that came from never knowing what kind of medical issue was going to walk or roll through the doors. “You’re not on again tonight, are you?” Elise asked.

  “No, thank god. I hope I sleep for a week.”

  “I think my next shift is Wednesday.”

  Anita nodded. They wouldn’t see each other, but it was nice to know they were in the same building at the same time. Nurses on separate floors didn’t mix. During a twelve hour shift on a busy night even breaking for dinner would be done one hasty bite at a time between every patient visit. On a full moon in the ER, you ate a power bar for dinner. Wandering to a different floor to socialize for ten minutes with another nurse was a good way to lose your job.

  Anita motioned the bartender over when Elise started crunching on her celery stick again. “My friend wants one of those,” she said pointing to an enormous jar behind the bar and reaching into her purse.

  “No really, I don’t.” Elise protested as the bartender dunked his long tongs and started fishing for a pickled egg in the pink, cloudy brine.

  “Oh shut up, you alkie,” Anita responded. “You’ve been eyeing them ever since you got in here. Besides, you could use a little protein to mix with all that tomato juice you’re dribbling on your blouse.”

  Elise ate her egg and tried to ignore Anita’s bemused stare. “You’re disgusting, you know that right?” Anita asked.

  “Here. I brought you a souvenir.” Elise pulled her thong out of her waistband and dropped it into her friend’s lap, who squealed and stood up quickly so that the thong dropped onto the floor under the barstool.

  “I can’t believe you just did that!”

  “What? I thought you could use a little sex in your life.”

  “That’s so gross. I’m going to have to burn my scrubs now.” Anita furiously rubbed her pants with a cocktail napkin.

  “My undies are the cleanest thing you’ve touched all night.”

  “Yeah, but I usually get paid to touch nasty shit, so you owe me.” Anita sat back down and glowered at Elise. “You’re not going to just leave them there, are you?” She pointed to the spent triangle of lace on the floor.
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br />   Elise shrugged noncommittally as she sucked egg brine from her fingertips. Wiping her damp fingers on her skirt, she got up to leave. “Thanks for the egg. I’m out of here. Sleep tight, Snow White.”

  “Aw, come on. So soon?”

  “Seriously, I’m beat. I need to get back and shower.”

  Anita held her nose. “I didn’t want to mention it but...” She ducked Elise’s swat and grinned. “What are you doing tonight?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll probably nap, and then go for a run before the rains come. Interested?” She always felt better after a run, cleaner somehow. Hair of the dog, and a long run were the best remedies for overindulgence, she’d found.

  “I don’t think so. I need to regroup; watch a little TV; drink a little wine.”

  Elise paused and tried to gauge her friend, “It was his time, you know? You shouldn’t let yourself get so involved.”

  “I know. I’m okay; worry about yourself. You need to be more careful with the company you keep.” Anita smiled teasingly, “Like Emmett, for example. Let me know what happens with your man.”

  “He’s not my man,” Elise grumbled, picking up her keys. At the same time, her phone beeped from her clutch announcing the arrival of a text. It wasn’t even 10:30 yet.

  Adelaide paused before entering the guest bedroom at Malmaison and took a bracing breath. The man was insatiable, she thought, but there was nothing she could do. Josephine had given her a bedroom much more centrally placed, with better furnishings and a big fireplace, but he had moved her to a more discrete location, insultingly insisting the new bedroom was more suitable to a woman of her social standing. The new room had two doors, the main one that exited into the hall, and a side door that exited to the maid’s room.

  “One, two, three...” she counted quietly to herself after she entered the room, unpinning the lace cap from her head and unwinding her long black hair.

  “Four, five six...” She sat at the dressing table and checked her teeth in the mirror for bits of the evening meal before picking up her brush. Her head was swimming from the endless glasses of Bordeaux that Josephine favored. Mademoiselle Poulette had been so sweet at the dining table, and animated. It was too bad the girl had ruined her white gown with that final glass.

  “Seven, eight, nine.” Adelaide pinched her cheeks to bring the color back into them. She felt drained of energy, the way she always did after a performance. Palm reading was always a welcome diversion, especially when done loudly so everyone in the parlor could participate. A good performance always took a great deal of preparation. No one appreciated that the fortune-telling portion of her visit was the final stage in a long effort of piecing together histories and relationships. She was exhausted. It would be just a few hours before the sun rose and all she wanted to do now was rest.

  “Ten, eleven, twelve...” In the mirror Adelaide saw the door to the adjoining maid’s room slowly open. Someone had finally greased the hinges, she noted. She would have to find a bell to hang on the doorknob.

  It took Napoleon twelve seconds to appear after her arrival in the bedroom, a testament to the quality of his informants at Malmaison. His black eyes flashed in anticipation as he peered around the door to make sure it was safe to enter. Then it took one second more for him to start undressing her. It didn’t take long after that for the Emperor’s stomach to swing freely and pendulously against her. The rhythmic slapping of it against her back caused Adelaide to start counting again. She absently wondered about the number twelve when he stopped after twelve thrusts. Twelve seconds to appear in my bedroom, she thought, twelve signs in the zodiac, twelve hours on a clock, twelve apostles, twelve months in a year, twelve gods of Egypt, twelve Marshalls in the army—a strong number indeed. He pressed his head against her neck, still breathing hard. His hair was damp and left wet streaks on her skin. She willed her pores to open up and drink in his power, then crawled out from under the Emperor and made her way towards the head of the bed.

  “Josephine tells me that invitations have already been sent,” Napoleon growled as he rolled onto his back. “Is there nothing I can do to stop this nonsense? You have thoroughly bewitched my wife with your swindles.”

  “You need merely resume your affections for her. As long as she is emotionally compromised, she will be suggestible to anyone who lends her an ear.”

  Napoleon grumbled, but made no comprehensible reply. Adelaide pushed his head off her thigh, swung herself off the bed, and pulled out the commode. “I only have your good intentions at heart. I went to your wife because you wouldn’t see reason.” She pushed the commode back under the bed before setting a basin on the floor into which she poured fresh water from an ewer. Napoleon sat up at the head of the bed and watched as she squatted over the basin with a rag.

  “You should be thanking me, or at the very least, paying me more handsomely,” Adelaide said over the splashing of water. “I am doing you the service of keeping your wife too occupied to vex you.”

  “You must be joking. If anything she vexes me more. I can’t find any peace. I now know that my wife’s chambermaid is the great, great, great grandniece of a onetime Sumerian Queen, that one of my guests was convinced by you to swallow a paper on which you’d written the name of the man she admires most so that she may one day feel him inside her, and that Talleyrand will be cured of his limp if he eats the meat of an ostrich at every meal for a year. I also know, thanks to my dear wife, that my own secretary Monsieur Gaston has a strawberry shaped birthmark on his stomach and that Madame Delesgans ate a particularly juicy strawberry in his presence while looking at him in a most lascivious manner. That is something I would have been happy to never know. However, and this is most curious: I know that Madame Delesgans’s husband is arriving tomorrow and that I am now short one secretary as Monsieur Gaston has packed his bags and disappeared. Did you not tell Monsieur Gaston he would be dead within the month? Yes, of course you did. You use every opportunity to create havoc. Thanks to you and Josephine, my head is filled with distraction.” Napoleon paused to watch his paramour as she bathed. “That is Imperial seed you are so cavalierly washing away,” he noted.

  “Strewn across a barren landscape, I’m afraid.” Adelaide had been preparing her tea every day since she’d left the convent school, and had been thankful for it every encounter since.

  Napoleon sighed. “That seems to be my lot, as of late. Still, I can’t believe you’re doing that in front of me. Where did you say you were raised?”

  “Alençon.”

  “Oh yes, now I remember. A barn.”

  “We are all citizens of France,” Adelaide reminded the Emperor.

  “Fouché thinks you to be a danger to France. He tells me you listen to everything and forget nothing. He’s counseled me to send you away.”

  “A danger? I am just a woman.”

  “So which are you, a citizen, or ‘just a woman’?” He smirked and then waved his hand dismissively in the air when it became obvious Adelaide wouldn’t take the bait. “I’m not afraid of the gossip and innuendo you peddle, but I admit I considered ridding myself of you when I found out that you and Josephine were plotting to go ahead with the conjuring. Cross me again and I’ll—” His threat was cut off when an insistent scratching was heard at the door to the maid’s room. He leapt out of bed and snatched up his shirt. Ten seconds later, a soft knock came from the door to the hallway. His eyes flashed large and he swept up his shoes. “Useless,” he said in an overly loud whisper to the hapless man in the maid’s room. “You call that a warning?” He clapped the man on the side of his head before he made his escape.

  Adelaide calmly put away the basin of water and wrapped herself in her peignoir. While it had never been her intention to lift her skirts during her engagement at Malmaison, she had quickly realized the advantage of being able to bend the Emperor’s ear in ways not limited by the cards. Maintaining discretion about her developing relationship had its challenges, but she was accustomed to keeping other people’s secrets.
As a purveyor of hopes, she opened up the tightest lips by spooning in the sweetest dreams of the future. Romantic aspirations were easy for Adelaide to discover. The more difficult task was to glean future political maneuvers. She stepped to the door to admit the Empress into her room.

  “Oh, I’ve disturbed you from your slumber,” Josephine said after looking at Adelaide’s disheveled appearance. “I thought we could discuss tomorrow’s event. Did you receive your equipment?”

  It is already tomorrow, thought Adelaide. “I received my trunk this afternoon. Thank you for sending your footman to fetch it.”

  “You are most welcome,” Josephine smiled. “I trust you checked to make sure everything was in order?” She glanced over at the large wooden box in the corner.

  “Yes, your Majesty.”

  Josephine’s eyes lingered on the trunk. “I’m so glad. Perhaps you should look again? The cook can help you acquire more pig’s blood if you haven’t enough.” The Empress couldn’t suppress the shudder that overcame her and it caused her to lilt to the left. She overcorrected her stance by taking a few shuffling steps to the right. Indeed, the wine had been flowing freely that night. “Let’s take a look inside your trunk, just to make sure.”

  Adelaide suppressed a smile. Having been raised in Martinique, Josephine knew enough of magic in the form of voodoo to be more curious than frightened. It had helped Adelaide in making her argument to proceed with the ritual. “That won’t be necessary. I assure you I will not be needing any blood this time. But I should remind you that I will require at least an hour in the banquet room prior to the guests’ arrival so that I may arrange the details. No one can disturb me at that time, not even the servants. I must be completely alone.”

  “Anything,” breathed Josephine. “Just tell me and I’ll have it done for you.” She took one last look at the trunk in the corner. “I’m so glad you are here. My husband’s been so busy of late, and you have been so entertaining. Everyone has been talking about my cartomancer since the invitations were sent. You are a sensation. Do you really think you can conjure an aide? An aide would be so helpful.” She smiled. “I try so hard not to bother him with my own needs, but maybe with an aide he’ll have more time to spend with me. We want so badly to have children.”