by Megan Chance
“No.”
“Do you ever … enjoy it?”
She shook her head. “It’s a job. D’you enjoy running whores?”
I didn’t think she expected an answer, and I didn’t give one.
She dipped her hands in the water and brought them to her face, tilting her head so the water dripped from her jaw, her chin. The dim light against her skin made her scar look like a deep purple shadow. She hesitated, and then she splashed her face again and reached for the ragged towel. “Something happen between you and Johnny tonight?”
“Why do you ask?”
“He was in a bear of a mood when he got back.”
“Faust inspired him. He wants to turn the Palace legitimate.”
“You said he’s wanted that a long time.”
“He has.”
She sat again on the edge of the bed. “So what’s stopping him?”
“I don’t think it’s the right time.”
She sighed and lay down beside me. Her hair straggled into her face, and I rose onto my elbow and smoothed it back. Her skin was soft and warm. Once I’d touched her, I couldn’t stop. I found myself stroking her hair the way I would a child’s, and she let me, and I had the odd sense she knew it soothed me better than it soothed her. “What did he say to that?” she asked softly.
I was distressed enough that I found myself confiding in her. “He said I was afraid. That I was holding on to the past.”
“D’you think he’s right?”
“I don’t know.”
She laughed a little. “What is it you want, Marguerite?”
A hundred things, I thought, and that troubled me, that the thought came so easily, that upon its heels rushed everything I’d had once, everything I could not have again. Music. Adulation. Footlights. I saw myself dancing across a stage, admiring the paste jewels sparkling around my wrist—a gift from the devil and from Faust—falling easily into a seduction that could only end with death, unredeemed….
I shook the thoughts away. Her hair was fine, but thick too. It gave and sprang back beneath my fingertips. “I have everything I need.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. We were quiet for a moment, and then she said, “It wasn’t an accident, you know. Not like I said.”
“What wasn’t?”
“My scar.” She raised her arm for me to see as if I might have forgotten it. “He pushed me into the fire. He meant to do it. He said he was sorry after, but he meant to do it all the same.”
“Who did?”
“My husband.”
She was so matter-of-fact, so unemotional. It was as if she were talking about someone else. “Why?”
“He was a mean son of a bitch. I didn’t see it at first, you know. He was handsome, and when I married him I thought it was just about the best thing that ever happened to me. And then one night he came home drunk and threw me against the wall. My fault … I burned the stew. And he was so nice after … well, you can guess what happened after that. Only the stew wasn’t to blame the other times.”
“Some men are—”
“Yeah, I know. Some men are just like that. But I never saw it until it was too late. And you know the real hell of it was that I loved him. He said I brought out the worst in him, and I believed it.”
I stopped stroking, though my fingers lingered in her hair. That familiarity again, though I couldn’t quite grab on to it, I didn’t know why.
“And then”—she took a deep breath—”and then one night he came home and he was pretty rough, but I got pregnant so I guessed it was worth it. I thought it would change everything.”
“Did it?”
She shook her head. “I knew I had to get away or he’d kill me, and maybe the kid too. So I went to this man I’d met. He’d said he was a traveling peddler and I believed him, though I never saw him selling shit. He told me he’d take me out of town and to pack a bag. So I did. But then Tracy came home from the camps and found the bag and … well, he threw me into the fire.”
She lifted her arm, twisting it so the scar stood out in bright relief in the candlelight. “I went into a fever. When I woke up, the doctor said I’d never have another baby again. So I went to the peddler and asked him to take me out of town.”
“Oh, Charlotte—”
“I ain’t finished,” she said abruptly. “He took me out of town, all right. And I was so grateful to him that when he said I had to pay him back for my expenses, I said I’d do whatever he wanted. So he fucked me there in the wagon. And then he took me up to a mining camp and sold me to whoever could pay, and I was still so damn grateful, because he said he’d protect me and take care of me….” She made a little sound of disbelief. “But it wasn’t more than six months before I got sick and he left me to die, and when I found out he was gone, I wished I had. I didn’t see how I could go on without him. That son of a bitch. I think if I saw him now I’d stab him through. At least I hope I would.”
I didn’t know what to say. “I—I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “It don’t matter. I don’t think about it much.”
“How can you not think about it?”
She met my gaze. “It’s behind me now. Thinking about the past only fucks things up. What can I do about it but go on anyway?”
Slowly, I said, “You think I should help Johnny turn the Palace.”
“I think you should do what makes you happy. Whatever that is. You mean to live in the past forever?”
“It’s just that … it’s not what I’d hoped for.”
She laughed shortly. “Christ, Marguerite, ain’t no one gets exactly what they want. I never meant to be a whore, but at least now I don’t got to go with anyone I don’t want to go with. I got a roof over my head and plenty to eat.”
“It doesn’t seem enough,” I said bitterly.
“What are you waiting for?”
“What makes you think I’m waiting?”
“Ain’t you?”
“I—”
“Suppose you tell me what you’re afraid of,” she said softly.
And I found myself admitting something I didn’t even know. “What if it isn’t enough?”
She laughed again, this time in pure amusement. “Oh, Marguerite. You got to make it be enough. How else can you go on living?”
From the Journal of Sabine Conrad
NEW YORK CITY, FEBRUARY 26, 1873—I am quite exhausted—today I sang two performances as Kellogg is feeling poorly and not in her best voice, so I must stand in for her. When I came back to the hotel there was an invitation for me to one of Caroline Astor’s weekly dinners!
It is what we’ve been waiting for! All my longing glances to Mr. Jerome’s box, as well as my very good notices, have had the effect we hoped. Mr. Jerome sends me flowers now once a week, and last time there was a pair of small pearl earrings tucked away in the blossoms, and his note said: “Please be kind to me, Miss Conrad, when I call upon you.” Though as yet, he has not made an appearance (something I confess only here that I am happy about. It’s easy to flirt with someone from afar; I don’t know if I can pretend to like him in person. But Gideon says to remember that I do this for our future, and so I will do my best).
But the dinner! Gideon was so happy he danced me about the room. It means I have gained society’s attention and I am deemed important enough to attend Caroline Astor. If she likes me, all of the rest of society will come knocking on my door. I am so excited and nervous over it—how am I to know how to act in high society? Oh, I wish I could take Gideon with me, but I am the only one invited, and it says nothing of bringing a guest and Gideon says angering Caroline Astor by bringing him would be folly.
Of course I don’t think of taking Barret now. It would be too big a temptation for him, as he is trying for Dorothea’s sake not to drink so much, though he does not seem quite himself lately. Last night he and Gideon went out. When Barret stumbled into my room it was past two and he was drowsy and smelling of something odd—I don’t know what it was, some kind of
tobacco, I think. This is the second time now he has done this, and when I ask Gideon he only says that my brother’s behavior stains my career, and that no one finds him nearly as charming as he once was and half the time he doesn’t show up at meetings so Gideon must make up for him. I said I thought Barret was better with Dorothea, and Gideon said I could believe what I wanted but that Barret hardly deserves the love I bear him or the dedication Gideon devotes to watching over him.
I must go now, because Gideon has me studying for the Astor dinner. These are the subjects I can discuss: food, wine, horses, yachts, cotillions, and marriages. Of course I know nothing of any of these things, but I suppose if they wish me to give my opinion on the best beer and fried fish in the city, I could accommodate them.
MARCH 5, 1873—Tonight after my performance the usher told me the Astor carriage was waiting outside the backstage door for me. Sitting right there in the alley with the Astor crest and livery! Gideon helped me dress and nearly pushed me out the door, and I was giggling with excitement and nerves when he kissed me for luck and told me to remember everything he had said. But once I was in the carriage I was sure I would forget it all, and I wished he was with me, because I was so nervous I thought I would be sick. Then I looked down at my white kid gloves—at last, an occasion to wear them!!—and my new gown of pale reseda green that Gideon had made me buy for the occasion and I thought: I am Sabine Conrad. They want to meet me! and I knew all would be well.
Then I truly began to enjoy myself. The carriage was so beautiful, the springs smooth as if they were liquid, the seats fine leather, and there was a good brazier so I was warm. How luxurious it all felt! I have determined that I will have one myself just like it someday.
The house was beautiful, with lights in every window, and there were fourteen of us there. The women were dressed elegantly, but they were all older than me, and I felt very young and pretty. I noticed how the men looked at me, the way Gideon sometimes does, as if he would like to eat me alive, and I felt not nervous at all, but something else entirely … as if I were a queen, or … not a queen, exactly, because it was quite obvious that Carolyn Astor was that, but … perhaps a princess. I could tell they were nervous to meet me: to think it! Mr. Ogden Goelet, who is richer than Croesus, nervous to meet me! I confess it quite turned my head! They all wanted my favor. I am so glad I went!!
The dining room was lovely, and there were paintings hung throughout from golden cords. I was seated between Mr. Goelet and a Mr. Martin, who were both very, very attentive—one would think I had not the strength to cut my own duck or pour my own wine!!! There was a gold dinner service that seemed too fine to eat upon. Mrs. Astor was as courteous as could be and asked me how I liked New York as if I had not lived here all my life, but Gideon had told me not to mention Kleindeutsch land under any circumstances, and so I smiled and said that I found the city very exciting. Mrs. Astor wore five strands of perfectly matched pearls with a diamond clasp. She is not a handsome woman, but she is very commanding, and one can see why all of the city is in awe of her. Whenever she raised a subject, everyone fell over themselves to comment on it and then talked it through until it was quite dead and she looked bored beyond reason and then waited for her to raise another.
But she is a great lover of opera. She said she thought I would make a perfect Rosina or Pamina especially, and that perhaps it was time to bring Mozart back to the Academy. I didn’t tell her I’d already sung those parts on tour. At the end of dinner, she called me a lovely girl and asked would I sing something for her guests, and so of course I obliged. One of the other ladies played the piano—not very well, so I had to cover up her mistakes with my own embellishments, but they enjoyed it tremendously. I sang “All Things Love Thee,” and “Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair,” and Amina’s aria, “Come per me sereno,” and they called me “beautiful” and “sublime.”
In all, I think I was quite a success!!!
When I got back to the Farthingale, Gideon was waiting up to hear. Barret was off with Dorothea somewhere. Gideon came into my room and helped me unbutton the gown, and I began to tell him everything, but he was hardly attending to me. He seemed half asleep, and he smelled of whatever it is that seems to inhabit Barret’s skin now. It was so disappointing I felt like crying. I snapped at him that I was sorry I was boring him, and perhaps he preferred to go back to bed, and at that he came back to himself. He grabbed my hand and said, “Only if you come with me,” and pulled me into his lap so we sat together on the chair. He told me I’d done well and that Mrs. Astor’s good opinion was my way to true success, and then he kissed me long and well, until I was nearly dizzy with it, and I hoped….
But no. We heard Barret stumbling about in the hall, and Gideon took his hand from my breast and said reluctantly that he must go back to his room, and he left, though he looked so longingly at me as he went that I was quite breathless!
MARCH 10, 1873—I was mentioned in the society page yesterday as having attended one of “Mrs. Astor’s coveted weekly suppers.” And also “the talented prima donna is the new toast of the Four Hundred.” Gideon has said we can no longer stay at the Farthingale, that we must move uptown because now that I am of society I cannot be seen in such mean circumstances. He has got us rooms at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, which is fashionable and far too expensive for us, but Gideon says to make money one must look as if one has money, and that for my upward flight we cannot be seen as being fast or cheap, and the Fifth Avenue is very respected.
Barret says I should be saving my money instead of squandering it on rooms in some hoity-toity hotel, but Gideon gave him a look I did not understand and said that Barret was good enough at spending my money that he should not complain when I meant to make more of it, and Barret looked at me as if he expected me to agree with him, but I pretended not to see. Perhaps Barret is right, but to live in the Fifth Avenue Hotel! Gideon must know what he is doing, and I had no wish to challenge him, as it would only start another argument. They are not fighting as much as they used to, but I think it is only that they aren’t doing so in my presence, because they know it troubles me. And we still all pretend that Barret is the one managing me, though of course he has done hardly anything of the kind for months and months.
I received a card from Mr. Jerome asking me to go driving with him tomorrow afternoon. Gideon sent the messenger back with my acceptance.
* * *
N.B. Barret and I got a letter from Mama telling us that Willa is going to be married in June! I am so happy!!!! Oh, not for Willa so much (forgive me please, God, for saying it), though I am happy for her, of course, but because now there is no more need for guilt. Willa is recovered from her hurt, and Gideon and I are one step closer to professing our love to the world! Of course, there is still Barret to consider, and Mama and Papa, but surely soon they will realize that Gideon is my one true love and we belong together!!!
Barret and I are “cordially” invited to attend Willa’s wedding. I told Gideon I thought it was a sign of forgiveness, but he disagrees, saying only that Mama and Papa wish not to be the subject of gossip among our neighbors if their famous daughter and their oldest son do not attend Willa’s wedding. Of course when Barret heard this it caused another terrible fight between him and Gideon, and Barret has stormed off again.
MARCH 11, 1873—This has been the most wonderful, wonderful day! I have had my heart’s desire at last! I am—no, no, not so quickly. I must start at the beginning.
First: In the morning, Gideon moved us into our new rooms at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, which is the busiest and most elegant place—the only thing I’ve seen better is Mrs. Astor’s dining room! I could not believe he meant for us to stay there, and I’m afraid I agreed with Barret that it must be too expensive. There is a lovely clock tower outside, and the hotel itself is made of white marble and is six stories tall, and there is an elevator!!!!—the first one in the city, Gideon told me. It was actually a bit frightening to ride in it, and I felt a little sick, but it is much better than
carrying bags up flights of stairs.
The lower halls have several reading and sitting rooms, with spittoons placed about that are so highly polished and clean that they look like decorations. There is even a Ladies’ Parlor on the second floor, which Gideon says I can go to alone if I wish.
We could not afford a suite, of course, but our rooms are perfect. Barret, of course, was very glum—when we came into my room he went to the window, which was bordered by heavy chintz drapes with velvet ones beneath, and asked Gideon quite sourly if it was really necessary to pay for two sets of curtains. Gideon asked what would Leonard Jerome think if he came to pick me up at the Farthingale, and Barret said it was better that Jerome did not come at all.
It all came to another argument, where Barret said he couldn’t like me going driving with Leonard Jerome, who is married, and considered fast, and did Gideon intend that I become Jerome’s whore?
That was when I told them both to be quiet, as I do not want to be evicted from the Fifth Avenue Hotel before I have spent a single night there.
Gideon had to leave then, and I knew by the way Barret paced the room that I was about to get another lecture, which was true. He asked me did I understand what people would think of me if I went driving with Leonard Jerome? I told him Gideon said that all prima donnas had patrons, and I did not see the harm, but he said I was too willing to trade my virtue for jewels and society. I told him my virtue was long gone, and he snorted and said that soon the whole world would know it too, and I cried and told him to leave because he was spoiling everything.
He said he would serve as my conscience, as no one else would, and there were better ways to have the fame I wanted—I did not have to choose this way. And then he begged me to do as he wished for once. “This isn’t you, Bina. All these trappings, rich patrons … You don’t need any of it. Your voice is enough.”
I didn’t say anything, because Barret does not understand how this world works, and he no longer trusts Gideon, and what can I say to that except that I do? Barret did not leave until Mr. Jerome’s man came to retrieve me at three o’clock promptly. Even then I was not certain he would let me go. And I determined not to think about my brother when I saw Mr. Jerome’s smart barouche.