Prima Donna

by Megan Chance

  It was drawn by two pairs of sleek and well-matched horses. Truly beautiful animals, and Mr. Jerome admires them a great deal and cares for them excessively. On our way to Central Park he took me by his stables, which he is greatly proud of. I have never seen such a thing as that—it is paneled in black walnut and is carpeted!!! His horses live so finely that I could not help but think of all the people crushed into tenements in Kleindeutschland, and I thanked God I no longer must live there. I very much prefer the luxurious lives of Mr. Jerome and his set!

  Central Park was so full of carriages—broughams and landaus and sulkies and other barouches—that it was difficult to move more than sedately, but that, I suppose, is the point. Mr. Jerome and I were the center of attention, and he kept me laughing and entertained throughout. At one point Mr. Belmont drove up beside us and told me that he was enraptured by the “sublimity” of my voice. He said how unusual he found it that Mr. Jerome had acquired such a stunning companion, and Mr. Jerome said that Mr. Belmont was not the only man in the city capable of charm. I laughed at both of them.

  I admit I flirted quite outrageously with Mr. Belmont as well, which made Mr. Jerome strive to outdo himself with compliments. He is really a very handsome man, for someone so much older. He has a huge drooping mustache and sleepy eyes. He said he would like very much to see me on the stage of the private theater he had built onto his mansion some years ago (for Adelina Patti, I know, but he didn’t tell me that). Should I need to practice new roles or anything else, he said he would place it entirely at my disposal.

  It was an exhilarating afternoon, and I was quite full of my self when Mr. Jerome deposited me back at the hotel. I must admit that all this attention is inspiring!

  I was only in my room a moment when Gideon knocked upon the door—Barret was gone somewhere, but Gideon had been waiting for me. I told him of the day and my flirtation with Belmont too and Jerome’s offer of his theater, and Gideon got a look on his face I had never seen before and said, “Don’t enjoy it too much, Sabine,” and when I asked why shouldn’t I, he said what a little hoyden I’d become, and pressed me to the wall and whispered that I was splendid, and that I would be a prima donna like no one had ever seen, but that I mustn’t forget who I belonged to, and his words sent a shiver through me, and though I’d felt alive and beautiful driving in the park, I had not felt like this. I had never felt like this. And then Gideon was kissing me possessively and passionately, and I could not wait anymore! I pulled at his tie until it came undone and fell to the floor, and then I put my hands to his shirt and he pulled away and said we must go to dinner in the dining room, just the two of us, as my reward. But that wasn’t what I wanted.

  The day had made me brave. I looked into his eyes and then I—oh, I can’t quite believe I did this even now!—I pressed my hand to his cock through his trousers and said I had in mind a different reward, and he was to be it.

  I loved the look on his face! As if he had come too close to a fire meaning to be burned, and was both surprised and excited by the pain. I knew then that I would have him at last. He said, “Well then, I suppose I must oblige you,” and turned me around to undo the buttons of my gown. He kissed the nape of my neck and whispered that we must keep this secret, that if Jerome found out it would all be over, that everything we’d worked for would be ruined, and I gasped that I would tell no one, and my gown came down around my shoulders and fell to my waist, and his hands came to my breasts and I was so impatient for him that I tore at the hooks of my corset in a fury to get it off. His breath was so warm against my throat. He said not Barret either, and I agreed. He touched my nipples and said, “Promise me,” and I said yes yes, whatever he wanted. I didn’t care. I would have given him anything. I would have done anything.

  Then I was naked, and he was still fully dressed, and he pulled me to him and the feel of his clothing against me was strangely exciting and I pressed like a wanton against him and I liked it. When he laid me on the bed and stood back to look at me I put my arms over my head and arched so he could see me better, and I thought how bad it was, but I liked that too.

  He went to lock the door. Then he came back and undressed and didn’t take his eyes from me as he did so. I had never seen him naked, and he was so beautiful I lifted my arms to him and demanded that he touch me. But he only smiled and shook his head as if he meant to make me wait, and pulled something from his trouser pocket and unfolded it—something very strange, like thin rubber or … I didn’t know what it was, but when I asked him he said “a precaution,” and drew it over his cock and then—finally!!!—he came down beside me and I was in his arms and kissing him and he was between my thighs and inside me, and I wrapped my legs around his hips and drew him deeper, and I was no longer Sabine Conrad but whatever he wanted me to be, only pleasure made just for him, only sensation.

  Have I ever loved anything this much?

  Only singing. And Gideon is like my voice made flesh. How would I live without either one of them?

  MARCH 26, 1873—I have now gone driving with Mr. Jerome three times, and I am in the society pages again. This from yesterday: “It seems all society can talk about recently is the entrancing sight of our favorite emerging diva driving in Central Park in the company of a well-known horseman. Can it be a new infatuation?”

  Mr. Jerome sends flowers to my dressing room every day. And yesterday I received orchids from Mr. Belmont, who writes that I must not let Mr. Jerome command all my time, and might I have occasion to dine with him one night next week? Gideon has instructed me to refuse Mr. Belmont’s invitation, but gently, and to hint that I regret it very much. He says that we don’t wish to offend him, but neither do I want to look fast by pursuing both him and Leonard Jerome at once. “Save Belmont for if Jerome loses interest,” he says.

  Barret hates it, and makes me feel so guilty and a little ashamed, though I’ve done nothing to merit it. When I went to their room I found him sprawled on the chaise there, and he was sweaty and disheveled and lazy, and his pupils were so tiny he did not look like himself. He had the paper on his lap, and when he saw me he tossed it to the floor and told me that Gideon was turning me into eine Dirne. At first I thought he must know about me and Gideon and I was afraid and trying to decide what to say, but then he kicked at the newspaper and said that if Gideon had his way, it would only be a matter of time before I was fucking Jerome, and I was relieved. If he thinks that, then he must not know our secret, because if he knew he would realize that of course Gideon cannot want me in Jerome’s bed! It is all too stupid! I told him it was only an innocent flirtation. Barret said that Jerome’s wife and daughters live in Paris now because of his well-known dalliances with opera singers and everyone knew it. I told him that I did not like the way he spoke and then I left.

  I have been invited to two balls and three suppers this week. Gideon is deciding which I should attend.

  MARCH 28, 1873—Leonard has sent me a lovely golden locket on a chain and a brooch set with small rubies. Gideon is not impressed and told me to refuse Leonard’s invitation to a private supper, that it wasn’t yet time for that. I asked him what we were waiting for, and when he didn’t answer I told him what Barret had said.

  Gideon asked why my brother would wish to hurt me that way? And then he put the locket about my neck so it was the only thing I wore, and brought me down to straddle him on the chair, and I knew that it is truly as Gideon says, that my brother means only to hurt me because I am so happy and growing so successful.

  But still I wish I could make Barret believe that Gideon truly loves me and means for me to have the best. I wish I knew how to convince him.

  I went to supper at the Stevenses’, which was very enjoyable. I sang Pamina and, of course, “All Things Love Thee.”

  MAY 1, 1873—Everyone has gone. Some to Newport for the summer, and others on their Continental Tour. Leonard stays in the city. He has given me a lovely bracelet set with sapphires and diamonds, and a matching necklace.

  I have been in t
he society pages every week now. Last week they printed an item telling of how Clara Kellogg and I fought backstage over a costume—it was quite true, though not as large a fight as they described. Now everyone calls us the Rival Ritas, due to our shared role in Faust, and there is much jockeying about of hostesses trying to decide which of us is more the thing so they know which to invite to their supper.

  Oh, how I will miss the parties now the season is over, though one thing I will not miss is that bitch Lucca, who has—thankfully—gone off to tour Europe. I do not think I could bear another evening of watching her throw herself at Gideon. I wish sometimes our love was not quite such a secret. But, of course, I know that to reveal it would mean the end of society, and of Leonard, who is really quite dear and whom I should miss very much, and I doubt Mrs. Astor would deign to invite me again to her suppers. To the world’s eyes, Gideon is only my accompanist. They have no idea how much he has given me, and how I owe him everything.

  It is not fair that Gideon does all the work and it is Barret whom society thanks. Of course none of us reveal the truth. Barret is still my manager in name and so must sign my contracts. The theater owners and impresarios put up with him because they must; Gideon says they would tolerate anything to get me, but it will not last forever. I am frustrated beyond measure with Barret. When he is not drinking, he is very nice, though that happens far too seldom now. But for the meetings Gideon arranges and forces him to be sober for, he only lies around all day. Even so, he is my brother and I love him, and so I will not hear of putting him aside. What would he do without me? Especially now, because I have not seen Dorothea for some weeks, and he will not discuss her and so I think they might be over. Gideon says it’s best to leave him be, because as long as he is in his room he is not about costing me money and reputation. I think a change of scenery for all of us is warranted, and Gideon has booked me on a tour—a concert tour, with me singing alone—to start after Willa’s wedding. We go to cities all over the country—as far as San Francisco! When we return I am to sing with Strakosch’s troupe for the Italian opera at the Academy. He is quite the impresario now. The days until we leave cannot pass quickly enough for me.

  JUNE 8, 1873—After what happened at Willa’s wedding, I wonder if Mama or Papa will ever speak to me or Barret again.

  The day before, Gideon begged me not to go. He said that with Barret there, something was certain to go wrong and he didn’t want me hurt. But I told him I was glad to attend my sister’s wedding because it meant she was no longer in love with him. He grimaced and said that was a long time ago, but he is only trying to make me feel better because he knows that sometimes I cannot help but feel guilty.

  I wished I could bring him, but of course he was not invited, and I did not wish to remind Willa of him. I was a little nervous, though I did think Willa would have forgiven me by now. I truly thought it would not be so bad. Oh, how wrong I was!

  Barret did not look well. He was pasty and his eyes were red rimmed, as if he had not been sleeping, and I scolded him for that and for the fact that his necktie was not tied correctly and his shoes were unpolished. He was in a nasty mood and told me to leave him alone, and so we weren’t speaking much when we arrived.

  At first, it was lovely. Mama asked me to sing a hymn, which I did, and Willa looked beautiful in blue, which matched her eyes and went well with her dark hair. She is so very pretty. Her new husband is nice enough. His name is Frederick, and it is obvious he loves Willa very much. Barret whispered to me that Willa was already expecting, though I saw no sign of it, and truly Frederick seems so staid that I cannot imagine he has any passion in him.

  When we arrived, Willa kissed my cheek, but she did not quite look me in the eye, and Papa was distant, though Mama kissed both Barret and me, and Gunther ran into my arms—he is so big now! Twelve years old, and a handsome dark-haired boy who looks like Papa.

  Papa closed the Völksstadt for the day so we could hold the celebration there, and he had one of the polka orchestras come in to play. I was very surprised when Willa sat down beside me. She complimented me on the hymn and asked if I was well and I told her of the upcoming tour and my successes at the Academy and in society, and she pretended not to be impressed and looked about the room as if I bored her, and then she asked if I’d seen Gideon recently.

  I could tell that she still loves him! I know that look in her eyes, and I was taken with a most fierce jealousy and I told her (though I shouldn’t have) that Gideon and I were in love and he was in my bed nearly every day and often more than once. And then something came into her face, and I realized that Willa hates me. I think she would like nothing better than to see me fail. She said, “Well, you must be satisfied you’ve got what you wanted, Sabine,” and then she went off to dance the polka with her new husband.

  I was furious with her. She is married now!! How unfair that she thinks she can still lay claim to him and that I must feel guilty forever! And I was angry with myself too, because I’d given in to my temper and told her what was supposed to be a secret, and I knew Gideon would not be at all happy about how childish I’d been. And then I thought perhaps Willa would tell Mama and Papa, and that would be disastrous!!! So I went to find her. She was drinking beer and her eyes were very bright and she asked what I wanted in such a nasty voice that I nearly left it be. But I tried to be mature, and I told her I had exaggerated what I’d said about Gideon. And she asked me what I’d exaggerated, the fact that he loved me or that I was playing the whore with him? And then she walked away before I could answer and I was angrier than ever and wished I’d never said anything at all. I feel sorry for Frederick, because Willa has only settled for him and she is just the kind to resent that and I think they will be very unhappy together.

  I had been having a good time, but after that, I wanted to go home, and I went to find Barret, but he had disappeared. Papa came up to me and asked where was my brother—was he off drinking again?—and he seemed very angry and I was angry too and told him Barret was not drinking much anymore, and he should not be so quick to judge his son. Papa said I was not blameless. My selfishness had driven Barret to drink and despair, and would no doubt lead to his death as well. It was a horrible, horrible thing to say.

  Then I heard a commotion at the back of the hall, in the kitchen, and I felt sick to my stomach, because I just knew it had something to do with my brother. There was a crowd gathering there, and I pushed my way through it to see that someone had indeed found Barret.

  I am not sure what could have been worse than what I saw. They were in the pantry, Barret and some girl—no one from the wedding party, but obviously a whore (I have no idea where he found her; he must have gone out into the street), and Barret’s shirt and trousers were unbuttoned and his tie loose and the girl was lying there beside him with her skirt up to show her cunny. She was looking at everyone gathering around as if they were strange creatures that had suddenly appeared before her, and her eyes and Barret’s too had almost no pupils at all.

  I have never seen Papa so angry. Not even at Christmastime. He yelled at the whore to cover herself among decent people, and then he went to grab Barret, but Barret reached for a bottle that was beside him. I realized he’d been drinking, and I was so angry and despairing myself, until Papa yanked the bottle from his hands and threw it on the floor so hard it broke and everything spilled out, and I smelled laudanum.

  Papa grabbed him and threw him against the wall, and Barret fell to the floor again, and I knelt beside him. He smiled at me and said, “There you are, Bina,” as if he didn’t know where he was, and I tried to pull him to his feet. He was like a dead thing.

  Papa told two of his friends to get Barret out. I put my arms around my brother and told them to leave him alone. They were afraid to touch me and they looked at Papa, who seemed ready to explode. He told me to step away from Barret and I said I would stand by my brother and then Papa said Barret and I deserved each other, and we were not welcome in his house again, and then Barret laughed and Pap
a’s friends grabbed him and half carried him to the back door, where they pushed him out so he went stumbling, and Papa turned to me and asked if I would go on my own two feet or did I need help too? And I hurried out into the street after my brother. Willa was crying on Frederick’s shoulder and Mama’s face was white. Papa’s friends slammed the door shut behind us. I don’t know what happened to the whore.

  Barret was just lying there in the middle of the alley among the trash and fish bones as if he were dead. He groaned when I turned him over and said I would get my dress dirty and I told him I didn’t care. To my horror, he began to cry. He said he wanted to die, that he thought about it all the time, and then he asked if I would say his eulogy. I told him he wasn’t going to die and I tried to pick him up. He grabbed my arm, and asked me not to say just the kind things at his funeral that didn’t matter. He wanted me to say what no one else would know about him. “I’ve thought about it, you see, Bina,” he said. “It’s not the big things that make us who we are, but the things we don’t show anyone….”

  I was crying too. I told him that Gideon and I would take care of him, and at that he tried to prop up on his elbow and I saw him working to form the right words, and he told me that Gideon brought out the worst in me and I was letting him and I was better than that. I hate that he feels this way, but I don’t know how to comfort him anymore. “I’ve tried to stop it,” he said. “I’ve tried to stop you, but I can’t. Don’t let him ruin you, Bina.” I finally got him to his feet and hooked his arm over my shoulders and grabbed up my train with my other arm, though it was already filthy from dragging in the street. It must have taken me an hour to get to Broadway and hail a cab, and even then the driver wouldn’t take us until I gave him money in advance.