“I like the blue-green ones,” I offer. “The color of Bryony’s eyes.” I don’t know what else to say. She so rarely reveals any hint of weakness.
She pulls the blue-green gloves on without comment and riffles through a pile of papers on her desk before handing me a file.
“What’s this?” I ask.
“Information on some properties. Next time we shut down for a few days, I want you to go to Virginia and look at them. The large one might be a good investment. And somewhere to escape to.”
“You can always escape back to Italy,” I say carefully.
“I can’t escape back,” she says. “I can’t escape my life, period. But I want something new to think about I can count on you to tell me if it’s worth buying or not If you like it, go ahead and make an offer. If it’s the right place.”
That’s because I am such a devastatingly adroit judge of houses as well as character.
“I have to have some sense that what I am doing is worth something,” Belladonna says, interrupting my smug reverie about a new house to decorate. “Not just entertaining people in the club while we wait. It is a supreme act of will and discipline not to give in. Otherwise, what have I been living for?”
“Remember what Leandro said,” I tell her. “Train your thinking with concentration and discipline. Clear if of all thoughts but vengeance. There is no forgiveness.”
“I remember,” she says, her voice flat.
How could she ever forget?
Belladonna hands me a letter. “Read the beginning out loud,” she commands.
“’Dear Belladonna,’” I read,” ‘Thank you for taking the time to read this letter, and I hope you can help us. I am writing on behalf of everyone in our office, and we are turning to you because we don’t know where else to go.’” I frown. Nearly all the letters start like this. “What’s so unusual?” I ask.
“Go on,” she says impatiently.
“ ‘Someone we know told us what it’s like to be in your club, although we’ve never tried to go. She said that it was the only place she’d ever been where the waiters asked her what she would like to drink. All of us here want to tell you that no other club or restaurant in New York or any other place we’ve been has waiters who speak to the ladies if they are at a table with a man. The men do the ordering and we are expected to sit in silence. That’s why we hope you can help us…’”
“Is that true?” Belladonna asks.
“I have no idea,” I reply. “I don’t go on dates. And I don’t pay much attention to the waiters when"”
“Oh, Tomasino,” she says. Her interrupting is her way of apologizing, and I feel my eyes fill with tears.
“What kind of world do we live in?” Belladonna says. “Do you think it will ever change, when a lady can go into a restaurant with a man and speak for herself, if only to ask for something as ridiculously simple as a cocktail?”
“Probably not,” I say. “But I bet waiters ask Marilyn Monroe what she wants to drink.”
“I’m not Marilyn Monroe.”
“Thank goodness.” I laugh. “Did you see her hair in Niagara? It’s a mess.”
Belladonna gives me a small smile, which means more to me than all the diamonds on Andromeda’s collar. “Bring her in,” she says.
“I will. How splendid. I’ve always wanted to invite Marilyn to one of our little parties,” I say, knowing full well she means the letter writer, not the movie star.
The letter writer’s name is Alison Jenkins. When she is sitting with me in Belladonna’s office, waiting, she appears calm and collected, not frazzled with nerves as most of our ladies usually are. I decide I like her immediately, so I launch right into the Theodora test.
“I was just reading about dungeons,” I say in a perfectly conversational tone of voice. Alison’s face blanches. “They reminded me of the story of the empress Theodora, the much-maligned bella donna of the Bosphorus. It’s a true story. Do you know it?”
Alison shakes her head no, puzzled.
“Theodora came from a poor family in Constantinople, with ambitious parents. They forced her to earn her keep onstage,” I say, settling back and enjoying the sound of my own voice. “But she couldn’t dance or sing, and she only became a hit once she started shedding her clothes. Eventually, she fell in love with a man who deserted her, leaving her with a baby son and no money. There was only one profession left for our poor talentless girl. I’m sure you can figure out what that was.
“Well, at the lowest point of those low days, Theodora took herself to a soothsayer, who had a vision. ‘Get ready, my dear,’ said the psychic, ‘the tears and poverty and the horror of the disgusting, dirty slobs in your bed will soon disappear. You, yes you, my dear, are going to marry a monarch.’
“Nothing could have pleased Theodora more, so she farmed out her baby, packed her meager bags, and returned to Constantinople. She was still an actress, so she pretended to be a chaste born-again virgin, spinning wool in her little cottage. When who should pass by and see such charm but the senator Justinian, already reigning over the empire under the name of his aging uncle. He fell madly in love with Theodora. An award-winning performance, I admit, but she earnestly loved him back. Why wouldn’t she, the power-mad little vixen?
“At this point, Justinian, who could have had any noble virgin in the land, was determined to make an honest woman of his whore, but those pesky Roman marriage laws forbade senators from ever marrying such ‘ladies.’ Not only that, but Justinian’s aunt Lupicina, the empress, for some reason refused to accept a prostitute as her niece. Too bad, said our boy. He knew Lupicina was old enough to die soon"or at least have a nice timely mishap once she nibbled a sweetly poisoned fig"so he created a new law without much fuss.
“And so Theodora and Justinian were married. He seated her on the throne as an equal and all the governors of the provinces had to swear allegiance to them both. Long may the harlot reign!”
Alison smiles a little. “Theodora reminds me of Eva Perón, that dictator’s wife who just died,” she says. My knee is humming pleasantly and I smile. Yes, I’ve definitely made the right decision about this one.
“For a while, though, Theodora disappeared. Personally, I like to think she was gloating in private while plotting how to consolidate her fortune,” I go on. “How could she not worry about what might happen to her if Justinian popped off"she needed a ton of money to protect her family from ruin. She called in the astrologers and soothsayers and magicians, and deep in her secret apartments she was attended to by trusted favorites and eunuchs.”
Alison is listening avidly. She doesn’t know why, but she can’t help herself. It is quite a saga, I’ll admit, but I am such a talented storyteller. I managed to say the word eunuch without betraying the slightest twinge of recognition.
“And spies. Theodora’s spies reported everything to her: words or deeds or a cross-eyed look. Whoever was accused of wishing her ill, fairly or not, was thrown in the royal dungeons, inaccessible to justice or hope, tortured until they begged for death. Abandoned forever.
“Not that Theodora was all bad,” I continue. “Perhaps a little hasty, but she always kept a soft spot for her less fortunate sisters, forced into a life of prostitution. A palace on the Bosphorus was converted into a monastery, and five hundred women were collected from the streets and brothels to fill it. In this retreat, the lucky lassies became devoted to Theodora. It was touching, truly. There was no escape, you see"only a plunge feet-first into the sea.
“Yes, Theodora was an extraordinary empress. She was brave in the face of the continual duplicity of the courtiers, and a prudent counselor to her husband. She was chaste and faithful to Justinian"she wasn’t going to blow it this time. But they had no son and heir. Only a baby daughter, who died soon after birth. All in all, I’d say they were pretty happy. They remained married for twenty-four years, until she died.”
I sit back and smile. “Well,” I ask Alison. “Isn’t that a lovely story? What do you think? Anyt
hing in particular strike you?”
“What happened to the other baby she had?” Alison asks.
“Ah yes. The sweet little baby boy.” I knew it. She’s passed the Theodora test with flying colors, instinctively asking the right question. “He grew up in Arabia, where his father made the mistake of telling him he was the son of an empress. Naturally, he hastened to the palace at Constantinople, hoping for the best"a crown, a fortune, maybe even a harem of his own. His mother kindly received him, her very own son. But no one ever saw him again, not even after her death.”
“No one knows what became of him?”
“And no one ever will,” I say slowly. “Perhaps he died of a fever after so long a journey.”
“Perhaps he was tied into a sack and weighted down with stones and thrown to a watery grave like so many before him,” Belladonna says, making her usual silent entrance so that Alison nearly jumps out of her skin. “After all, he was the living embodiment of her youthful degradation.”
She beckons to Alison to pull her gilt chair closer to the desk. “Change is rarely what one presupposes,” she says. “How can I help you?”
“It’s my boss,” Alison says after taking a few calming breaths. “Our boss"they’re nine of us all together. Mostly secretaries. It’s an import-export company. Lots of paperwork.”
“Are you here on behalf of the nine?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says, biting her lips. “We drew straws, and I…”
“You got the lucky one,” I say, and she stares at me, surprised by my encouragement. “What exactly does he do, this boss?”
“Our boss has already gotten one of us pregnant. Norma. He told her to get rid of it"the baby"and gave her a bit of money for an abortion, but she wouldn’t do it. She had to make up a bunch of stories, then move to one of those homes for unwed mothers and give up her baby for adoption. It broke her heart. It broke her.” She lifts her chin, anger fueling her determination to go on. “The thing is, he threatens to fire us and tell Norma’s parents about her"they’d kill her, be figures. He’s probably right. Plus he’s a big guy, our boss, and intimidating. Mr. Baldwin, his name is. Paul Baldwin of Baldwin Import-Export. ‘Call me Paulie,’ he says,” she mocks. “Now he’s got his eye on the new girl, Joanie. She’s panicking. She needs this job; we all need our jobs. It’s his company. Well, his wife owns it.”
“Tell me,” I say, “how well does he pay you?”
“He does pay us well,” Alison replies. “That’s part of the problem; we can’t afford to leave.”
“Being beholden to men like Paulie is a form of slavery, no matter what he pays you,” Belladonna says. Not a tremor in her voice. Oh ho, what sublime self-control!
“You mentioned his wife?” I say. “There’s always a wife.”
“Yes, her name is Suzie-Anne. She’s as fat as he is, and just as awful. Worse in some ways, because it’s her money. We are expected to pick up her dry cleaning, or run other errands, or walk her dogs. After work hours, so she can humiliate us.” Alison’s eyes are flashing. “Suzie-Anne comes into the office sometimes to check up on Paulie. Let him know who the real boss is. She’s got to have figured out what he’s like, but of course she treats us as if it’s our doing.” She shudders. “The sound of her bangle bracelets and her heels clacking on the floor makes us all crazy. Plus she wears this disgusting fox stole with the little heads dangling, and flips it around in our faces.”
“Sounds like they should both be strangled with it,” I say, picking up my notepad. “We need more specifics about Paulie, so we can fight fire with fire. Give him a taste of his own medicine.”
“Well,” she says, “when he’s getting in one of his moods, he starts calling us ‘honey-baby.’ ‘Honey-baby, come here. I need you,’ “ she mimics. “Then he says, ‘Do you see what you do to me?’ and points to his crotch,” she goes on. “’I might have to show you what a real man is for.’ When he can comer us in the hallway, he…” She sighs. “What he did to Norma is bad enough. It can’t happen to Joanie, too. Some of the others are getting sick, they’re so scared he might really attack them. I don’t know what to do. I can’t take the time off to look for another job, and my mother isn’t well. She looks after my little boy, Toby. He’s nine.”
“We don’t mean to pry, but is your husband…” I start to ask.
“He died at Guadalcanal,” Alison says simply.
“I’m sorry,” Belladonna says.
“Thank you,” she says. Her office mates certainly picked the right representative; she’s a trooper, this one. I like her more than ever. If Belladonna weren’t such a solitary soul, I’d almost suggest they might be friends.
“Plus he has peepholes in the bathroom, I swear it,” Alison adds. “We aren’t sure where, but we can feel it… a two-way mirror or something. Just the thought of it…” She shudders.
Belladonna and I exchange a swift glance. Better take extra precautions as long as Alison’s in the club.
“We’re not going to tell you what or how exactly we’ll deal with him yet,” I explain, having gotten the signal from Belladonna to proceed. “It’s better if you don’t know any of the details, because then he’ll have fewer suspicions once his plans take some unexpected detours.” I smile broadly. This one is really going to be a scream. “You’ll know everything is in order when he receives an invitation to the Club Belladonna. He’ll be gloating about that, no doubt. Try not to laugh, or let on that you know anything about it. Soon afterward, Paulie and Suzie-Anne won’t be bothering you anymore. We promise you.”
“I should like you and your colleagues to be my guests here the night that Paulie and Suzie-Anne are invited. To a costume ball,” Belladonna says. It is a command rather than a question.
“We’ll give you plenty of notice about the date,” I add, immediately figuring out Belladonna’s intentions. “And if you give us all of your measurements, shoe sizes, glove sizes, head sizes, et cetera, we’ll have the costumes made and sent to you. That way, the Baldwins won’t recognize you, even if you’re sitting at the next table. And you’ll hear everything. But no husbands or boyfriends allowed that night, just the nine ladies. Leave every detail to us. It’ll be an evening you’ll never forget, I promise you.”
“You’d do all that for us?” Alison asks, her cheeks scarlet. “Why?”
“Because I can,” Belladonna says sharply. She picks up one fan, spreads it open to see a scene of frolicking picnickers dressed as baroquely as she is, snaps it shut and chooses another. “So many women are dependent upon their circumstances and have few options to change them. I, on the other hand, am not. I create my own options, through whatever means are necessary.”
Cunning, cleverness, Jack’s devoted and well-trained staff, she is saying. Plotting and planning. Bribes, of course. Finding the best lawyers sympathetic to women, which is a Herculean feat in 1953. And determination never to fail.
“Who are you?” Alison asks.
Luckily, Belladonna does not panic, for she can sense that this is not a loaded question. Alison’s face is merely shining with simple curiosity.
“I am Belladonna,” she says. “But I was not always so. I shall tell you only that I have been acquainted with too many of the Paulie Baldwins of this world. That is all you need to know.”
She is still toying with her fan. I am amazed. She’s never revealed so much"even if it is, in fact, so little"to any of her ladies. Whenever the ladies are allowed into this office, they do most of the talking. Yet they leave with the impression that Belladonna has filled their heads with impossibly cunning ideas, even if she’s said no more than Why are you here?
“We live in a time when, as you wrote me, a woman is not allowed her voice, even for something as simple as ordering a cocktail,” Belladonna goes on. “Why, for example, should not a woman like you, with your brains and your courage, run an import-export company like Paulie’s?”
“I’m not"” Alison interjects.
“Of course you are,” Belladonna
says. “You are brainy enough to have written a letter that caught my attention, and you are courageous enough to have ventured into my lair.”
Alison smiles for real this time.
“Surely all of you know as much about the import-export business as Paulie does, if not more,” Belladonna adds. “But do you think for an instant his colleagues would embrace you into their fraternity as long as he remained to undermine your confidence?”
Alison shakes her head.
“Of course not. But I don’t let men like that stop me. I care not a whit for their approval.”
“That reminds me of a woman who got back at a man like Paulie"her husband,” Alison says.
“Tell us,” I command.
“They had his and hers cars,” she says, “and both had sets of keys for them. Well, she knew he was having an affair, even though he denied it and blamed her for all the usual, and she got so fed up she followed him after work. Sure enough, he was meeting his girlfriend in a motel near Idlewild. She waited awhile, then got out of her car, pulled his car out of the space and replaced it with hers, and drove home. Can you imagine his face when he came out of that motel room with his girlfriend and saw his wife’s car?”
I burst out laughing, and I fancy even Belladonna might be smiling as she gets up to leave the room as silently as she entered it.
“Here are the checklists,” I say to Alison, who is trying to digest all of Belladonna’s comments, and doesn’t seem put out that Belladonna didn’t say good-bye, “which the nine of you need to fill out as soon as possible and send back to us. All the instructions are enclosed.”
“Thank you,” Alison says, taking the files and shaking her head. “I think I’m dreaming. Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask whatever you like,” I reply, “but that doesn’t mean you’ll get the answer you’re looking for.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Alison says, “but I have to try.”
“Of course.” I get one of my altogether brilliant flashes. I’m going to have Jack handle Alison’s case personally. I’ve just decided that she’s the one for him. Oh, I tried fixing him up with Marisa, but she was more interested in painting her cavorting nymphs than in a brooding detective. He’s not said anything to me or anyone else, but we know he’s in love with Belladonna. We also know it’s a futile proposition. He’s such a good man, and works so hard for us. This club isn’t going to last forever. He needs to think about his future.
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