Orfeo

by M. J. Lawless

  The air in the room was humid, with tall, lush-colored Siam banana trees and gigantic ferns casting their dappled shadows across the room. Removing his hat and wiping the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, Baptiste smiled at her warmly and gestured to the sun blazing overhead. “Another fine day in paradise,” he remarked ironically.

  “Is it ever any other way?” Ardyce asked, lifting herself on those elegant legs and reaching up with a hand to his cheek, bending him slightly so that she could kiss him. Her eyes sparkled as she did so and, when she returned to her chair and Baptiste seated himself across from her, he could not help but remark: “Yet this one seems particularly fine.”

  She smiled at this, her copper-red hair shining brilliantly in the sun as she moved her head, but she did not respond immediately. Instead, she took the hem of her delicately patterned coat and rubbed it softly between her fingertip and thumb, enjoying the sensation of the smooth fabric.

  “Do you like my ao dai? I bought it from some Vietnamese woman in Algiers. I suspect it was intended for her daughter and at first she tried to convince me it wouldn’t fit but I knew otherwise. As soon as I saw it I had to possess it.”

  Baptiste smiled at this. “Thus it ever was. And yes, I do like it. You look... radiant in it. For some reason, however, I suspect your radiance today has less to do with a pretty outfit.” Leaning back in his chair he watched her with amused eyes.

  Lifting one of her bare feet into the chair beside her thigh, even Baptiste could not resist her charms for a moment. The arch of her foot was so small and delightful, like her slender torso half-hidden, half-revealed by the silk jacket pulled across it, that part of him wanted to kiss her. He shook his head at this and put the aberration down to the fact that these Vietnamese clothes made her look more boyish than usual. When he looked at her face he saw that she was smiling at him while she teased one of her auburn locks and dangled it against her lips.

  “He was here last night,” she said at last. Again her eyes sparkled as she spoke.

  Baptiste made a mock show of disgust. “Then I’m surprised you have any time for an old man today.” He paused and stared at her, taking in her aspect admiringly. She was radiant. “Though if you do have time, I expect to hear all the gory details.”

  “Gory?” she scoffed. “Since when have you become so melodramatic?”

  “I was born that way,” he said with feigned resignation. “It is the burden I have to bear, along with my poor choice in friends.”

  It was Ardyce’s turn to make a show of outrage now. “Is that how you see me?” her voice rose almost to a shriek and as she raised herself up into her seat the pale skin of her cheeks flushed red. “I should have you turned out of this house immediately.”

  “At least then I’d be able to find suitable refreshments,” he replied immediately, fanning himself once more with his hat. “I’ve been here almost half an hour and I’m still waiting for somebody—anybody—to offer me a drink.”

  Raising a hand to her mouth, Ardyce blushed more deeply now. “Oh, Baptiste, I’m so sorry. My mind’s been on... other things this morning. I’m far too dreamy to pay attention to all the proper details, so you must forgive me.”

  “You are forgiven, as always. But a drink would be appreciated...”

  Ringing a bell she asked him: “What would you like—a Sazerac? A Fizz?”

  “It’s barely midday! My liver will never forgive me if I start that way before two. A lemonade will do very nicely.”

  She smiled at this and looked up to see one of the maids, a young black woman named Lucy, enter the orangery. “A lemonade and one of my specials.”

  “So,” Baptiste said as the woman left the room. “Was it all that you expected?”

  Ardyce’s eyes shone as she regarded her friend. “More, much more.”

  Baptiste sighed. “Then I presume he’s one of those poor unfortunates who is thoroughly and resolutely heterosexual.”

  “You keep your hands off him, you old goat. I told you last night—he’s mine, all mine.”

  “Another toy to play with?”

  For the first time Ardyce frowned and she regarded Baptiste with suspicious eyes. “It’s not like that, not this time.”

  Once more he sighed. “It never is.”

  “I’m serious, Baptiste. This is different.”

  “It always is. I still remember the last one... wasn’t he some rich kid from California?”

  “Grant?” She waved her hands dismissively. “That was so long ago—and this isn’t like that at all.” Her frown dissipated in the memory of the previous night and her face once more was adorned with a smile like the summer sun. “I’ve... I’ve never felt like that before. It was like being made love to by the moon.”

  Baptiste could not resist a snort at this. “How very poetic,” he remarked. “I see you have been infected by the singer’s silver tongue.”

  “Oh,” she replied with a sly smile. “His tongue is more than silver—it is pure honey, in every way. You’re only jealous.”

  Now it was Baptiste’s turn to laugh and he shook his head. “No, not jealous. Well, not very jealous. I’m just worried about you throwing yourself into some crazy amour fou and coming out of it more hurt than before. I know what you’re like, Ardyce.”

  “And yet you keep returning,” she replied, lifting herself out of her chair and kissing him on his forehead. “How very sweet.”

  As she returned to her chair, Lucy entered the orangery once more carrying a silver tray. Upon it was a tall glass of lemonade which she placed on the table beside Baptiste, while she deposited a smaller glass of wine and a bottle next to her mistress. The older man watched with distaste while Ardyce took a few drops from the bottle and mixed them into her wine. Catching his glance, she scowled at him.

  “Don’t give me that. Would you approve more if I used methadone for relief? You know that’s not my style.”

  He shook his head. “I thought you’d moved beyond it, that’s all.”

  She threw the bottle at him. “Here, add some to your lemonade. You’ll feel better for it.”

  Looking down at the small bottle of brown glass he read the label. Opium tincture. “I still can’t believe they make this stuff. Is this really legal?”

  Sipping her wine, she nodded and regarded him with her green eyes. “On prescription, yes. It... relaxes me.”

  “I thought your singer relaxed you.”

  “He excites me. I still need downers as well as uppers, Baptiste. Don’t lecture me. One day I’ll get by without it, I’m sure, but I still need this. Just for the moment.”

  He looked sad as he placed the small bottle on the table next to him. “Yes,” he replied at last. “Hoc opus, hic labor est,” he murmured.

  “What was that?” Ardyce’s brows creased slightly as she looked at him.

  “Oh, I was thinking of Virgil. ‘Easy is the descent to hell, for the door to the underworld lies open day and night. But to retrace your steps and return to the breezes above—this is work, this is toil.’”

  It was Ardyce’s turn to appear sad now. “Yes. How foolish. Perhaps if I had known real work, real toil I would never have been so stupid.”

  Baptiste was about to respond, to tell her that this had not been what he had meant when they were disturbed by Lucy entering once more to tell them that they had visitors. When he heard the name Baptiste picked up his hat as though preparing to leave but Ardyce leaned across and placed a hand on his arm.

  “Please,” she said softly. “Stay here, for my sake.” When he nodded reluctantly, she turned back to the maid. “Tell Earl that I shall be with him shortly. Take him through to the drawing room and provide him with any refreshments he requires.”

  “And what shall I do in the meantime?” Baptiste asked.

  “Stay here—I’ll get changed and collect you before we face the task ahead. Remember: hoc opus, hic labor est.”

  The drawing room was large and spacious, situated on the north of Xanadu so th
at it would remain cooler throughout the day. The ceiling was gilded and adorned with baroque, Italianate designs that had appeared old-fashioned when Samuel Dubois had commissioned his own great work, but now it spoke of the elegance and fashion of a bygone age.

  Earl could not remain seated but instead strode back and forth in front of the large, ornate fireplace. And because he did not sit down, two of his three loa remained standing also. Horse, impassive as ever, simply stood with his hands crossed in front of his waist, waiting. Snake’s tattooed face twitched nervously as she looked scornfully at the furniture and paintings, chewing gum and her eyes flickering from side to side. Only Papa, as elegantly dressed as ever, sat down and watched Earl as he paced across the room.

  “Where is that fucking bitch?” Earl snarled, his white skin creasing as he glanced at himself in the mirror. His hair was black, preternaturally dark against his face, and his blue eyes glittered angrily at himself. He was handsome in a saturnine kind of way—he didn’t need anyone else to tell him that—and had a power and charisma over women. Despite this he often felt anxious before any encounter with Ardyce, an anxiety that manifested itself aggressively. Unconsciously, he began to scratch the skin of his left hand under his glove, another old habit associated with her.

  “She’s here.”

  Turning, Earl saw Ardyce enter the room followed by the old faggot that she spent so much of her time around, a fact that Earl never entirely comprehended. Earl knew enough about Baptiste Roussel to ruin him had he so desired—and enough to ensure that the queen stayed far away from Hades. But not enough, it appeared, to keep the old pervert from the true object of Earl’s desires. He shrugged at the thought: not that Baptiste mattered—Earl knew where his inclinations lay and they were not with a woman such as Ardyce, no matter how beautiful she was.

  And she was beautiful. Despite himself, his mouth went dry as she came further into the room. Her long, copper-red hair hung loose in waves on her shoulders, her face serious and calm as she stared at him and his loa. She never betrayed fear, which was one of the things he most desired in her. Until he had met Ardyce Dubois he had never had a woman look on him without at least a hint of trepidation. Usually that added to Earl’s satisfaction, but in Ardyce he had encountered something else.

  Her blouse was more formal than he would have expected her to wear at home, white and buttoned to just below her collarbone, with matching cream-colored slacks that flared slightly at the feet, those pretty feet he remembered so well and now enclosed in black shoes. She showed little of that adorable body of hers but his memory filled in many of the details—the soft fullness of her pale breasts, her hips and taut buttocks, thighs parted for him. Momentarily he had to close his eyes so as not to betray himself.

  When he looked at her again, his blue eyes staring at her cool, dispassionate green irises, her lips were pursed slightly. The faggot, Roussel, had taken up a seat behind her and near to the door, unable to hide his own agitation and presumably hoping that no-one else in the room would pay him any attention.

  “So, what can I do for you and your... companions? Is this a social call?”

  He laughed. “That it might just be. You’re looking very fine today, Miss Dubois. Isn’t that the case, fellas?”

  Snake snorted, whether at being referred to in the masculine or in regard to Earl’s sentiment he wasn’t sure. Horse nodded, silently, while Papa tipped his hat slightly toward Ardyce and repeated Earl’s phrase: “Very fine.”

  For her part, Ardyce simply raised one eyebrow. “I thought as much. Get to the point, Earl. This fucking bitch doesn’t have that much time, you know.”

  This made him snarl despite himself and he felt his hand itching beneath the glove, making him clench it and scratch it impulsively with the fingers of the other. At this, a strange look passed Ardyce’s face—whether disgust or pity he wasn’t sure, just as he didn’t know which was worse.

  “I remember when Ardyce Dubois had all the time in the world for me—and for me alone.”

  At this she blushed and for a moment Earl’s heart stopped in his chest. Why were all these people here in this room when all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and kiss her?

  “Well, that was a long time ago,” she said quietly, her eyes dipping away from his toward the floor.

  He swallowed at the sight of her, baffled slightly merely by her presence. “Well...” he said lamely at last. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”

  She looked up at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

  Instead of replying, he nodded his head over her shoulder toward Baptiste who was trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. “There’re too many people in here.”

  Her face seemed to transform into ice at this, all color draining away from it so that only the artificial red of her lips and the natural green of her eyes stood out more vividly against her skin. “It seems to me that you have brought more people than is strictly necessary to my home.”

  Earl snarled at this. “Well, be that as it may, he doesn’t need to hear my proposition.”

  Now anger was plain on her features, a flash of red suffusing her cheeks where seconds before was only whiteness. If he had known how to express himself, Earl would have realized that part of her beauty to him was that her face was like an autumn sky, colors passing across it like clouds transforming the blue above.

  “Your days of telling me what to do are long gone, Earl. And in any case, nobody has ever told me what do in Xanadu.”

  He turned his head away at this so that she could not see his own anger—nor his grief. This was not going at all as he had planned. When he mastered himself, he assumed a more reasonable tone.

  “You’re right, of course. In any case, hear me out. I’ve come with a peace offering.”

  At this, Snake stared at him in bafflement and even Horse frowned slightly. Only Papa, who had some clearer understanding of what Ardyce meant to Earl, gave no indication of surprise. Ardyce herself was staring at him with open scorn which cut him deeper than any other expression.

  “What on earth could I want from you?”

  He spread his hands in a gesture of reconciliation. “I want you back, Ardyce. I’ll make it plain—there’s no need to beat around the bush.” He began to raise his voice above her remonstrations. “I want you back and I know it won’t be simple, but you know it makes sense.”

  “Nothing—and I mean nothing—could be further from the truth!”

  He ignored this. “And to show you a token of my esteem for you, I want to make my club, Hades, a place that you’ll enjoy visiting, as you did before.” His speech was speeding up a little, a flurry of words tumbling out of his mouth before he could entirely control what he was saying. “I see how you have a thing for that nigger singer, so I -”

  At this, however, she refused to listen but, her eyes almost incandescent with rage, she raised her voice almost to a shout. “What did you call him? How dare you, Earl—how dare you speak of him that way!”

  Earl’s own self-control snapped at this. “Fuck you, Ardyce. Like Xanadu wasn’t built on the backs of niggers! I seem to remember that old Samuel Dubois, your grandfather, used to have a hankering for the Jim Crow days and didn’t mind dipping his hands in his pockets for them as would bring back the good ol’ times. Shit! Look at Papa—I may cuss him all day long, but at least he can rise up in my service. What’s such a man as that singer to you? A pretty toy for you to play with until you get bored.”

  Ardyce’s eyes narrowed at this outburst and she stared at him with a malevolence that made his blood boil. “Get out!” she hissed. “Get out, all of you—and don’t come back!”

  For a few seconds he stared at her. He could feel his loa becoming restless around him. There was not a living soul who dared to speak to him this way: the moment they uttered such words their days alive were numbered. His cheek began to twitch once more, creasing his bright blue eye, and the infernal itch in his left hand was almost impossible to ignore requiring a
ll his effort to control it. This had not proceeded at all as he’d intended.

  At last he crossed beside her, his large frame towering above hers. Horse and Snake moved immediately to his side and Baptiste retreated into his chair. Ardyce, however, stared up at him defiantly, her green eyes glittering and her hair shining like bronze fire.

  “You will be mine. You just don’t know it, yet,” he hissed. “I’ll bring that singer to my club and make him fill the air with his pretty tunes like a bird in a cage. Anything that you want belongs to me, and you will be mine again.”

  As he, Snake and Horse stalked out of the house, Papa was the last to rise, lifting himself from the chair in which he had sat slowly and calmly. His dark face was almost impassive but for the slight smile on his lips, a smile that did not extend to those cold, slightly rheumy eyes of his. When he looked at her, for the first time Ardyce felt a chill of fear run through her and she glanced away. The smile on his lips increased and he tipped his hat slightly in her direction before following his master from Xanadu.

  Chapter Four

  She did not go to Apollo’s that night. There was no need to. Although nothing had been said, they had communicated through song, impassioned glances and finally their bodies and this night Ardyce knew that Orfeo would not be in the nightclub. Henceforth, his music was for her alone.

  She lay in her bedroom, naked on the satin sheets as her fingers danced an indulgent waltz across the contours of her flesh and she watched faint clouds pass before the bright orb of the moon. Her window was open again and as the glimmering twilight once more became darkest night she heard the faint strains of a guitar beneath her window.

  The music was soft and melancholy, her lover’s fingers caressing the guitar for what seemed an age until at last his deep voice rolled across the empty space between her and him.

  “Ere summer’s end I have sought,

  and in seeking, hope to find,