But not tonight.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
God it feels good to hit something. Gus set up a rhythm with the punching ball, hitting the suspended rubber bag dead on in a series of short, quick jabs that drove it back and forth into the back corner walls of the gym. He kept up the pace until sweat started dripping down his face and onto his chest, and then he punched some more. Some men liked working out with the newer, heavier bags, but Gus liked the challenge of punching the fast-swinging ball bare knuckled before it punched him back. His chest heaving, he began to angle his jabs in order to catch the return swing from different angles.
“Ah, Mr. Hansen was right. He said you’d probably be here, beating the crap out of that thing. You picturing somebody’s face on that?” Will Firestone’s drawl was unmistakable.
Gus caught the ball just before it swung back and hit him between the eyes. “Yeah, do the initials W.F. ring a bell?” He grabbed a nearby towel and wiped his face and arms.
“Funny,” Will said. He gestured to Gus’s reddened hands. “Maybe you should have gone a few rounds with Jack Root instead of Kid McCoy. You could have been the first ever light heavyweight champ.”
“Right.” Gus drank from a jug of water sitting near his towel. “I assume you’re here for some other reason than giving me grief?”
“Yes, actually. Have you got time for a beer?”
Gus nodded. “Be out directly.” He headed for the locker room for a quick shower and a change of clothes. In fact he was glad to see his partner; anything to take his mind off the mess he’d gotten himself into with Lia.
Ten minutes later Gus and Will were drinking a couple of Anchor Steams over at Fidelio’s Crab Shack, across the street from the Y where Gus habitually worked out.
“What do you need?” Gus asked.
“Not me, friend. I’m here for you. You’ve been out of sorts lately. Mr. Hansen’s noticed, I’ve certainly noticed. You think you’re good at hiding whatever’s going on, but you aren’t.”
Gus snorted. “So, now you’re not only my business partner, you’re my very own Sigmund Freud? When did I get so lucky?”
Will wouldn’t let up. “Look, I told you months ago that Lia was somebody special and that I didn’t want you hurting her. You remember?”
Gus nodded reluctantly.
“And you remember I told you that you were like clockwork when it came to winding down your relationships?”
“You don’t have to remind me.”
“Yeah, well I do. Something’s going on because you’re acting much the same way you’ve acted every time you were ready to cut bait, and I swear, Gus, if you—”
“Okay. All right,” Gus admitted. “Something’s not going right, but it’s not what you think.”
The look Will gave Gus could have cut glass. Shit, on top of everything else, his own partner was ready to smack him. Well, he’d probably do the same if he were in Will’s shoes.
“So spill it.”
Gus paused and took a long pull on his beer. This was harder to get out than he thought. But he needed to vent or he really was going to hit somebody. “All right. Not that it’s any of your damn business, but I’ve gone and done it. Plain and simple, I’ve fallen head over ass in love with Lia. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to a lout like me, and that includes the Klondike.”
“Whoa,” Will said, leaning back in his chair. “That’s just about the last thing I thought you were going to say.”
“Well, I said it and I meant it.”
“So what’s the problem? She doesn’t feel likewise?”
“No, I’m pretty sure she feels the same way.”
Will tipped his glass to Gus’s. “So what’s the problem? You pick a date, you rent a hall…”
Gus rolled his shoulders. “Ah, not so fast. There’s a slight problem.”
“Yeah, what? Don’t tell me she doesn’t want to get married. I mean, I wouldn’t blame her after a messy divorce and all, but…”
“I don’t know, I haven’t asked her. But knowing Lia, I think she’d want to.”
“Well what are you waiting for? If you want her, you’d better claim her before somebody else does. Marriage is the logical next step. That’s what they tell me, anyhow.”
“Except for one hitch…”
“What’s that?”
“I’m already married.”
Will glared at Gus and grabbed him across the table. “What?! Why, you miserable prick—”
Gus stopped Will’s arm and broke his grip. “Hear me out,” he growled.
“Damn you, this better be good.” Will was breathing hard. Gus had never seen him so ornery.
“Look, nine years ago I thought with my cock instead of my head, and I got married. We went up north and had a baby girl right away. Mattie, my wife, couldn’t hack it, so she took our daughter back down to Seattle. We both knew our marriage wasn’t workin’ out, but she said she’d wait for me…only she didn’t.” He counted off on his fingers. “I checked the boarding house where she’d lived. They said she’d gone down south with a new friend she’d met named Bethany Jones. I met the woman down at her family’s ranch. She said Mattie never made it down that far. Supposedly she thought I was dead and took off with an old childhood friend she ran into—some bloke I’d never heard of—while they were taking a break from their journey here in San Francisco. I’ve had Pinkerton’s men on it for years. Every time they find a missing person, every time they find a woman’s body…” his voice hitched. “You don’t know what it’s like, not knowing where your little girl is, whether she’s safe or has enough to eat, or…” He stopped, took another swig of beer. Pulled himself together. Finally he looked up at Will. “So you know that saying ‘between a rock and a hard place’? Well, that’s precisely where the fuck I am.”
“So, I take it Lia doesn’t know any of this.”
Gus shook his head. “No. And I can’t bear to tell her.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Because there’s no way in hell a woman like her is going to stick with a man who can’t give her everything, including a ring on her finger. And I can’t give her that ring because I can’t find my goddamn wife to get a divorce from her—that’s why not.”
Will straightened in his chair and pulled out a small notebook and pencil from the inner pocket of his jacket. “What's the name of that rooming house?”
“The Empire. Run by an old biddy named Partridge, I think. Yeah, Eugenia Partridge. Why?”
“I’m headed up to Seattle to seal that deal with Rochester. If I have time, maybe I’ll poke around. See what I can find out.” He shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Gus shook his head. “No point in it. If the Pinkertons couldn’t find any leads, I doubt you will.” He rose from the table and reached for his wallet. “But thanks all the same. I appreciate it.”
Will stayed Gus’s hand. “I’ll get this,” he said, pulling out his own billfold. “But, Gus?”
“Yeah?”
“You know you gotta tell her.”
Gus nodded and heaved a sigh. “And that, Dr. Firestone, is why I’ve wanted to punch the hell out of something all week.”
Up in Seattle two days later, Will finished his business with Gerald Rochester, the president of Western Container. He’d negotiated and signed a multi-year contract with Rochester’s company to provide the containers for Pacific Global Shipping. It hadn’t hurt that Gerald was a second cousin once removed.
With time to kill before catching the southbound train, Will inquired at the station about the Empire Rooming House and found it was within walking distance. As usual for such places, it was quiet in the middle of the day. He knocked on the door and a woman who looked to be about his age answered. A little boy, maybe five or six, hid behind her skirt and sucked his thumb.
“Hello, ma’am? I’m looking for a…” He looked down at the scrap of paper. “… Mrs. Eugenia Partridge. Would she be in by any chance?”
“No, sir, M
rs. Partridge doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Oh, well, then might I speak to the current proprietor?”
“That would be me, sir.” She smiled. “Well, me and the Bank of Seattle. I bought Mrs. Partridge out two years ago. Please, come in.” She opened the door wide and bent down to talk to her son. “Go on, Tommy, it’s all right. This nice man is just here to talk to Mommy.” She gestured for Will to have a seat in the front parlor. He looked around the room. It was small but tidy and homey. The lady obviously took pride in her business establishment.
“Thank you, Mrs.…”
The woman reached up to primp her bun in the automatic way all women had of subconsciously keeping track of their appearance. “Mrs. Hipwell, at your service.”
Will smiled at the sign of deference. Why people looked at him and felt they needed to tap their metaphorical hats to him was a mystery. He adjusted his spectacles.
“Mrs. Hipwell, I wonder if you were here about, oh, six and a half years ago. Fall of ’96 it would have been.”
“Yes, I lived here then. Little Tommy here was still in swaddling clothes.” She looked fondly at her boy, who seemed small for his age. Will wanted to tell him, “Don’t worry chap, it’ll get better.”
“Good. Good. Then I wonder if you remember another resident around that time, a Mrs. Wolff. She had a little girl a year or two older than your son. Her name was Annabelle.”
“Why I surely do,” Mrs. Hipwell said. “That Mrs. Wolff was such a pretty lady, and little Annabelle too. Why, we all took a fancy to them. I had to work a lot of the time, but Bethany Jones—she lived next door with her brother—they was always doing stuff together. That young man sure did take a fancy to Mattie Wolff. Too bad she was already married.”
Warning bells started pinging in Will’s head. Gus had told Will about confronting the woman, Bethany, down on her ranch, but he’d never mentioned a word about a brother.
“What happened to Mattie and her daughter? Do you recall?”
“Yes. She and Annabelle went along with Bethany and Nathan—he was the brother—down to the family ranch someplace.” She shook her head “I remember she was right sad, thinkin’ her husband must have been killed north.”
“So I take it you never heard from her after that?”
The woman had a puzzled look on her face. “No, sir, I didn’t. I don’t believe Mrs. Partridge did neither. May I ask what you’d be wanting Mrs. Wolff for? You don’t have more bad news for her, I hope.”
Will smiled. “Oh no, ma’am. Quite the contrary. I think Mrs. Wolff will soon be getting some very good news.” He stood up to leave, which prompted the landlady to rise as well. “Well, Mrs. Hipwell, I thank you for your time.” He bent down to meet little Tommy, who was back to clutching his mama’s skirts. “You be good to your mama, Master Thomas,” he said. “Grow up to be a fine young man and make her proud.” He left Mrs. Hipwell with a beautiful smile on her face.
On his way down the front steps of the rooming house, Will made a mental note to have Hansen quietly check on the whereabouts of Bethany Jones’s brother and his family situation; no sense getting Gus’s hopes up if that turned out to be a dead end.
He stopped by a sidewalk vendor and purchased a bag of hot roasted peanuts. It took great skill to toss them up and catch them in one’s mouth every time; he definitely needed practice. With still an hour to go before his departure, he decided to pay a visit to the Second Avenue branch of the Bank of Seattle. When he emerged thirty minutes later, Mrs. Hipwell was now the owner, outright, of the Empire Rooming House. She’d be surprised as hell the next time she tried to make a mortgage payment, of course, and she’d never know her benefactor, but let’s face it, that’s what made having loads of money so much fun.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
It was one of the few occasions Lia had ever indulged herself and slept late into the morning. A week had passed since their dinner at the Palace Hotel, and she and Gus had shared every possible moment together, including last night, which they’d spent at her cottage. Still no talk of love and a possible future together, but she knew it was only a matter of time. The way Gus treated her, the myriad ways in which he expressed his love for her other than in words, left no doubt in her mind that eventually he would get past whatever kept him silent and declare his love for her.
After a rigorous night of making love, she had kissed Gus goodbye very early in the morning before falling back asleep; he unfortunately was committed to attending a series of meetings all day. Their plan was set, however. The mural she’d created for him was finished and that evening, after he returned, she would formally unveil it for him. She believed him that he hadn’t peeked at it, and she felt in her soul that he’d understand the meaning of what she’d painted, and love it.
As a result, by the time she’d read and absorbed the article on page two of the San Francisco Call, someone was already knocking on her door.
The headline read: “Scandalous Painter’s Latest Conquest: Married Tycoon.” The “scandalous painter” was Amelia Bennett Powell, now known, because of her past misdeeds, as “Amelia Starling.” The fallen woman, in short, was her.
Lia had trouble breathing as she read a rehash of her abandonment of George and their child, and of her adultery with Sandy. Although it was old news, it still sliced her wound wide open. But that was nothing compared to the news about Gus.
August Wilkerson Wolff, it turns out, was still married in the eyes of the law. He had a wife, Matilda Lamont Wolff, and a little girl by the name of Annabelle. There was even a picture of Mattie, the same tintype that she’d seen in his house.
But where was Annabelle and why didn’t he get to see her, especially since he and his wife were still married? With all his money, it didn’t make sense; surely he could have hammered out a deal to see his daughter whenever he wanted to.
Unless he didn’t want to.
The thought made her sick to her stomach.
The insistent knocking finally penetrated her thoughts. “Who’s there?” she called out.
“It’s Sandy. We’re only a few minutes ahead of the horde. Let us in.”
Lia opened the door and both Sandy and Roger swept in. Sandy glanced at the newspaper in Lia’s hand and nodded to Roger before gently steering her to the sun room at the rear of the house. He sat her down on the couch and took her hands in his. “We’ve got to keep our story straight,” he said. “We will insist that we are distant cousins and dear friends, and that’s all there is to it.”
Lia laughed harshly. “That is all there is to it, except for the cousin part. Oh Sandy, how could this happen? It’s New York all over again. And Gus—” Her voice broke.
“You didn’t know he was still married?”
“No! He rarely talked about his family, so I assumed…”
Sandy squeezed her hand. “Wait. So did he tell you he was divorced or not?”
Lia frowned. He had told her he was divorced, hadn’t he? She thought back to the conversation they’d had at the Cliff House. He’d said his wife couldn’t handle life up north, and so they…“were no longer together.” That’s what he’d said. He hadn’t mentioned being divorced. Not once.
Lia looked up at Sandy and slowly shook her head. “Now that I think about it, he never did. And I could tell talking about his ex-wife and daughter made him sad, so I rarely brought them up. Now it all makes sense.”
“Well, it’s a lie of omission, especially if he’s made you any promises…” He looked at Lia. “He has made promises, hasn’t he?”
Lia’s eyes welled with tears as she shook her head. “I guess I was too busy enjoying each day to worry about the tomorrows.”
A knock at the door caused both of them to jump. They heard the door open and Roger speaking to someone.
“Roger is now our ‘official family spokesperson.’ I told him to give out the party line and then shoo any reporters away.”
Over the next few hours the telephone rang several times and a half dozen repo
rters knocked on the door, most accompanied by photographers, all wanting a glimpse of the city’s latest femme fatale. Lia was grateful that Roger ran interference with the public while she and Sandy kept to the back of the house.
“The story will die down in a day or so,” Sandy reassured her. “Like all cities, this place is always looking for the next scandal, you know that.”
Lia smiled wanly as the tears continued to fall silently down her cheeks. She loved him for trying to put a good face on matters, but they both knew the scandal was the least of it. New York had taught them they could survive that. It was the loss of innocence about her relationship with Gus that truly caused the pain. He hadn’t lied, but he hadn’t told the truth, either. It would never be the same between them, and that realization was almost unbearable.
Shortly after lunch they heard one more knock on the door. Roger answered it and exchanged heated words with whomever had shown up. A few minutes later Roger came to the sun room. “I’m sorry, but he’s been calling all morning,” he said. He turned to let Gus pass by him into the room.
“Lia, I—”
Sandy rose from the settee. “About time you got here,” he said blandly. “Come on, Roger, our work here is done.” He took his partner by the arm. “I’ll be in touch, darling,” he told Lia, glancing at Gus on his way out.
“Sandy, wait!” Lia jumped up from the sofa and followed him to the front parlor. The last person she wanted to be with right now was standing right in front of her, his eyes boring into hers.
“Lia, you need to work this out,” Sandy said quietly. “And the two of you need to do it alone.” Sandy nodded to Gus before shutting the door.
There was a moment of stunned silence before Gus started in. “Lia, you’ve got to believe me—”
The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove Page 21