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the center of attention.
Still depressed and mourning Hank, Maggie was barely
able to maintain small talk with her dinner companions.
When dessert arrived, she excused herself saying she was not
feeling well. Believing the other guests would think poorly of
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her if she did not accompany her daughter, Charlotte offered
her regrets and returned to the family’s cabin with Maggie;
however they both insisted Lance continue to enjoy the eve-
ning without them.
The group moved to the Grand Salon for more drinks,
dancing and conversation until the early hours of the next
day. At the end of the evening, Lance, ever the gentleman,
escorted Belle to her cabin. Hours of chaste conversation and
polite dancing would not satiate Belle’s appetite for the young
man, or Lance’s curiosity about Belle.
“You’re not a virgin, are you?” Belle asked, as soon as they
were inside her cabin.
“No Belle, I’m not,” he said, trying to keep his voice even.
“Not that it would be a problem,” she said, setting her purse
on a table, “I am an excellent teacher.”
“And I have always been a gifted student,” Lance said, as
he watched Bel e slowly take down her hair. Lance reached out
tentatively touching her long fawn-colored locks. Belle leaned
her head against his hand, her eyes on him.
“I like gifted students. Please make yourself comfortable,”
she said indicating the bed that dominated the stateroom, “I’ll
be with you in minutes.” She kissed the palm of his hand, turned
him around, and pushed him toward the bed.
Lance’s mind was racing; he was not sure what to do. Wait
for her to return? Undress and climb into her bed? Lay on top of
the bed dressed or in some degree of undress or, naked? When
Belle opened the bathroom door a few minutes later, Lance
was sitting, fully clothed, in a chair next to her bed. Belle was
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naked, her long hair cascading over her breasts. She laughed
as she approached him.
“Well, you don’t look very comfortable.”
“I wasn’t sure what you meant. I did not want to be pre-
sumptuous,” he stammered.
“Presume. Please,” she said, as she helped him remove
his jacket, starched collar and tie. She unbuttoned his shirt,
revealing his toned, hairless chest. She ran her fingers across
his smooth skin and sighed at the beauty of his youth. Lance
needed no further encouragement, it took him mere seconds
to remove the rest of his clothing and join Belle in her bed.
“I’d like us to enjoy each other,” Belle said as she pulled
Lance close. She drew in a long breath when her hand felt how
glorious he was. “I want us to learn how to give each other
pleasure,” she whispered, knowing this would not be the last
time they would be together. She guided him to places that
excited her and reciprocated by exploring his body in ways that,
she knew from her experience, he would appreciate.
Belle was not one of the shy, teenage southern belles with
whom Lance had previously explored sex. She was confident
and passionate, slowing him when his exuberance confirmed
his sexual inexperience. Lance enthusiastically complied with
her every request. He realized that sex with a woman was
nothing like the blind, hurried, probing that boys and girls
attempted to relieve their sexual tension. Surely, this was not the same function, he thought. If this is sex, then I am a virgin.
After she exhausted him, Belle let Lance sleep until the
sun began to glow at the edge of the horizon. With a deep and
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full kiss that was yet another revelation to him, she woke him
and whispered, “You must leave before we give the gossips
more to talk about.”
Lance pul ed Bel e close, invited by her open dressing gown.
Belle watched him as he explored her with his hands and his
eyes. She enjoyed the pleasure Lance took in her body. Belle
was about to turn fifty, though she would only admit to being
a decade younger and could easily pass for that. He made her
feel young, something she longed to experience again. We can
give each other something, Belle thought. He needs my knowledge and experience, and I need his youthful admiration.
“There is so much I’d like to show you, teach you,” Belle
told Lance, as she helped him dress.
“And so much I am eager to learn,” Lance assured her. He
would be hers for the summer, she decided.
“We will dine in my cabin tonight, we will be each other’s
dessert,” she said as she turned him out into the hall and closed
her cabin door.
One of the stewards startled Lance with a pat on the back;
he hadn’t noticed the man approaching in the narrow hall.
What had happened to him in the last few hours? For the
first time since the night his father died, he had not thought
about who he was, where he came from or what he’d lost. He
did not want to break the spell Belle had cast; he wanted this
excitement and anticipation to last beyond a few hours. He
wanted something to look forward to instead of looking back
with regret on what had been his life.
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Lance walked out on to the deck to watch the sun reveal
itself. The air was damp, and he could taste the salt of the sea
in the mist. He sat down on a deck chair and a steward hurried
over to offer him a blanket to stave off the chill of the brisk
morning. Lance refused; he could not feel the cold, just the
warmth, the heat, the fire that was Belle da Costa Greene.
Looking out across the water to the horizon, Lance thought
he saw lights in the distance.
“How long before we dock?” he asked the steward.
“Oh sir, we have another three full days at sea. In a hurry,
are you?” he asked.
“Not at all,” Lance answered. “I want this journey to
last forever.”
(IV)
Charlotte and Maggie were in the onboard apartment’s salon
when Lance returned that morning. Maggie lay on the sofa with
a blanket covering her. She chose to ignore the fact that her son
had not slept in his own bed the night before. Charlotte took
note and decided to take the matter up with Lance later.
“Come son,” Maggie said, patting the sofa next to her.
“Sit with me. Did you go dancing after dinner? When your
father would take me out we would always go where they had
dancing. He was a wonderful dancer, are you like your father?”
Her voice caught in her throat and her eyes glistened with tears.
Lance quickly moved to another topic, “You know me,
Momma, I’m a talker. I spent most of the evening with Walter
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Chrysler. His father is one of the most powerful men in the
country, owns a car company in Michigan, but they’re mov-
ing the
headquarters to New York, to what will be the tallest
building in the world. Walter is going to manage the entire
building for his father.”
“He seems rather young for a job like that,” Charlotte
chimed in.
“He just graduated from Dartmouth, and he’s going to Paris
to buy art and have some fun before he starts work. He’s invited
me to spend some time with him in Paris and then visit him in
New York. Everyone at the table last night is on a buying trip.
Miss Guggenheim, she’s from New York, collects modern art,
and Belle, she’s buying manuscripts for the Morgan Library.”
“So it’s Belle now?” Charlotte asked. Without responding,
Lance got up and began grazing on the remnants of Charlotte
and Maggie’s breakfast service.
“I’m starving,” he said, then continued to talk about his
evening with Belle’s friends.
Maggie watched her son, his enthusiasm, the way he could
not stay seated when he spoke, how these new people intrigued
him. He reminded her so much of Hank. She missed her husband,
and the more she thought about what he did and the reasons for
his deception, the less she blamed him. She no longer cared what
the rest of the world thought about her husband, or her marriage.
Hank had been a wonderful husband, and a good and generous
man to her family, the people who worked for him and the com-
munity they lived in. He had given her an amazing son that they
both adored. Tears spil ed onto Maggie’s cheeks in a steady stream.
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“Momma, Momma, you’ve got to stop this,” Lance said,
wishing he knew how to help her heal.
“These are tears of joy, son,” a half-truth. “I am so happy
that you’ve found new friends. We could all use a distraction.
I’m just happy for you, that’s all.”
Charlotte, watching from the other side of the salon, said,
“Your Momma’s tired Lance—you can fill her head with more
tales later.”
Lance took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dried
his mother’s tears, then put his arms around her and planted a
kiss on her cheek before heading off to his stateroom.
“He looks so much like his father,” Maggie said as she
watched him close the door.
“Don’t start, Margaret,” Charlotte warned. Maggie buried her
face in the blanket to muffle her sobs. “It has been four months
now. You need to forget Hank. He’s gone, and I say good riddance.”
“He was my life,” Maggie said.
“I warned you, that first night he showed up on our porch
like a stray dog. I warned you that he was not our kind.”
“I don’t care what you think anymore. I can’t hate my
husband just because he was a Negro. My son is a Negro too
and I will never forsake my son. Momma, why did you teach
me to be prejudiced?”
“I never taught you to be prejudiced,” Charlotte said, sur-
prised by her daughter’s accusation.
“You allowed me to be that way,” Maggie said. “You let
me believe that Negroes were inferior, that because we’re white
we’re better than everyone. But we’re not, are we? It’s because
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of Hank, a Negro, that we have all of this,” she said, looking
at the opulence around them. “It is because of Hank, a Negro,
that I have Lance. Hank was the best thing that ever happened
to me. I don’t care about your rules anymore. I will not look
down on my own son, or his father.”
“They are not my rules,” Charlotte said sharply. “I’m just
forced to live by them, and if you truly love your son, you
will too.”
“I just want my husband back,” Maggie moaned.
“That can’t happen,” Charlotte said impatiently, “So you
had better pull yourself together and make something of the
rest of your life, Margaret.” Charlotte took her daughter’s face
in her hands. “You’re still beautiful and young enough to marry
again. If you keep the secret the Hank kept, you can give Lance
a father and you’ll find a husband worthy of both of you, but
only if you play by the rules. Nothing but pain can come from
Hank’s confession, can’t you see that?”
Maggie pushed her mother away and buried her face in her
hands. She had spent half of her life with Hank, four months
wasn’t enough time to even begin to forget him. She thought
about what Hank would have wanted. He always wanted me to
be happy, she thought, remembering that the last thing he said was that he loved her. She could carry that love in her heart
and still carry on. A few minutes later, when she raised her
head, she knew what she had to do.
“Momma, for Lance and for you, I will keep our secret. I
will play by your rules.”
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(V)
On the fourth day of the voyage, the choppy seas and cool,
rainy weather kept most passengers in their cabins. Charlotte
used the time to consider her next move. She thought about
Belle Greene’s behavior at dinner the previous evening—her
attraction to Lance was obvious. Charlotte knew from expe-
rience what lust and seduction looked like. When Lance did
not return to his bed last night, she was certain Belle had
acted on her fascination. Bel e Greene and Lance shared a lot
more than an interest in art, she fumed. Being a pragmatist and an opportunist, Charlotte considered the value in Lance
spending time with Belle and her friends. These were people
she wanted her family to befriend—the renowned, wealthy
and cultural elite. If Belle had bedded her grandson, there was
not much she could do about it, except use it to her family’s
advantage.
After their three months in New York, Charlotte realized
it was more difficult than she imagined to integrate New York
society at the same level she enjoyed in Richmond. There she
had successfully married her way into society. While money
could call attention to them, it was not enough to gain entrance
to society on Bel e Greene’s level in New York or Europe. High
society was still paternalistic—the only way in was on the arm
of a husband or a father and they had neither method of access.
If Belle Greene could provide Lance with introductions and
affiliations, the family could do more than spend their money to
glimpse high society, they could join it. Yes, Charlotte thought, 162
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perhaps she could exploit Bel e Greene’s secrets and her salacious
interest in Lance to her family’s benefit.
•
“Where were you last night?” Charlotte asked Lance, as
he was leaving the apartment later that morning.
“Charlotte, I am past the age of consent and as I told you
yesterday, I want you to stay out of my business. Excuse me, I’m
meeting Walter Chrysler for coffee,” he said attempting to leave.
“Lance,” she said grabbing his sleeve, “we need to talk
about you a
nd Belle Greene.”
“I will not discuss her with you, Charlotte,” he said pul ing
his arm away. “I can handle my personal relationships without
assistance from you.”
If Lance will not discuss this relationship with me, the lady
involved might be more receptive, Charlotte thought after Lance left. She rang for the steward and asked him to locate Miss
Greene. When he reported that she was alone in the First
Class passengers’ library, Charlotte dressed quickly and went
to find Belle Greene. •
Without an invitation, Charlotte sat down next to Belle.
“It was very gracious of you to invite us to dinner last eve-
ning. My daughter, grandson and I had a delightful time with
your other guests. I hope you will forgive Margaret and me
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for departing early. Since the death of her husband, Margaret
is rather frail.”
Bel e looked up from her reading, smiled, nodded graciously
then returned to her book. Indifferent to Belle’s desire for sol-
itude, Charlotte continued, “Is it true that you are originally
from Richmond, Virginia?”
Belle looked up from her book to see Charlotte waiting
for her response. “Why yes, Mrs. Bennett, by birth and by
breeding.”
“I am originally from a prominent Richmond family
myself. Perhaps our families are acquainted with one another,”
Charlotte said.
Belle closed her book and addressed her intruder. “I don’t
recall anyone in my family mentioning the Bennett name.”
“Nor do I recall my family ever mentioning your family
name; Greene, with an ’e,’ is it? Is your Richmond connection
through your mother or your father?”
“My mother. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to get
back to my reading,” Belle said.
“What was your mother’s maiden name? Perhaps we knew
her by that name?” Charlotte continued.
“Mrs. Bennett, why is my genealogy of such interest to
you?” Belle asked.
“I just find it fascinating that both of us are from Richmond.
It’s a very small, some say incestuous, social circle. It would
be nearly impossible for our families not to have known each
other.” Charlotte paused, and then rose to her feet. “I will let
you get back to your reading. My intention was not to disturb
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you, simply to thank you for your generosity. I’m planning to