Parlor Games: A Novel Part 2

The allowance you so kindly provided is holding up well, as I am being very careful with my expenses. But I would like to take a course in business. It would occupy my time and remind me of you. Just think: We could be a modern couple. I could manage the books for your business, and you could spend your time designing furniture. I think about you every minute of every day, my dearest, All my love, May.

Some might consider books and courses an unwarranted extravagance, especially since I could hardly afford my hotel room. But I had to prepare for my future. In order to pay for an education and stretch my allowance, I moved from the Howard Hotel to a room on South Wabash-a modest room with a narrow bed and mismatched chair and vanity. Thank goodness, Mrs. Farnsworth provided breakfast, a generous fare that included hard-boiled eggs, bacon, and biscuits or bread. Each morning, I slipped an egg into my pocket, and that sufficed for lunch as I explored the city and its neighborhoods.

One afternoon, I ventured outside the downtown district, west along Van Buren, and then wove back and forth among the streets running perpendicular to it. Along one stretch, crowded-in hovels teemed with occupants-ill-dressed women and uncouth children housed in congested quarters. Ropes strung with laundry crisscrossed between the buildings, and weeds sprouted in the alleys on narrow patches of packed earth that had somehow escaped trampling by unruly youngsters.

Farther along, I came upon a strip of blocky, unadorned factories with frosted-gla.s.s windows and large-lettered signs spanning their entrances-Storm and King Wholesale Dry Goods, McMa.n.u.s Clothiers, and Emery Shoe Company. Alongside the shoe factory, two coal heavers in grimy overalls shoveled coal from a wagon into a chute, and a cloud of coal dust rose up and wafted in my direction. I bustled along, and as I pa.s.sed in front of the company's entrance, a woman stormed out the door, nearly running into me. Startled, she muttered some strange phrase, trained her eye on the sidewalk, and rushed past me. I'd only had time to observe her unkempt black hair and red-rimmed eyes. Had she lost her job? Did an ailing mother need her at home? I turned to watch her hurry away. She kept her head bent downward, as if ashamed to show her face, and her dress flopped lazily about her legs, revealing the flick and shift of b.u.t.tocks and bulge of each calf: The poor thing wore no petticoat.

A vexing mix of sympathy and scorn welled up in me-such coa.r.s.e, bedraggled creatures lodged in this neighborhood, the likes of which never frequented the Boston Store. It seemed Chicago had many sides: the prosperous business-and-shopping district populated by the wealthy and successful; the outlying areas with their factories and poor foreign workers; and the sinful Levee District.

To which did I belong, with my undersized bustle and shoes as wrinkled as an old fisherman's face? A most unsettling notion swept over me: Was it possible the cultured gentlemen I'd been trying to attract took me for a fraud?

I hurried back to my room, brushed off my clothes, and cleansed my face and hands of any coal dust or dirt that might have settled on me. Standing before the flaking mirror over my washing bowl, I studied myself. Mine was not an unpleasant face, a near-perfect oval, with a dainty set of lips and soft-sloped nose. Perhaps my clothes were not up-to-the-minute, but I had other gifts. I would not succ.u.mb to the self-abas.e.m.e.nt of a haggard factory worker or low-cla.s.s prost.i.tute. Even if I did not yet measure up to the city's modern styles, I could comport myself with the pride of a patrician, as if I'd chosen to conceal my wealth for reasons of safety and discretion.

Still, I worried I had miscalculated: All the care I took combing and fashioning my thick chestnut hair and the forethought I put into selecting just the right restaurants could not overcome the dated design of my dresses or my lack of acquaintance with Chicago's high society. My future depended on the success of my plan, and it appeared to be failing. Furthermore, I couldn't manage indefinitely on Robby's allowance, especially in view of his first correspondence to me.

July 8, 1887.

My dearest May, I was so relieved to receive your letter. I've been anxious about your condition, and I'm miserable without you. You mustn't ever let so much time pa.s.s without writing. You know I worry about you down there in Chicago. And I don't want to hear any of your "I can take care of myself" nonsense. It's a big city, and you've never been to such a place before. You must be careful about who you trust.

I'm sending your allowance and a little extra money for a cla.s.s. I consider it an investment in our future.

You won't like this, but I've decided we must keep this baby. Look at how my poor Uncle James lost his wife and child to the influenza. A baby is a precious thing, and I simply won't allow you to hand ours over like a sack of potatoes.

I propose that I settle my affairs here, persuade Father to loan me the money to start my furniture business, and then come and fetch you in Chicago. We'll get married right away. We can move to Green Bay. Or Milwaukee if you prefer. I've thought it all through. The baby will be born in our new home. n.o.body there or in Menominee will ever know how much time has lapsed between our wedding date and baby's arrival. And we won't be far from Menominee, so you'll be able to visit your mother whenever you wish.

I anxiously await your response, Your loving husband to be, Robby.

Clearly, if I didn't break the engagement off soon, I risked Robby's telling all of Menominee of our betrothal, and I didn't want Paul-or Maman, for that matter-to hear of it. They would only expect me to return to wed one of Menominee's most eligible and wealthy bachelors. Robby's earnestness convinced me all the more of the necessity of forging ahead with the plan I'd already invested many months in.

July 15, 1887.

My darling Robby, You are the most loving man a girl could want. I'm not surprised to hear that you want to keep this baby. But I really must put my foot down when it comes to your plan. I refuse to start our marriage under a cloud of shame. Perhaps you believe the circ.u.mstances of our baby's birth can be kept secret, but I must ask you to think about me. The mother always bears the burden of such scandals. I would be forever known as the woman who allowed herself to be sullied before her wedding. I will not marry you while I am with child. I must think about my future, your future, and, yes, what is best for this baby. Imagine what she would have to endure if our families found out about her birth. Please be reasonable.

Thank you so much for the allowance. I have started my cla.s.s and study every day. I hope to make you proud of me.

Think of me kindly, and with understanding, Your loving wife to be, May.

Dear reader, it vexed me sorely to pretend at this engagement, but my plight was fast becoming desperate. Not only had I not sent any money home, I'd become quite dependent on Robby's allowance. I could not lead him on indefinitely; compa.s.sion and fairness dictated that I break off the engagement sooner rather than later. I redoubled my efforts to meet some gentleman who might, at the very least, extricate me from Robby's benefaction.

To my deep chagrin, I only managed to secure dinners with the sort of men who had no intention of anything beyond amusing themselves for an evening. When one man invited me to a dance hall after dinner, I demurred. Despite his immaculate attire, I did not believe his entreaties. He claimed he could find me employment as a secretary (as if that interested me anyway) and a.s.sist me in securing a pleasant room at a very good price-just the sort of claims one might expect from a pander.

I needed to meet a respectable man, but I had failed to secure a single introduction to Chicago society. And all this time Robby continued to press me.

August 2, 1887.

My dearest May, I know you believe you are doing the right thing, but my plan is quite foolproof, and I refuse to allow you to give up on our baby so easily. I don't give a d.a.m.n about reputation, and I know you don't either. Have you forgotten how we laughed when Sheriff Hersen bought that gaudy house so he and his wife might host fancy dinners? Or how we zoomed along the lakefront on my bicycle last summer with your skirts flying every which way? You don't fool me one bit when you claim to care about what other people think.

Besides, we can start a new life together someplace other than Menominee. I insist you come to your senses. No one's going to know the baby was conceived out of wedlock.

Let's get married as soon as possible. With the baby on the way, we mustn't waste time. All is in order on my end. Father has agreed to fund the furniture business. I can be there to pick you up on a day's notice. What is the address of Mr. and Mrs. Ellwood?

Your loving husband to be, Robby.

A START FOR PAULINE DAVIDSON.

CHICAGO-AUGUST 1887.

August 10, 1887.

Robby my dear, I will not give you the address of Mr. and Mrs. Ellwood. I refuse to take a chance on you doing something foolish. Think about what I have said. Be patient. I promise, my way is better.

I'll write more later.

All my love, May.

I had hoped that a few months apart would have diminished Robby's ardor. But now he actually threatened to come to Chicago. Thank goodness, I'd had the foresight to use general delivery for all my Menominee correspondence, which required long walks three or four days a week to the post office at Dearborn and Adams. And from the first moment I set foot in Chicago, I'd shed the name May Dugas.

I was Pauline Davidson now, frequenting Chicago's finest dining rooms and hotel lobbies, praying to attract the attention of a man who could lift me out of my now precarious financial state. But after two months I'd encountered only traveling drummers, a few overeager mashers, some local businessmen, and a simple-witted resort manager. When Mrs. Farnsworth pressed me on my overdue room and board, I knew I needed to change my strategy. If I failed to fend off Robby's impossible plan or somehow establish myself in Chicago, I would be forced to return to Menominee and, worst of all, admit defeat.

It had become painfully clear that I needed new dresses and a new pair of shoes, which I simply couldn't afford while threatened with removal from my humble room. My funds had run so low that I was reduced to dining out only on the odd occasion that some gentleman invited me, and I did not particularly care for subsisting on boiled eggs and biscuits for days on end.

Perhaps, I thought, employment for a period of time at the Boston Store, or some other such store, would enable me to secure new attire. I had seen shopgirls working on the floor there.

I visited the Boston Store's administrative offices on the sixth floor and asked to see the manager.

The desk clerk looked up from his paper-strewn desk. "May I say what this is regarding?"

I clasped my purse tightly against my abdomen to quiet my rumbling stomach. "I'm inquiring about the possibility of employment."

"Oh, you'll want to see Mr. Jeffries, the a.s.sistant manager," he said, rising. "Let me see if he's in."

The clerk returned and escorted me to Mr. Jeffries's office.

A lanky Mr. Jeffries unfolded himself from behind his desk and stood to greet me. "Welcome, Miss Davidson. Please, have a seat."

I walked to the chair beside his desk, sat, and delicately lifted and positioned my skirt to hide my scuffed shoes from his view.

He perched on his chair and folded his hands on the desk. "You're responding to the clerk advertis.e.m.e.nt?"

"Yes, sir. The position is still open, I trust."

"Well, most likely not for long. What experience do you have?"

"I'm quite familiar with women's wear." I imagined that reporting on Maman's expertise as a dressmaker would not win the day, so I tried my father's favorite gambit-salesmanship. "I worked in a women's clothing shop in Menominee, Michigan."

Mr. Jeffries jerked his head back ever so slightly. "I'm sorry. This position is in draperies and bed sets."

"Oh, I'm sure I could do that as well."

"Of course you could. But we already have several experienced applicants." He rose. "Please don't hesitate to apply in the future, Miss Davidson."

As I closed his office door behind me, the blood emptied from my head. I braced one hand against the wall and clapped the other over my eyes and forehead. Pinp.r.i.c.ks of light exploded before my eyes-from hunger, desperation, annoyance, or all these things. Breathe, I told myself, taking several deep breaths. Looking up, I steadied myself and stepped forward on wobbly legs, my stomach rumbling and growling.

I needed a friend.

I took the elevator down to the main floor and, when the piano player finished "Jeanie with the Light Brown Hair," I marched right up to him. "Sir, I have been meaning to tell you for the longest time how very much I enjoy your music."

"And whom do I have the pleasure of thanking?"

"Pauline Davidson." As I spoke these words, dizziness overtook me. I slouched over the piano seat. "Dear me, I'm afraid I might faint."

That is how I made the acquaintance of Mr. Claude Montcrief, who revived me by fanning sheet music and then kindly invited me to join him for his midday dinner at the Windsor Hotel dining room on Dearborn. As we readied to depart, he reached down and took up a walking stick, a smooth-varnished stick with a coiled dragon carved on its ivory top. We strolled out to State Street. He offered me his arm and I took it, though it was I who steadied him, for a shortened leg left him with a lilting gait. The contrast jarred: At the piano, with his fingers flying over the keys and his torso swaying to the music, he was all elegance and poise. But stand him on his feet and he became an oddity-a cripple in a fancy suit. I almost pitied him.

By the time we reached the Windsor, I had quite forgotten his limp, taken as I was with his report that he read five newspapers each morning, loved nothing more than a leisurely fitting session with his tailor, and had an elderly aunt on the North Side whom he visited every Sunday.

After we ordered, Mr. Montcrief flicked his napkin open and dropped it to his lap. He had a round-cheeked, boyish face, with an upper lip that curled when he smiled, and his eyebrows arched high on his brow, as if he were in a state of perpetual observation. He sported a white bib-fronted shirt and powder-gray frock coat and trousers, all nicely set off by a burgundy silk cravat.

"I've noticed you in the store on several occasions," he said. "You shop, but never buy."

"Prudence dictates against extravagance for one such as me. I'm new to town."

"Where do you hail from?"

"A small town in the Upper Peninsula," I told him. I wanted to trust this man with silver-templed black hair and watchful blue eyes. There was something at once both serious and frivolous about him-like a gay entertainer intent on beguiling. Truth is, his manner put me in mind of Papa. "And you," I asked, "are you a Chicago native?"

He flared his hands, as if to invite me into his bemus.e.m.e.nt. "Hardly anyone here is from Chicago. Perhaps my Michigan town is even smaller than yours. Manistee. Ever heard of it?"

"Why, yes, I have. My family lived not far from there, in Muskegon, for a time."

That led to a round of reminiscence about Michigan summers: lake swimming and his game of gliding under water and snagging his sisters' ankles; my memories of wandering the hills of Menominee with my little brother and foraging wintergreens and strawberries; and our mutual restlessness with small-town life-how he'd left to find someplace more exciting, a place where a piano player might be appreciated, and how I hoped to relieve my poor family's suffering. Lively conversation it was, and all fine accompaniment to my colorful salad of beets and greens and dinner of capon, cranberry relish, and roasted turnips. How easily the food went down, lighting the furnace of my belly and spreading the warmth of contentment to limb and brain. The wine lightened my head, and even after I'd filled my stomach with sufficient food to absorb it, its pleasant glow still tingled my cheeks.

I didn't want dinner to end without learning more about Chicago from him, so over our after-meal coffee I asked, "Do you enjoy your work at the Boston Store?"

"What I enjoy most, after playing the piano, is having money to spend, although the salary at the Boston Store is not overly generous."

"If you don't mind my asking, how do you manage, then? Chicago certainly demands more income than any Michigan village."

He lowered his coffee cup and quietly replaced it on its saucer. "Ah, you've discovered that much during your short stay, I see."

"How could I not?" His company and the dining room's fine decor had put me at ease. This was the kind of life I sought: dining under chandeliers dripping with crystal; folding my hands on lily-white napery; enjoying the delicate touch of thin-edged, blue delft china. And all in the company of a self-a.s.sured man-about-town.

"The Boston Store is just something I do for pleasure-and a little extra income. My primary employment is an evening job. At the piano, of course." He twisted his napkin into a tight twirl and nestled it beside his plate. "And you, how do you manage?"

"In truth, not well. My mother is ailing; I should like to send her money to convalesce at a sanitarium." It was a white lie, but I needed more than just a friend: I needed a sympathetic friend. "But it is a struggle simply supporting myself."

"A beautiful young lady such as yourself need not struggle."

"You're too kind."

"On the contrary. I'm only being honest."

"When I first arrived I thought I might easily manage on my own. But my efforts have borne no fruit."

"Perhaps you would be interested in hearing more about my evening employment?"

"If you believe I may benefit from the knowledge."

"I'm the piano player at Miss Carrie Watson's."

"A private residence?"

"Much more than that. A bordello, my dear, of the highest reputation in all of Chicago."

I cast my eyes downward. He had announced it with such bravado, such careless ease, that it took my breath-and words-away. This man needed no pity. He possessed the politician's knack for disarming with brash honesty.

"Forgive me, Miss Davidson, if I have offended you. We need say no more of it."

I lifted my face. "Not at all. I appreciate your candor."

"The city is hard on young ladies. I should hate to see it swallow you up."