Parlor Games: A Novel Part 9

True to form, he said, "Don't count on me sending you any money."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Like that fool Rob Jacobsen did."

Maman's eyes darted from me to Paul. "Robby Jacobsen? What's he got to do with this?"

"Maybe May will explain that for you," said Paul.

I cleared my throat. "Robby was under the mistaken impression that we were to be engaged, and that if he kept me in an allowance I would become his wife."

"That's not how I heard it," said Paul.

"You can listen to rumors from people who don't know my personal affairs, or you can believe me."

"Oh, don't go, May," Maman said. "You belong here, with your family."

"I don't want you going, either," said Gene. "It's boring when you're not here."

I wasn't surprised to hear this from an eleven-year-old whose older brother harangued him endlessly about his lessons and ch.o.r.es, though I wished he hadn't said it in front of Paul, who crossed his legs, leaned back in his chair, and said to Gene, "It's probably just as well. Give you more time to do your lessons."

Maman said, "But Portland is so far away."

I reached for her hand. "But how can I help you in Menominee? It simply doesn't afford the opportunities of a larger city."

Maman pulled her hand away. "I'd rather have stayed in the old house with you than in this new house without you."

"Oh, Maman, I'll visit. I promise."

"How can you visit from way out there?"

"Just let her go," said Paul. "She'll do whatever she d.a.m.n well pleases anyway."

I a.s.sured all of them, even Paul, that I would hold them close to my heart, write often, and always consider their well-being.

Before I left, I took Maman aside and showed her my new diamond necklace. "You mustn't tell anyone about it. It's one of the secret spoils of my broken engagement."

She couldn't resist trying it on. And then she hugged me. "My goodness, May, I guess you do know how to take care of yourself."

THE TRIAL.

THE VALUE OF A DOLLAR.

MENOMINEE-JANUARY 24, 1917

When Alvah Sawyer called Frank back to the stand on day three of the trial, I prepared myself for more shilly-shallying.

"Miss Shaver, we haven't talked much about you."

Frank folded her hands in her lap, pretending at a humility we both knew was altogether alien to her. "No, sir."

"Can you tell us about your parents and your upbringing?"

"I was born in Pittsburgh and am an only child. My father was in property development, and my mother's father was a banker. They ran in circles that hosted dinners for well-off families and served lovely feasts and French wines. You could say I grew up surrounded by generous and wealthy families."

I noticed Frank was taking pains to put on the proper parlance of her upbringing, which she rarely used in the parlors or dining halls, to say nothing of the streets, of Menominee.

"And did you have to worry about money when you were growing up?"

"Oh, no, I had everything I could want. My parents didn't show off their wealth, but I knew there was plenty of money and that someday I'd inherit it."

"So you believed money would never be a problem for you?"

"That's correct."

"You thought it was a bottomless pit, right?"

"Yes, I always thought there'd be money whenever I needed it."

"Did your family pay for your education?"

"Yes, after I graduated from the University of Pennsylvania they paid for my law schooling at the University of Michigan."

"And they helped you set up your practice in the Chicago area?"

"They helped me buy a home in Highland Park and sent me a three-thousand-dollar allowance until I started making a respectable income from my practice."

Where, I wondered, was she going with this-besides showing she could play Little Miss Proper and Innocent? Perhaps Sawyer had encouraged her to strike a virtuous demeanor.

"So there was never any question that money was there for you if you needed it?"

"No question whatsoever."

"Would it be correct to say that until the events of the last few years you didn't understand the value of a dollar and thought there was no limit to your family's resources?"

"Yes, that would be accurate."

I couldn't keep my jaw from dropping. This was her strategy? To claim that she didn't know the value of a dollar? That she believed her supply of money was unlimited? I stared at Frank; when she glanced my way, I rolled my eyes.

At the judge's urging, the pace picked up in the afternoon. Still, Frank's attorney explained that he was unlikely to complete his direct examination of her by the end of the day.

"Miss Shaver," began Sawyer, "you traveled with the Baroness to Hot Springs, Arkansas, early in 1913, correct?"

"Yes."

"And this was soon after your reconciliation with her?"

"Yes."

"And how did the Baroness impress you on this trip?"

"She was decked out in jewelry and a dress fit for a queen."

"Can you describe all this for us?"

"She wore a yellow-diamond necklace that she said was worth a hundred thousand dollars and a ring with two pear-shaped diamonds worth eight thousand. Her dress was royal blue with fancy gold filament woven into the front piece. And Tokyo's collar was made of platinum and lined with an unG.o.dly number of diamonds."

"Who's Tokyo?"

"Her French bulldog."

The onlookers chuckled in amus.e.m.e.nt at Tokyo's introduction into the proceedings. Even I was grateful for the touch of levity.

"How many diamonds were in the collar?"

"More than I could count-six hundred and eighty-eight, according to May. She said she'd been offered twelve thousand dollars for the largest one."

"Did she make a point of telling you the value of these things?"

"She played coy at first, but, once I commented, she rattled off a string of high numbers that would've made anybody's head spin."

"And what conclusions did you draw about the Baroness's financial status at the time?"

"What she probably wanted me to conclude-that she was as wealthy as King Midas."

"And did this impression have any bearing on how you conducted your financial affairs with the Baroness?"

"It sure did. I a.s.sumed she didn't need my money, except for short-term use, and that she'd return everything she borrowed and be as generous with me as I'd been with her."

"She led you to believe your friendship was a permanent and secure one, didn't she?"

"Yes."

I couldn't see what in the world Frank's wishes for a permanent friendship had to do with her financial claims, but since the judge called for a brief recess at that point, Sawyer had little opportunity to pursue the matter.

THE WILDS OF PORTLAND.

PORTLAND, OREGON-DECEMBER 1888NOVEMBER 1889

In December of 1888, I took the train to Portland and arrived to find a city redolent of mud, fresh mist, and the tang of fresh-sawed timber. During my stay at Carrie Watson's, one of the girls had mentioned she'd spent a year at a reputable establishment in Portland run by Emma Black. So upon my arrival I presented myself to Miss Black, who kindly offered me a position, thus a.s.suring me of a healthy income and a comfortable vantage point for learning the lay of the land in my new city.

Having no idea how long I might reside at Emma Black's, I set about cultivating my relations with the other girls. One shapely twenty-eight-year-old, Sue Marie Littleton, appeared especially receptive to my sisterly overtures. She was uncommonly tall, a commanding five nine, with almond-shaped eyes, a wide, expressive mouth, and a statuesque neck. She barely bothered to tame her fox-red hair, securing the ma.s.s of it at the back of her head and leaving stray strands dangling deliciously about her temples, ears, and neck. Whenever I spied her entertaining in the parlor, be it with other girls or some of the gentlemen, she gamely invited me to join the group, smiling and regaling all of us with the self-a.s.sured presence of the actress she had formerly been.

One April day, when the sun had consented to show its bright face in Portland, I invited her for a walk. As we strolled down Broadway, Sue Marie tilted her hat to shade her face from the sun's rays. Looking to me, she said, "Such a dainty parasol."

"I purchased it in Chicago."

"Your wardrobe could turn a princess green," she said, lacing the words with her homey Kentucky curl. "Chicago must have gone down easy with you."

"It's a fine city. I hated leaving it."

"Why did you leave?"

"Why else? Heartbreak."

Sue Marie cackled. "Not your heart?"

"A young man broke off an engagement with me. I couldn't bear the city after that."

"Oh, do tell the story."

I liked Sue Marie, I truly did, and I sensed that we had much in common, but I wasn't ready to bare my soul. "It's not terribly interesting. And what about you? I've often wondered why you gave up the stage."

"That was ages ago."

"I don't doubt you have great talent."

"Ah," she said, tossing her head to the side, "you'd be right at home on the stage yourself."

I twirled my parasol. "I prefer to act on the stage of life."