Parlor Games (34 page)

All my love
,

Rudolph

GENE AND FRANK
CHICAGO AND PITTSBURGH—1902

I
begged my husband’s indulgence—I couldn’t possibly be home for Christmas—and informed him I’d embarked on a thoroughgoing remodeling of the Arkansas resort, a project that sorely required my supervision. And since Rudolph was incapable of understanding the sort of financial woes burdening my family, I explained that the situation required delicate handling to avoid wounding anyone’s pride, at least not Maman’s and Paul’s.

As for Gene, it wasn’t his pride that concerned me but, rather, his ability to oversee the remodeling and effectively manage the business. Thus, I provided detailed instructions, required frequent reports from him, and meted out funds for the expenses in small lots.

Five months after Gene traveled to Arkansas and undertook the remodeling, a number of important decisions had cropped up, and I suggested we meet in person to discuss them. I chose Chicago, because Frank and I had been corresponding regularly and she’d invited me to visit. When I mentioned having my brother join us, she said she’d love to meet him.

Such delight I took in my return to Chicago, relishing the carriage ride from the train station through Chicago’s gleaming downtown: its upright citizens bustling about their business in springtime attire; buds plumping out on the trees; avenues lined with potted pansies and violets; and here and there a shiny new automobile zipping around the horse-drawn carriages. Not even the knowledge that Dougherty resided here dampened my spirits—after all, I was now a baroness living a respectable life.

Inviting though the evening’s sun-warmed streets and brick buildings were, Gene and I found ourselves exhausted from our travels and business discussions, so, our first night in town, we asked Frank to meet us for dinner in the hotel’s dining room.

“You couldn’t have picked a more modern hotel,” Frank said as the maître d’ escorted us to our table. (I’d insisted Frank take a room—at my expense, of course—at our hotel, the Auditorium Annex, so that we’d have more time to visit.) “It was built for the Columbian Exposition.”

Gene pushed Frank’s chair in for her and circled his glance around the high, gilded ceiling. “And to think May wants me to turn a broken-down Arkansas firetrap into this.”

Frank and Gene had a giggle at my expense.

“Only an approximation,” I said. “It’s a rather different clientele.”

Frank, who wore a long-sleeved, burgundy dress that showed off her buxom build, turned to Gene. “How do you find Arkansas?”

“Scorching hot already,” Gene said. He caught the eye of a nearby waiter before continuing. “Would you believe it?”

“I found it quite pleasant into fall,” I said.

Frank smiled at me. “I suppose it’s all part of the bargain—heat half the year and temperate weather the rest.”

“I’m sure Gene is grateful to be employed,” I said, mostly for his benefit. “After all, he could be fighting in the Philippines.”

Frank shook her head. “Roosevelt’s winding it down. Public’s turned sour on this war.”

“You know,” said Gene, “you can actually build down there in the winter. Can’t do that in Michigan. Or Illinois.”

Frank leaned toward me. “I’ve never been that far south.”

Just as I said, “You must visit,” Gene rushed in with, “Then come on down.”

Frank threw her head back and laughed. “Two invitations! How can I resist?”

“Sir?” said the waiter who glided up to our table.

“A bottle of your best champagne, please,” said Gene, once again proving his aptitude for spending my money.

“Now, tell me about this Arkansas purchase,” Frank said, putting on her business demeanor. “Everything in good legal order?”

Even though Frank had put the question to me, Gene responded,
wagging his head in my direction: “Better ask the mastermind. And moneybags.”

“Yes,” I said, “I’ve got the title. And Gene’s managed to keep some rooms open. So the cash is flowing.”

“That must be demanding,” Frank said to Gene. “Tending to guests while you’re remodeling.”

Frank, who’d blustered about keeping men in their place at our first meeting, surprised me by fawning over Gene as she did.

Like a playful pup, Gene slapped his hands to the table. “How else can I find poker companions?”

We all had a wonderful time getting acquainted that evening. When talk turned to the hotel business, Frank freely shared her expertise in real estate, including sales strategies. But I hadn’t expected Gene to pour on the charm as if he were a gentleman gone courting. He’d turned into a real ladies’ man. And I had to admit: He was passably managing the hotel remodeling.

After dinner, we dropped Frank off at her room, and Gene walked me to mine.

“My, my,” I said, “aren’t you and Frank thick?”

“She’s one of a kind, that Frank. A woman you could take to the ballroom
and
gambling hall.”

“You’re not serious? She’s a good five years older than you.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Gene winked at me. “I like older women.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks,” I said, borrowing one of Maman’s favorite expressions, “though it might take an older woman to keep
you
in line.”

Regardless of what I thought, Gene and Frank obviously enjoyed each other’s company, bantering and baiting each other like brother and sister. But it was Frank and I who formed the strongest link of our triangle. We had a ripping good time: sharing
tête-à-têtes
on morning walks while Gene slept in; and shopping at The Fair and Carson & Pirie, where I found a silk nightgown, French-made shoes, and the most irresistible three-stone diamond ring.

At the end of our four-day visit, Frank told me: “By God, I can’t believe I allowed you to host me in the city I live in. There’s only one answer to that. You have to come to Pittsburgh and stay with my family. Absolutely no later than my next visit there.”

I reported to Rudolph that I’d befriended a capable woman attorney who advised me to complete the remodeling before putting it up for sale. Yes, I told him in response to his most recent letter, the racetrack was under construction, its site was near the hotel, and the track would open sometime in 1904 or 1905. But his impatience would not be assuaged.

August 2, 1902

My dear May
,

Do you know that as of next month you will have been away a full year? I understand that your family needs you, but we can easily provide any assistance they need from a distance. You have installed your brother Gene at the hotel. I trust Paul, who is obviously more industrious, will soon find employment in Menominee. You have them on the right track now
.

I must remind you that you have another family—me, Mother, and Miriam. You belong with your husband. I need you here to help me. Mother has recovered from her broken ankle, but she gets out very little now. I think she is afraid of another accident. That means her world is limited to visitors, and I fear that pettiness is taking over her outlook. You and your cheery disposition are exactly what this household needs. Not that I require you to stay here year-round. We still have the London home, and I know how you love it. I would never dream of depriving you of the joy that London society and its distractions provide
.

Only I must insist that you make plans to return soon. A full year apart is intolerable. We are husband and wife. Please write soon, and tell me when you will return
.

All my love,
Rudolph

I informed Rudolph that the remodeling was nearing completion and that I wouldn’t linger in the States any longer than necessary. However, I didn’t want to leave any loose ends. To nurture
my blossoming friendship with Frank, I accepted her invitation to visit Pittsburgh in September. When Gene found out, he begged me to finagle an invitation for him as well. I objected on the grounds that he had work to do, but he promised that his assistant manager could handle the few remaining projects.

I broached the topic with Frank during a phone call to arrange the details. “Gene says he’s jealous of me getting to visit you.”

Without missing a beat, Frank replied, “Well, hell’s bells, tell him to come, too. There’s plenty of room at the house.”

“Plenty of room” proved to be an understatement. Frank’s parents lived in a spacious three-story stone home with the most lovely touches: stone columns supporting an iron fence that skirted the cobblestone street; a four-story turret with a tile dome and gargoyles circling its spiraling levels; and, behind the house, a cutting garden with the cutest stone cottage for potting and storage. A copper weathervane of Mercury topped the turret, and a trellis of jasmine lined the entry walk, with just enough bloom to sweetly scent the entranceway.

Gene and I arrived on the same train, and Frank toured us around the home and property, showing off a wood-framed sun porch decorated with wicker furnishings and African violets. We ended up in a large sitting room on the main floor, admiring a river-rock fireplace and the collection of Egyptian amulets and tomb figurines displayed on its mantel.

“You’ll meet the lord and lady at dinner,” said Frank. “Come, I’ll show you your bedrooms.”

We climbed a curving staircase to the second level, passing a sitting bench nestled into a window alcove. Frank motioned us to follow her down the second-floor hallway. She swung the second-to-the-last door open. “Here’s your room, Gene.”

I peeked in. Gene’s room sported masculine décor—solid burgundy wallpaper, paintings of fox hunts, and a tall case holding old rifles.

“Why, Frank,” said Gene, sidling up to her, “you know me too well.”

I had to chuckle. Gene was no sportsman. He only hunted when Paul insisted on it, and all he knew about guns was that the barrel required pointing.

We left Gene, and Frank showed me to the room at the end of the hall, which was decorated in the style of an English country estate, with an antique wall clock, a poster bed covered with embroidered pillows, and paintings of an English-style garden and outdoor tea service. “It’s a lovely room,” I said, kissing Frank on the cheek. “So welcoming and comfortable.”

Over dinner, we had the pleasure of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Shaver.

“I’ve heard so much about you from Frank.” Mrs. Shaver looked to me, then Gene, her sky-blue eyes sparkling against her delicate complexion and the snow-white hair she’d swooped into a chignon.

“And I must thank you,” said Gene, between spoonfuls of clam chowder, “for welcoming us to your lovely home.”

Mr. Shaver, from whom Frank had apparently inherited her sturdy frame, turned to me. “I understand you and the Baron are in property investment.”

“I wouldn’t consider it an ongoing venture. We own residences in Holland and London. I’ll soon be selling the Arkansas hotel.”

“Yes, well, that sounds like a worthwhile investment.”

“And I understand that you, sir, helped design the Westinghouse air brake?”

“Yes, Mr. Westinghouse is a wonderful man to work for. He’s built a sound company.”

Gene pitched his frame toward Mr. Shaver. “Do you still have occasion to work with Mr. Westinghouse, sir?”

“Oh, yes, the man works longer hours than most anybody else. That’s why I have such confidence in the company’s stock.”

The maid swept in and scooped up our soup bowls.

“Some say Roosevelt’s overreaching on the Panama Canal rights.” The way Gene hunched over and gazed at Mr. Shaver, one might have thought him a petitioner for a post. “What do you think, sir?”

“Oh, without question, moving forward on the canal will be a boon to U.S. business.”

As we neared the end of our scheduled one-week visit with Frank and her family, I overheard Gene remark to Frank, “Perhaps next week we can tour Fort Pitt.” As soon as Gene retreated to his bedroom to dress for dinner, I knocked on his door.

“Yes, come in,” said Gene, as casual and relaxed as a seaside vacationer.