Parlor Games (39 page)

Over Dougherty’s shoulder, I spotted Alonso crossing the street and hurrying toward us. I flashed a hand at him, hoping to stop him, but he continued, his jaw set with outrage.

I grabbed my purse and stepped around the table. “I’ve heard enough. Good day, Mr. Dougherty.”

Dougherty jerked around to see whom I had signaled. He shot to his feet and spread his arms, blocking my departure. “And besides letting the Baron know about your lover, I will inform Alonso of your marriage. Unless you are out of Mexico by January 6. I must inform you the Mexican government will not abide your presence after that.”

HEARTACHE ON HEARTACHE
MEXICO CITY TO ARKANSAS TO NEW YORK—JANUARY-FEBRUARY 1903

I
had nine days to leave Mexico. And Alonso. Nine days tortured by the agony of knowing I must leave him, fears about how much his father knew, and incessant worrying about what to tell him. In the end, only one viable solution presented itself—a sudden and stealthy departure. Alonso and I had returned to Mexico City, he to his work and I to the Gran Hotel. Before he could call on me the afternoon of January 5 I checked out and left a note for him at the desk.

My dear Alonso
,

I have tasted wonders with you. But I have built a life elsewhere and cannot turn my back on it. I will forever treasure the memories of my time with you. Please understand: It is best for you to seek happiness here without me
.

Your once in Mexico love
,

Florence

Then I took a carriage to the train station and stole away. My first impulse was to travel to Michigan, to see Maman. What comfort it would be to yield to her loving embrace, hear her chatter about the goings-on in Menominee, and smell the meat-and-potatoes broth of her beef stew wafting through the hallways. But it was such a long train ride, and in the middle of winter a snowstorm might well strand me in some backwoods town. Arkansas was not far off the track, however. I could stop off there on my way to New York and pass some time with Gene. He didn’t offer the kind of solace Maman
did, but I could count on him for entertaining diversion and, at the same time, check on the hotel sale.

I arrived in Hot Springs without having wired ahead, more because I lacked the initiative to do so than out of any design to surprise Gene. I hired an automobile in Hot Springs—an open 1902 Rambler that bounced me mercilessly over the country roads—and arrived, depressed and irritable, at the Potash Sulphur Hotel mid-afternoon. At the check-in clerk’s request, the bell-hopper slipped down the hall to summon Gene for me.

“Well, my goodness, look who’s here,” said Gene, rushing up to me and wrapping his long arms around me.

I held him tight, clinging hard long after he’d relaxed his grip, taking comfort in the familiar scent of cigar smoke on him. Gene, perhaps sensing my need for comfort, swayed me in his arms.

Letting go and stepping back, I looked up at him. “How about a drink?”

“By all means, Baroness. First allow me to help with your bags.”

I’d asked for my favorite room, a quiet suite on the second floor that overlooked the river behind the property. We paused there long enough for me to survey the décor. “I like what you’ve done here—the peacock wallpaper, the ivory drapes and bedspread, the modern furnishings—all very sophisticated.”

Gene bowed to me. “As you commanded, m’lady.”

We strolled to the wood-paneled dining room, commandeered a corner table, and ordered highballs.

Gene leaned back in his chair and said, “Tell me about your Mexican adventure.”

I looked around at what had formerly been a bright room with a creaking wood floor. Now a puddle-deep Persian carpet softened the guests’ footfalls and the kitchen racket. Wooden shutters on the windows let in mere slits of light. The mahogany-stained dining tables matched the darkness of the wood paneling, lending the room a cloak-and-dagger atmosphere. “You’ve completely changed the look of this room.”

“It suits the clientele.” Gene picked up his drink and swung it toward the room’s guests. “You know, the gambling type.”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it does.” I’d signed off on all these changes, but now I missed the homeyness of the old breakfast room, with its
cheery yellow walls, morning light streaming in the wide windows, and hospitable, well-worn chairs. “Do you ever hear from the old owners?”

“Oh, they came around for the grand opening, ogling the place like a couple of bumpkins. They complimented me, but I doubt they approved of what they saw.”

I nodded. “No, I don’t suppose they would. It’s lost that country charm.”

“But you can’t argue with success. The reservations are rolling in.”

“Wonderful, wonderful,” I said, barely managing any lilt in my delivery. In my mind’s eye I saw the hotel from afar, as if it were a dollhouse, its front cut away and its cubicles stuffed with shiny toy furniture and figurines in tailcoats and flouncing dresses. It was my dollhouse—to oversee and decorate and sell—but a dollhouse I’d somehow outgrown, a nuisance to be disposed of, an investment to turn a profit on.

“It’s a long trip from Mexico City,” said Gene. “You must be tired.”

“That’s the least of it.”

“What exactly were you doing there?”

“Helping Rudolph’s uncle with a business deal.”

“Was it a success?”

“Yes, he’s quite pleased.”

Gene ducked his head to study the expression on my downturned face. “Then why so glum?”

“Things got rather complicated.” I pressed my hand over my heart. “I want to tell you something, Gene.”

“Is something wrong?”

“I’m in love with a man I met there.”

Gene jingled the ice in his drink. “My, my, that is a predicament.”

“And I can’t have him, because I’m a married woman.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gene, patting my hand.

Tears gathered in my eyes. What good was life without Alonso? If I could have frozen one moment in time, it would have been there, in Cuernavaca, under Mexico’s mountain-rimmed skies, in his embrace. But once again happiness had eluded me—no, been snatched from
me. Rage boiled up, mingling with sadness; my chest compressed into a rumbling geyser. No, I told myself, you can’t sit here and allow your rising torment to erupt—not in the dining room of the hotel you own, not in front of your younger brother. With the last gulp of my drink I washed down the bile of my anguish. “Come,” I said, standing, “let’s walk the property.”

I talked Gene into hiking the complete length of the old path along the river, even though a gusty wind whipped wisps of my hair loose and lashed them across my cheeks.

Gene was recounting his last visit with Frank. “And then Frank said, ‘I draw the line at you gambling away my mortgage payment.’ ”

“It serves you right, borrowing money from her repeatedly.”

“I repaid her.”

“I should hope so.”

“You know, she’s a bit of a speculator herself. When she visited in November, we took a walk through Hot Springs and spotted this quaint house with curlicue-wood eaves and a wraparound porch. All very gingerbread. She said it would make an excellent investment. I didn’t see it myself, but she said Hot Springs would soon be booming and someday a banker or doctor would move in and want a place just like it.”

“I suppose she’s right, but what would you do with it meantime?”

“My point precisely. I told her that poker doesn’t require as much money in advance or worry over the long run.”

“Do you call her Frank?”

“Usually. I tried ‘Frankie’ once and she nearly slugged me.”

“Really?”

“Well, no, she just said, ‘Don’t get cute with me.’ So now the riskiest I get is ‘dear’ or ‘my sweet.’ ”

“Does she make you happy?”

“Mostly.”

“You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“No, I am. I do want to marry her.”

“You love her, then?”

Gene kicked a branch off the trail. “In my own way. As you say, an older woman probably suits me best.”

“If I know you, it’s the family money that suits you.”

“I take my lessons from the best, my dear Baroness.”

“Well, I did introduce you. But, as you once said, she’s my friend, too.”

“Meaning what?”

“That she’ll expect to see a great deal of me, too.”

Gene was not the most sympathetic soul. But he had enough charm to nudge me out of the pique that overtook me whenever I recalled Dougherty orchestrating my inglorious exit from Mexico. And I, determined to make the best of my visit, put on a pleasant face and focused my attention on the business before us, the sale of the hotel. We had one viable offer on the table, from a Chicago businessman, an Anthony Fratto.

Gene and I reviewed the paperwork in his office the next day.

“The buyers that came around before him were just fishing for a deal,” he said. “But this one, it’s a solid offer.”

I tapped my finger on the line spelling out the offer—$205,000. Counting the original price and all the renovation, I’d already invested $86,000. “It’s not enough. Any rube can see this hotel will be the first choice for the racehorse crowd.”

“Word has been out about the racetrack for months now. I doubt anything better will come in.”

“We have plenty of time before opening. I won’t accept anything less than $220,000.”

“He could walk away.”

“I doubt it. But if he does, there’ll be others.”

“You expect me to manage this place forever?”

I cocked my head at him. “You’re complaining about a steady job? About being able to help Maman?”

“I’m engaged, remember?”

“You promised you’d see this through.”

“I know.” Gene tugged the corner of his mouth into a pout.

“It shouldn’t be much longer. Then you’ll be free.”

“I just don’t like dawdling with Frank.”

“Have you set a date yet?”

“No, Frank says we need more time.”

It seemed that wasn’t all Frank needed. Later that day, as I sat in the lobby reading
Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea—
I’d finally found a book that could transport me out of my sorrow—Gene marched up to me. “Can you come back to my office?”

I closed my book, and he offered his hand to help me rise. I asked, “Did you hear from Fratto?”

“No,” he muttered, taking such long strides I could barely keep up.

We found his assistant, William, riffling through a file cabinet in his office.

“William,” said Gene. “Will you excuse us?”

“I need to find the produce order.”

“Well, find it later.”

William grabbed a bundle of papers and rushed off.

I sat in front of Gene’s empty desk. “What’s going on?”

“I just received a letter from Frank.”

“Yes?”

“She’s got cold feet.”

“Over what?”

Gene worried his palm over his clenched hand. “Something about me not being prepared to support the two of us.”

“Why all the sudden worry about that?”

Gene shook his head. “I’ve got a job, haven’t I?”

“What did you tell her you’ll do when this place sells?”

“Find work in Chicago.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t know.”

I brushed a hand over my mouth. Frank was a very logical person; she must have had cause for concern. “Have you borrowed any more money from her?”

Gene forced the breath out of his nostrils, like a child huffing over an injustice. “Last month I borrowed two hundred dollars. But I’ve paid her back before. She knows that.”

“When were you supposed to pay this back?”

“Last week.”

“And why haven’t you?”

“Because I don’t have it. Unless I borrow from the hotel.”

“Oh, no, you won’t.”

Gene pressed his palms to his desk, stiffening his arms. “But I don’t want to lose her.”

“I’ll lend you the funds and recoup it out of your pay.”

Gene nibbled at his bottom lip. “Can I send it right away?”

“First you’d better write a nice long letter.”