Noon at Tiffany's (25 page)

At length, she raised her eyes to Alice and Henry doubting she could ever make them understand. Instead, she gave them the answer she thought they wanted to hear. “I’m sure that with time and patience, Edwin will grow to be a loving husband on whom I can depend.”

“Is that so?” Alice said, settling back in her seat. “In that case, my friend, I’m afraid you’re in for a terrible surprise.”

Tiffany’s

January 7, 1897

Dear Ones,

Last week’s trip to the Waldos’ in Danielson was not as exciting as I would have liked, although it was such a relief to get away. I wouldn’t have cared where I went, just as long as it was away from Tiffany’s.

For the entirety of the trip, George was about twice as crazy as usual, owing to his anxiety over an impending interview to teach mechanical drawing, a subject he knows not a whit about. Edwin remained calm, quietly reading an article on sociology, while brother George buckled and unbuckled his satchel, jumping about and talking for what seemed like
a few thousand miles until I was nearly insane myself. At my urging, Edwin finally gave George one of his magic powders, and he slept like a baby for the remainder of the trip.

Edwin and I spoke of our favorite books and the various artists we like. We have much in common including our views on women’s rights and politics (Hooray for McKinley!).

I finally met Irenie, the Waldos’ beautiful cousin (the one Mrs. Waldo hoped George would marry). She wore a short-waist, square-neck gown that made her look like a tall flower. George says this is the new ‘slinky’ style of dress. (Slinky! Isn’t that the most wonderful word?). George’s attentiveness to his cousin is strictly cousinly, as he is much more interested in himself than in her. On the other hand, Edwin seemed quite absorbed by her beauty and wit—a difficult thing to witness for poor Clara with no slinky dresses or brilliant repartee. Still, even Irenie is no match for Mrs. Waldo, upon whom both sons dote.

If I am to be honest, I don’t find Mrs. Waldo particularly interesting. Her ideas are very old-fashioned. When I mentioned that I was saving up to buy a wheel, she thought I meant a spinning wheel instead of a bicycle. She was scandalized at the very idea of a woman in a bicycle suit.

All my love, Clara

Ming’s Dream Palace

Mott and Pell Streets, Chinatown

Fan Li Ming took Edwin’s dollar and bowed, backing away. The Chinaman placed two pipes on the ornate table in the middle of the room and began rolling a sticky clump of black resin into pills.

Edwin pressed against the woman lying next to him. Ming’s rule of one smoker per crib was relaxed for him and Sophie. They were his best customers, and lately business was slow due to the increasing frequency of police raids.

“Next time get one of them lower bunks,” Sophie said, fussing with her skirts, “so I don’t gotta worry ‘bout fallin’ out an’ breakin’ my head open.”

“The lower bunks cost more,” Edwin replied, shifting his body so they were facing each other. “I need to save money for now.”

“Save money? You never done that before, Eddie. What gives? You
thinkin’ of buyin’ me one of them fancy diamond engagement rings or somethin’?”

Ming approached with the pipes, each bowl holding a precious ball of opium. Edwin pointed to his watch and held up a hand, fingers spread. “You come back in five minutes. The lady and I make talky-talky first. Understand?”

The Chinaman bowed and disappeared behind a curtain of glass beads.

Sophie rose up on her elbow to stare at him. “You’re scarin’ me, Eddie. You don’t never wanna talk. What’s a matter? You gonna skip out on me or somethin’? Found yourself another girl?”

Glancing around to make sure the other smokers were insensible, Edwin dangled his legs over the side of the bunk. “I’ve got a plan, Sophie, but you have to promise not to breathe a word to anyone, not even to the police if they come around asking questions.”

“You know me, Eddie, I’d never say nothin’ if you don’t me want to.” Sophie shrugged. “Hell, half the dandies in New York would be in jail if I ever opened my mouth ‘bout some of the things they told me, ‘specially them married ones.”

She patted at a clump of frizzy hair, bleached and hot-ironed into straw. “Besides, you’re the only one I love. Them others don’t mean nothin’ to me. You know that.”

“I do, but now you have to listen to everything I say.” He paused, picking his words carefully. “You remember I told you about my brother George and his—?”

She sat up so fast, she all but knocked him off the mattress. “You mean the nellie? The one that’s got fits?” She shook her head and began pulling on her jacket. “Oh no you don’t. I don’t care if he is your brother, Eddie, I ain’t gonna fool around with no nellie. It ain’t natural. He’d probably have a fit before he could even—”

“For God’s sake, be quiet!” Edwin jerked the jacket out of her hands. “I’m not asking you to be with my—”

“If it’s ‘bout posin’ nekked for them artist friends of his, I don’t do no posin’ for less than five dollars, an’ I get paid
before
I take off my clothes.”

“It’s not about nude posing. Now listen, my brother has a friend, a widow by the name of Mrs. Driscoll.”

“You mean the artist lady that has them art swarees you go to? You’re thick as thieves with them people, ain’t you?”

“I wouldn’t say thick, but I like to keep ties with people who might be useful to me someday. I think that someday has come.”

“You mean they’re gonna sell them art pictures you made?”

“Better than that.” He drew up his legs and leaned back. “After old man Driscoll died, I ran into a clerk who used to work for his accountant, and he told me Driscoll was worth a fortune. That got my curiosity up, because his widow was living in a second-rate boardinghouse and working six days a week. I thought I might show a little interest in her, you know, to see what the real story was, and well, she took a shine to me.”

“Hey, wait a minute. Is this widow lady a looker?” Sophie put her hands on her hips. “You steppin’ out with her?”

“Let me finish.”

Pouting, she fell to picking at a green ribbon that laced the bodice of her dress.

“A few months ago, I found the opportunity of a lifetime—a company in San Francisco is wanting to sell a Mexican coffee plantation. They’ve agreed to let me buy the place a little at a time after an initial down payment of a thousand dollars. The place is going to make thousands. I mean, everybody drinks coffee, right? I figure I’ll pay a little each month while I’m working the plantation. When the money starts rolling in, I can pay off the other four thousand, and the rest is mine. Maybe after a couple of years, I’ll sell it for two, three times what I paid for it.”

Sophie eyed him suspiciously. “Wait a minute, what’s the widow lady got to do with all this?”

He tried to gauge how she might react to his next piece of news. Other than a rare temper tantrum, she was a trouble-free companion. He figured she was the only woman he would ever be able to tolerate for longer than an hour at a time.

When she’d first come to the Settlement begging for help for her sick child, the depth of her trust in him had touched him. At his own expense, he’d taken the baby to a reputable doctor, but it did no good. After the child died, she’d gone mad with grief, refusing to eat or drink until she was on the brink of death herself. He’d stayed with her then, bathed and fed her until she came out of her misery.

And then, he’d introduced her to opium.

“You won’t like this much, Sophie, but I’ve asked her to marry me.”

Eyes wide with reproach, she opened her mouth to protest when he put a finger to her lips. “I wouldn’t be telling you any of this if there wasn’t something in it for you.

“Here’s how I’m going to work it: after the widow and I are married, I’ll convince her to put down the thousand dollars, and the first year’s operating costs. When the money starts rolling in and I know I’m in the clear, I’ll divorce her and send for you.

“You’ll take over managing the household, while I work on the plantation. We’ll be just like a regular married couple. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Brooding, Sophie shrugged. “How long do I gotta wait?”

“A year, maybe less. I’ll meet you in San Francisco, you’ll like it there. Frisco dream palaces have private rooms draped in satin and lace, and the customers are waited on hand and foot. The pipes are made of jade encrusted with jewels. They’ll make Ming’s look like a chicken coop.”

“I guess I like the part about San Francisco and Mexico,” Sophie said, “but I don’t much like you goin’ off and marryin’ the widow. What makes you so sure she’s gonna just give over her money to you?”

“She’ll give it to me because she’s loyal and she loves me, and because she‘s an educated woman who was raised like a lady. Women like that don’t go back on their word.”

“But it still don’t make no sense, Eddie. How come she works if she’s so smart an’ rich? Why don’t she spend the money on nice things and stay home?”

Edwin rubbed his fingers across his stubble of a beard. It was the one thing he hadn’t figured out yet. He was sure she had it, but Clara never talked to anyone about her money. A couple of times he’d managed to steer her to the edge of the subject, but she’d veered away, leaving him no wiser as to what she’d done with it.

“I’m pretty sure she has it stuffed away in some bank, saving it up to buy a studio downtown.”

“I’ll be old and wrinkled before you get rid of her,” Sophie stuck out her lower lip. “I don’t wanna wait so long.”

He pulled her close. “Think of the wait as the priming of a water pump—you’ve got to put in a little before you get a lot back. While you’re waiting you can spend your time imagining yourself as the lady of a big
hacienda out on the side of a mountain with servants at your beck and call. When you get to San Francisco, I’ll buy you some fancy new dresses—respectable, quality dresses with pretty shoes and hats to match.”

At the promise of a new wardrobe, Sophie perked up. “Would you buy me a real wedding ring? One with diamonds and rubies?”

He heard the acquiescence in her voice and smiled. “If all goes according to my plan, I’ll buy you a ring for every finger.”

She threw her arms around his neck, but he pushed her off. “First, you have to promise on your babe’s soul that you will never whisper one word of this to anyone, not even the police.”

“Not my baby, Eddie. It’ll send his little soul straight to Hell if I slip. I couldn’t stand that. I’ll promise on my soul.”

Edwin shook his head. “Not good enough. You and I are already damned. Swear on the babe’s soul. That way you’ll be sure to keep your word.”

Nodding, Sophie dropped her head into her hands and cried softly.

Edwin waved to the Chinaman, signaling that they were ready.

With a long needle, Ming skewered one of the opium pills and heated it over the special lamp. The smell of burnt flowers filled the air, prompting Edwin to lie on his side. He pulled Sophie down next to him.

Ming placed the pill inside the pipe bowl and handed it to Edwin who touched the mouthpiece to Sophie’s lips.

Eagerly she pulled in the first long draw and held it. Her lids fluttered slightly as her eyes rolled back into her head and the smoke escaped from between her parted lips.

Edwin accepted his own pipe, taking only a short draw at first, wanting to make the pleasure last as long as possible. The sharp bitterness filled his mouth. A faint smile came to his lips as he recalled how the taste made him sick his first time. Now he relished it the same way some gentlemen savored their soup.

With some effort he raised his head to get a glimpse of Sophie. Eyes glassy, she lay perfectly still, lost in her dream. He took another, longer pull, until he felt himself begin to float. His life was going to be perfect. His mother and father would be upset when they learned of his plans to leave for Mexico, but that couldn’t be helped.

As for Clara, she could take care of herself. She wasn’t using the money, so why not put it to good purpose? After the coffee money started
coming in, he might even repay her.

He smiled. He was going to be rich.

From somewhere far off he thought he heard a man’s laughter. It sounded like his, but he couldn’t be sure. With his last bit of consciousness he watched the tail of smoke rise from the opium pill, curling and swirling lazily toward Heaven.