Fortune Is a Woman (28 page)

Venus sat down.

Lions, Foxes, Wolves and Doves

“The Greco-Persian War, The Peloponnesian War, The Punic Wars, The Islamic Invasion, The Norman Conquest, The Crusades, The Hundred Years’ War, The War of The Roses, The Thirty Years War, The English Civil War, The Second Great War, The Spanish Succession, The Austrian Succession, The French and Indian War, The Seven Years War, The Revolutionary War, The Napoleonic Wars, The War of 1812, The War for Greek Independence, The Mexican War, The Crimean War, The American Civil War, The Franco-Prussian War, The Spanish-American War, The Boer War, The Russo-Japanese War, The Balkan Wars, World War I, The Spanish Civil War, World War II, The Korean War, The Vietnam War, The American-Persian Oil Wars…these but a few of mankind’s bloody land-grabs.”

Dr. Kristenson paused for air and resumed.

“Ladies and gentlemen, aren’t we sickened yet by all this greed and violence? Aren’t we sick and tired of
his
story?”

Chapter 38:

Grandeur, Spirit, Gravity, Fortitude

There are many conspiracies, JP Treadwell emphasized to her very young vice president, but fortunately, because they are executed by weaklings, the majority of them fail. The best method of prevention, she cautioned, was to avoid being hated or despised.

It also never hurts to be inscrutable.

In the current conspiratorial environment that Soloman-Schmitt’s women of fortune had found themselves in, that actually was beginning to sound like good advice to Venus.

There were only three people in the world she didn’t want to discover her bisexuality, but when those three people were her mom, her dad, and her sister, that meant she couldn’t risk
anyone
at all discovering her bisexuality. There were already way too many people in the know, Paula informed her, including Silas Goodman, who clearly didn’t enjoy living out his retirement in checkmate and exile.

“Discretion, Angelo. Those are your marching orders, whether it’s true or not that you don’t want to be president. I do know this much, that consciously or subconsciously, your ultimate goal is to distress Ms. Beaumont with your exploits, but in the end they will not serve you well there, either. Believe me. I know the woman better than you do. In that vein I will add that, as grand as she may be, no woman could ever be worth ruining yourself for. So exercise discretion on all accounts and have a happy holiday. The end.”

She did not want to be president. That was true. The rest of what Venus desired was nobody’s business. So she did the best she could to comply with Paula’s orders.

_____

“He’s exactly my size,” Venus informed the clothier. “We’re twins.”

He took in the womanly figure and tried unsuccessfully to imagine it in a brother. He would have to be some dandy, the old guy thought to himself. “He really should come in to be fitted,” he said politely. “Inside lengths and all.”

“He can’t. It’s a surprise,” Venus said, mustering genuine disappointment. “For Christmas, you know?”

Three wool suits for a “twin brother” for Christmas. Fashionable but not flashy. Brown, gray, and navy blue. Three white silk shirts for which she would need cufflinks, two of them plain, the other ruffled. One fur trimmed, paisley lined, double breasted, black overcoat with alterations. Six assorted hand-painted ties, two satin ascots, and a partridge in a pear tree.

Only her tailor would know.

_____

Her hairdresser would have to be left in the dark.

“Cut it off, Jasmine. I want it short like yours.”

“Venus, you plan to go to the office with an afro?”

Mama shook her head and left the bathroom. “She’s gonna show up for work looking like a Black Panther. Speak some sense into your daughter, Daddy.”

He declined.

_____

“Oh, you’re so suave. I’m sure you could convince them of anything.”

“Suave is bad now, Marilyn? Since when?”

He was baiting her. She held her tongue.

“Since Buffalo Bill rode into–”

“Edward.”

“Marilyn.”

“You’re talking foolish.”

“It’s foolish? You’re my wife. What do you want from me?”

“A divorce.”

“A div–he hasn’t got a pot to piss in! How will–”

“He can use the ground, money’s not the point. Besides, that’s not true.”

“You’re sleeping with him.”

She had denied this three times already. “I haven’t slept with anyone in twenty years.”

“Now come on. That’s not fair.”

“Oh, well, not counting the handful of times this ne’er-do-well I know skips into town.”

“Ne’er-do-well? That’s supposed to be me?”

“Edward…give me a divorce. You have no case and you know it and I’m tired of talking to you.”

“Tired? I am your husband!”

“Really? When did you figure that out?”

“Come on, Marilyn.”

“What?”

“Are you still wearing your wedding band?”

She pried the ring off. “No, Edward,” she answered gravely. “I’m not.”

_____

Fun and games were over and JP Beaumont was back on the job, a continent and an ocean away from her better half. It would be several more grueling weeks before she could be with Helaine again. That would be Madrid.

“Christmas in Madrid, Del. I don’t know what I’ll do until then. Work, I guess. Paula’s taking most of the time off.”

“You need a hobby, Liddy. Or a lover.”

“Ugh. We can’t go there, Del.”

Venus had taken a whole month for the holidays, out until the new year. Lydia didn’t know if she was still in town or doing Paris. They had run into each other twice since she had been back, just before Venus had left for vacation. Both times VP Angelo had been friendly and courteous to her, which at the moment had been a relief to Lydia. But then, in her absence, those meetings had begun to bother her. She couldn’t understand how Venus could manage to do it. To trouble her like this, whether she was cornering her or not.

“How’s your mom and dad, dare I ask?”

“Same. Helaine’s on it.”

“You talk to Edward yet?”

She was planning to. At least by Christmas.

“Liddy…?”

“I’m going to. He knows I’m disgusted.”

“Poor Edward. All these women upset with him.”

“It’s his own fault,” Lydia said defensively. “He wants his cake and–”

“Forget it, Liddy, let’s go out.”

“I can’t. I can’t be intoxicated when Helaine calls.”

“I know, I know. Geesh, Dame Beaumont. Married or what?”

She was married all right. The cell phone rang. It was her father.

_____

There was no problem buying men’s shoes or accessories. Venus selected a pair of wingtips and a pair of tasseled loafers, silk handkerchiefs, a Swiss watch with a narrow gold band, and, for her shirts, a set of cufflinks with sapphires the color of Lydia Beaumont’s eyes. She was so captivated by these stones that she had the salesclerk throw in a couple of tie pins and, oddly enough, even ordered a pair of ladies earrings to match.

She had compromised very little with the haircut. It was short and sleek when not relaxed. A bit of a bob when it was. The point was that it looked very gender neutral and she could now fit it all under a hat.

Buying a man’s hat to fit a woman’s head perfectly and still have it seem masculine? Now that wasn’t quite as simple. First of all, men didn’t wear hats like they used to. Secondly, boys didn’t either. Eventually Venus found what she was looking for in the costume section of a historic downtown department store.

_____

“I don’t think I can do this, Queenie.”

“I know you can, Daddy. I understand your fear, but I know that you can do it.”

“Your kitten says I should go into counseling. You think your mother would–”

“No, it’s too late for that.”

“It’s too late. You’re right. I know.”

“It’ll work out, you’ll see. Not much will change…for you.”

“Queenie, I’m…first your brother won’t speak to me, now I’m…my wife is…am I going to lose you, too?”

“Never. You’ll always have me. I promise.”

“I couldn’t do it without you. I’d go–”

“You don’t have to, Edward. I promise.”

“Queenie…you free for lunch or dinner this week?”

“This weekend I am. How about this weekend?”

“Saturday then, one o’clock? How’s that suit you?”

“That’s perfect, Daddy. I’ll see you Saturday.”

“You can bring Del along if you like.”

“Okay. I will.”

Eminence

Lunch at the club was not as festive as the music and decorations might suggest and Lydia was glad to hear that Edward had another appointment afterward, as did Delilah who needed time to prep and primp for tonight’s blind date. That would free up Lydia to do some Christmas shopping if she could only get in the mood to do so. If not, she would go home and nap till Helaine called. Sad dad and his questions concerning Roy Mann had drained her, and Delilah’s efforts to distract him from the subject had fallen flat.

“How are you living these days?” he had inquired as they were leaving. “You look pale. What are you doing for food?”

“Maid service and microwaves,” Lydia replied, as gaily as possible. The separation was taking a toll and she was aware that she had lost some weight. “Don’t worry, Daddy. I’m eating.”

“And on the weekends?” Delilah asked.

“Weekends I have popcorn and cereal, like the rest of the latchkey kids.”

“You’re a true survivor, Liddy. I swear it. Come for dinner tomorrow night–gotta go.”

The streets, the sidewalks, the cafes and the stores were teeming with panicked buyers this weekend, fully the madding crowd Lydia had expected it to be. She drifted alongside them for more than an hour, hoping by association to be swept up with their jubilance and when that didn’t happen she figured she might as well break down and buy something.

Helaine was easy: underwear, underwear and more underwear, an activity which brightened things up enough for Lydia to buy Marilyn a rope of pearls and yet another cardigan. What color had she given her last Christmas? Red. Or was it green? She had an unexpected vision dancing in her head, a real sugarplum. Creamy pearls against dark, smooth skin.

“Wrap them?” the salesgirl was asking. “Do you want them wrapped, Ms. Beaumont?”

Wrap them, Lydia affirmed. Wrap the creamy pearls. What do you buy your lover’s mother, that is your mother’s lover, for the holidays? Leather something, she mused. Lovers come in belts and coats, in hats and shoes and gloves and–leather she meant, not lovers.
Leather
belts and gloves. Something leathery for Mr. Mann. She didn’t think she could go wrong with leather.

“Lydia Beaumont! What a pleasure. Care to join me for some eggnog?”

She’d know that voice anywhere. “Anna, I–Merry Christmas.” Her hands were full with bags and packages and she knew she couldn’t trust Anna not to take advantage of it.

“Oh, god, those cheeks,” Anna said, coming cheek to cheek with Lydia and making a kissing sound near her ear. “I can’t believe I do that to you. Let’s go celebrate my triumph with an eggnog.”

Vanilla. Lydia smelled vanilla in the woman’s hair and her stomach growled. “I can’t believe it either–I don’t think I can.”

“Oh, what skullduggery. What if I told you I have something that belongs to you?”

“That belongs to me? What could that be?”

“Eggnog first. We can go right upstairs on the mezzanine.”

Lydia hesitated.

“Come, my beauty,” Anna said, taking her arm and leading her. “Helaine can’t begrudge me an eggnog and a wink.”

_____

From the mezzanine Lydia could see down four floors of merchandise and she could look out on the city to the street below, watch the frozen street vendors hawking their wares, listen as she watched, to the sexy hum of Anna Grisholm’s fabulous vocal chords.

Sales were brisk, the joint president of Soloman-Schmitt couldn’t help but notice. Shoppers everywhere. Anna appeared to be the only person in this corner of the universe with no packages. Perhaps she just prowled the stores, Lydia speculated, looking for women. She did not care for eggnog or rum, spiced or otherwise. She shouldn’t dawdle here anymore.

“How are you faring, Ms. Beaumont, without Herself?” Anna asked. “Meaning what are you doing for dinner tonight, gorgeous, and did you know that I’m a pretty good cook?”

“A pretty cook,” Lydia said from behind her cup. There went her stomach again.

“That, too, I’ve heard…thank you for noticing.”

Lydia gave her a small you’re-welcome smile and deliberately glanced at her watch.

“Sapphires,” Anna whispered, leaning forward intimately.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your eyes, my dear.”

“My…thank you.”

“And your necklace,” Anna added, producing the lost item from her purse.

“Ah,” Lydia uttered. She had forgotten about the necklace with the sapphire studded pendant. It was nice to see it again.

“I remembered you had it on the night of your birthday. Briefly anyway. You left it behind.”

“Yes.” She did not want to venture in this direction. “Thank you, Anna. It’s very thoughtful of–”

“It’s only one night, Lydia. That’s all I’m proposing. You must be terribly–”

“Don’t, Anna–I’m not–don’t tease.” She dropped the necklace into one of her bags and slid the cup to the center of the table. Done here, these motions said.

“Mmhmm. And what happens if I do, if I tease you, Mrs. Kristenson?”

Lydia stood up and collected her packages. “Then I’d hate myself,” she replied, without looking at her. “And, consequently, I’d hate you, too.”

“Well now, we can’t have that,” Anna said diplomatically. “Too much hate in the world as it is. You have a Merry Christmas, Lydia…and sleep well.”

_____

She did not sleep well, dreaming dreams that felt like nightmares, fighting to surface from them and plunging instead to the depths of another. Here is Venus, a kinder, gentler Rio Joe and then she
is
Rio Joe, a diabolical lover, taunting her, deserting her, a man, a woman, then neither. Effete. There is Helaine, but she is not Helaine either, not herself at all, and Lydia can think of nothing to say to this blond, one who doesn’t speak or can’t speak, this fuzzy version of Helaine Kristenson. They stand apart like strangers, on opposites sides of the room, both having nothing to say to each other. And from this standoff Venus emerges again, only now Venus is Venus, with a woman Lydia doesn’t know, a woman with sapphire pendants for eyes. She looks like her. They look exactly alike. Isn’t it herself in the mirror, herself with Venus in a room she has never seen before, herself lounging on a daybed, looking both sanguine and spent, smiling a practiced smile, bold and insincere? It’s Lydia. It’s Helaine. It’s Venus. It’s Rio Joe. It’s Anna. She sees Anna with Venus. Anna? It’s Anna, or a woman she thinks could be Anna, and Venus is speaking truculent things to her, words that Lydia has heard her say before. That is not Anna. It’s the other woman, the woman in the mirror, an insulted lover, her blue eyes moist and angry. Venus is not kind to this woman, not kind, not soft, not…slow, the woman is saying, but Venus goes fast and the woman moves violently with her, her voice drowned by the piercing cry of an alarm. Lydia hears it screaming above the woman’s calls.
Rrrrrrrinnng!
There is Anna. It’s Anna Helaine is calling to. It’s Anna and Helaine?
Rrrrrriinng!
Helaine?
Rrriiiiiiiinng!
On the daybed.