Madam (35 page)

But something was tugging at her. Peter had been the only male Deubler, and she suddenly felt a twinge of nostalgia for a self she was only beginning to know.

Anderson, however, was thrilled with the notion of remaking Mary. His eyes grew twinkly as he talked to her of what she could be. It was everything, and more, than even her most secret dreams, and yet she heard very clearly all that he wasn’t saying: he never spoke of what she was.

She’d be the first to admit that an Alley whore wasn’t something to be proud of, but there must be more to her than just Alley whore, she felt sure of that. But Anderson wanted her made up like a fairy tale.

So she chose the first name Josie to keep Peter’s nickname for her close. His words would remind her that no matter what invention she went on to become, it was she who was the conductor of this train.

Arlington would be her surname, after the hotel in the picture postcard. Her mama had been there once. When, or with whom, Mary wasn’t sure, but the postcard was one of the only remaining items that had meant enough to Mama that she’d kept it in the top bureau drawer. One day, Mary believed, she’d go to the Arlington too. She’d go with someone special, someone who knew her as Mary, not as a concoction of a person.

After she’d chosen her new name, Tom Anderson arranged for her to meet with what he called a beautician.

As Mary approached Paulina’s Boudoir on Canal Street—the likes of which she would never have dared step foot in, given that she couldn’t afford a hairpin, let alone an outfit there—she felt as uneasy as she had when approaching Miss Eulalie’s that first time. This was just as much another world to her.

She was met at the door by a perfectly coiffed woman with a flawless alabaster complexion. “You must be Josie,” the woman practically sang out. Mary was taken aback. She opened her mouth to say, No, I’m Mary, but then it sank in that, yes, she must be Josie.

“I’m Paulina, come in, we have such beauties waiting for you! Mistah Anderson wants you to be adored and pampered. You won’t walk out of here until you’re a new person!”

There it was again. Mary gulped.

For the next several hours, Mary was indeed transformed. Her hair was washed, cut, and styled with curling tongs that had been heated in the fireplace, and then swept back and high in a jeweled hair clip to “show off her gorgeous décolleté,” or so said Paulina. Mary hadn’t been aware she possessed a décolleté. She smiled politely, not sure if it was her ears, chin, or what part exactly that she was supposed to be showing off.

Paulina then moved Mary to a dressing table decorated with a silver vanity set and all sorts of fancy bottles and tins and jeweled boxes.

“First, you’ll want to start with blotting powder,” Paulina instructed, dipping a puff into a silver tin of rice powder and dabbing it on Mary’s forehead, chin, and nose. Mary fluttered, trying to hold back a sneeze. “As for your eyes,” Paulina continued, “some high-society ladies use belladonna drops to create a misty look that men supposedly love. You can try it, but if you ask me, I think belladonna brings on a delirium. Personally, I prefer just a little Vaseline on the eyelids. That will give some luster to your gray eyes.”

Paulina reached for a matchbox and slid it open. “You’re lucky, you already have dark lashes, but you can still add a bit of drama.” She struck a match, then held it to a cork wine stopper. When the edge blackened, she waved out the match and blew on the cork to cool it. Mary’s lids flitted as Paulina brushed the cork over her lashes. “You’ll get used to it,” Paulina said. Mary blinked her eyes open.

“Now, this is my favorite!” Paulina held up a little ceramic pot decorated with a pink flower. “Liprose. I travel all the way to Paris, to the House of Guerlain, and I buy dozens to give only to my most prized clients. To think, I used to slice beets to color my lips.” She dipped a small brush in the pot then carefully painted Mary’s mouth. “Now you must take care to apply this very lightly. You don’t want to end up looking like a . . .” Paulina quickly caught herself. “You just don’t want to look tawdry is all.”

Paulina leaned back to admire her work. With a satisfied grin, she picked up the hand mirror and turned it for Mary to see. Mary had felt a girl walking into the boudoir, but what peered back at her in the mirror was a woman. While Mary studied herself, Paulina yammered on, her voice growing more and more distant as Mary’s image of herself as a madam grew more and more certain. For the first time, Mary understood what Tom Anderson saw in her, and she believed she could, indeed, play the role. She wouldn’t be a madam like the Countess, who wore her face like a mask. Instead, with the grime gone and the weariness hidden, Mary looked like a shiny penny.

“I want you to treat your face with lemon juice twice a day,” Paulina chattered. “You want your complexion to be fair and delicate, my dear. And I suggest you always use a parasol when you’re outdoors, even just for an errand or brief stroll. Oh, and you must use Pears soap to wash! You’ll smell like the English countryside.” Mary’s head spun as she half listened to all the things she must and mustn’t do.

The mirror was plucked from Mary’s hand as an array of clothing was paraded in. “Bonnets have fallen out of fashion,” Paulina explained, “but wide-brimmed hats are all the desire!” Mary didn’t own a single hat, but no worry, Tom Anderson was set to change that.

“See, here’s how I keep up on the very latest.” Paulina handed Mary a magazine. The cover showed a drawing of a sailboat, and at the top was a banner with a lounging, barefoot woman on one side peering into a looking glass, and a lounging, barefoot woman on the other side reading a newspaper; a scroll unfurled between them that said in capital letters, VOGUE.

“We’ll have you looking like a Gibson girl in no time,” Paulina clucked.

Mary was presented with heeled, fine kid boots, the tops decorated with tassels, and then a full-length cloak and a little sable jacket lined with velvet. The only thought keeping Mary smiling was imagining the look on Charlotte’s face when she brought home all the riches.

But then it occurred to her: how
would
she get all of this home? She had no carriage, and if Paulina suggested to help, well, Mary would be too ashamed to have her—or anyone of this ilk—by the house. Amidst the coiffing and dolling, little beads of sweat began forming on Mary’s forehead and the back of her neck. She took a moment to excuse herself to get some air.

Outside, as she breathed deeply, she noticed how the passersby looked at her. The society women greeted her with friendly smiles, and the men gave her lingering but respectful nods. Never before had she experienced such reactions from strangers—she was used to these women looking down their noses, and these men grimacing or, at best, giving her a sleazy leer. So this was the life of Josie Arlington.

She returned inside to continue with her transformation.

To Mary’s great relief, it was Paulina’s idea to arrange for the clothing to be left at the shop until Mary, that is, Josie, was ready for it to be delivered to the bordello. Anderson hadn’t yet informed Mary where her bordello might be. She imagined it would be a tidy little framehouse, maybe two bedrooms, three if she was lucky. It didn’t even occur to her that it may have a bathroom indoors.

When Mary entered her tiny, dirt-floor house that eve, Charlotte was in the rocker, nursing Anna.

“Mercy me!” Charlotte gasped. “How did you come to be all dolled up so fancy?”

Mary hadn’t yet breathed a word of Anderson’s offer to Charlotte. She’d kept waiting for him to rescind, for someone to come and tell her it was all a cruel joke. But with each day that passed, it began to sink in. And now, as she stood in front of her own little mirror, it became real. She was to be a madam. She was Madam Josie Arlington.

Mary waited until the baby was asleep in her cradle before she explained it all to Charlotte. Hanging on every word, Charlotte barely blinked. “Mary, no!” she kept exclaiming. “You’re lyin’ like a no-legged dog!”

“Charlotte, I daresay, it’s all true.”

“It’s the stuff of fairy tales and tall tales and things that don’t just happen, especially not to people like us.”

“We’re not ‘people like us’ anymore, Lottie.”

Still, there were some details Mary had to figure out. No matter that she’d be a madam, there was no place for baby Anna in a whorehouse. Mary knew she needed to save up money to put Charlotte and Anna somewhere nearby, but not in the District. She believed that Anna should be kept from any knowledge of how Mary earned a living—and even knowledge of the Underworld in general. Anna would not see this life as a default, the way Mary had and Mama had. No, this way of life would not get passed on to yet another generation. Anna would have an education and opportunities, Mary would make certain of it.

But in the meantime Mary was going to need to provide for them once the Alley closed, and she dreaded the necessary conversation with Anderson regarding her cut of the monies. It would be then that Josie the conductor would make her debut, and Mary decided that her new persona would be an expert in ways of business. Savvy, that’s what Josie would be. She’d heard that word used to describe Anderson, although she’d never before heard it used to describe a woman. But as Anderson said, Josie was her creation. So Josie could be the first savvy woman.

The next morning, Mary returned to her crib. She was dressed in her ordinary clothes, makeup washed off, wielding her kip. Until she was officially a madam, she had no other means of supporting herself, so she had no choice but to return to the Alley so long as it still existed.

When she saw Beulah, she told her nothing of the news, but instead handed her a round tin of pomade called Madam C.J. Walker’s Wonderful Hair Grower. Paulina had given it to Mary, saying it was the latest from Saint Louis, in case Mary associated with any octoroons who had traits of Negro hair.

Beulah regarded the image of a black woman, hair parted and combed, gracing the package. “Well, butter my biscuit,” she said. “Where’d you come by this?”

“One of my gentlemen callers, a salesman,” Mary said, a little white lie for now. “Had plenty in his carpetbag.”

C
HAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

The Old Absinthe House

A
nderson had noticed that something wasn’t quite right with Tater. His normal disposition was oafish, bumbling about, and always underfoot. But now, Tater looked nervously askance whenever Anderson approached, and from his window, Anderson often caught sight of Tater leaning against the side of the outhouse staring off vacantly. His henchman might as well be in a monastery for how quiet and pensive he’d become.

Tater sensed Anderson had noticed, and knew he couldn’t keep on like this. He couldn’t keep avoiding his boss, and if he lost this job, he’d lose his lady as well—although she was practically on her way out anyway, mostly because Tater had taken to sleeping at the office so she wouldn’t see his nightly blubbering spells. He tried to convince himself that he’d just been spooked and to let it all go. But that wasn’t working. So he came up with another plan.

He trudged to Venus Alley and pounded on the door to crib nineteen. When it opened, he thrust a wad of cash at Mary Deubler.

“It’s what you paid me,” he said, his words coming out fast. “I need to do right by the Lord, so take it all, just take it all back. Ain’t gonna sin no more, okay? No more. Maybe I’ll rough people up some, but had me a sign from the heavens, and I’m changin’ my ways.”

Mary confusedly took the money, and Tater looked pleased to be rid of it, as if the cash were tainted. He quickly turned to leave. Then he glanced back over his shoulder.

“He ain’t dead, ya know. Or maybe you didn’t, but thought ya should.” And with that, he ran off.

Mary stood there, mouth agape. But she’d felt certain Lobrano was gone. She looked at the money, and now it was her turn to see it as tainted. She didn’t want her money back; she’d wanted Lobrano to pay for what he’d done.

But then a strange thing happened. She felt a wave of relief. As much as she’d wanted justice, there was a peace in knowing that she hadn’t done something evil after all. She’d somehow tricked herself into believing that if Lobrano were dead, it would avenge Peter’s death. But Peter was gone and not coming back, and Lobrano’s whereabouts wouldn’t change that.