Seasons of the Heart (50 page)

Rubin laughed.

“What are you laughing at?”

“You.”

“Why, am I so humorous?”

“Yes, and so practical.”

“Practical?”

“Yes. How can you think of anything as unimportant as brushing your teeth at a moment like this? I’ve been up for hours waiting for you to wake up.”

“That, dear Rubin, is your problem. Why weren’t you here beside me, instead of wandering about?”

“I had things to do.”

Magda went to the bathroom, leaving Rubin alone on the bed. Suddenly she turned and stood framed in the doorway. “How can I brush my teeth? I don’t have a toothbrush.”

“Use mine.”

“How do I know you don’t have a bad disease?”

“That’s a risk you’ll have to take.”

Now Magda laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Rubin asked, smiling.

“You, monsieur. Funny man.”

Bowing theatrically, extending her arms, she spoke: “Let me present, ladies and gentlemen, Monsieur Rubin Hack, the clown of Paris, and his nude partner, the exquisite, the talented, the cultured Mademoiselle Magda Charascu, who will attempt to clean her teeth with her lover’s brush … a feat attempted only by the famous Madam Fifi of the—” Quickly Rubin picked her up, circled the room with her in his arms, kissing her over and over again. “Darling, not now,” he said, whispering, “not
now
. To hell with your teeth. I want you this moment.” Biting his ear gently she whispered back, “Not till after I’ve gone to the … how do the English say? W.C.?”

When she returned, Rubin was already in bed, hardly able to control himself. She climbed in and lay on top of him, straddling his body. Her breath, smelling fragrantly of peppermint, mingled with the scent of French cologne quickly splashed under her arms, behind her knees and between her legs. As he entered her, deeper and deeper, his only thought was for their love never to end.

When they finally lay spent, Magda abruptly sat up. “I’m starved,” she said. “Do you never intend to feed me? We haven’t eaten since early yesterday. Now I’m going to take a bath, and when I’ve finished you’d better find me something to eat, or tonight you sleep on the sofa. Don’t laugh, that’s a promise.”

Imagine having a bath all one’s own, Magda thought. She lathered her body with French bouquet of lavender soap, then immersed herself in the soothing water. As she relaxed, her eyes wandered around the large room, all mirrored and marbled. They came to rest on the tall stained glass window, each piece carefully put together like a mosaic. She was fascinated with the voluptuous figure of a girl dipping her toes gracefully into a lily pond. The flowers and trees around her were a profusion of muted colors, looking almost ethereal as the sun filtered through the colored glass. When Rubin bought her the
petite maison
, she would insist on such a window.

Rubin, Rubin … what god had brought him into her life? She hadn’t meant to fall in love, but it was now far beyond her control. Except he would be gone soon … and after what they had shared … who could replace him? And with the thought came a deep pain and melancholy. Rubin had said, “It’s more happiness than most people have in a lifetime.” Why couldn’t she find enough comfort in that? But she couldn’t be so damn philosophical. It was Rubin she wanted, as well as the exquisite stained glass window, the
petite maison
, the clothes. Yes, damn him, above all she wanted to belong to Rubin forever.

Quickly she emerged from the tub, dried herself and, with the towel around her middle, ran back to bed. Soon Rubin brought in the breakfast tray and placed it across her legs. How beautiful the Lowestoff china, the small coffee pot, the monogrammed napkin, the silver, the place mat. She looked at the long-stemmed strawberries, the marmalade, butter, cream, the croissants. Rubin had forgotten nothing, even to the rose in the bud vase.

Kissing her gently, he poured the coffee into the cup and said, “I didn’t want to sleep on the sofa tonight. Drink it while it’s hot.”

“Thank you, it smells delicious … oh, Rubin,
thank you
.”

He kissed her lips. “I thank
you
…Now, drink your coffee.” He buttered a croissant. He dipped a ruby-red strawberry into powdered sugar and put it to her mouth. She took a large bite.

She poured a cupful of half coffee, half cream, and handed it to Rubin. “You’d better build up your strength.”

“Have no fears on that score, mademoiselle.” They both laughed like conspirators.

When she’d finished she lay back contentedly and Rubin put the tray on the floor, then lay down alongside her. Slipping his arm around her shoulder he said, “Darling, I forgot to tell you, Emile’s housekeeper is here. Her name is Mignon.”

“Does she know about me?”

“Yes, I suspect she’s quite pleased that there will be someone to fuss over.”

Magda sighed. “Poor Henri must be out of his mind not knowing what happened to me.”

“We should have notified him, but it was the last thing on my mind.”

“Well … no matter, I’ll have to go by today and see him.”

“You’re quite right.”

“Rubin,” Magda said, “I have to go back to my room and pick up my things.”

“It’s not necessary. We’ll buy everything you need today at the Marché de Lafayette until your wardrobe arrives.”

“No, Rubin, I still have to go back.”

“I don’t want you to. Let me get rid of the room—”

“You don’t understand. There are things in that room that are important to me, the only possessions I have—”

“Such as what?”

“My pictures.”

“You have paintings?”

“Just faded photographs of my mother and father … and Niko. Without them, I’m alone …”

“Then let me go.”

“No, I always want to remember where I came from. If I don’t, I’ll never feel right about … all this. Am I making sense, Rubin?”

“Yes, but we’ll go together, you and I.”

Magda smiled. “Rubin? Tell me about the countess.”

“Well, she’s rather extraordinary. When she was young she was the undisputed beauty of her time, really … the toast of Paris.”

“Why does she have to … to sponsor me? Is that how she makes her living?”

“Yes. Although it’s handled very delicately.”

“But she’s a countess … I thought all countesses were rich.”

“Not all. Especially not in her case.”

“Why?”

“Something happened a long time ago. She wouldn’t want to be reminded of it. It was a very difficult period for her.”

“You said she’s accepted in the best society?”

“True … but right after her … well, she was pretty well shut out. Her family, though, was influential, and rich. With a large dowry she was forced to marry Count Boulard, who was not only on his uppers and thirty years older than she, but a fool who squandered her money. Still, with his title—never mind his disgusting behavior—she was once again reinstated, forgiven her transgressions, so-called, and accepted back into all the best French salons.”

“Why did she stay with him?”

“According to French law, whatever a woman had became her husband’s. And he outlived her parents. He died a few years ago, a crazy old man, leaving her broke. Fortunately, she’s been able to hold on to a few valuables, a few jewels, which she laughs about, saying they’ll protect her in her dotage from the poorhouse.”

“Money is important, isn’t it, Rubin?” she asked.

“Of course. But it has to be used in the right way.”

“And what’s the right way?”

“So it doesn’t become an obsession—or a god.”

“It can certainly help a lot.”

“It can also corrupt.”

“It can also buy respectability …Money seems to have such power.”

“It does, Magda. It can do a lot of
good
.”

Like a kaleidoscope, images of mannikins, stained glass windows and
petite maisons
swirled in her head. Then she thought of the Countess. Softly, she said, “It can also buy loneliness … don’t you agree, Rubin?”

Full of the thought of what his life would be without her, he said, “Yes, Magda, endless loneliness.”

She reached for his hand, held it tightly. “When will I meet the Countess?”

“She’ll be here today at six.”

“What should I do? I mean, how should I act?”

“Just be yourself.”

“And if she doesn’t like what I am, then what?”

“She can’t help liking you. You don’t have to pretend—”

“But, Rubin, I’m so … so—”

“So beautiful,” he interrupted.

“To you, maybe … but I’m so uneducated, so common. I’m nothing but a singer in a—”

“That’s enough, Magda. As of this moment, you’re going to say, ‘I’m beautiful. I’m worthy.’ Don’t demean yourself. An uneducated person is simply one who doesn’t learn. And life is the best school. The Magda I see is a gracious, remarkable woman. That’s what’s important, the person you are. It’s simple to become a lady—”

“Even with
my
temper?”

“Yes, even with your temper. That’s part of your charm. Now get dressed. We’ve got a lot to do before six.”

She looked at him, kissed him, tenderly at first, not so tenderly as she felt him respond.

Mignon was in her glory. She took out the Limoges china, polished the silver tea service and arranged the pastries on the Minton épergne. She had not been so excited since Monsieur Jonet left. Life had become dreary in Monsieur’s absence. Folding the serviettes, she wondered if this
maîtresse
of Rubin Hack’s would be able to handle the service at tea time. Mignon had her doubts. Men! There was simply no accounting for their tastes in women. This Mademoiselle Charascu was nothing but a common
souillon
. At least Monsieur Jonet’s ladies had the breeding and training of courtesans, but this one! Oo-la-la. She had been shocked when Monsieur had summoned her earlier from the kitchen to meet his paramour, dressed in a black skirt and sweater so tight and revealing that nothing was left to the imagination. Mignon wondered where he had picked her up. Probably on the streets. Place Pigalle, undoubtedly. Ah, such a waste! But who could figure men out?

In the salon, standing at the window, Rubin looked at Paris, drinking in her beauty as he waited for Magda to finish dressing. Four times she’d changed, observing herself each time in the mirror. He could hear her exclamations of disgust. She hated every outfit.

Frustrated, she sat down heavily on the bed. She’d had her share of problems in life, but which dress to wear had never been one of them. Wasn’t it stupid, she thought, looking at the boxes filled with lingerie, shoes, hats, scarves, even a French umbrella Rubin had insisted on, and it wasn’t even raining. Tissue paper was strewn about the room. When she and Rubin had taken the dresses, suits, skirts and sweaters out, placing them on the enormous bed, she was so excited she hadn’t realized the terrible responsibilities of decision-making …Wearing her new satin and lace slip, she quickly walked across the foyer to the salon.

“Rubin,” she said, breathing hard.

He turned from the window, and looking at her expression of exasperation he smiled, then laughed.

Tapping her foot she said, “Stop
laughing
…” and then almost in tears, said, “Rubin, please … help. I don’t know what to wear. I don’t know what goes with what …”

Rubin took her by the hand and led her back to the bedroom. She watched as he carefully appraised each garment as though it were a matter of state. He picked up the simple mauve chiffon dress with the niching around the neck. It was pretty, she thought, but so sweet and unadorned, especially to meet the Countess for the first time. As he spread the dress across the chair she looked at the full, bouffant sleeves, tight at the wrists, trimmed with the same niching. Then she had second thoughts …Perhaps it was chic. After all, Rubin had selected it.

Opening a shoe box, he took out silk pumps in the same color and placed them on the floor. Next were the hose, soft, fawn-colored, and last the heavy strand of pearls with a diamond clasp, which Rubin had selected in only moments at Cartier. When the salesman had handed them to her for her approval, she thought they seemed no different from the ones sold at any cheap shop … except the price, which staggered her.

“Now, please dress. The Countess will be here in half an hour. And wear the pink satin slip.”

“Oh, Rubin, what would I do without you?”

He smiled and thought, we won’t think about that now.

She had just enough time to stand in front of him, hoping he would approve of her hair, carefully arranged now on top of her head, though she nervously toyed with the tendrils, which hung in front of her ears.

Holding her at arms’ length he said, “You are
ravissante
!”

“Am I, Rubin? Oh, thank you, darling.”

The sound of the bell almost went unheard. Only “darling” pealed joyously in Rubin’s head. It was the first time she’d called him that, and it had seemed to come so spontaneously, so naturally.

Mignon was opening the door and saying, almost with reverence, “
Bon soir, Comtesse.
” She curtsied. The Countess nodded and walked across the marble foyer to the salon, where a nervous Magda and delighted Rubin awaited the arrival of their distinguished guest. Rubin embraced her, kissing her on both cheeks. “You look better than ever, Solange.”

“And you are the same enchanting rogue, dear Rubin, who almost makes a woman believe it.” She smiled with a twinkle in her eye.

Magda watched these two old friends who were so at ease. The Countess was positively regal, though she had to be very old … at least forty-five. But her skin was so youthful, without a wrinkle or blemish, like pure porcelain. The whiteness was startling as Magda watched the ruby-red lips move in speech. Her cheekbones were high and delicately tinted with blush; one could scarcely detect that the color was not natural. Her sloe-shaped eyes, fringed with black lashes, could still affect men. What added to it all was the startlingly burnished red hair, above which sat a black silk turban trimmed with egret feathers. Around her long slender neck was carefully, yet casually, draped a scarf of sables. The black taffeta gown had a rich iridescent texture. The only adornment the Countess wore was a large diamond brooch.