The Harlot’s Pen (10 page)

Violetta blinked at him. Fancy words? They were regular, normal words in her circle. “Oh, well Miss Kitty did mention that she only wants the most refined speech in her Resort,” Violetta tried.

Mr. Hearst burst out with a guffaw that sent Violetta back into her chair. “Indeed, the most refined speech of all! Of all things!” He laughed again.

“Entertain Mr. Hearst, will you, Violet?” Miss Lombard seemed to have taken Mr. Hearst’s name for her as correct. She opened the door and was about to step through to the foyer.

“
Violetta,
” Violetta started to correct her, then stopped. No, Violet would be her name to Mr. Hearst, for so he had said, and to correct Miss Lombard would be to correct her guest. “Certainly,” she said instead, and watched with a combination of relief and dismay as her new employer, her hideous dog at her heels, left her to her own devices. She turned back to Mr. Hearst with her most winning smile, her mind scrambling for a safe topic. “I have followed the debate over prohibition in your editorials, Mr. Hearst,” she started.

“My goodness, Violet. Kitty’s a smart cat, that’s for sure, but she’s got a real intellectual on her hands here. You know some men don’t like too bright a girl, don’t you, dearie? Maybe you came out of one of those fine San Francisco houses, where fancy talk is the aphrodisiac to the main course, so to speak. Or perhaps Kitty is only refining her stable of kittens at this lovely Resort. Though I do say, you mustn’t flinch when the gentlemen callers fondle your bottom.”

“Oh, that. I was only surprised since you were sitting so far away. I underestimated your reach.”

“At your peril, girlie. Never underestimate a man’s reach.”

She smiled, she hoped archly. Clearly one could say very little, and Mr. Hearst would carry the rest of the conversation himself. “Indeed, sir, to do so would certainly be to my peril and ultimate surprise.” Mr. Hearst laughed again, this time only in amusement. Once more, Violetta was able to breathe. “So tell me,” she said, using the technique that Miss Bary had been so intent on teaching, “what is it that speaks to you so about newspaper editing?”

Mr. Hearst leaned back in his chair. “It’s a fine way to make a bundle if you’ve got the right stories, the right editors, and the right advertisers. It can’t be beat as a showcase for one’s opinions, and it’s a way to matter to the world, to influence the bigger picture, to your own views.”

“Fascinating. To express one’s views, of course, one needs to have some. Many people I meet have none whatsoever.”

“Oh, Violet, my dear, everyone has views! It’s just that some are so banal, they aren’t worth speaking of. Others are wrongheaded and foolish. The key, of course, it to have well thought out views, and the connections and language to see them through.”

“I am sure that your views are thoroughly well thought out.”

He looked at her sharply. “Are you baiting me?”

Violetta pulled back a bit. She had meant to be flattering, to draw him out by asking him his opinions, rather than venturing her own. Miss Bary had always said that this was the way to influence a man. First, learn his point of view. Then gain his interest, before finally putting your own views into his words. Violetta had clearly not perfected the first yet.

She tried again. “I just wonder how someone as well-known as you can even find the time to filter through all of the demands and contradictions of those who would seek your favor and the influence your paper can provide. It must be hopelessly taxing.”

That seemed to mollify Mr. Hearst, for he preened a bit. “It’s a matter of experience, my dear. And, of course, it’s a matter of money. There was a time…” and he was off in a story of money and influence. Samantha entered with a tray with a glass of cordial, and Mr. Hearst took it with a nod and a wink to the serving girl. She giggled back and swayed her behind as she left the room. He interrupted himself. “No cordial for you, Violet?”

“Oh, I don’t drink spirits,” she answered without thinking. He put his glass down sharply. She looked up at him, startled, and realized her error. “I mean, never before sunset!” She tried a disarming smile.

“Well, to you, my dear.” He raised his glass to her, and emptied it at a gulp. “It is always sunset somewhere.”

* * * *

“The Strassburg was operated … by Spanish Kitty, a tall, dark, strikingly handsome woman… Although her place provided liquor, dancing, and bawdy shows, much of its fame was founded on the proficiency of Spanish Kitty at fifteen-ball pool, at which she was the recognized champion of the Barbary Coast.” Herbert Asbury

The sun was no longer directly overhead, and the heat had mellowed to a balmy, late spring evening. Kate brought out the decks of cards, and several parties were playing at different tables. Poker was of course the favorite, but there was an enthusiastic group of rummy players as well, and they welcomed Violetta to their table. It was a relief to Kate not to have to watch her constantly, as she seemed to relax at the rummy table and converse with her fellow players easily and with charm.
I must speak with her, though, before eight tonight. I will not have her in a room with any of the gentlemen. She is absolutely not going to engage in that sort of commerce in my house. And to write about it, no less! After all I’ve done to salvage a bit of life for myself and for my girls—to lose it all at the whim of some misplaced, publicity-seeking society do-gooder.

Kate felt her blood begin to boil again and pushed that thought from her mind. Even in her irritation she knew that was an unfair assessment of Miss Strone. And it was nice to have a fine woman of Miss Strone’s class in her company. She would have to think of her as Violetta, or Violet, as she suddenly started calling herself after Will made the error. Violet the whore. Kate shook her head. That was a laugh.

Kate gazed around the room. It was a good night, but most nights were. Cold and rain brought fewer men in, but bigger spenders, taken one at a time. Warm weather brought the groups of card players, and for those gamblers she knew and trusted, access to the back parlor for dice-throwing. And all weather brought commerce for the girls, for Lily, Sharon, Posie, and Rose. Kate smiled a little smile to herself. Violet, another flower. What a coincidence.

Kate rang for Samantha, who came in with trays of drinks, little bowls of hot beans, pork rinds, and boiled eggs. As the evening progressed, the drinking progressed, too, from lemonade, to cordials made from her own grapes and plums, to bootleg whiskey of the finest sort, provided by her gentlemen themselves. Kate herself preferred whiskey to all other liquor and could hold it like a man. She’d had plenty of practice, she mused, having had her first sip of gin at age twelve, after her first man. Took the sting away, her mother had said.

The rummy game was breaking up, and Jonathan, Gold, and Reggie were eyeing Violetta appraisingly. Violetta appeared oblivious to the looks, shuffling the cards and sipping her lemonade. It was time to intervene before one of the fellows made a move.

“Violet, you are wanted in the kitchen,” she said to Violetta, her voice firm but pleasant. “I believe there’s a dish there for you to take a little supper.”

“She can sup with me,” Gold said with his strong accent. He said it was Turkish, but Kate knew better. He had a first name, but it was said to be long and unpronounceable, so no one bothered with it. Violetta grinned at him.

“No doubt she’d love to,” Kate intervened. She was known for her easy humor, and it was part of her business acumen to keep a pleasant face unless matters got seriously out of hand. When that happened, she had Moses. And a shotgun. And she was a crack shot. “But the poor girl hasn’t eaten since this morning, and I fear she would faint at your table.”

Gold laughed. “Or in my bed. But as long as she faints in my arms, I have no complaints!”

“She’s too tall for ya, Gold. You’d best leave her for me,” Jonathan said, elbowing Gold.

“A tall girl is a blessing,” Gold answered. “You put your head between her blessings and don’t even have to bend your knees!”

“On with you!” Kate laughed, giving Violetta a meaningful glance. At Gold’s mention of bed she had gone somewhat stiff, and Kate was gratified to see her rise immediately to obey her directive.

Kate followed her out.

“Good night, Miss Strone. You’ll be leaving now.” Kate took Violetta’s arm, and looking companionable, turned her towards the door. Moses left his post by the door and immediately appeared next to her, looking a question at Kate. Kate shook her head lightly.
I’ve got it. I don’t think I’ll need your help with this one.
He backed off, adjusting the black jacket he now wore over the undershirt. Kate glimpsed the gun in his shoulder holster.

As they passed the door to Kate’s private quarters, Samantha emerged with a tray of used glasses. Moses moved quickly to shut the door behind Samantha, but Kate noticed a startled hesitance in Violetta’s step.

“So there’s your pool table,” Violetta said.

“Indeed, for my private use,” Kate said coldly.

“Mr. Older told me of your prowess at fifteen-ball,” Violetta remarked. They continued to the porch. “I am truly grateful that you permitted me to stay this evening.”

“And doubtless that I rescued you from the rest of the evening.”

Violetta nodded, her cheeks flushed. “That is true, though I am ashamed to say that I was not really ready to put my plan in effect, although I thought I was.”

“I hope you have learned a lesson,” Kate said.

“I have, Miss Lombard. I will see you tomorrow.”

“I have not consented.”

Violetta hesitated again, then, following a deep breath, eye-to-eye with Kate she said, “I will make you a wager.” Her voice shook. “I will play you a round of fifteen-ball pool. If I win, you take me on. If I lose, you don’t.”

Kate stood very still. Fifteen-ball. Spanish Kitty had been the Queen of Fifteen-ball in San Francisco for years. It was a perfect way out of the dilemma. Unless, in some outlandish, freakish possibility, this strange woman won.

Not possible,
Kate thought. “You’re on.”

The two women walked back to the entrance of Kate’s rooms. No girl had ever been invited past this portal. Moses twitched. Kate threw him a quick glance, and he followed them to her door, positioning himself against the jamb.

Kate closed the door quietly. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“No,” Violetta whispered. “But I will.”

Kate held out a cue to Violetta, who took it up with a block of chalk sitting next to the baize. Kate watched as Violetta expertly rubbed the block against the felt tip. Kate chalked her cue, her eyes on Violetta. She racked the balls. “Break.”

Violetta looked carefully at the set, positioned herself, and broke.
An expert,
Kate thought. She had played experts many times. The three landed.

Kate took up her spot. She pocketed the seven smoothly and eyed Violetta. She seemed a different woman, graceful, confident. Violetta moved around the table. She dropped the fifteen. Kate smiled tightly.
Insurance player, not bold.

They took their turns, dropping ball after ball. A scratch would turn the game radically. Kate took the fourteen and the twelve. Violetta the six and the two. Another turn and another, and neither missed a shot. Kate added the numbers quickly. Violetta had 50 points to Kate’s 48. First to 61 would win. She looked over the table. A cue ball in a pocket would scratch, and she would lose the points from the ball. It was Kate’s turn, and without an error on either side, she would win. But she needed two balls, and Violetta only needed the eleven to make her score.

Kate eyed the eleven ball. If she sank it, she would be at 58, three shy of victory, but with her winning assured. Violetta needed the eleven alone, but without it, only the eight and the four remained, and neither was enough alone to reach 61. Alas, the eleven was virtually unplayable. Kate glanced at Violetta, whose attention was riveted on the eleven. “Where did you learn to play?” Kate asked softly.

“I was a prisoner in my own house for three years after my fiancé bolted. Pool kept me sane. You play brilliantly, Miss Lombard.”

Kate smiled slightly. “Queen of the Fifteen.” She chalked her cue. “These rooms and this table are out of bounds for the women of this house.”

“I understand. I will never mention the table again.”

Kate nodded and chalked again. The eleven. If she couldn’t sink it without risking a scratch, she would position it so Violetta couldn’t either. She took a deep breath. The crack of the cue ball against the four reported like a gun. She held her breath as the four smashed the eleven, sending it skittering across the table and nestling hopelessly behind the eight ball. The eight rolled slowly toward the pocket. The cue ball rolled even slower to the center of the table.

No scratch, no point, but the eleven remained unplayable.

“Well done,” Violetta said. She dropped the eight without ceremony.

“Fifty-eight forty-eight,” Kate replied. It was still Violetta’s game. She aimed carefully. The only hope now was a scratch on Violetta’s last ball, and Kate knew that would not happen. Violetta had played impeccable fifteen-ball. She dropped the four and stood back.

Violetta chalked her cue and looked at the eleven. She dried her hands on her silk dress, which puckered slightly at the moisture.
Play it, and you’re a whore,
Kate thought. Most girls would have put their cue down.

“Play it,” she said softly.

Violetta nodded, crouched into position, and dropped the eleven flawlessly into the corner right.

Both women exhaled. Dark eyes met dark eyes. Kate moved to the door, opened it. “No names of my clients. Ever.”

Violetta nodded quickly. “Thank you, Miss Lombard,” she whispered.

And with that, Violetta made her escape down the stairs of the porch.

Something about the gall, or the audacity, or perhaps the courage of this young woman moved her. She would receive her tomorrow and tell her exactly what her duties would be if she stayed. Kate turned back to reenter her salon.

“So, she a new one, or not?” Moses asked.