Cora had been discarded, for she had disappointed. He was not trying to make me over into her—he had failed to make her into what I was to become. If I failed, perhaps there would be another.
My old fear from that time, that he would give up on me, seemed quaint at best as I waited for him. From our first meeting, I had never been able to rid myself of him, and over time, that came to seem like something like or, at least, more reliable than marriage. But then I had never been married and knew as little of it still as I did at this time of what it would mean to be bought.
The tenor returned as the butler had said he would. I heard the entrance door open and the butler’s voice, no doubt telling him he had a visitor and who it was.
I then heard laughter.
The door to the library opened. All this time I have had to chase you, and now you come right to my door? Chérie, it’s too much. He came to where I sat.
I would have thought I would not see you again, unless you have finally come to kill me, he said.
I said nothing to this.
You must want something, he said. It can’t be money. What is it? Is it your curse? He laughed as he said that.
I hear a rumor we are to be married. It wasn’t me, he said. But I like the rumor. Perhaps . . . perhaps it is our time.
I wanted to be sure, I said, with a smile. And then laughed with him about the rumor even as I saw, at once, he wasn’t probably the source.
Consider this your present in our imaginary engagement, I said, and offered the novel to him.
He unwrapped it and turned it over with real fascination.
You’ve never given me a novel, he said.
He was likewise not my secret tormentor. He’d never been able to rid himself of a certain wounded air since I’d won my eventual freedom from him. If it was him, this air would be gone. Instead, I saw his hopes rise to see me, to page through the novel—I had misled him even by coming—and so I consoled myself with this as I made an excuse and left, saying I hoped we’d sing together soon.
It was a game, to hurt him again even like that, but it was only a part of the game by which I had escaped him. And while it was not the satisfaction I sought, it would do for now.
You will notice I do not use his name. For this story, I never will. He was named by the rules of the Majeurs-Plaisirs—it seemed safer this way. He is always the tenor. If there had been another tenor, that tenor would have been “tenor 2,” or “second tenor.” Something that would have amused me.
If these men met you on the street with their friends, they were as likely to ignore you as recognize you; to introduce you might offend whomever they were with. That was their prudence. This was mine.
If there was some way they could not allow me into their circles, well, it would be the same for them somehow.
In these ways, it seems to me, you kept yourself.
Eight
WHEN I SAY he owned me all those years ago, I mean he owned me like he owned his shoes.
After that night with Cora Pearl, he bought me from Odile, bought my contract. He freed me from my unconquerable bill of fare with her but delivered me into his own.
I still remember how I stood by my wardrobe with him, packing as he sat with Odile, who tallied my bill. If he did not pay for something, she would make me leave it behind, so, as I brought each item out, he said either yes or no, and a maid he’d brought to help either set the item into a case or put it on the bed I’d shared with Euphrosyne.
I was the envy of the house. Each girl here wanted to have her contract bought and her client to arrive with cases and a maid to pack them, but the scrutiny of each object humiliated me, especially as the other girls lined the doorway, excited for me, but also arguing already in whispers over who would get what of the things I would leave behind.
Odile turned and hushed them before continuing.
We had come to the cancan shoes, which I was intent on keeping no matter what he said. I took the pair Euphrosyne had bought me and pointed to the case as I handed them to the maid.
These are mine, I said, as Odile raised an eyebrow. I wore them into prison and on my way here. I will wear them out of here as well.
In the doorway, the girls laughed.
My six other pairs, one for each day of the week if I wanted, amused the tenor. I like them, he said, as they were set in one by one. And then it was done; he paid the bill outright. He left to wait downstairs and let me dress and say good-byes. The maid stayed at first to help me, but I shooed her away. As I closed the door, Euphrosyne came and sat down on the bed.
I told them I pick first, she said, and then plucked at the few things the tenor had rejected—mostly lingerie. We will buy all new ones for you, he’d said.
When she saw there was nothing she wanted, she turned her attention to me.
It’s nothing to me, Jou-jou, she said. It’s a favor you do for me, though, really, she said. You’ll tire of him. You’ll see. Give me a kiss and let it be done. We must stay friends, for we love each other.
She had slept beside me coldly since that night I first sang for him. This had angered me, as the fantasy act that introduced me to him had been her idea, and so I had been cold in return. But she was right.
I bent down and gave her a kiss.
Just be sure to be careful. It will be harder to refuse him now. And if he beats you, promise me you’ll show him that knife.
I nodded.
I have a confession, she said. Please forgive me. She withdrew something from her blouse and set it on the bed.
It was silly of me, she said. And terrible. I was . . . I loved the story, she said. I would take it out and pretend the Emperor had given it to me.
The rose pin sat there, strangely dark in the light, almost black. She’d had it this whole time.
I made myself go to the bed and pick it up.
She kept talking, not quite meeting my eyes. Her voice seemed focused past me, as if on someone listening in.
I meant to give it back sooner, for it was really childish of me, but then when our tenor friend chose you over me, it was as if you’d stolen from me, and I felt we were even. But we aren’t, are we? Nothing like that will ever happen to me, you see, she said. I don’t have any other talents except this, and she gestured to her figure. And when this is gone, nothing. So forgive me, please. And you! You will finally be the singer you were fated to be. He will help you, I think, yes? And you must come back often and tell me everything.
With that, she came close and embraced me.
You must kiss me; we must stay friends, she said.
I did.
The tenor’s driver came for my new cases then, and as I followed him downstairs, I passed by the open door to the room where it had begun, the faux opera boxes and the illusion stage. The maid was mopping the floors clean of the previous night’s exertions. I looked back up the stairs, but there was no sign of her. There was only Odile at the foot of the stairs calling for me to come.
§
That first time I entered my apartment on the brand-new avenue de l’Opéra, I felt as if I were an interloper visiting someone else’s home.
The walls were painted carefully, a beautiful dove gray, and furnished in what struck me as the most elegant furnishings I’d ever seen, though I might be less impressed to see them now. Enormous crystal chandeliers hung in nearly every room, even the boudoir. There was even a music room with a piano.
As I left the maid to set my things out in the new apartment, I knew what I’d been too proud to say in front of Euphrosyne, what she had even tried to tell me.
There was always at least one client who was reluctant to leave. This is paradise, they’d usually exclaim first. They’d joke with Odile, ask her what she would charge to stay the night; and she forbade it each time. The Plaisirs closes at dawn, she would say to them. It is the only rule. That, and that you must pay.