* * *
The foreman drove with her to the hospital. She made an unusual request from him on the way. She asked that she might be able to speak to Louis Antoine in person. She reached into her pocket with her unbloodied hand and took out a square piece of paper. It was a calling card she had designed herself. Her name was beautifully written on it. You might easily mistake it for the card of a lady. It was odd to only have one calling card. But she hardly had a constant need for them. The foreman thought it odd indeed to be taking a calling card from a girl off the factory floor. He found it even stranger that a factory girl would summon the owner and expect her request to be delivered.
“Please tell him to come see me at the hospital, and I won’t go to the papers.”
The foreman supposed he did not have a choice and put the card into his pocket instead of tossing it out the window.
She sat on a chair at the end of the waiting room, with her hand bandaged up, waiting for Louis to arrive. For a moment she worried she had lost a finger for nothing. But then she saw him coming down the hallway, his dark ermine coat waving behind him. He looked at her and sat on a chair across from her.
This was the second time she had been in the same room as this man. The first time he had imprisoned her. This time he would free her. The trick was to ask this man for the right thing. If you asked for the wrong wish from this man, it would ruin you. You would go back to that moment for the rest of your life and wish you had kept your mouth shut. He looked at her with such a peculiar intensity, she felt she could make her request now.
“Do you remember me?” Mary asked.
“Yes, of course. We always meet under the most unfortunate circumstances.”
“Do you think you are bringing me bad luck?”
“No, not at all. That did not cross my mind. It’s your bad luck, wouldn’t you say? I arrive afterward.”
“You must think my family especially accident-prone.”
“It was lucky you lost your little finger. You will still be able to use your hands and carry on most activities as though nothing happened.”
“Was I lucky like my mother?”
He looked frightened. She could tell he was debating standing up and leaving. He clearly couldn’t decide what he was feeling. And men did not like to be made to feel confused by women. He might call her bluff and not do anything at all for her. And truth be told there might not be any consequences for him. The factories were always on the brink of a revolt. But the revolt never happened. The rage of the masses has short-term memory loss.
Mary noticed his hesitation and then launched into action. “I would like to have my own bakery, and I would like you to give it to me. I have drafted all the proposals.”
She moved very quickly. She snatched the rolls of paper from the inside pocket of her coat and spread them out on a nearby table. They were not there and then all of a sudden they were directly in front of him. Clearly her missing finger was in no way impeding her movements. There was a sketch of the outside of a small unused building next to the factory. In the drawing, it was no longer decrepit and had the name “Robespierre Bakery” painted in gold on the window. From that one drawing, he immediately saw she had talent. She had taken an eyesore of a building and had turned it into something darling and pretty.
There was a drawing of the interior. And then she unrolled a financial outline. It had the prices for all the appliances she would need. She had the amounts of ingredients she would need to start up, of course. She had every detail itemized, right down to the fee she would pay the sign painter to paint the words “Robespierre Bakery” on the glass in sparkly gold lettering. She spread her hands over the thin paper and it made the sound of a fire crackling.
She then cautiously handed him the financial details, which included the amount of money she would need from Louis for an investment. She wanted an extended lease on the building and property. She would have it for free for the first six months. After which she would be able to pay the rent herself.
“There are already plenty of bakeries in the neighborhood. What makes you so sure your cakes will sell?”
Her eyes lit up with anticipation when he said this. She was clearly delighted he had asked a question she had the exact answer to. She pulled out the rest of the drawings. She began unfolding them one by one. She kept glancing up. Even though Louis was her most cursed enemy, she still wanted to see his reaction to her drawings of cakes.
She knew there was something spectacular about her cakes. Although everything in her past would indicate that she should, Mary did not suffer from low self-esteem. She knew when she was good at something. She never doubted her potential. If anything, she was conceited. You needed that often-maligned quality to achieve greatness.
Louis had never described plans as beautiful before. But the drawings of cakes and cookies made him feel as though he were being presented with an astronomer’s map of a perfect universe. He had no idea how she would execute these drawings and turn them into edible sculptures. But it was a noble enterprise. If he himself were to pass a window and see cakes that in any way resembled the ones she had drawn, he would have to buy them. They seemed too good to be true. And he had seen a lot of things in his day.
“They might seem improbable to you, but I have been making two dollars a week selling them at the street stalls. There’s always more demand than I can meet.”
Mary then went for her pièce de résistance. She pulled a small box out from the breast pocket of her coat. She laid it on top of all the plans and opened it. She saw Louis’s eyes light up in amazement at the perfect chocolate ball with pink roses surrounding it. “It makes sense the factory should have a fine bakery,” Mary said. “You want to be able to showcase what your sugar can do, don’t you?”
Mary needed Louis to realize her dreams, but she also needed to see Louis to get her away from her grandparents. They would make sure they benefitted from her losing a finger and opening a bakery. Then it would all have been for nothing. “I want you to get my grandparents to leave me alone forever. I don’t know how you would go about doing this. But I don’t want to think about it. I’m poor; I don’t know how to get people to do what I want them to do. You do.”
* * *
And so, Mary Robespierre’s grandparents were willingly paid off. And a little bakery was installed in a small shop in the shadows of the huge factory building. It would, of course, have difficulty distinguishing itself. How could any store in the presence of so much dinginess hope to emanate any sort of delight? She was unfazed. She had the opportunity to get out of the factory and she was going to.
* * *