Mary reached into her inside pocket. She pulled out an envelope and placed it on the desk. The foreman put his fingertips on the envelope and pushed it back toward Mary.
“I’m sorry. I feel the bakery would do better under different leadership.”
“Why? My cakes are regarded practically as works of art. Everyone likes them.”
“There’s no reason the bakery has to make the most ornate cakes in the world. They can really be made more efficiently. The point of the bakery should be that the overseers have something readily available to eat. There should be a man running the bakery. It will be more efficient.”
Mary was silent for a moment. She stared at him without expression and asked, “What do I have to do to change your mind?”
He stood up and moved to the glass windows that made up the walls between his office and the factory. He closed the wooden Venetian blinds one by one. He had not put these blinds up. They had been put up before he moved into the office. These blinds served his purpose so well, he could not believe they were not invented directly for it.
Mary knew instantly what he was getting at. If she could cut off her finger, then she could very easily give up her virtue. She had no interest in her virtue. She didn’t want to preserve her virginity for a husband, because she didn’t want a husband. This did not seem like a very high price to pay. It would be over soon. She would have her bakery. The alternative wasn’t something she wanted to consider. She did not want to go back to the factory line.
The foreman had Mary lean over his desk. She hiked her skirts up. He grabbed onto her blond hair and pulled it. He grunted as he entered her from behind, his large body curled against hers.
Mary was painfully in the present. She felt his sweat drip on her neck and his smell surrounded her. She stared out the window. The snow was falling, and she hated the snow. She saw some men loading bags of sugar onto a carriage. She hated them. And she hated the horse that was shaking its head as though furiously disagreeing with someone speaking next to him. She was so in the moment that everything happened at a terribly slow speed. The whole episode seemed interminable even though it wouldn’t have lasted more than five minutes.
His body shuddered against hers. She knew there was a trick men could do that would not make her pregnant. But she didn’t know what it was, so she could not ask for it. She hoped the hatred inside her would be enough to murder any fetus that tried to grow inside her.
He pulled himself off Mary as she leant across the table. When she stood back up, straightened her skirts, and turned toward him, her face was flushed, and for a moment he almost fell to the floor. Because he thought it was Marie Antoine standing before him. And she seemed quite prepared to kill him. He had accidentally fucked someone who had the power to crush him.
Then he realized it was Mary Robespierre. Of course. Of course. He had nothing to be afraid of. Of course she looked nothing like Marie. She was thinner. She was much more dour. Her teeth were yellow. Her hair was lanky. She looked at least eight years older. But he could never shake the vision out of his head. And he never touched Mary again.
* * *
Mary was furious, but her anger wasn’t directed toward the foreman. As soon as she walked into the bakery, she locked the door behind her and screamed. She smashed all the pans against the wall. Her face was covered in flour when she was done. Mary was enraged at Marie Antoine. This was her fault. She had debased her. How could Marie Antoine have entrusted Mary’s fate to such a grotesque man? One might assume having a woman boss would put an end to this practice. But Marie was allowing this to happen to women at the factory and now to Mary herself.
Mary felt a new vitriol forming inside her. She had known herself to be bitter. She had not known if this was how she was naturally, or if it was a way she had become because of her grandparents. Whichever it was, that bitterness existed like a piece of coal inside her. And when her anger was lit, it burned long and hard. And there was no point in trying to blow it out; that only served to fan the flames. She had no choice but to let her anger burn slowly and steadily. She would be furious at Marie Antoine for a very long time.
She would have to quickly clean up if she wanted to make her orders for the morning. She would make Marie pay for this.
One day she would make Marie also feel small and easy to crush. She stepped outside the bakery to look up at the night sky and calm herself. There had been a general consternation that the stars were disappearing from the sky. But then it was discovered they were only becoming less visible because of the increased streetlamps in the city. So she was glad to spot a brilliant one that seemed particularly responsive to her requests. She wished that she would have revenge on Marie Antoine.
The bats were sleeping along the eaves of the bakery like rows of hanging umbrellas. They began to open their wings as though in preparation for a terrible storm.
CHAPTER 30
Backstage at the Music Hall
Sadie was sitting one early spring afternoon at the breakfast table with the other women of the brothel when the topic of her family came up. One of the prostitutes, Ramona, was reading the newspaper. She folded the top down and looked at the others.
“The morality police are trying to shut down the music hall again,” Ramona said.
“They ruin everything! Which one is it?” Louisa asked. “Joseph Arnett or his son, Philip?”
“It’s the son, Philip Arnett.”
“That’s Sadie’s brother.”
“Is it really?” Ramona asked, turning toward Sadie.
“Yes. I’m afraid so,” Sadie answered. “What’s he saying in the paper?”
“?‘The new lineup at the music hall is nothing more than a series of lewd theatrics, replete with sexual innuendos and indecent humor. The works serve no dramatic or edifying purpose. Rather, they serve to incite licentiousness in its audience. After viewing this performance, the audience members return home believing any indecent behavior is permissible.’?”
“That sounds wonderful!” Sadie said. “We have to go see this spectacle. Will you take me, George?”
* * *