Parlor Games A Novel

ANOTHER LETTER FROM FRANK



MENOMINEE—JANUARY 27, 1917



On Saturday evening, after the first week of the trial, I received another letter from Frank.


Dear May,

Damn, you’re a stubborn one. All I wanted was to meet you for a drink. The least you could have done was give the message boy a time that would’ve worked for you. Are you afraid to talk to your Frank? What do you have to fear from me? You sure as hell aren’t following lawyer’s orders! That line won’t work on me. Remember the story you told me about besting the Mexican government back in ’03? That’s the real May.

You’ve got a birthday coming up in May, don’t you? Number 48. Face it, May, you’re no spring chicken anymore. You’ve been living off your looks and charms for an awful lot of years. Charm may never desert you, but 48 isn’t so young, is it? When you were 20, 30, even 40, you could reel them in one right after another. But how many men are going to fall all over themselves for a woman pushing 50? It’s about time you looked in the mirror. Men want delicate little flowers, and the bloom’s off your rose, my dear.

When we women reach our mature years we can’t just think about the next adventure. We need to consider our security, how we’re going to live our years out comfortably. And an awful lot of women end up living those years without a man. They die off on us, or they hang around in a wheelchair and expect us to wipe their drool and warm up the bed for them.

Have you known anybody who stuck with you as many years as your Frank? We both know you go through people like whiskey through a sieve. But I’ve always been there for you, whenever you needed someone to keep you company between your barons and tycoons.

This trial does more damage to you every day. It’s not just the Menominee papers carrying the story. People all the way to New York City are reading about you. If you let this trial play out to its ugly end, you’re going to end up a ruined woman. Think about all those prospective catches out there. How many New York businessmen are going to line up to be seduced by May de Vries after she’s found liable for swindling a friend out of $100,000?

Let’s call it off right now. I know you can come up with the money. And once you do, I’ll invest it so that it’ll last us a long time. Then we can get back to living again, and you can trust that your Frank will always be there for you.





Your faithful friend,

Frank





THE WAX AND WANE OF HOPE



NEW YORK—MARCH–MAY 1903



What had I to show for my life? Enough money from Rudolph’s last allotment and the Arkansas hotel sale to see me through a good many years. But no one to enjoy it with.

More than anything, I wished to return to Alonso. But I dared not. Dougherty would certainly follow through on his threat to expose my marital status, as well as the ploy I’d used to win the mining contract—if Alonso’s father hadn’t already done so. And if Alonso learned all this, he might assume I never really loved him. Even if I returned to convince him otherwise, Secretary Elvira Pérez and Dougherty would no doubt do everything in their power to force my departure. And with a divorce looming, I could not depend on the Baron’s protection, which might embolden them to jail me. No, that path was foreclosed.

I was inclined to determine whether Rudolph would take me back. But first I needed to settle the battle raging in me over our marriage. I’d been of mixed feelings for years, but I couldn’t deny the appeal of the life I’d built with him: a respectable life in which I’d mingled with the landed and royal classes in Holland and England; attended the finest theater and opera London had to offer; and, as a baroness, commanded respect and admiration everywhere I traveled.

If I simply accepted the divorce, I’d never know whether I might reclaim some measure of happiness with Rudolph. At the least, I could try to reconcile with him and give us a second chance. Once I’d finally decided on this course, my hopes soared. I sent him a cablegram from New York: PLEASE HALT DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS STOP BOARDING SS CEDRIC FOR LIVERPOOL IN TWO DAYS AND TRAVELING TO LONDON TO SEE YOU STOP.

Within hours I received his reply: NO NEED TO TRAVEL HERE STOP DIVORCE TERMS CAN BE MANAGED THROUGH CORRESPONDENCE STOP.

Was he serious? Could he be dissuaded? Although he sounded determined, perhaps I could devise some strategy that would instill doubt or reawaken his love for me. I could forgo groveling and let him think I was willing to proceed with the divorce, albeit throwing up plenty of hurdles, and see if that gave him pause. At this point it behooved me to seek legal counsel. I refused to turn to Frank. As far as I was concerned, she had no place in my life.

I invited my friend Hanna Harrington in from Southampton to luncheon at the Waldorf-Astoria. She recommended a Mr. Oliver Biltwell, who happened to specialize in divorce cases for New York’s wealthiest. And she invited me to the annual Easter dinner she hosted for her closest friends. Under the circumstances it was especially gratifying to be welcomed back into my own circle of New York acquaintances.

Once Rudolph’s solicitor made his terms known, I secured the services of Mr. Biltwell and countered Rudolph’s ungenerous offer with my own proposal: a financial settlement four times the size of his offer, about $380,000, the London home, and the right to my baroness title in perpetuity.



I decided to settle in New York for the time being: What other place, outside of London, offered so much entertainment, high society, and cachet? I checked out of the Waldorf-Astoria and moved to the Gilsey House, which offered more amenities for a long-term stay. As I went about renewing my New York acquaintances, I called on Daisy to come stay with me there (just like old times) and serve as my assistant.

She arrived at my room as arranged, at noon on March 28. When I opened the door, she swept in and embraced me. “May, it’s been far too long.”

I hugged her and grasped her hands. “My dear Daisy, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve wished you were at my side.”

“Your letters were a delight.” She raised her eyebrows in a show of mischievous camaraderie. “I’ve missed some high adventure.”

“Ah, yes,” I said, chuckling, and led her to the couch in my suite. Then I noticed: “But you’ve not brought a suitcase.”

That dampened her—and my—spirits. She perched beside me on the couch and clasped her hands primly on her lap. “I must speak with you about Mother. I thought it best to talk in person.”

“Is something wrong?”

“She’s got the rheumatism. Quite bad. I’ve taken to doing all the cooking and cleaning and chores.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. And Dicky, how is he?”

“He drives his own coach now. We don’t see much of him.”

“He doesn’t help with your mother at all?”

“Every now and then he brings around a tin of cookies.”

“Ah, off on his own, then.”

“Like father, like son.”

I figured I might as well come out and ask, since Daisy seemed to be p-ssyfooting around. “So you’ll not be able to stay with me?”

“Not without some kind of arrangement.”

“Oh, I’m sure we can work something out.” The truth is, she was the best assistant I could have asked for. And I needed her now more than ever.

“I’d be pleased to come back into your service if I can be sure Mother will be taken care of.”

“Heavens, I won’t need you twenty-four hours a day. We’ll work out a schedule.”

“And might you be able to pay a housemaid to attend to Mother when I’m not there?”

What could I say? I wasn’t so heartless as to leave an old woman alone in her hovel. I patted her hands. “Of course, Daisy. That’s no problem at all.”



Two weeks after I’d submitted my counteroffer, Rudolph’s solicitor fired back: REQUESTED FUNDS ARE OUT OF THE QUESTION STOP THEY ARE NOT IN LINE WITH WHAT IS CUSTOMARY IN SUCH CASES STOP THE LONDON HOME HAS BEEN PUT ON THE MARKET STOP CANNOT BE CONSIDERED IN THE DIVORCE STOP.

I responded: WILL RELINQUISH ANY REQUEST FOR PROPERTY STOP REQUEST THE EQUIVALENT OF $440,000 AND THE BARONESS TITLE STOP. I imagined that would keep them quiet for a spell.

Rudolph and I were obviously locked in a game of offers and counteroffers. If only I had some insight into Rudolph’s state of mind, I might better know how to proceed. And that made me think of Saskia and Philip, whom I missed terribly. I would have loved to dine and go to the opera with them. But circumstances precluded continuation of our friendship. I’m sure Saskia missed me as much as I missed her. And no doubt Philip still appreciated the assistance I’d provided in Mexico. But I understand family ties and loyalty as well as the next person. Our friendship, alas, had fallen casualty to my husband’s impatience and intransigence.





MY YEARS OF WANDERING



NEW YORK AND MENOMINEE—1903–1905



Thus began my years of wandering. Cut off from Alonso, thwarted by Reed Dougherty, and refused by Rudolph, I was adrift, with only a title to link me to the respectable life I’d once known. I rejected all the Baron’s settlement offers, even as he inched up the financial terms. Eventually, he resorted to an arrangement that did not require my consent: a legal separation in the Dutch courts, on the grounds of abandonment, which absolved him of any financial responsibility for me and forced me to subsist on the proceeds of the hotel sale.

The world of 1903 seemed to race by without me, and newspapers touted the many amazing inventions of our “magical era of mechanical progress.” Henry Ford founded an automobile company, the Wright brothers took to the air in Kitty Hawk, Harley and Davidson motorized a bicycle, and Marconi and King Edward exchanged two-way wireless messages. But I could finding nothing magical in my life, nor could I imagine a way to reinvent myself.

New York soon became tiresome, with its insufferably humid summers, blustery autumns, and snowstorms that brought the city to a mind-numbing standstill. The dreadful society pages reported on my and my acquaintances’ every society appearance and related the particulars of my marital predicament to the whole of New York. Men I might enjoy passing the time with looked on me as a mere toy to be fancied, a titled woman somewhere between a husband and a divorce. I was neither fish nor fowl, neither married nor marriageable. In short, my status precluded the kind of companionship any woman in my circumstances would wish for—the attentions of a well-to-do gentleman who could offer a gallant arm and spirited company.

I struggled through winter’s hardships in New York and decided that, if I must submit to the vagaries of a northern climate, I might as well do so in Menominee, where I could at least savor the comforts of hearth and kin. I released Daisy to attend to her mother’s caretaking and journeyed to Michigan in the spring of 1904.

Much as I enjoyed helping Maman around the house and joshing with my brothers, I soon became bored—with the sameness of the rooms; the tedium of tired, predictable greetings with the butcher and grocer; and the utter lack of any theater, opera, or musical entertainment of at least middling quality. The best Menominee’s brand-new Opera House could offer, a much-vaunted visit by John Philip Sousa, did little to endear me to its fare. I had obviously overrated the comforts of hearth and kin.



By November of 1904, I was back in New York, though I was none too content there, either.

“New York is getting too small for me,” I told Daisy.

She stood at my dresser, removing spruce-scented laundry from a canvas bag. Speaking with her back to me, she nestled my clothes into the drawers. “Where would you go?”

“London. Where there are plenty of people who knew me before I even met Rudolph.”

She looked over her shoulder at me. “And would I join you?”

“I’d like nothing more. Could you?”

“It would be a hardship for Mother. Unless I could move Mildred in with her.”

“If you’re asking me if I can afford to do that, I certainly can. And will.”

She straightened up and faced me. “When shall we go?”

“As soon as the air warms. So we can enjoy a springtime crossing.”

In April 1905, Daisy and I boarded the Carmania for Liverpool.