“My act is quite different from hers,” Annique says. “In mine, all the dancers perform nude. We don’t use veils. It is very modern.”
They’re both watching me. I think I’m going to be sick. Annique stole my act and now the Odéon is hiring her. I have a crushing feeling in my chest; I haven’t had a new contract in months. Edouard took the owner of the Odéon to court and won, but that money isn’t enough to keep his men working to rescue Non. I’ve paid for three scouting missions so far—each one more disappointing than the last. They can never get close to her. Whenever Non is not with Rudolph she’s at school, and when she’s at school a nanny sits outside waiting for her. The woman never misses a day, never leaves her post.
I turn on my heel and leave Bowtie with Annique. Then I take the long way home. Children are racing paper boats in the Seine. It’s a beautiful day but all I see are the numbers dancing in my head. Ten thousand: what it will cost to bribe Rudolph’s nanny; Edouard has told me this. Six thousand: the amount I’ll need to pay for another reconnaissance mission, and there will need to be more, possibly many. Six: the number of weeks I haven’t worked. Ten: the number of days since I last saw Edouard. Two: the number of men this last week who bought me something worth pawning. One: the only child I have left. And she’s waiting for me. Edouard says his men tell him she looks happy. She appears healthy and well cared for. She has friends in school and jokes with her nanny. Is it true? Or are they telling me lies to make the waiting easier?
When I get home, Edouard phones to tell me that La Madeline wants my Cleopatra.
“Charge them an outrageous sum,” I tell him, feeling vindictive. They rejected me when I first arrived in Paris.
“I already have.”
“Then double it.”
*
I’m being crushed by the circle of reporters surrounding me. There are so many cameras and notepads that I couldn’t find Bowtie in the crowd if I wanted to. When the bulbs finally stop flashing, I do see him. He thrusts a paper under my nose.
PARIS SHOWDOWN: IN DUELING CLEOPATRAS MATA HARI CONQUERS
“Not bad.” I keep walking, letting my white fur trail behind me. It’s an older coat but no one would know it. And suddenly I feel I can conquer Annique and the world. I wait while my chauffeur opens the car door. Before he can close it, Bowtie is there. “Mata Hari, will you be around for—”
“For what? For something Annique isn’t available for?”
“Hold on, now.” He puts his hands up, as if I’m pointing a gun at him. “You know the ropes; this is business. Who knows that better than you? The ‘Showdown’ piece sold more copies for Le Figaro than every other article I’ve written this month combined. Meet me tomorrow,” he pleads. “You’re good for my career.”
He’s a pretty talker, but the truth is that he’s good for mine, too. I make him wait several moments before answering. “Same lobby. Ten o’clock.”
He tips his hat to me and the chauffeur closes my door.
*
I arrive in the lobby of the Plaza Athénée at ten minutes to ten.
Last night I had a terrible dream. I was standing on stage and no one was in the audience. I kept waiting and waiting, but no one came. The horror of the dream isn’t how real it felt but that someday it will be true. How many years do I have left? Five? Three? There are younger girls duplicating my roles right now. There are no more veils to drop. How will I afford to bring Non home? How will I take care of myself?
“Mata Hari?”
“Yes?” I look up and realize that a balding man in an expensive suit wearing a striking gold watch is standing before me.
“Felix Rousseau,” he says.
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Felix.”
“I want to tell you how much I enjoy your shows. I’ve been to one in Madrid and I was there last night at La Madeline. I wish I had seen you in Berlin.”
“You’re a traveler, then?”
“For work. I’m a banker.” A very wealthy banker, his smile adds.
I learn he has a chateau at Esvres. Fifteen butlers, seventeen maids, a stable full of horses. “He collects everything,” I tell Edouard the next day when I see him for lunch at Maxim’s. “Suits of armor, coins, musical instruments, cars.”
“Women?” Edouard asks, and he actually looks jealous.
“He did say he is unhappy with his wife.”
Edouard’s lips thin. “So he’s an original liar, too.”
*
The next weekend Rousseau invites me to Esvres. “Give her whatever she wants,” he tells the servants. And they do. There is coffee waiting for me after my morning ride, in the afternoon a dozen new books are arranged in the parlor, and in the evening we dine at the Plaza Athénée, my new favorite place.
“Mata Hari, I’d like you to meet a good friend of mine. An artist by the name of Pablo Picasso.”
He’s a little man in an oversize coat. I extend my arm and he kisses my hand briefly. “I’ve seen one of your shows,” he says. “You are wonderful. Rousseau does nothing but talk about you.”