Chapter Sixteen #2
I thank the driver and turn to peek into the ground-floor windows of the toy store facing the street before us.
I smile at the playfulness of a small monkey holding drums, marching like a soldier.
It’s the sort of thing that Kit and I might have had and loved when Daddy was alive.
I swallow, forcing that thought aside. I won’t be sad today; why, I’ve just ridden in a horseless auto!
And now I’m fixing to eat what will surely be a delicious luncheon, even if it’s not in some fancy hotel.
As my mood is rebounding, I’m startled by a door opening before us, the front entrance to the tall brownstone right beside the toy store giving way as if acting on its own accord.
I throw my friends a puzzled look, but they appear entirely unfazed by this door, which is now wide open.
They enter through it, first Dinah and then Dolly.
Following their lead, I step inside, into a quiet, cool entry hall.
There’s no footman or butler to receive us, which means that indeed the door has somehow opened on its own, seemingly magical.
Through dim candlelight I see before me a flight of stairs, and without any chatter or explanation, we climb.
At the top, on a second-story landing, another door opens on its own, revealing yet another stairway—but still no sign of a servant, or any human.
“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice sounding clamorously loud in this cool, dark stairway.
“To a place unlike any place you have ever been before.”
I flinch, caught by surprise. It was a man’s voice belting out those words in response to my question. My eyes dart up the stairs. I clutch the banister and tip forward on my tippy-toes. And then I see someone: a tall man, a broad-shouldered figure obscured by shadows, standing above.
Dinah and Dolly melt to the side, and Dinah indicates with a wordless wave of her hand that I ought to go first, so I do.
I climb the remaining steps until I’ve reached the top stair, and just above me on the landing, the gentleman waits.
He is so tall and on a step above me, so now he leans down like a curving tree limb, and he says, “Miss Talbot, welcome.”
I’m struck by the deep baritone of his voice.
Also, by a sudden wave of recognition, similar to what I experienced when I heard the name Stanley Pierce.
Leaning close, he puts a quick chaste kiss on my cheek with his mustached lips, and I’m flooded with the scent of him, eau de cologne mixed with cigars, the hint of paper and coffee.
It makes me a bit dizzy, so I grip the banister.
Peering into his face up close, I can’t help but frown; I’ve seen this gentleman before.
The realization comes to me in a rush: the night of Mrs. Vanderbilt’s ball.
He’s the fox-haired man who kept smirking at me.
As if landing on the same thought at precisely the same moment, the man gasps and says, “At last.” He mutters, almost to himself, “I’ve been most eager to meet you, the Spanish Maiden and also Mrs. Vanderbilt’s Salome.”
I nod, letting out a small chuckle as my eyes tilt downward. “And you, the famous Mr. Pierce, saw me perform in her home that night.”
“Guilty.” He grins, and I’m struck by how boyish and youthful his demeanor is. Suddenly I am entirely less nervous at the thought of today’s luncheon. This man is no one to fear.
“Welcome, welcome, Miss Talbot. I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, but, well, we are already friends, aren’t we?” Mr. Pierce’s pale eyes are alight. “You have no idea how much pleasure it gives me to see you again.”
Mr. Pierce takes my hand and without a word of welcome or even acknowledgment to Dinah or Dolly, our host ushers me up the last step and through a wide door, and suddenly the drab shadows of the corridor give way to an explosion of vivid color.
My eyes can scarcely take it all in, but I stare in appreciation and try my best, marveling at the rich oil paintings that line the walls, their textured scenes catching the flickering light thrown off by the countless burnished candelabras positioned around the large room.
A thick Aubusson carpet enlivens the dark wood floors, with marble-topped tables boasting ornaments of porcelain figurines and cut-crystal vases overspilling with blooms. Divans and plush armchairs are arranged throughout the room, their red upholstery complementing the lush red drapes of velvet that hang across the floor-to-ceiling windows.
For some reason, even though it is the middle of the day, these rich drapes are all unfurled so that the flickering of candles provides the only light in the massive space.
In the middle of this room hangs a grand crystal chandelier and under that an ornately carved mahogany table draped in a crisp white tablecloth.
A crystal vase of fresh-cut flowers sits in the center of four place settings.
I throw a confused glance at my companions, who have entered the room behind me—there are three of us.
With Mr. Pierce, that makes a party of four.
But I thought this was to be a grand luncheon?
Neither Dinah nor Dolly appears confused by this small gathering, so I decide it must be all right as Mr. Pierce strides toward the table and inspects the place settings.
I study my host a bit more closely. He looks old, more than twice my age, with faded copper hair laced with silver and white.
I remember well his full mustache, which is the same coppery shade, and his thick eyebrows that frame big gray eyes.
Mr. Pierce looks up from the table just then and catches me staring, so I turn away, pretending to be entirely consumed with a small statue to my right.
“Ah, yes. The goddess of love and sensuality,” he says, walking to my side. “I brought Venus home with me from Rome.”
I face my host. “Rome?”
“Yes, the Eternal City. Have you ever been, Miss Talbot?”
“Oh,” I answer. “Not yet.”
“That’s a shame. Well, nearly everything in here comes from over there. Europe, that is. Paris, Rome, London, Athens.”
My head spins to think that this man has been to all the places he just listed. The farthest I’ve ever been from Manhattan is Tarentum. I turn my focus back toward Venus, studying the fresh and youthful beauty of her marble curves.
“Are you hungry?” he asks aloud to the room. Murmurs of assent sound from Dolly and Dinah. I am, as well. I imagine that with décor this lavish, his meals must be similarly sumptuous, and I can barely wait.
“Let’s sit down, shall we?” Mr. Pierce guides us toward the table, where he pulls out a chair and gestures for me to take a seat. Then he helps Dinah and Dolly into their seats before he takes the place to my left.
So then it is to be only the four of us. I’m not sure what happened to everyone else, but I don’t ask. As Dolly is arranging herself, primping the folds of her tight lavender dress, Mr. Pierce offers a benevolent smile and says, “I’ve ordered in from Delmonico’s. Have you been?” His eyes fix on me.
“Not yet,” I answer again.
“Ah, well, it’s not quite as far as Rome,” he says. “I’ll have to take you there sometime.”
“It’s grand,” Dinah says agreeably, leaning toward Mr. Pierce in her seat.
As a small team of tuxedoed servants appears, bringing forth a staggering spread of food, I see what she means.
I can’t help but smile at the feast laid out on the table: deviled eggs, oysters on a platter of ice, fresh berries and cream, fragrant rolls with butter melting on them.
Slices of steak, herbed potatoes. Lobster drizzled with liquid butter.
Mamma will weep when she hears about what I’m eating with Mr. Pierce!
“Now, don’t be shy.” Our host looks from the platters of steaming food back toward me, gesturing for the nearby footman to begin serving at my place. “There’s plenty more. We shall eat until we are fully satisfied.” I accept a serving from every dish as it is offered.
Throughout lunch, Mr. Pierce behaves as if it were he and I alone.
I have to temper my delight in the food to answer his questions, but he seems equally delighted to see how much I am enjoying the spread.
He asks me about my experience in the company of Fair Flora and Fauna, how I like my role, how the stage compares to the artist’s studio.
Mr. Pierce’s attention, his interest, his warm hospitality—it all reminds me of the spotlight onstage.
It’s like a musical number where the light is fixed on one girl performing a solo, as others gather around to fill a bit of the faded light in the background, while knowing that it’s really all hers.
She’s the brightest. That’s what it feels like with Mr. Pierce fixing his interest only on me, Dolly and Dinah growing dimmer as the meal stretches on.
“Now, I hope you’ve saved some room for dessert,” Mr. Pierce says, after I’ve had my last bite of lobster.
He leans closer to me and presses a gentle hand on my forearm, giving it the softest squeeze.
The warmth of his big hand sends a ripple across my skin.
I nod, and then he rings the small silver bell beside his plate.
A moment later the footman reappears, bearing a bottle of chilled champagne.
Mr. Pierce doesn’t ask, but the footman pours out four flutes of champagne.
Next we are each served a dessert plate.
“Cherry pie à la mode,” Mr. Pierce says, eyeing me as if looking for my approval.
I heartily offer it, along with my thanks.