Chapter Eighteen #2
“As long as you’d like, ma’am. And we certainly hope that you shall have no reason to leave. If there is anything we can do for you, you need only to ask.”
“You mean…this hotel room…is…”
“It’s the penthouse apartment, Mrs. Talbot,” the concierge interjects with a deferential nod.
“The penthouse?”
“It’s been rented, ma’am.” The man’s placid cordiality does not falter. “By Mr. Pierce, for you both.”
My eyes fly to the top of the grand building.
How can this be true? It sounds like the stuff of some fairy tale that Daddy and I would have read together.
No more boardinghouse but, instead, a hotel?
And not just any hotel room, an entire suite of rooms on the top floor, surely with swell views of the whole of New York City?
I grab Mamma’s hand, and together, without a word, we follow the concierge through the lobby of the hotel, where the cool air smells of fresh flowers and money, then straight into a private lift.
I rock on my heels in giddy excitement—I can’t help but think back to all those days at Wanamaker’s when I dreamed of riding in the elevator.
The lift chimes, illuminating a fancifully etched number six as the operator slides open the grated door.
Mamma squeezes my hand, wordlessly reminding me to stop fidgeting, but I am finding it hard to tamp down my mystified delight.
At the concierge’s polite insistence, we step out of the elevator and enter a bright foyer of impossible beauty.
I gasp, ravenous to take it all in with my hungry eyes: gleaming marble floors and a soaring coffered ceiling, the large entry hall opening out into a gracious drawing room of rich wood paneling.
I skip forward, entirely forgetting Mamma’s entreaties not to act giddy—I’m so eager to explore.
Adjacent to the elegant drawing room is an equally elegant dining room with a crystal chandelier hanging over an ornate table of carved wood and floor-to-ceiling windows with views all the way to the Hudson River.
I stare out those windows in wordless appreciation, finding it all too grand to even believe.
This is to be our home? Indefinitely? Why, our entire room in the boardinghouse could fit in just the foyer.
I’m desperate to keep exploring, but the sound of the concierge’s voice pulls me from my dizzy reverie.
I hear him tell Mamma: “Only a pantry, Mrs. Talbot, as all of your food shall be prepared and sent up from our kitchens. Anything you’d like, no matter the time of day, simply inform our staff, and we shall see to it. ”
Then the man asks if we’d like to see the bedrooms. “Bedrooms?” I gasp. Yes, he confirms, we are each to have our own bedroom. And our own private bathrooms, as well!
I haven’t had a bedroom to myself since Daddy was alive.
And a private bathroom with both a toilet and a bathtub to myself?
Never. But first we walk through the spacious drawing room, where I spot a gleaming piano in the corner.
“You’ll see that we’ve decorated this room in Mr. Pierce’s signature favorite—red velvet,” the concierge explains.
It’s true: the drapes, the sofas, the settees, even the carpets are all in shades of red, claret, maroon, and cranberry.
But it’s an entirely different décor in my bedroom, and I smile with unabashed delight as I walk in. The aesthetic is softer in here, shades of pink and peach and creamy white. The dresser and table are of a finely carved rosewood, and there’s a three-part mirror trimmed in gold.
“My very own bedroom,” I marvel aloud, to no one in particular. And so large! Why, this looks like the bedroom of a princess.
In the center of the room hulks a massive bed, so high there’s a step stool to climb into it, with ostrich plumes spraying out the top of its four wooden posts.
A soft lace cover is tucked in tight, and at the head of the bed is a mountain of overstuffed downy white pillows.
“Satin, miss,” the concierge says, and I nearly jump, having forgotten he was there.
“For the bedding. Shall that be to your liking?”
It shall be indeed. “Oh, yes, that’s grand.
Thank you.” I skip farther into the space and look around, hungrily, at every detail.
Fresh-cut flowers sit in a small vase of crystal atop a dresser, and I lean close, breathing in their perfume.
Beside the dresser is a large armoire with pink roses painted along its panels, and when I peek inside, I see it is stocked!
Dresses of every shade, tailored skirts, blouses, coats, fine stockings, gloves, hats, ribbons.
All in my size. Store-bought and impossibly chic.
I can barely take it in. Never in my life could I have conjured a dream this sweet.
I wheel around to face my new bedroom, feeling as though I’m now walking atop a cloud.
Speaking of walking atop a cloud, a plush white rug unfurls beside the bed. “Polar bear,” the concierge explains. This strikes me as curious, the idea of a bear pelt beneath my feet every time I step out of bed. I’d change just that one detail, but otherwise I love the entire place.
“And Mr. Pierce would like me to remind you that you are not to make the bed,” the concierge says.
I look askance at the gentleman, my confusion surely evident. “I’m not?”
“The chambermaids shall see to all of that.”
A place for a princess, indeed, I think. How can Mamma and I ever thank the man?
—
Mr. Pierce calls on us that afternoon, just as I am preparing to leave for my evening show. He sweeps into our elegant new foyer, cane and top hat in one hand, his other arm extended toward me as an offering. “I thought I could give you a ride to the theater, Evelyn.”
“Oh, Mr. Pierce!” Mamma exclaims, hurrying toward the door to receive him. “You’ve done so much!”
“I’m glad you like the place. And I can assure you,” he says, flashing his coltish grin, “my joy at being able to do it is even greater than your joy at receiving it.”
“That can’t be true,” I say, finishing the last buttons on my shoes.
“Mrs. Talbot, are you joining Evelyn at the theater this evening?” he asks.
“I’m not,” she answers. “I thought I would remain to finish getting us settled.” Mamma rarely comes to my evening shows.
“A fine plan,” Mr. Pierce answers Mamma.
“But do remember that you now have an entire fleet of maids at your beck and call, so be sure not to overexert yourself. Do you understand? And then order yourself something delicious from the dinner menu. If it’s not on the menu, you simply tell them what you want, and they’ll fetch it. Lobster, steak…”
Mamma’s eyes go even wider, her cheeks darkening to the rosy tint of a young girl’s, as she offers the broadest smile I’ve seen in years. Perhaps ever.
Moments later, beside Mr. Pierce in the back of the red automobile on the way to the theater, I feel as though I must try to thank him more heartily. For all of it: Mamma’s beam, the food, Kit’s tuition, the gifts, the impossibly lovely new home. “Truly, Mr. Pierce, it’s too much.”
“It’s a joy to me, my dear,” he says, grinning beneath his silvered mustache. “After all that you’ve endured. It gives me peace to know that you are out of that unsavory neighborhood.”
I know he’s a generous man, but still. Even if I were to work as an artists’ model and a Broadway star every day for the rest of my life, there would be no repaying all that he has given us.
Why, one night in that hotel must cost him more than what we were paying for an entire month in the boardinghouse.
And somehow, he’s happy to do this. “Mr. Pierce, I don’t know how you can possibly be so generous. ”
He looks at me for a moment in silence, the automobile bearing us through the crowded streets of Midtown.
Placing his hand softly on top of mine, he says, “I’ve worked hard my entire life, Evelyn.
Everything I have, I earned for myself. Now I’m in a position to help others, and to enjoy the fruits of my labor. Please allow me to help you.”
I look down at his gentle hand on mine, then back up into his light eyes, returning his smile as I reply, “If you say so.”
After a beat, he asks: “Are you happy?”
I lean back in my seat, surprised by the question. Isn’t it obvious? “I’m so very happy.”
“Then that makes me happy.” I can see from his face that he means it.
“And you like the furnishings I selected? I do think the place came out top-notch. I oversaw every detail. And the piano in the drawing room—I’ve arranged for a teacher to come to you each week for lessons.
Singing and playing. You don’t do a matinee on Thursdays, right?
So he’ll come on Thursdays. I told you, we are going to get you to the center of the stage in no time. ”
“Mr. Pierce, you’re spoiling me.”
“Not spoiling. I expect you to work hard at your music lessons. I told that instructor he better have you singing better than Nellie Melba soon.”
I laugh. “I’ll practice hard.”
“I know that you will. And what about your bedroom?”
“Oh, I love it.”
“I know how you love fairy tales, so I planned it with that in mind, since you are so like a fairy princess.”
I smile at this, but I turn away and look out the window.
Only once I’m sure that he can’t see my face do I allow my features to drop—just for a moment.
If only this man knew how I used to scrounge in alleyways for discarded bones.
Now he thinks I’m a princess, and he’s put me up in my very own castle keep. It makes my head spin.
Mr. Pierce’s deep voice pulls me from my gloomy brooding. “I didn’t like thinking about you in that dingy boardinghouse. A beautiful creature like you should be in a beautiful place.”
“Well, it sure is beautiful,” I reply, managing a cheery tone. “Like a fairy tale indeed. Complete with the fierce beast,” I say, chuckling. When his face crinkles in confusion, I clarify: “That polar bear pelt.”
“Ah, yes, the bearskin rug,” he says, his pale eyes narrowing, pinning me with a gaze that has suddenly turned harder to read. And then he asks: “Do you like it?”
I sense he wants me to tell him that I do. “Yes, it’s all right. It’s…different.”
“Yes, well, that’s good taste. It’s a pristine pelt. Flawless. It’s good for you to learn about all these things, Evelyn.”
We’ve arrived at the theater. I look out the motorcar window, then back to him.
It’s showtime, and I feel the familiar backstage energy beginning to curl in my belly.
But before I move to exit the auto, I lean toward Mr. Pierce and, with the sweetest smile I can summon, say, “All these things about good taste and proper furnishings…thank you for teaching me.”