15 Novembre 2022

Publié par Arlette Dambron

Chapter 47. A bouquet of blue barbed wire, my novel The Boutique Robillard, my GWTW fanfiction

Wednesday, July 7, 1876, 9:00 a.m. - Willard Hotel, Washington

"Are you finally getting through that knot?" Scarlett was exasperated.

"I apologize, Ma'am. The folding of the ribbon closing your skirt is very sophisticated. There! It's finally done."

The maid took one last look at the Abraham Lincoln Suite client's toilette. "That dress looks great on you, Ma'am."

"Thank you. Have you finished putting all my clothes away so that everything will be ready when we return?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Your trunks are already closed. All that remains is to slip your robe and toiletries into them."

"Leave what is laid out on the dressing table. I shall take care of it. You may dispose of it. Thank you." With an absent smile and a nod, she dismissed her.

She would never have left it to a stranger to store the precious brush and perfume box in her travel bag.

With the task done, she took one last look in the mirror: her day dress of light fabric was especially adequate for wandering the shopping streets of Washington with ease, and the tiny straw hat accentuated the summery effect on this beautiful July day.

She added the final touch, a few drops of her favorite perfume. Without her realizing it, her mind began to wander.

She shook herself to return to more mundane concerns. Where was he? On the mantelpiece, the clock read 9:40. Ten minutes late...

Finally, the door to the parlor room opened.

"Good morning, Scarlett." He did not look at her, preferring to check that the suitcases were grouped together for easy retrieval. "Are you ready? Tom is waiting for us downstairs. If you want to have time to shop, we need to hurry."

His lack of praise for her outfit irritated her. "I was beginning to lose my patience. Are you on a time shift with Charleston to be so late?"

Without responding to her cutting remark, he offered her his arm and they left the Willard.

OooOOooo

"Since time is short, we will modestly limit ourselves to surveying Pennsylvania Avenue with its flurry of shops."

"I would like us to also pass on F Street and 7th Street." (*1)

Without openly expressing surprise at her knowledge of the city's shopping streets, he gave Tom his instructions: "Let's head for the 7th Street. You'll make sure to stay close to each of our stops so Mrs. Butler doesn't have to walk on those crowded sidewalks." Then, turning to Scarlett, "The Washington merchants better watch out. You are going to trick them."

Instead of being offended by the reference to her possible dishonesty, she interpreted it as a compliment to her business negotiating skills.

“Over a hundred stores are ready to indulge your buying fever. More than enough to fill our private car to the brim."

"Fiddle-dee-dee! You will be frustrated because I have no intention of spending my fortune in this federal lair. You have not forgotten that I am here on a business trip, have you? Therefore, I am going to stick to studying prices and merchandise in the shops offering clothing. By the way, I spotted their advertisements in the Evening Star."

"We will see!" he replied, skeptically.

Washington, Pennsylvania Avenue, Inauguration Day 1873.

Walking along Pennsylvania Avenue soon made Scarlett dizzy. What a tempting jumble of stores! They passed Galt's Jewelry Store - Scarlett preferred not to stop. Last night's discussion about rings had wearied her enough.

They made their first stop at No. 1237 at Stinemetz. (*2)

Washington, Evening Star, advertising Gentlemen hats, July 1876.

"A hat shop for men? You only sell women's items at the Robillard's Boutique." He held the door for her to enter.

"I want to give Wade a gift. A hat for his back to school is a good idea. The one I got him is summery. He needs to get used to his status as a gentleman among his classmates."

The sales clerk bustled around them, "The straw summer hats are on this side, and are on sale. We just got a new shipment for the fall." Addressing Rhett directly, "Would you be tempted by our new fine drab beavers?"

"This is not for me, but for my son." Scarlett did not bat an eyelash.

He grabbed another style of headgear: "This soft felt is more age appropriate. What do you think, Scarlett?"

"You are right. And that blue-gray hue will suit his eyes."

Nodding to the hatter to wrap it up, Rhett pulled out his wallet.

With one hand, she stopped his gesture, "This is about my son."

The tone was meant to be friendly and restrained in the presence of the shopkeeper. However, the remark was sharp enough for Rhett to frown with vexation.

"Tom, let's stop at 1209."

The window was dapper with its display of feminine accessories. A French flag hung from the sign.

Washington, Evening Star, advertising, Madame Jeanneret ladies hats, July 1876.

"Chez Madame Jeanneret" (*2): it looks a bit more like you, Scarlett. It's been a long time since... "

She did not listen to him because the said Mrs. Jeanneret greeted them mixing French and English expressions with a thick accent.

"What an honor to receive such a merveilleuse young lady! Dear Sir, you must be very proud to have such a beautiful spouse. Guard her well, for all men must be dazzled before her!"

Rhett, tipping his hat, gave a kind nod - with a hint of irony. Mrs. Jeanneret had a way with compliments, and she probably said the same thing to each new visitor. Nevertheless, as it happened, Rhett's whole problem now was to get his wife back before trying to keep her....

"How can I help you, dear lady?"

Scarlett began to look around, playing the provincial amazed by this colorful display of trinkets. "We will be moving to Washington very soon because my husband will be working with Mr. Hamilton Fish at the White House. I must admit that I am completely lost in this big city, me, a simple provincial from Clayton County in Georgia. In addition, I have to adapt my new dresses to this prestigious function. So, who better than a French woman to help me choose the many headpieces and hats that go with each outfit?"

The milliner's overdressed lips stretched to express her delight. Scarlett had no trouble detecting behind her eyes the rapacious joy of having in her store a rich and gullible country girl whom she could influence in her own way.

Rhett felt like he was back at the National Theater. Scarlett was in the middle of an actress's performance imitating the ingénue ready to open her husband's purse strings wide. What was she playing?

"Ma Chère, don't worry. I will be happy to help you. You are going to need at least a dozen hats to start - because it is not decent to show up with the same designs. Bonnets, parasols, and ribbons to match your dresses. You will need to tell me their colors. Then, I will advise you to choose the small pearl necessities for the evening, and so many other things. Rest assured, you are in good hands. And your husband - your generous husband - will be delighted, I am sure, to provide for your happiness by enriching your wardrobe."

"You take a weight off my heart, Mrs. Jeanneret. How fortunate that fate has placed me in your path. Now, could you tell me the price of.... "

When they came out of the store after half an hour, Rhett, though an expert at talking rags with the coquettish Scarlett, had his ears ringing.

"You can be satisfied with your compositional role. Pagani will hire you on the spot for his next tragedy. What is your assessment of this stage play that ate up a sixth of our time?"

Settling back into the cart, she mechanically patted her skirts to smooth them out and, with great difficulty hiding her victorious air under an indifferent facade, she listed: "Oh! Not much. For the price of a sample of exotic colored feathers to check their color match with my outfits and the promise to return to Chez Jeanneret, I collected a wealth of information that she unconsciously slipped to the innocent new customer: all the prices of items similar to those sold at Robillard's Boutique, her latest offer to negotiate on each piece to find out her real profit margin, the names of her suppliers in France - fearlessly confessed since I have never been to Europe - the only element of truth in this charade - her cost of transporting the goods and even a comparison with her customs duties. "

The emerald of her eyes pierced him, so great was her victory. "You see? Not much, in short. But that I will know how to exploit to good effect."

He burst out laughing. "Every day that God-or the Devil-does, the brilliant businesswoman that you are never ceases to amaze me. That poor Jeanneret will be lamenting for weeks about not receiving your visit. In half an hour, you dangled her fortune in front of her and then promptly robbed her of it. I am jealous of your talent. How I wish I had your cunning to extract such a mountain of information from my suppliers and poker players. Although..." He paused. She waited for him to resume a speech that was turning everything to her advantage. He squinted, trying to hide the flame that had been rekindled: "Although I have long since tasted your talent for ripping off poor defenseless males when they fall into your clutches..."

"Pfft..." was her only comment. The conversation was starting to go down a slippery slope.

With a pencil, Scarlett scratched out the names of the two merchants they had just seen. On the way, I had also noted John Mitchell's fabric business at 931 and Towson's at 636. Let's forget about them and head to 7^th Street. According to the Evening Star, this is the heart of Washington shopping along with F Street."

He wedged himself against the backrest to better admire her. "You are a dream guide. In three pages of newspaper, you have assimilated - what shall I say, swallowed - all the substance of the federal capital."

"Our time is precious. We might as well be efficient." Her answer could have been interpreted as a token of modesty. Deep down, she was proud to impress the smart businessman that was Rhett Butler.

oooOooo

Washington Center Market (1910)

At the intersection of Pennsylvania Avenue and Seventh Street, a long, one-story red brick building surrounded by two turrets was bustling with activity. Horse-drawn carts laden with victuals lined up, ready to be unloaded.

“What a commotion in this street!”

"This is the Center Market. Farmers from Maryland and Washington County flock there to sell their meats, fish and fresh produce. The location is strategic. At the end of Seventh Street, the Southwest Waterfront is the receiving dock for all the seafood, fresh food and manufactured goods. So all the traffic flows through here." (*3)

"It looks like a beehive with so many people, in addition with all those flavors! Atlanta cannot compete with a covered market of this size."

They walked down 7th Street. Scarlett enjoyed the somewhat anarchic juxtaposition of stores, cafes and small hotels, which accentuated the vibrant appearance of the neighborhood. On one side of the street, the one most exposed to the sun, merchants protected themselves from the strong sunlight with large awnings that stretched across the entire sidewalks.

Washington, 7th Street 1873;

At the height of H Street, German-language calls titillated Scarlett's ears. "You only have to change blocks to be transported to a foreign country."

The smell of bread and pastries wafted from the open doors like a tempting aroma. On the windows of the restaurants, the price of German beers was announced by the mug.

A bright bell warned those in the middle of the track that the city streetcar was coming.

Washington, horse-street-car, 1873.

"Perhaps you would have preferred to take a ride in this popular car?"

Scarlett simply raised an eyebrow in a sign of circumspection. The famous Metropolitan Railroad horse-drawn cars were gliding on streetcar tracks. A convenient ride for those who traveled between East Capitol Street and H Street. However, they were too rudimentary for Scarlett, who was accustomed to her comfort zone.

"Let's stop at 928, please. I spotted an ad from Burdette's store. It seems too good to be true, and I want to make sure."

Washington, Evening Star advertising, Burdette's Men shirts shop, July 1876.

As soon as she entered, Scarlett asked to see the department she was interested in so as not to waste time.

If she had spotted a gold mine, she could not have been more excited: "Their ad says it all. A set of six men's fine drape shirts for the full price of six dollars! (*2) I shall take three sets in different colors in Wade's size. He has been growing so much! They will come in handy for boarding school."

He nodded, adding with a smile, "A wise decision that glorifies your sense of economy. There are no small profits."

What to say? Even if she did not care, she could only agree with this formula: "a cent is a cent."

She hurriedly paid for her purchases, and they resumed their shopping trip.

"Here is something that will interest you, Rhett. "Crockwell, of the Lynchburg Tobacco Store. You will be able to stock up on cigars."

Rhett barely deigned to glance at the storefront. "I prefer to buy them directly from Havana. At least I am assured of the purity of the tobacco leaves."

She chuckled. “Were you already such a snob when you mocked the peasants at the Twelve Oaks picnic? That feature has certainly gotten worse as you have gotten older. You will soon turn into a paragon of Old South conformity!"

"Like you will become a paragon of virtue?" He nearly choked with laughter at his own joke.

Scarlett gritted her teeth. He had managed to turn the conversation to his advantage again. Especially since the allusion to her virtue was, to say the least... inappropriate.

Realizing that he had once again been carried away by the taste of a witticism at Scarlett's expense, he calmed the atmosphere: "Where are we going now? Wouldn't you like to rest for a few minutes in a fragrant German pastry shop?"

"No. There is another important address on my list. Let's make a stop on F Street first."

She inspected the rolls of textiles from New York at Palmer's, admiring the successful dye of the navy blue and myrtle green. She concluded with satisfaction that they did not match in quality the fabrics purchased from Vayton & Harvey Wooden Mills Ltd. Nothing could compare with the purity and depth of the indigo blue woven at Duncan's mill after being harvested from his plantation.

"I absolutely want to visit the Palais Royal. There is a big ad touting their first days of opening. According to my notes, it is located at the corner of 11th Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. (*4)

Washington, Palais Royal for the Centennial 1876.

The department store, with its freshly painted façade, occupied the entire first floor corner of the impressive six-story Shepherd Centennial building.

The Royal Palace had done things in a big way: the exterior, with its six bay windows surrounded by high Corinthian columns, announced that here one was going to enter the den of elegance - but for all pockets! The owner's policy was to sell quality items quickly at low prices. Within the first few weeks of opening, word spread by word of mouth. Every woman in Washington flocked to the shelves of "fancy" items, such as fans, gloves, jewelry and handkerchiefs. As they left the Palais Royal, they were delighted to have indulged in this orgy of compulsive shopping without being ruined.

The owner of The Boutique Robillard, who had been so rational all morning by simply studying the competition's offer, was won over by the cloud of excitement that transformed the most reasonable lady into a child wanting to buy all the candy in the window. Scrutinized by Rhett, who was delighted to see her fall back into her natural state as a young coquette admiring sophisticated frills, she convinced herself that she absolutely had to bring back to Atlanta some feminine accessories - which she had two or three of in her drawers.

Satisfied with her hunger for purchases, she thanked her patient companion with a dimple for having served as a carrier for her packages.

"11.30 am! We have just enough time to have a light meal before heading back to the hotel. How about sacrificing to the tradition of every Washington gourmet – which is the stack food of the local working class, by the way?"

"You do not have to give me any more clues. It is easy to guess that these are the famous oysters of the Chesapeake Bay. Along our path, I saw here and there two or three oyster shacks. Obviously, this cockle will have been our preferred source of food during this trip.”

"Perfect. Tom? We are going to Harvey's, at the corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and 11th Street."

Evening Star advertising, Restaurant Harvey, July 1876.

Scarlett had to admit that Rhett's choice was the right one. The rooms were crowded, and the line was long, proof that the place's reputation was not overrated. A sign indicated the presence of a salon reserved for female clients.

While the Georgian was perusing the menu, Rhett, who was obviously familiar with the place, told her more: "Harvey is a smart businessman. He boasts that he is the largest oyster house in the U.S. (*5) No one had the idea to sue him for libel. Anyway, the result is convincing. You should try his steamed oysters for which he says he invented the recipe. Afterwards, I would recommend the delicate sole with almonds. You will enjoy it.”

It was not an empty promise. "The meal was a delight. Tasty, fresh, and light - perfect to resume our trip. Together with a delicate white wine... You had a great idea to end our stay in Washington here."

On their way out, Rhett read the sign on the wall: "To prevent squalls and bring peace and happiness to your family, carry home with you a box of those superior fried oysters” from Harvey's Restaurant. Would you like to take some home with us?" he teased.

"I have some doubts about the power of a few shells to bring about serenity. Peaceful behavior on your part in the car will do temporarily."

Rhett got wordless.

ooooOOoooo

Tom dropped them off in front of the Willard. The packages remained in the buggy, because in a few minutes the suitcases would follow.

Scarlett stopped at the hotel’s entrance, placing her hand in front of her mouth in embarrassment, "I forgot about Ella. I don't have a present for Ella!"

Rhett, who felt guilty for not having thought of it himself, looked around and quickly found a solution: "It will be said that our expedition will be marked under the sign of the hat! Look at this sign two steps away from us: Ker & Green Milliner’ shop. Let's go there quickly because the clock is ticking."

Evening Star advertising, Ker & Green ladies hats, July 1876.

The shopkeeper was affable and led Scarlett directly to the department of straw hats for children and young girls.

"We import most of our products from England. For your child - how old is she? Almost ten? My goodness! How could that be? You are so young!" With the usual pleasantries recited, she showed her the appropriate item: "Here is a Leghorn straw hat, with pretty silk flowers. Green in color. What do you think?"

"That's perfect. It will match her eyes." She had already paid for her purchase at the register when Rhett grabbed a hat. Eyes sparkling, he approached the two women.

"May I interrupt you ladies?"

The milliner, sensitive to the charm of his Southern gentleman's accent, realized that it was better to slip away for a moment so that another sale could be concluded, and disappeared into the shed.

Without a word, Rhett stripped her of her tiny hat of the day and covered her jet hair with the London creation.

Stunned by the familiarity that he had mastered to hide so well all morning, she turned into a docile dummy because, in the three-leaf full-length psyche, the shimmer of the emerald satin attracted her like a delicacy. He amused himself by repositioning the headpiece several times. His frowned eyebrows marking his disapproval could have raised doubt about the good adequacy of the result, if his whiskers did not wriggle of contentment.

Scarlett's hat from Paris.

Since the waking up in the morning, they still had not made eye contact.

"Rhett! I have so many hats. I don't know which ones to wear anymore."

"Yes! But this one is special. It is the first one I have chosen for you myself since I chased away the ugly black crepe veil of a grieving widow. Do you even remember this little creation from Paris?" He huffed, and directed his attention to the ceiling. "Pfft. I suspect it's been ages since it was turned to lint."

As she did not answer, an image came back to him. The one of that afternoon at the Battery where he had been close to madness, hallucinating to see her alive and well at the bottom of his balcony flirting with his neighbor.

"It seemed to me, however" - he hesitated, still not looking at her - "that I had seen you, one day, wearing it..." With a gesture of the hand, he chased away that image.

Scarlett felt a pang in her heart. This episode was so vivid in her memory: the first meeting with Duncan, her introduction to the Magnolias' house, her attention turned to the next-door neighbor's balcony, the sound of broken glass.... So he had seen her with Duncan?

If only he knew I cared so much about this hat that I continued to wear it in spite of common sense, while I had made everything that came from him disappear...

He had regained his composure. As if her answer did not matter to him, he put on a casual air: "So, will you accept the representation gift from the President of Bonnie Blue Butler Arts Museums to his President of the Management Fund?"

Scarlett took the British headdress in her hands and ran a finger over the twists and turns of the delicate emerald braid that snaked across the wicker. Wicker pressed so finely that it had the texture of linen. But she said nothing.

Rhett's fist slammed into an oak countertop. "So be it. It is no use. You have won. Let's go."

Mrs. Ker - or Green - reappeared in a hurry, worried about the noise that had reached the shed.

Rhett stood by the wide open door. "We are going to be late."

Without her needing to turn around to check his mood, she understood from his annoyed tone that he had given up on convincing her.

"Could you pack this hat in a nice sturdy box? We have to catch the train in less than half an hour."

"With pleasure ma'am." She selected the prettiest hatbox nearby, and slipped it in fondly, as if sad to see one of her babies go.

Happy with this turn of events, Rhett took out his wallet and paid double the posted price.

Scarlett would have been surprised to understand the reason for his eagerness. Since it was a summer hat, she was going to wear it even when she was with Duncan Vayton, unknowingly flaunting Rhett Butler’s brand ownership.

oooOOooo

Their Willard Hotel employee followed them into the Abraham Lincoln Suite with a small wheeled cart. He immediately loaded the trunks and suitcases as instructed by his client.

Scarlett took a last look around her bedroom to make sure none of her belongings were lying around.

"You did not take them with you?"

"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"

"Slippers worn by Abraham Lincoln in the room you occupied."

As she raised an eyebrow of caution, he laughed and said, "Good old Abraham, who was suffering from foot problems, forgot to bring his slippers with him during his fortnight's stay in Washington. Henry Willard's wife had just knitted a pair for her grandfather and lent them to him. (*6) Legend has it that the occupants of our suite are searching every nook and cranny for the remains of those illustrious slippers."

"Definitely, this hotel is a source of juicy stories. I shall recommend it to my friends."

"Let's go. It is time."

ooooOOoooo

Their private car - which had remained in a warehouse while they were in Washington - had been attached to the Richmond and Danville Railroad's convoy.

Rhett thanked their Willard's driver with a generous tip. He had done the same with the maid when he settled the bill.

As on the outward journey, George was waiting for them on the platform. Looking forward to seeing them again, he loaded their luggage into the Pullman.

Inside, Scarlett was greeted by her assigned maid who relieved her of her hat, then immediately began to put away the clean clothes in the closet.

She settled into the armchair she had made her own previously, finding her way back to their particular varnish with as much ease as if it were her home on Peachtree Street.

Emitting a sigh as pleasant to Rhett's ear as a purr, she stretched lazily, "I am exhausted. I think I am going to need the twenty-six hour train ride to recover from this expedition."

"Scarlett O'Hara exhausted by three short hours of shopping? I have known you to be more resilient when you were forcing me to raid the stores for an entire day!"

"Add to these three hours at the theater, then three hours dancing after impressing the accountants and seducing the Secretary of State, not much indeed. Not to mention the most exhausting - keeping you company! I have earned a little rest."

"Confess that our journey has been fun for you."

A dimple deepened at the corner of her lips, "I must admit, this has all been somewhat distracting - except for the last task mentioned in my listing."

He stood next to her, "This last one is the most interesting. Don't you think?" His intonation had changed, becoming drawling, as he stroked her cheek.

She immediately stood up and watched the dock disappear.

Rhett cleared his throat. One more rebuff...

The train had left on time. At 1:40 pm exactly. The respect of the schedule on the Piedmond Airline was confirmed.

George arrived. He had anticipated their wishes as he brought fresh water, coffee, cups and cookies on a large silver metal tray.

After serving, he asked his client: "Jenny is putting away the lady's clothes. Can I do the same with yours, sir? We'll take all the clothes you've worn so they can be ironed tomorrow morning.”

"Do, George. Do not forget my tuxedo from last night. I shall need it in New Orleans."

The two employees left, their arms full of clothes and shoes to be shined.

A soft languor settled, intimate, similar to that of a "home" of a couple in its parlor room. That to which he aspired. With her.

To complete the perfect atmosphere, Scents of coffee and vanilla cookies were diffusing in the semi-darkness provided by the blinds that George had previously drawn to keep out the afternoon heat.

But Rhett's nostrils had only one pole of attraction: Scarlett's perfume.

He closed his eyes. So that she could not read the anguish which tormented him. To be the witness of the waltz of the businesses to which Scarlett had given herself up with the delight of a cat in front of a milk pot had been a pleasant diversion. However, with the departure of the train, the countdown had just begun: there was only... - he looked at his pocket watch - 25 hours and 15 minutes left, minus the eight hours of sleep Scarlett was supposed to get... very little time. Too little time to change the course of the destiny she had confirmed for him: she was going to marry Vayton. Yet, last night.... He cradled his head in the back of the chair to relive those erotic images, when he was about to reach ecstasy until...

"Rhett! Rhett! Wake up!" She patted her hand resting on his thigh.

Still a little drowsy, with the reflex of the jaguar having pretended to be dead to make leave the frightened doe of the bush, he brought down his other hand on hers, with the force of the iron glove of the falconer. Not daring to open his eyelids, he enjoyed the softness of her skin under the pulp of his fingers, the warmth of her hand radiating on his thigh, the difference in size between the two, hers so small, so narrow... A more explicit comparison failed to let him escape a groan.

Alas! His Eden was short-lived.

"Let go of me!" The dryness of the order woke him up completely.

"Is it your advanced age that forces you to nap for more than two hours in the middle of the afternoon?"

Rhett sat up, not believing his ears. But his watch said it was 4:30 pm. He got up and went straight to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

"I apologize. You should have woken me up before."

"Why? I was at peace. I had time to learn almost every line of the Fund budget by heart. I walked around the wagon to the observation deck several times to stretch my legs. I even started reading a novel I found in the library. A rewarding afternoon I must say. More so than yours."

He passed his hand over his eyes. "I did not sleep last night, and I confess that our expedition this morning finished me off."

Rhett Butler.

She raised her eyebrows, puzzled. "You did not sleep?"

"Well, after..." -he lowered his head-"after what you know, I could not find sleep and I went out."

"So you went for a walk at more than three in the morning?" Surprise mixed with doubt.

"Yes, I went to Rum Row." His voice trailed off as if he was reluctant to tell her the truth. "Antonio had warned me that he was organizing a poker tournament with new suckers. I took part."

"In every city, there's a lair, right? In Atlanta, I do not need to specify the location. In Charleston, your den has to be more discreet. But in Washington, all of the Rum Row with its varied distractions is yours, even at three in the morning."

It was better not to react to the perfidious hint.

"I am going to get some fresh air on the observation deck. It will invigorate me. See you in a bit."

Breathing in the outside atmosphere with his full lungs, or at least puffs of warm air at that hour of the summer afternoon, he ranted, "I have lost two and a half hours of my precious time. And I don't know how to deal with all of this. This woman is going to be the death of me..."

Scarlett was drinking iced tea. He opened the box from George Pullman's personal stash to select a cigar, and laughed to himself.

"What is so funny?"

"Let me share my find with you. There are signs of fate that should not be overlooked. See this one." He placed the box in her hands, the lid of which was marked with the maker's stamp, and then lifted it.

"Nothing extraordinary here, similar to the thousands of other cigars with which you have polluted the living room, the office, the parlor, and the bedroom, the latter little time, it is true," - she added, perfidiously - "until you succeeded in intoxicating us all."

"Look it up."

She sighed, agreeing to bend to his whim, like a mother with her overly insistent child.

"Simply a print representing a painting. Will you stop this riddle?"

"Usually, your doe eyes - or rather, your lynx eyes - pick out the slightest manufacturing defect or the detail that will seduce your customers. Are you losing one of your sharpest senses? Doesn't this reproduction of a work of art remind you of anything?"

Stung to the core, she finally turned her attention to what he was putting in front of her. "Oh, the Black Crook poster, with the Demon and an Amazon. Outrageously naked and in close-up, obviously."

"Yes, and I imagine that it took the power of George Pullman to get this harmless cigar box past the censors of Anthony Comstock!”

"Speak up, at the end, or let me resume my reading."

"I see you are giving your - appetizing - tongue to the cat. For the past three or four years, this austere civil servant has been an inspector for the United States Post Office Department. He has a second "hat" as an active member of the New York Society for the Suppression of Vice. Imagine the power that the combination of these functions can generate in the hands of a puritan Lutheran who has embarked on a battle against pornography."

As Scarlett wrinkled her forehead, he corrected: "or rather what he considers as such. As he obviously has no culture, he confuses licentious images with artworks by the great European painters who magnified the curves of goddesses and other nymphs. These lithographed reproductions are legion inside cigar boxes."

Hoffman House Cigar Box. National Cigar Museum,

"Pfft. I am not surprised. I never paid attention to it before, but I can see why your visiting friends were taking so long to select a cigar."

He put on a mischievous smile: "Well, you know, the flesh is weak."

“As for you, who used to spend hours with a full glass in one hand and a box like that in the other, I thought you were dazed by alcohol. In fact, you were plunging lewdly into your iconographic fantasies."

Didn't she remember why he used to get drunk to the point of syncope to chase from his brain the memory of the only body he desired and of which she had deprived him for years? Was she so cruel that she did not realize the destruction she had caused?

He chuckled bitterly. "Come now, Dearest, do you honestly think I didn't have more... carnal... opportunities than a piece of paper to satisfy my.... needs in this topic?"

Not an ounce of reaction from her, not the slightest hint of jealousy over his past cheatings. She does not care.

"Judge the hypocrisy of this official. He does not care that these boxes are circulating in the privacy of gentlemen's clubs. On the other hand, he pounces on the small shopkeeper of a more popular district who has the bad idea to put these lids in the window, claiming that they will pervert the youth and make it fall into vice. Isn't this prudishness ridiculous?"

Scarlett had to admit he was right. "Does he have any other targets to take on his censorious mantle?"

"Oh yes. Your favorite show, or rather the photographs of the ballet dancers and the Amazons. Do you know that these daguerreotypes are the object of a real black market and that some of them - those where the chorus girls take poses.... let's say, "risky" in front of the photographer - are sold at a high price? (*8) In any case, they circulate through the Post Office. Which Comstock supervise. It is hard to believe, but he managed to get a Black Crook "smut dealer" fined heavily and sentenced to a year's hard labor. (*9)

The Black Crook, photograph Pauline Markham.

"This gentleman should meet the Old Guard who would make him her idol. But you, Rhett, who are always the first to jump at any opportunity that turns into dollars, you probably indulged in this juicy traffic, taking advantage of your connections with the Black Crook 'artists', didn’t you?"

"I don't need to buy these photographs. They are given to me." His twisted boast had only one purpose: to make her express a feeling, even one of displeasure, to bring her out of the shell of indifference in which she had suddenly shut herself last night after...

She started flipping through her magazine again, as if nothing had happened.

Wild about her impassivity, he positioned himself behind her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"It is useless."

"What?"

"Your little game."

"I do not understand."

"The one that consists in boasting about your degenerate feats, past, present and future. If it is to arouse in me a reflex of jealousy, your fight is vain. I do not care. I have made my decision."

Then Rhett dropped his mask of nonchalance for passionate indignation. "You cannot say that. You cannot do that. It does not make any sense. Admit that your body shook for me last night. You cannot silence what you felt in my arms, this for a man you barely know, who is nothing. Who will never understand what we went through together."

"It doesn't matter anymore." She stood up and fell back into contemplating the scenery that was passing by. Her way of concentrating on the choice of words, that would be decisive.

"This man loves me. He will be faithful and will not lie to me. He has offered me his heart in all honesty. I know he will make us happy, and offer stability to me and my children - children you have abandoned. His family welcomes me warmly. I will not offend you by comparing it to yours. I made a commitment to marry him, and I will stick to it. As for my body's reaction in the bedroom, you have just summarized what happened. A simple carnal reflex. Like the one that makes you seduce anything with petticoats under twenty-five. Fortunately, I put an end to this madness. You still have not understood what happened, have you? It only took one small thing to bring me to my senses and make me realize that I should not fall into your trap again: the corset that Duncan had so delicately designed with me in mind. Trampled under my feet. Like the token of love I was foolishly trampling on with the same casualness."

"What?" In fury, he turned her towards him. His strong arms shook her angrily. "Do you mean to say that you rejected me because of a corset? Have you lost your mind?"

With clenched fists, she pushed with all her strength against his chest and finally managed to pull herself free. "Of course, evoking symbolism and romance is a foreign language for you. The only thing that matters is the result, getting a submissive woman into bed to satisfy your earthly urges. Duncan is not that kind of man. From the moment he met me, I became his inspiration, his muse, merging with his soul.”

"Your soul!" He laughed wickedly. "I have heard that before - how many years ago? More than fifteen. “Your passion for living, your beautiful soul”..."

"Oh, no need to sneer; I know that for you my soul is only darkness. At least he makes me want to improve myself to deserve his trust. Yet, what I was about to do a few hours ago... I was about to destroy my only hope of a stable happiness for a moment of distraction. Everything is clear now."

Rhett was shaking. With rage. With anger. All it took was a piece of rag for both of their happiness to be shattered. It was laughable. Or was worth to cry… He inhaled deeply to calm down. He had to pull himself together. Showing her how much she was hurting him would bring nothing more than her contempt for his weakness.

He had to control himself not to make the whisky bottle and the glass clash. He drank down in one and refilled his glass.

He heard her taffeta petticoats quivering to join him. Then she put lightly - oh! So slightly - the hand on his forearm. In sign of appeasement.

"Rhett! Let us stop fighting. I have already proposed this once, and I shall repeat it: we can remain friends. Let us not talk about what happened - or what might have happened in Washington - anymore."

Clearly wanting to ease the tension between them, she exaggerated her enthusiasm: "How about a more consensual topic that brings us together, Bonnie's Museum? Have you already scheduled the opening date?"

He shook himself. At least he could save the indestructible bond that linked them together and for which he had imagined this project: to make sure their beloved Bonnie would be celebrated by all throughout the foundation.

He forced himself to concentrate: "For months, the Egyptian antiquities were selected on the basis of files with the agreement of the Louvre Museum. The past weeks, the best experts examined each piece in order to specify on a sketch attached to its card its exact condition, down to the slightest imperfection, before leaving the Museum. If any further deterioration should occur, it will be covered by insurance. These lengthy negotiations have been completed. At the same time, the American pieces of art are ready to be shipped from New York to Le Havre. The authorizations for the temporary exit of the French cultural heritage and the customs formalities will be settled shortly. All that remains is for the Louvre's antiques to be packed and transported to the port of Le Havre on one of my freighters, for unloading in Charleston and transport by train to Atlanta. However, this logistical step is crucial because it is the most difficult. My agents hired the most serious carpenters company in Paris to build a custom crate for each work, including the contemporary paintings section. Needless to say, the size of the sculptures and their difficulty in handling were determining factors in their selection."

"When will the shipment arrive in America?"

"My ship with the precious cargo is scheduled to be back in Charleston Harbor on August 30. Including your order from your Parisian suppliers of women’s accessories. Do not forget to pass it on to them as soon as possible."

"I will take their catalog back and send them my purchase order. I hope they will give me the 10% discount like the first time."

"Why wouldn't they? They are probably proud to export their items to the United States!"

"Sure. But I got the preferred rate under the name of the prestigious fashion house La Mode Duncan. I shall ask him if..."

"Do not do anything with it. Keep your independence. From tomorrow, write your order in your name and send it to me at the Battery, so that I can take it with me in my luggage. No doubt these Parisian merchants, after my visit to them, will bow to you when I explain how quickly your turnover is exponential from month to month - to their advantage."

"So be it. I thank you. I will make a money transfer to your account to reimburse you."

Rhett made a motion with his hand. She stopped him. "My payment will be to the penny. When are you leaving for France?"

"July 19. Our private wagon will drop me off in New Orleans first as I have important business to attend to there."

Scarlett tapped her finger nervously on the tabletop. "I do not doubt it. For as long as I have known you, you have always had important business to do there."

The adverb "always" had been overstated. Rhett had no desire to reopen a front of conflict on this subject.

"A month in Paris will not be too much to oversee the logistics of the packaging. On the other hand, I have to select the paintings of the French artists belonging to the new stylistic wave. Those I have contacted are enthusiastic about being part of the adventure. I will probably have to add two or three other artists, sculptors, why not. If I help them build a reputation in the New World, I shall have to select the most groundbreaking creations to impress the New York press and art lovers - and thus reserve a more than ample margin for myself."

Scarlett nodded. "It all looks promising. Have you set the opening date for the two museums yet?"

"I have discussed this at length with Harry Bennett. There is still a lot of installation work in the new building. Then it will be time to display the works at the best. The official opening in Atlanta will be October 1. The Charleston opening will be on October 19. As you can see, time is going to fly by very quickly!"

oooOOooo

Chapter 47. A bouquet of blue barbed wire, my novel The Boutique Robillard, my GWTW fanfiction