Love and Other Consolation Prizes(32)
Ernest wasn’t about to argue, so he read the addresses on the envelopes as they walked. He didn’t recognize the names, but he began to marvel at some of their titles and was confused all over again. There were benign trades like manager of Western Union. Powerful-sounding jobs like president of Greenwood Logging. But the most surprising—alarming even—were the names of city councilmen and politicians—Republicans, Democrats, prohibitionists, socialists, independence leaguers, and even the rarified, beatified, elected occupation known as Distinguished Mayor of Seattle.
“Madam Flora calls them our patron saints,” Maisie said. “After the Great Fire, the Tenderloin was one of the first places to be rebuilt—better than ever. Old Madam Lou helped the neighborhood get back on its feet, though she still got run out of town. But Madam Flora knows what she’s doing, even if she has poor taste in Miss Amber.”
Ernest noticed as Maisie frowned at the thought of Madam Flora’s partner.
“Most of Madam Flora’s best patrons are right here, in the heart of downtown.” Maisie pointed as they walked past the McDougal and Southwick Company and the Majestic Theatre. Ernest marveled at a hand-painted poster featuring skaters atop a giant block of ice. “It’s better that we deliver the invitations to their offices than their homes, if you get my meaning?”
Maisie led him from the waterfront up First Hill and back, from Hayes & Hayes Bank to the Rainier Brewery. Finally, curiosity got the best of him and he mustered the courage to ask, “So…is Flora really your sister? I mean, of course she’s your house sister—you know what I mean, but perhaps you were adopted like the rest, like the help downstairs?”
Maisie slowed down and for a moment seemed lost, then stopped and looked up at the sky. Ernest almost thought he saw sadness in her pale blue eyes.
“I’m sorry,” he said. Having bounced around for years as a ward of the state, he was used to nonchalantly talking about the comings and goings of parents, grandparents, siblings, and guardians. “If that’s something I shouldn’t ask…”
“It’s okay. It’s not a big secret to anyone who lives at the Tenderloin. I suppose it’s better to hear it from me than from the maids,” Maisie said as she sniffled and mentioned something about the autumn air, even though the sun was shining.
“In the district there are crib joints and then there are parlor joints, and sometimes Madam Flora cherry-picks new girls that have potential from the bad places—the run-down sporting clubs in the neighborhood. Other girls she’s found on the street or rescued years ago. But Flora, in one way or another, has adopted almost everyone at the Tenderloin. And the girls who seem to have a certain spark, Flora puts to work upstairs. It’s a fancier life, she has them tutored, and trained, but only if they are cut out to be true Gibson girls. The rest, they end up downstairs, working as maids, and cooks, and housekeepers. No one seems to care or mind very much—we all do what we’re told. Everyone sticks together through thick and thin, everyone’s happy, and everyone minds her own business. Well, except for Fahn, who is always up to something.”
As she kept talking a dam of silent emotion seemed to be cracking. Ernest followed along, regarding her—Margaret, Maisie May, the Mayflower, Madam Flora’s little hummingbird. With her tomboy hair, she seemed destined to work downstairs, but there was something about her blue eyes—great beauty, hiding in plain sight. And she seemed smarter than the rest. He wondered where she’d be in a few years.
“We’re like a big happy family at the Tenderloin; Fahn and me are like Irish twins. Even Professor True is like an uncle. But, despite all that, you should know that Madam Flora is most definitely not my real sister.”
Ernest looked over at her.
“Madam Flora is my real mother.”
Ernest blinked and stepped away from the curb as a bus rumbled by.
“Here’s the thing. She doesn’t want outsiders to know, because it’s bad for business. Back in the day, Madam Flora had plenty of suitors—rich, powerful men, some even wanted to marry her. But…then I came along and crashed the party. Amber said my father was some banker. From what I heard, he already had a wife back in Chicago, so when he found out Flora was up the duff he wanted her to get rid of me. He tried to buy her off, but she refused. That’s how I know she loves me.”
Ernest stopped in his tracks.
Maisie brushed her long blond bangs from her eyes. “Amber said that man lost a million dollars the year I was born. And we’re guessing he blew what was left in the big Knickerbocker Panic, because right about that time we heard he walked off a pier in New Jersey and was never seen again. Sharks probably got him. Madam Flora hung up her stockings after that, once and for all, breaking the hearts and egos of a lot of wealthy gentlemen. Ever since then she’s just told everybody that I was Flora’s little sister—it’s less complicated that way. Plus, I think it makes her feel youthful.”
Maisie shrugged again. “Besides, I doubt that Flora’s the first working girl to call her daughter a cousin or baby sister…”
“But…she’s still your mother,” Ernest said. “You’re still her daughter, you’re…”
“I’m nobody’s anything, Ernest.” Maisie cut him off as she handed him the rest of the invitations and walked away. “I’m not the Mayflower.” She turned and patted her chest. “I’m Plymouth Rock.”