The Casanova and the Benefactor
Alcée Arobin hurried along the dark streets of New Orleans. The small lamp posts in the fine neighborhoods did nothing to penetrate the darkness of the night. He had just left an extravagant party of some young lady that he found of some interest. Of course she was beautiful, but most importantly she was rich.
Arobin needed money. Though he kept up a good pretense, he was deeply in debt. His eye for horses at the races seemed to no longer be good, as he had both bet and lost spectacular amounts of money at the races. As it was, all he truly owned was his house and the clothes on his back, and if his circumstances did not change soon, the once glorious outfits he possessed would become threadbare and dirty from life on the streets.
This fate might have occurred sooner, had Arobin not met his benefactor. In fact, the borrowed money was all that allowed him to keep his place and standing in society. Unfortunately, the money was not given freely, and it was to his benefactor's current living quarters that he headed now.
Arobin continued down the street until he reached the end. There, a large mansion towered over the street, bigger than anything else on the block and projecting "wealthy" to the world. The lights were off and the house appeared to be deserted, but Arobin knew better. This was his destination. Slowly, with a tentativeness unlike his normally confident personality, he knocked on the door and stepped back.
After a few moments of trepidation, the door creaked open the slightest amount, revealing the face of a butler. The butler was obviously previously informed of his visit and let him in without a word. Arobin followed him through a house lit with candles and filled with expensive knick-knacks, the like of which Arobin himself once had littered across his own home, before having to sell them to keep up appearances. After climbing a grand staircase and passing the portrait of an older, distinguished-looking man, the butler stopped at a door, giving Arobin a stern glance before letting him in.
At the far end of the room, at the other side of an elaborate desk, sat the man Arobin had come to see. At a wave from the benefactor, Arobin sat in the small chair on the opposite side of the desk. Looking around, he took a moment to study his surroundings. The room was filled with books, though there did not seem to be a particular subject matter, or even a rhyme or reason to their placement. Arobin recognized the trick immediately; it was the action of someone who bought books for appearance's sake, not for any form of reading. Continuing his visual exploration of the room, Arobin stopped at a sight that seemed out of place: an old military uniform, obviously well worn, but in surprisingly good shape. Even the buttons were still polished. On the desk in front of him rested a picture of a woman whom Arobin did not know. She was pretty, but not uniquely so, and obviously rich, and he found himself wondering what importance a woman like her could possibly have to a man such as the one sitting before him.
Arobin's wandering gaze finally brought him back to the man in question. The benefactor wore a salmon colored suit. Had this been anyone else, Arobin might have laughed, possibly even in this man's face. However, Arobin had heard stories and even the gambler within would not risk angering this man. He sat, waiting for the benefactor to speak first.
"What have you found for me?"
Arobin noted the lack of pleasantries, but replied with the information he knew would please his benefactor. "Edna Pontellier has grown tired of being alone. Her husband is always gone. I met her at the races recently, and we got along splendidly. At the party tonight, one of the young ladies I spoke to said that she had heard that Edna wished to move to a little house on the corner, away from her husband. I intend to get closer to her to see if this is true."
The benefactor smiled, the action transforming his face into that of a man who was amicable, even well-liked. "Good! She should be easily swayed. Her money would be a great asset to my coffers, and I need no remind you that it is of import to you as well. Use your charm, Arobin. It is, after all, your best feature."
Arobin bowed his head, not needing reminding of his wooing capabilities or of his monetary predicament. In fact, he was all too aware of the latter. It was to pay off his debts that he turned to this man. He know wished more than ever that he could have not bet so much on a particular horse, or even abstained from betting on another. He might not have been in this situation. Now, however, all he could do was follow the benefactor's wishes and hope that he made it out of the deal on top.
To do that, he needed to seduce Edna Pontellier. Lifting his eyes back to the benefactor, Arobin nodded once before rising to show himself out the door. He had just reached for the handle when the voice of his benefactor called him back.
"Arobin, I need not remind you of what will happen if you fail me."
Arobin repressed a shudder, years of an aristocratic upbringing allowing him to school his features into indifference. "No. Of course not, Mr. Gatsby."
Arobin was elated. Though worried about the success of his mission at the beginning, he now started to hope for it, even anticipate it. Mrs. Pontellier was a silly woman, much easier to manipulate than the others. He had bested far better than she. It was all too easy to charm her. A few compliments here, a flattering comment on her horse racing knowledge there, and he was in. He found himself invited to a dinner party that she decided to throw, celebrating a little house she had bought to live in alone. Just how she expected to live alone, Arobin had no idea. She would not get far without a man, of that he was certain. However, the circumstances were of no concern to him. All he knew was, in her haste to discover independence, she had become vulnerable. He had no trouble taking advantage of it.
He had to admit, he sometimes felt that this job was almost too simple. After visiting her house a few times, it was easy to charm the woman. When he finally was able to kiss her, he felt, to his delight, her whole body respond to his touch, a soft moan of the passion that was so lacking from her life escaping from her lips. The trap was set. It was a small matter of wearing a dust cap while climbing a ladder to help her take down some pictures to secure an invitation to her little get together and forever cement himself in her good graces.
He managed to strain himself from whistling in his glee after she dismissed him from her house, telling him to not come back until the dinner in two days. He faked unwillingness, of course. Can't you see for yourself, without me telling you, what an eternity that is? He pleaded with her, but acquiesced to her order after just enough time to make her feel like she was completely in control, like she had complete power over him. How little she knew! Soon, he would be able to advance from taking advantage of her to taking advantage of her money as well. Mr. Gatsby would be pleased.
Finally, the last step! Edna Pontellier was officially his! Oh, the foolish woman!
As her dinner party went on, Arobin took special care to make absolutely certain that Mrs. Pontellier's cup never ran dry. By the end of the night, the usually reserved woman was the liveliest he had ever seen her, cheeks flushed with the alcohol, usually graceful limbs clumsy with inebriation. Perfect.
He made sure that he stayed behind after all the guests had left, continuing to attend to her every whim, a perfect picture of a perfect gentleman. Funny, how she wished for her independence from her husband, and yet ran right into another's arms. He dismissed both the servants and the musicians, making sure that her house was empty aside from the two of them. Together, they traveled to the little home at the end of the street that she had claimed as her own.
Arobin held open the door, sweeping her grandly into the house and into a veritable garden. He allowed himself a small smirk at her small gasp of surprise before turning to face her. He had ordered thousands of flowers, with Mr. Gatsby's money, of course, and had set them up all around the living room. His smile grew wider as he caught sight of the blissful smile on Mrs. Pontellier's face. It really was all too easy.
He seated her on the couch and told her to rest and that he would leave before stroking her hair gently. She murmured her assent sleepily, leaning into his hand a little. I thought you were going away, she breathed, her voice coming out ragged. He smiled at her small, useless protest.
I am, after I have said good-night, he responded. He continued to stroke her hair before beginning to caress her. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, her lips. He continued to work, knowing all the while that this woman never had a chance. Her body responded almost subconsciously, becoming limp and supple to his ministrations. He whispered seductive sweet nothings in her ear, the best of which were granted almost animalistic moans from the soft lips. He played with her, leading her on, finally saying good-night and taking his leave after she reached a state of flaccidity that left him certain that she would not be able to move from that seat for the rest of the night.
It was near the small hours of the morning when he was admitted into Gatsby's small office. A quick glance around the room told him that nothing had changed, from the precious uniform in the corner to the picture of the pretty woman sitting in the position of a shrine on the desk.
"Well?" The soft voice sliced through the silence, expecting, demanding results. Arobin was only too happy to oblige. Soon their agreement would be over, and he would be a rich man of status once again, free to come and go as he pleased without worrying about deals and benefactors.
"I made the final steps with Edna this past night. She is now completely in my power. I feel that she might do whatever I wished. The money should come along shortly."
"Good!" Again, the smile that seemed so out of place on the benefactor's face. "You have done well, Arobin. Perhaps I can count on you for further endeavors? My…business…is quite lucrative, and I could use someone with your special skill set."
Arobin bowed his head, both so as to show deference and to hide the look of wild disgust that he was not quite able to hide quickly enough. "If it is all the same to you, sir, I would just like to take the money and go."
"Very well. That is understandable." Mr. Gatsby nodded, a fleeting look of longing passing over his face, so fast that Arobin was not sure if it had actually been there or not. "I am planning to do something of the sort myself."
At this, Arobin nodded and took his leave, glancing at his benefactor once more before he passed through the door of his office. Mr. Gatsby was staring at the picture of the woman intently, as though she were the most important person in the world.
Arobin planned to give Mrs. Pontellier a little time before he called on her again. However, it had never occurred to him that, when he finally did, she would not be at either her small house or her shared residence with her husband. Upon inquiring as to where she had gone, he was told that she had left suddenly for the Grand Isle.
This unpredictable action confused and astounded him. This impromptu trip alone was not what he would have expected of this woman, who he had so fully dominated. Nonetheless, he was sustained by the satisfaction that he would have complete access to her wealthy stores of money when she returned and so was content to wait.
When he heard what had occurred on the beach at the Grand Isle, his blood ran cold…
"Mr. Gatsby," here Arobin paused, looking at the ground, as he lacked the courage to both say the dreaded words and lift his head to look his benefactor in the eye. "I'm afraid I have some…unfortunate news."
"Out with it!" Gatsby barked. Arobin saw his patience wearing thin and blurted out his report.
"Mrs. Edna Pontellier has committed suicide. She drowned herself. I'm sorry."
There was a moment of silence, during which Arobin could feel Mr. Gatsby's eyes boring into him, even if he did not meet their piercing gaze himself. However, he did look up when he heard Gatsby's huff of disappointment. Gatsby was staring at the picture of the woman again, a look of yearning and desire sweeping over an open face. At last, Gatsby looked back up at Arobin.
"I'm sorry as well," he responded, standing up slowly. Something about the speed of his gait and the mad look in his eye caused Arobin to instantly back away, inching slowly towards the door. "The success of this endeavor was important to you, too."
Arobin managed to reach the door and went to turn the knob, only to have the door swing open. The butler stood there, blocking Arobin's exit, effectively hemming him in.
Arobin could only watch in horror as Gatsby reached into the ridiculous salmon suit to pull out a hidden gun. "I'm sorry that it had to come to this. As I said before, you would have made a wonderful asset. Unfortunately, I cannot tolerate failure."
Arobin was completely backed up to the butler, his escape cut off. He could do nothing but stare at the muzzle of his executioner's weapon and into the crazy, gleaming eyes of Mr. Gatsby. Suddenly, the corner of his eye once again found the small picture on the desk, and Arobin had time to direct a sudden, unreasonable blame from the bottom of his soul towards the woman in the image as he heard the faint click of a trigger being pulled.