San Francisco: March, 1909
"Honestly Nasir, I don't know why I let you drag me here." Erik looked around the crowded front parlor of Imperiali's Boarding House.
"Because your friends, emphasis on the word, wanted to share their good fortune with the people who helped to make their dream a reality. And that, my friend," Nasir poked a long forefinger into Erik's chest, "includes you. Especially you."
"Shhh, not so loud." He looked over the crowd again, hoping no one had overheard. "I did nothing except to repay a favor."
Nasir shook his head, then dropped his voice to a whisper. "You, more than anyone here, are responsible for all this." He gestured around the crowded room. "You must learn to be more gracious when people want to thank you."
Erik snorted, picked up his empty glass and moved out to the kitchen for a refill. The room was bustling with activity when he walked in. Two women were piling sandwiches on trays while another was just finishing mixing up a bowl of potato salad. Alma Imperiali turned from her place at the stove frying up chicken to see him enter. She immediately handed over her frying tongs to another woman, wiped her hands on her apron, and came over to him.
"I'm so glad you could come, Erik." She pulled him down to her five-foot height to plant a kiss on his uncovered cheek.
He returned the peck and hugged her shoulders. "Thank you for inviting me."
Alma stood back to better look up into his eyes. "You never need an invitation to come here. Danny and I will never forget how you helped us. If you ever get tired of that fancy penthouse of yours, there will always be a room and a hot meal here for you."
He laughed at her words. "That's good to know." He walked to the sink and refilled his glass. "The kitchen turned out very well. Do you have everything you need?"
"How could I not?" She looked around the room, eyes shining. More than any other room in the place, the kitchen was her domain and she felt like a queen. "I had the best architect in San Francisco to help me design this place."
After the earthquake, she and Danny and the kids lived in three rooms in an overcrowded apartment building, and that was a palace compared to the 'relief house,' one of over 5000 small wooden structures built by the army to house the homeless, that was their first home after the destruction. Danny was injured in the quake and it was several months before he could return to working the docks full time. Alma took care of the children and picked up odd jobs cleaning and mending when she could.
Like so many others, all their possessions were destroyed and they had to use much of their savings to furnish their small apartment and put food on the table and clothes on their backs. The dream of owning a boarding house was put on an indefinite hold. It took almost two full years to replenish most of their savings and then a little miracle came their way.
An older widow whom Danny and Alma cared for after she lost her family decided to sell a building she'd owned. The widow lived in one undamaged room, but the rest of the building needed extensive repair to make it fully habitable again. They decided to use their savings on a down-payment and applied to several banks for loans with no success.
Erik learned of their story during a chance meeting with Danny while taking what had become one of his habitual walks on the docks. He knew Danny would never accept money from him, so instead he offered to co-sign on a loan for them to cover the purchase and materials they'd need to make the place livable. The bank found that arrangement acceptable and Danny and Alma became the building's owners. Then Erik hired himself to serve as architect and builder at no charge. It made him happy to help the man who'd been so good to him and Nasir when they first arrived in San Francisco.
What they didn't know, would never know, was that after the loan papers were signed and the building became the Imperialis' property he returned to the bank and paid off the remainder of the loan so they could own it free and clear. He then arranged for the bank to take the monthly mortgage payments they made and turn that money into a bank-administered fund for other earthquake victims.
"The best architect in San Francisco?" Erik questioned her with a grin.
"Darn right," Alma affirmed. "And don't even think about arguing with me on that Erik Dantes."
"No ma'am."
He loved Alma. They spent several happy hours together planning the boarding house's interior and creating the kitchen of her dreams. And she treated him as just another one of her children, despite the fact that she wasn't too much older than he. She worried that he was getting enough to eat and had enough time to sleep properly. She knit him warm scarves and gloves and even socks to make him more comfortable when working outdoors in the winter months. To Erik, she was exactly what a mother was supposed to be and everything his own mother never was.
She looked up at him again. "You feeling all right? You look a little pale. You need to get more sun."
"I always look pale. It's my natural color." He looked to the kitchen door. "I'll tell you what, Alma, just for you, I'll go out and sit in your lovely garden for a while and soak up a little sun. Will that make you happy?"
"Yes. Then come back in and make sure you eat. You're too skinny." She winked at him while gently poking his ribs. His naturally thin frame was another joke between them.
He walked out into the back yard and sat on a wrought iron bench under a small tree. The Imperialis planted that tree when they first took possession of the building in remembrance of the 3000 people who died in the earthquake. Many people were doing the same, using the need to replant the greenery destroyed as a way of honoring the dead. It was a sentiment he endorsed with his own designs.
He'd meant what he said to Lillian back in the Army camp. He did want to help rebuild and he found that his lack of formal schooling in architecture was no impediment to his success in the field. He started simply, volunteering to help rebuild partially-destroyed structures and incorporating his own ideas for making them stronger.
Word spread about his building ideas and his work ethic. Erik was always the first man at a building site in the morning and the last to leave, often several hours after dark. He quickly gained a reputation for quality work and was eventually appointed as a job foreman by the city leaders in charge of the reconstruction. He hired anyone with a strong back, an honest attitude, and a willingness to follow his orders, without giving any thought to race, creed, or color.
One of the first buildings he rebuilt, a year after the initial rebuilding phase, was his own. As he told Lillian he would, he'd offered the club's undamaged kitchen for use as a soup kitchen and created ways to convert the open floor space used for dining during the day to small semi-private sleeping areas during the night. After the soup kitchen was no longer needed, he worked on the building's structure and even extended the floors up one more level.
He opened up more space on the ground floor by moving the offices and dry-goods storage to the second floor and then added a second gaming room for the separate use of cardplayers. He upgraded the plumbing in both the men's and ladies' retiring rooms and redesigned and enlarged the dining room.
The entire third floor was given to Nasir for his apartment. The Persian was frantic when he was finally allowed to return to the city. Fortunately, it wasn't long before he started hearing stories of the 'masked man' who led a group of survivors to safety so he knew Erik was all right. By the time he reconnected with his friend, all his worry was gone and the Persian and the Frenchman immediately returned to the bantering that was the hallmark of their relationship but with a subtle change.
The disaster and his reunion with Lillian gave Erik a new perspective on his life and what he thought would be his future. He realized that the Persian was spending too much time looking after him and not nearly enough time taking care of himself and his needs.
No longer, Erik vowed, ashamed at how selfish he had been during the years in Paris. He couldn't do anything about what was done, but he could do something about the future. Giving Nasir the third floor of the building was Erik's subtle way of telling his friend that it was time to make a life for himself.
When he first showed Nasir his plans for the new living space he had included a spacious kitchen with an eating area, a formal dining room, two full baths, and several extra rooms with their own closets. It was his hope that the man would finally stop worrying about Erik and start living his own life again, and Erik sincerely hoped that living his own life might include the Persian finding love again.
Along with the staircase leading to each of the five floors in the building, an elevator allowed Club Incognito's fourth floor to be used for additional storage and to house Erik's newly created architectural firm until he had the means and there was acceptable space available elsewhere to move. There wasn't much to store after the earthquake so it was mostly used as a buffer between the new fifth floor which served as Erik's home and everyone else.
Ultimately, Erik turned the daily operations of Club Incognito over to Nasir. He still appeared at the club most nights, but usually only stayed for a few hours, just long enough to remind people of the mystique of the mask and that if they didn't play honestly, they'd never play in his club again.
"Uncle Erik?" Gino Imperiali, Danny and Alma's youngest poked his head out of the kitchen door. Somehow, after the disaster and during the earliest part of the rebuilding, he'd become Uncle Erik to several children. Some, like Gino were the children of people who'd become close friends, others were connected in one way or another to the initial group of survivors whom Erik led to safety on that fateful day. "Mama says to come in and eat now."
He knew better than to argue. Rising up from the bench, he scooped up the small boy and carried him into the dining room, then sat down in a chair between two of Alma's cousins. He was sure, from the look she sent him, he'd been placed there deliberately so they could watch what he ate and report back to Alma. He looked down the table at his hostess and smiled when he caught her eye.
Danny stood up and everyone raised their glasses in anticipation of his toast. Erik noted that while he and Nasir both held beer glasses, they were filled with water instead of the brew. "Welcome to Imperiali's Boarding House," Danny began. "I'll keep this short or Alma'll kill me. To family and to friends and to those who we are blessed to call both. To success, health, and no more damn earthquakes!" Everyone raised their glasses and drank.
Half an hour later, Erik pushed his chair back from the crowded table. He'd eaten his fill—more than his fill, although he knew it still wasn't enough to suit Alma. He looked around the table and realized he was smiling without thought and how natural it felt to do so.
It still surprised him how the few days he spent with Lillian opened his eyes to the people around him. He came back to San Francisco with a new mindset. The disaster taught him that he was valued as a man, and that the few people who came to know him well didn't care about the mask or what lay under it. They accepted him as he was. A small number, like the Imperalis and their children loved him for himself. What he'd wanted all his life, he'd finally achieved, simply by being the man Lillian knew he truly was.
Shortly after dinner, Erik took Alma and Danny aside, thanked them for their invitation, asked them to tell Nasir that he'd left the carriage so the Persian could take his lady friend home, and slipped out of the noisy boarding house. He'd seen Nasir deep in conversation with Marian Purdue, an attractive woman in her middle forties who'd been widowed by the earthquake. Maybe, he smiled to himself, if given the right nudge, Nasir would begin to think about the possibility of filling the empty bedrooms in his apartment.
He let his mind drift, thinking about all the changes that occurred since the earthquake, both professionally and personally.
On the professional side, he'd returned to architecture, an early love of his. Two years earlier, he started his own design and construction firm and had several successes in his work helping to restore the city. He'd even submitted a design and a bid for the Danby Foundation's newest hospital—finally to be built after a delay of three years. He hoped his design would be chosen, but he deliberately kept his name off everything, wanting to be selected on merit alone.
He was working on being more personable around people he didn't know well. He still feared being judged by his appearance. But on the rare occasions when he let his guard down, he discovered that people liked him. He still got the odd comment or joke about the mask, but to most people, he was simply Erik Dantes and it was just part of who he was.
Somewhat to his surprise he soon found friends in all areas of society and perhaps the oddest friendship he'd made since the disaster was with Muriel Larmore. That night at Carmen and their short discussion about opera singers was the initial ice breaker.
Five months after the earthquake, when he was still going out with assigned work crews, he was bent over, sweating in the afternoon sun, laying bricks to repair a wall in one of the mansions in the wealthy part of the city. He'd been unconsciously humming under his breath when the voice broke in.
"Is that the Brindisi from La Traviata I hear you humming young man?"
He turned, startled that he hadn't heard the woman coming up to him across the grass and that he knew her. "Mrs. Larmore." He stood straight, brushing his dirty hands on his trousers legs.
"Mr. Dantes? I never expected to meet you laying bricks at my house."
"Ah well," he ducked his head slightly, "I volunteered to help with rebuilding and the foreman sent me here."
"You're a man of many talents, I suppose." Muriel Larmore smiled at him. "Is this your first time at bricklaying?" She knew that many of the volunteers were really amateurs doing their best to help but unlike many of her society friends, she appreciated their efforts.
"No, it's not." She looked at him as if genuinely interested so he decided to share a little more. It was something he was trying to do, open himself up more to people. "I've actually done a lot. I've worked with architects before and even designed a few things myself."
"How fascinating." She smiled at him. "Have you worked on anything I might have heard of?"
"Perhaps." For a brief second he allowed his ego to flare. "I worked with Mr. Garnier on his opera house in Paris."
"Oh my, that is impressive. I've seen pictures of the Palais Garnier, but I've never seen it in person." She looked around at the shattered buildings lining the long street where she lived. "Perhaps someday, when the world rights itself again, I shall."
He nodded, knowing exactly how she felt. "Until it does, I had heard there were plans to reopen a theater somewhere here within the next year. The proposal was for performing groups of all kinds to share the space until such time as separate venues were built again. I think the city government is realizing how important culture and the arts are to a thriving city. I was even thinking about purchasing tickets when they present symphonies or operas."
"Do you really like opera that much, Mr. Dantes?"
"I do." He felt some of the pain of his past drop away as he answered. "Music has always given me great joy. It's wonderful to be able to escape into the world of grand opera and lose yourself in other peoples' lives, even if there aren't many happy endings."
"I feel the same." She turned back to the house. "I'm glad we had this little talk Mr. Dantes. You're not at all what I thought you'd be when we first met. Goodbye."
He bent to his bricks, singing softly under his breath. "Things are seldom what they seem."
The second line came floating back to him. "Skim milk masquerades as cream." Their eyes met across the small stretch of lawn. "I enjoy Gilbert and Sullivan, too, Mr. Dantes." She smiled and went into her house.
He saw her several times after that meeting. He sometimes worked at her house and when he did, she'd always stop for a few moments to talk. She had a great love for music and opera and he found himself looking forward to their brief meetings.
After the work on her house was completed, Erik was surprised to find himself with an invitation to tea. He arrived and walked into her parlor with a bit of trepidation for he wasn't the only person present. Several members of society were in attendance. It turned out they were the new Board of Directors of a fledgling opera company meant to fill the gap left by the destruction of the Mission Opera and she wanted them to meet him.
She'd been impressed with his depth of musical knowledge during their talks and he'd spent a surprisingly good afternoon discussing opera and offering suggestions for productions that could be mounted with a minimum of cost in deference to their budget and the available materials in the wake of the earthquake. They'd listened and even invited him to join them. He found he wasn't ready to get that involved in the opera again, but he was deeply flattered.
Almost a year later, when the group was ready to open its first production, Muriel asked him to serve as her escort. Her husband Charles, hated opera, so with his consent and approval, Erik became Muriel Larmore's regular escort any time an opera was performed.
. . . .
The walk back to his apartment from the boarding house would take close to an hour, but he didn't mind. He enjoyed the time spent walking alone with just his thoughts. He nodded to a passing policeman walking his beat and grinned when the nod was returned with a friendly smile. The instinct to hide was still strong within him, but he was slowly overcoming the years of fear and humiliation and learning to feel comfortable being around people.
But he never forgot what he'd learned about self-preservation. He was always aware of his surroundings and he trusted his instincts when they gave him a warning. As he walked closer to Club Incognito, the street lighting grew brighter. The club's location was becoming a popular area for evening nightspots and bright lighting and the crowds it attracted were a deterrent to the petty criminals who still plagued the city after dark.
He entered the club through its front door, intending to take a quick walk through the rooms and make sure everything was in order. Nasir had hired Bobby Walsh, a cousin to Tom, as his second-in-command and the man did a fine job keeping the club running smoothly when he was away.
"Good evening, Mr. Dantes," Walsh said, walking up to him. "We're having a good night. Everyone's behaving, people are complimenting the food, and the house is up by several hundred dollars."
Erik smiled at the succinct report. Nasir was right to hire Walsh. The man was a professional and nothing escaped his eye. "Thanks, Bobby. Anything you need from me before I go up for the night?"
"Nothing, Mr. Dantes, except if you happen to see my cousin Tommy in the next day or so, will you tell him that Ma's getting annoyed that he hasn't come by lately?"
"Of course." Erik turned and walked toward the stairs leading up to his apartment. It amused him that Alma Imperiali referred to it as his penthouse. There was nothing grand or luxurious about the space. It was really just an open loft with one side partially walled off for storage, a closet-dressing room, and a private bath.
The areas serving as his bedroom and kitchen could be hidden behind curtains for privacy on the very rare occasions when he had visitors to his home. A table and chair were placed near the kitchen area for those times he prepared food for himself. When Nasir sometimes joined him at dinner, a chair from the large oak desk on the opposite side of the kitchen served as an extra seat at the table.
Several tall book cases formed an enclosed nook holding two comfortable armchairs and ottomans with reading lamps and a small table between them. It was his favorite place in the loft and he and Nasir often found themselves having late night or early morning discussions comfortably ensconced with tea, coffee, and sometimes, in Erik's case, a snifter of fine Napoleon Brandy.
A conversational grouping consisting of a large sofa and a few armchairs set around a low table sat at the opposite end of the space. He hadn't wanted it but allowed Nasir to talk him into getting the furniture, 'just in case you have an abrupt change of heart and actually invite company in.' With everything else pressing on his mind at the time, Erik found it was simpler to just let Nasir have his way.
He usually kept the window curtains pulled back so he could look through all the windows and see the moon and stars at night from wherever he was in the space. He'd placed a drafting table by the north window to take advantage of the light when he worked, but otherwise it was a place to be alone, to read and to sleep—that was all.
As he climbed, he thought about Tom Walsh, the policeman who became a close friend. Tom went back to the police force as soon as he could after returning to the city. He requested his old beat so he could keep an eye on the old neighborhood, at least that's what he told Erik in the beginning. Months later, he confessed that he'd run into Lillian the morning they were leaving the camp and she made him promise to watch out for Erik.
Then as they often did, his thoughts turned to Lillian. Three years passed since they'd last seen or communicated with each other. They both knew a relationship between them would never work out and it was best to go their separate ways. Despite her words at their parting, he'd hoped to hear from her someday; but he never had and he hadn't reached out to her thinking her new husband would never approve. It was best they'd said their goodbyes when they did and moved onward.
He'd promised to stay away, but he still couldn't resist creating a design for the new hospital and submitting it for consideration. He received a telegram late last month informing him that the submission was in the final consideration phase and he would be informed by letter once the final selection was made. He'd hoped to hear soon from the selection committee. It would give him great pleasure to build the hospital of her dreams for her.