The Duke
When the trapeze lowered in its shower of glitter and smoke, all my troubles were put aside. This number was one I knew by heart – I could even anticipate the reaction of the men crowded below me, enraptured into silence as they gazed upward, spellbound. This very entrance was part of my appeal – that I should first appear to them from such a lofty perch gave the impression of my being just out of reach, and of course, men always wanted what they couldn't have.
"The French are glad to die for love," I teased in a sing-song tone.
"They delight in fighting duels.
But I prefer a man who lives . . .
And gives . . . expensive . . ."
Here I paused, leaning back as the lights flashed back on, and finished in a whisper, "Jewels."
As I circled the crowd that evening, however, everything was different – my eyes searched the faces of the men, for once distinguishing brown eyes from blue, blonde hair from grey, and I wondered which of them might have been the one I had to dazzle above the rest.
"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental,
But diamonds are a girl's best friend."
I descended into that throng of men, watching with showy amusement as each of them searched their pockets eagerly for any offering they might make to buy a night with me – rose bouquets, rolls of bills, diamond necklaces, it was all the same as usual.
"A kiss may be grand, but it won't pay the rental
On your humble flat, or help you feed your – mrow – pussycat."
I danced easily through them all, the entire time remaining the untouchable and unattainable thing I always was. It was what I was famous for – the men whispered to themselves at times that the Sparkling Diamond was just as cold as the real thing.
"Men grow cold as girls grow old,
And we all lose our charms in the end,
But square-cut or pear-shaped,
These rocks don't lose their shape!
Diamonds are a girl's best friend.
Tiffany! Cartier!
'Cause we are living in a material world –
And I am a material girl!"
I turned to wink over my shoulder at the men, beckoning them forward. "Come and get me, boys."
The music raged on, along with the cheers, and I relished in the attention, fully in my element. "Black Star, Roscor – talk to me, Harry Zidler, tell me all about it!"
The Tabasco brothers carried me off over the crowd, toward a platform where Harold waited. I ascended it with a flourish, and he joined me in the song.
"There may come a time when a lass needs a lawyer,
But diamonds are a girl's best friend!"
Harold made a show of dangling a glittering trinket just out of my reach, and I grabbed after it, pouting when he snatched it away again.
"There may come a time when a hard-boiled employer
Thinks you're awful nice, but get that ice or else no dice!"
The other girls kept singing, while I turned toward Harold, tugging off one of my gloves as he continued to dangle the rhinestone-studded heart. "Is the Duke here, Harold?"
"Liebchen!" he exclaimed, "Would Daddy let you down?"
Eagerly, I looked toward the crowd, holding the glove up over my head. "Where is he?"
We rotated positions, and he searched around – and promptly gave a gasp of disdain. "He's the one Toulouse is shaking the hankie at."
Our places exchanged again so that I could look back in that direction, I leaned forward, squinting, until I laid eyes on the tuxedoed man Toulouse-Lautrec was waving his handkerchief at. He wasn't really what I had been expecting – he seemed young for his title, wide-eyed and naïve, certainly not the type of self-absorbed older men I was used to dealing with. Though I figured deep down he had to be just like the rest, maybe my job was going to be a little easier than I thought.
"Are you sure?" I asked, just to make certain.
"Let me take a peek," Harold responded, moving back to stand where I had been. After a beat, he affirmed, "That's the one, chickpea! I hope that demonic little gnome doesn't frighten him off."
The other girls created a curtain-like ring with their skirts, and Harold and I descended behind it to change costumes. As I struggled into the next dress, my mind was running over questions. "Will he invest?"
"After spending the night with you," Harold enthused, "how can he refuse?"
"What's his type?" I paused, combing my fingers through my hair and checking my appearance in the mirror that had been offered.
"Wilting flower?" I asked, putting on my best downcast look. Then, feigning cheerfulness, I suggested, "Bright and bubbly?"
A suggestive growl punctuated the final option: "Or smoldering temptress?"
"I'd say – smoldering temptress." Harold paused, then added, "We're all relying on you, gosling. Remember, a real show, in a real theatre, with a real audience. And you'll be –"
"A real actress," I finished for him, momentarily sobered by the thought of it. Then the ring of dancers separated and Harold and I rose again to finish the number.
"'Cause that's when those louses go back to their spouses!
Diamonds . . . are a . . . girl's . . . best . . ."
As I was carried over to where the Duke sat, Toulouse caught up to us and tried to get my attention – no doubt something about that English writer he was telling me about earlier – but I dropped in front of the Duke's seat and completed the number with a flourish.
". . . friend!"
The Duke stared up at me, wide-eyed and gaping in surprise. I affixed him with a coquettish smile and a seductive look, my hands perched on my hips. "I believe you were expecting me?"
He remained silent for a horrifyingly long moment, before I realized his lack of words was simply that he couldn't quite manage to form them.
"Yes," he finally gasped out. "Yes."
I extended a gloved hand out at him in a point, calling back over my shoulder to the crowd, "I'm afraid it's ladies choice!"
The Duke just stared at me further, so I began to pout, whimpering and waving the feathery train of my skirt about, the action igniting the crowd until they started cheering even more loudly.
Then Toulouse crowded in again, piping up, "I see you already met my English friend!"
"I'll take care of it, Toulouse!" I said, brushing him aside, then turned back to the Duke. "Let's dance!"
He still showed hesitation, so I prompted him out onto the floor, soon spinning out onto it myself, while he followed more slowly, seeming uncertain of himself.
The crowd of disappointed male patrons parted to allow us through, though they were quickly enough occupied by the other girls. My attention had gone fully to the Duke, who was indeed nothing like what I'd anticipated. He was innocent, almost shy, and I instantly saw I would have to take hold of the conversation.
"It's so wonderful of you to take an interest in our little show," I said cheerfully.
"Sounds very exciting," he responded enthusiastically, "I'd be delighted to be involved."
They were just the words I wanted to hear, but I didn't expect to hear them so soon.
"Really?" I asked, knowing I sounded surprised.
"Assuming you like what I do, of course," he amended.
I blinked, slightly taken aback, but offered a smile nonetheless, though my hands were raised in the air in a gesture that suggested confusion. "I'm – sure I will."
"Toulouse thought we might be able to do it in private," he went on casually.
I raised my eyebrows in question at the audacity – not only of the Duke, but the little Bohemian artist as well. "Did he?"
"Yes, you know, a private . . ." He paused, and sputtered out, ". . . poetry reading."
Despite confusion, I took his words as a polite – he was an aristocrat, after all – way of alluding to what we were really going to do, and decided to take the train of thought and run with it. After all, everything depended largely on what he wanted.
"Oh, mm, a poetry reading?" I asked knowingly. "I do love a little poetry after supper."
By then, the song was ending, and I warned him to hang onto his hat, before promptly kicking my leg upward – an action that, performed by the other girls, caused the top hat of nearly every male patron in the place to go flying into the air.
The crowd cheered, and I leaned in to give the Duke instructions to meet me in the Red Room, then I turned and moved back through the throng to retake my seat on the trapeze. Moments later, the familiar notes of my song filled the air again.
"Square cut or pear shaped,
These rocks don't lose their shape!
Diamonds . . . are a girl's . . . best . . ."
I paused, drawing in a breath to hit the final note – but it hitched in my chest, and I tilted my head back to gasp for air, before the next thing I knew, everything was descending into black.