In 1861, Cathleen Calvert, a lovely belle had gossiped with Scarlett O'Hara at the Wilkes barbecue about what a bad man Rhett Butler was…how he'd stayed out all night with a girl, refused to marry her the next day shot the ruined lass's brother in a duel, and was not "received".
But, a few spare hours after this exchange of information, Cathleen had banged the bottom out of it with said scoundrel, and left him snoring on the sofa, a scant twenty minutes before Scarlett and Ashley Wilkes came in to have their fateful talk.
But Cathleen had remembered Rhett's parting words: "There's not a lot between those pretty, pink shell-like ears, but you certainly know how to please a gentleman." Then he'd paused, "Or me!"
Cathleen had met Rhett again fourteen years later, and a freckled, sorry creature she'd been, two teeth knocked out by Hilton, the worthless Yankee she'd married to save herself and her dying brother Cade from tumbling into abject poverty.
Cathleen had endured much up until that point—her Yankee stepmother and her whining, nasal half-siblings had gone North, both her brothers dead…and then she'd caught Hilton in bed with an octoroon, one of the ex-field hands from the Monroe plantation.
Surprised at the damage she could do with her deceased mother's antique letter opener, Cathleen had hopped a freight to Atlanta just a step ahead of the marshal. How had Rhett recognized her? She'd been picking her teeth and sitting on a barrel when he'd rode by on his big horse. "Miss Calvert, I presume!"
He'd taken the story of the double murder with extreme humor and given Cathleen a serious heart-to-heart. "Darling, you've one skill that can feed and keep you, if in fact your morals can survive it."
And Cathleen had taken Rhett's suggestion well. She'd slept with a number of older men in Jonesboro, and they'd liked her well enough not to gossip, so the young swains had always thought of Cathy as a "good girl" though none, curiously had ever proposed.
When Rhett had introduced Cathleen to Belle Watling, madam of Atlanta's most successful bordello, the younger woman recognized a mother figure she'd not had since her own mother had passed when Cathleen was only nine.
Belle had been pleased that she only had to use nutrition, millinery and a dentist to restore Cathleen's stunning good looks, and that Cathleen already knew how to act like a "lady".
In time, Cathleen became one of the most popular girls in Belle's house—and she was very grateful to Rhett for his timely assistance. But recently, Belle had made a request of Cathleen, one that she'd been somewhat reluctant to follow, even if it was to her fortune.
Silas, the house piano player, was the bastard son of Belle and Rhett. A curious boy, Si was tongue-tied, and one could barely understand him unless you knew him for a time.
Silas had immediately been attracted to Cathleen, though she was twelve years his senior, and Cathleen, who happily slept with anything in britches, had accommodated him, and had been unfailingly kind about his speech impediment.
Now, she sat in the parlor with the other girls, and smiled at Silas as he played "Swanee River" on the piano…yes, he could tickle the ivories, and was an adequate bartender.
The door opened, and Dr. Meade stepped in the parlor. Cathleen hid a smile, as she knew that the good doctor had entered from the back door. Dr. Meade looked a question at Cathleen, who dimpled at him. "Desiree is not available yet, if you'll just wait a moment, Tanis will bring you a ginger beer."
Dr. Meade was a Presbyterian teetotaler, as was Desiree's other steady client, the Reverend Mr. Pettigrew. Desiree's Number Three, who came to see her every two to five days, went only by the name "Ogden S." and neither drank nor smoked, and often twitched his nose judgmentally when there were too many pipes and cheroots in Belle's parlor.
Cathleen wondered whether all over-religious men were attracted to thirteen year old girls who they could whip with a cane, or was it just these three? Desiree often had to rest up after too many visits…but she charged so much for the whipping part that her visitors with those proclivities could not attend Belle's house as much as they liked.
Silas finished "Swanee River" and stood, smiling at Cathleen with lovesick eyes. It was a curious situation. Very curious, as Alice in Wonderland would say.
Silas went upstairs, as Cathleen knew, to his mother's sickroom. It was almost time.
The not over bright Silas was the natural heir to Belle's house. And indeed, until he opened his mouth, he certainly looked the part. Dashing, tall, and a formidable presence in case a client decided to feel his oats.
But Cathleen, seemingly empty headed until she'd begun working at the cathouse, had been doing much of the bookkeeping and other business related matters in the past four years. Especially recently, since Belle was so infirm.
Although Cathleen preferred the more physical parts of the job, the fact was, she was on the cusp of forty, and truly, it was probably time she took the managerial reins. She knew how to handle the girls, how to order supplies, and most of whatever else was involved in whore management.
But there was the problem of Silas…outside the bordello, he was truly unable to earn a living. He viewed himself as a gambling roué, but in truth the riverboats would telegraph each other when he was coming, as he was so easy to fleece.
In fact, Silas was as unlike his parents as he could be! And Belle had made the proposition to Cathleen, and soon it would be time…
Silas came back down and motioned to Cathleen. "Muvver 'ant thoo."
Translating this as "Mother wants you" Cathleen stood up, nodding graciously to Dr. Meade and a portly tobacconist who was there to visit the bordello's lone transvestite.
She patted Silas's arm and went upstairs, knocking lightly on Belle's door before entering.
"—if you can't give her up, Rhett, I don't see no hope for ye." Belle was mumbling from her bed. "The woman's pure pi'son, Ah've alwuz said—"Belle stopped talking as she descended into coughs and hacking.
Rhett Butler, sitting by the bed, patted her arm. "For God's sake, Belle, I certainly don't want you to expound your last breaths on this mortal coil criticizing Scarlett…it's not as if I don't understand—"
"Rhett Butler how do you go on!" Cathleen shook her blonde curls at him. "Miss Belle is going to be up and about any day now, and you're worrying her."
"I'm afraid we are realists, my dear." Rhett smiled grimly at Cathleen. "But take my chair, Belle needs to speak with you."
Rhett rose and lit a cigar, looking out of the window into the night.
"(Cough) Ever'thang all right down there?" Belle asked. She looked so pale.
"Yes, Doctor Meade came to see Desiree, I hope she isn't too banged up from the Reverend." Cathleen shook her head. No amount of money could get her to endure what Desiree went through. She'd had enough of it from Hilton.
"Oh (cough) Pettigrew don't (hack) hit that hard." Belle said, gasping for breath. "Give (cough) gimme some brandy, there, Cathleen."
"You shouldn't!" But Cathleen obediently handed the mug to Belle, who emptied it greedily.
"Did you think about Belle's proposition, my dear?" Rhett asked from the window. "This is a serious and rather urgent matter."
"Oh, I wish you wouldn't talk like Miss Belle is that sick—" But Belle's withered arm clutched Cathleen's wrist as if it were a vice, and Cathleen finally dropped her eyes.
"(Cough) Cathy hon, (hack) I gotta know. Effin' you ain't going to (cough) marry Silas an' take over this (cough) place fo' me, I got to work on Penelope."
Cathleen was shocked. "PEN-elope? He likes Penelope?" That red-headed cow!
"Silas was not averse to Penny's attentions before you came to the house." Rhett said, smiling. "But then he ran off for some foolish proposition, and by the time he'd returned to the house, you were here, and he thought of no other." Rhett puffed his cigar.
"(Hack) Penny is good at figgerin', not lak you, but she might be able to run the house an' let Si think he's in charge." Belle looked slyly at Rhett.
Cathleen suddenly was exasperated. "You want me to get jealous and marry Silas just because of Penelope…what nonsense. Well, I'll tell you, I'm not in love with Silas—"
"Love my dear, is over-rated." Rhett said, somewhat bitterly. "Shakespeare said—"
"Never mind Shakespeare (cough) Rhett." Belle tried to sit up. "D'ye love your life, Cathleen? Y' havin' a good time?"
Cathleen understood what Belle meant. "Yes. Yes, and I like Silas, if I don't love him much." She paused. "But he's like—a brother that I can sleep with, I guess."
"Thass (cough) good 'nuff for Si's Momma and Pappy, eh Rhett?" Belle called out from the bed.
"Euripides said 'When love is in excess it brings no honor or worthiness." Rhett said meditatively, and poured himself some gin.