Chapter 33 Delusions
"Thirty dollars."
"That's an insult!" Dorothy huffed at the pawnbroker. "Thirty dollars? This is Cartier!" The brooch had been a birthday present or a wedding present or… Dorothy couldn't remember, everything was a jumbled mess in her mind over the past few weeks. But she was able to recall that it was a damned Cartier piece. "It's worth more than everything you've got in your shop put together!"
The pawnbroker shrugged. His greasy brown hair was just the icing on top of his small, dirty shop on a dead-end hallway in Poseidon Plaza. "Lady, I got all kinds of people coming in here trying to tell me it's a Tiffany or a Cartier or a Piaget, and even if that's true, that don't mean much. There's a lot of people selling their jewelry they brought with 'em, wanting to open a store or make rent or buy supper."
The last two examples stung. Dorothy had been utterly shocked to discover that the rent on their home – still their home, still married – was an eye-watering 3,500 dollars a month. She had been less shocked, but still angry, to discover that Richard was true to his threat – his disloyal, traitorous threats – of not providing her with enough money to pay that. Her bank account had roughly 700 dollars in it and she had six days to either pony up the rent or be evicted.
"I will take my business elsewhere then, I may not be the canniest trader, but I know for a fact I can get better than thirty measly dollars for a solid gold brooch! You could melt it down and it'd be worth more than that!"
The pawnbroker wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve. "Then do it. I got more jewelry than I can sell anyway."
Dorothy scrunched up her mouth as she tried to think of a reply to his incredibly rude and dismissive statement. This was far, far away from Diamonds on the Waves indeed. But at least Muriel didn't work here. "Fifty," she demanded, puffed up with indignation.
The pawnbroker shook his head, so Dorothy turned and marched out of the shop. She kept her face stoic and arranged until she reached the sanctity of a telephone booth. She shut the maple door firmly behind her, flipped that latch, and sobbed as silently as she could.
Naïve as she was, Dorothy had realized the day after Richard left that even if she sold everything she owned she'd be turned out soon anyway. Damn that whore to the very pits of hell! Dorothy's hand shook as fumbled with her purse for a cigarette. I bet she's laughing at me now! Living it up at… she wasn't sure where they had absconded to. Some whore's nest, no doubt.
But even her white-hot rage towards the whore was overshadowed by her financial insecurity. She didn't even have the option of returning to her family. She was on her own. She'd have to either snag another husband in a hurry, get hers back, or get employment. Each option was more unappealing than the last.
Where does a person even find a job? The thought had never crossed her mind before. Get it together. You're better than the whore. You'll outlast her. Richard will come crawling back to me. He needs a proper wife, one who understands how to run a household, maintain a social presence, and bring him the polish and shine that his nouveau riche blood hasn't got. But until that time…
Dorothy sniffed her tears away and opened the telephone directory. The furniture and plates and all that in the house had as much value as her jewelry, possibly more. She sighed heavily while perusing her options. The advertisement that seemed the most sophisticated caught her eye. 'Dragonfly Interiors – purveyors of fine furnishings and ornamental goods. Specializing in consignment and estate purchases.'
As she picked up the handset, Dorothy had a flashback of purchasing the living room set. It has been the day after they had arrived in Rapture, and in that brief window of time, she had genuine hope that things may work out fine in her marriage. The showroom had been well-lit by cut-glass chandeliers, and there were no filthy, filthy whores around. Richard hadn't been with her, he never had been when she was selecting furnishings or other purchases. That's why he needs me. I can't even imagine what that whore's got her little den decorated like, probably using apple crates as chairs and bed sheets as curtains. That'll teach him what happens when he dallies with low-class whores. A little bit of play-pretend poor and he'll be happy to be back with me once she expires.
"Good afternoon, Dragonfly Interiors," rang out the cheerful voice of the woman who picked up the telephone.
"I need an estimate as soon as you can on my home in Adranos Place. I am planning on doing an entire redecoration and renovation, and I want to start with a clean canvas. I want everything gone. Is that something your business is capable of?" Dorothy curtly asked.
"Of course ma'am, I can arrange for that this evening if that is convenient for you."
"It is," Dorothy replied just as curtly.
"May I have your name and address.?"
"Mrs. Dorothy Stone. Number forty-eight, Lublin Tower, Adranos Place."
There was a pause and Dorothy could hear the disrespectful smirk of the receptionist over the line. "Of course, Mrs. Stone. One of our agents will be available in that neighborhood at around seven, is that an acceptable time for you?"
Dorothy nearly slammed down the handset. She did need the money, however, and it was unlikely that she wouldn't get name recognition from other businesses as well. "That is acceptable." She wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of letting her know how bothered she was.
"Thank you for calling, Mrs. Stone, I do hope we can do business."
Smirking bitch. Once I have my husband back I will have him buy your company and then fire you. "Goodbye," Dorothy said brusquely, wishing there was another, less polite way to end a telephone call.
She composed herself, taking a series of deep, steadying breaths. She whipped out her compact and applied a few puffs of powder to even out her reddened face. Richard is going to come back to me, she constructed her new aspiration as the creamy colored powder dusted her face. The whore will die, soon, and he'll come back to me, his wife. He's fixed now too, so he won't be so embarrassing. And as a 'punishment' for his unfaithfulness, we will not have relations ever again, that way I will not die from his radioactive emission.
Her pert smile reflected back from the little round compact mirror. Yes. That's what will happen. It's the only thing that makes sense. Nothing else makes sense. It was just a matter of time then. She had to wait it out. And if she had to put a roof over her own head, and food on her own plate, like some sort of common servant… I'll make Richard pay for this with his tears over her stone-cold body. She smiled again and clicked the compact shut.
She was in a better mood, although not a great one, as she made her way back to the metro station. Poseidon Plaza was moderately busy. Dorothy longingly eyed a yellow silk dress in the window of a store. By the time Richard comes back to me that dress will be long gone, she sadly thought as she stopped to admire the dress.
"Dorothy? Goodness, I haven't seen you in a while!"
Dorothy blinked slowly so as to not scowl or sigh. Agnes. She turned slowly and saw not only Agnes but Jane as well. Jane's dark red hair was elaborated coiffed and Dorothy paled for a moment when she registered just how much money it cost to get her hair done. More than we paid the whore in a week!
"Agnes, Jane, what a lovely surprise!" Dorothy smiled broadly at them.
"How are you doing after, well, you know, the fight at the hotel and your husband leaving you for the maid-" Jane asked, a prying look in her eye.
"No, he didn't leave me," Dorothy interrupted firmly. "I kicked him out, I told him if he's going to make a scene he can go make one elsewhere."
Agnes and Jane exchanged a skeptical glance. "You told him to leave?"
"He begged to stay!" Dorothy argued. "He loves me, you know, but men, they lose their minds over whores!" She realized she had shouted that last word and pressed her lips together. "Men and their whores!" She laughed merrily to let them know it wasn't serious. "What can we do, hm?"
"How long was it going on, do you know?" Jane asked, ignoring Dorothy's explanation.
"Under your very nose! How awful that must have been for you," Agnes added, although the sympathy in her voice was thinly veiled schadenfreude.
Dorothy dismissed their question with a flick of her wrist. "No matter, once he's had his fun he'll come back." Why are they looking at me like that? I'm not crazy, he'll come back. "He's done this before, you know," Dorothy continued, a spark of inspiration hitting her in the moment. "Back in New York. It wasn't the maid though, it was… what was she? Oh I remember now, a waitress. Or whatever you call them when they work in a bar. Cigarette girl maybe? Something like that, I don't remember the particulars. I didn't throw him out that time though, but this time? This time I told him I had enough, there was another girl before that even! So this whore was his third. I had enough, I told him to go, but he'll be back, Richard always comes back to me!" Brilliant! I'm back in the driver's seat! What a dog he is, and if a few lies blacken his name he deserves it anyway!
"You have the patience of a saint," Agnes commented after Dorothy's genius improvisation. "Truly remarkable. You're a model wife."
Dorothy nodded slightly at the compliment, pleased as Christmas punch that her fabrication was so well received. I am clever. I can see that he'll come back, too. "Thank you, Jane. It's hard, but all I need to do is remember what my role as a wife is, and in doing so, he'll remember what his role as a husband is."
"I saw them together two days ago," Jane gleefully informed Dorothy. "At Muller's Electronics, they were looking for a new radio set."
He went with her to pick out a radio? He had never once gone with Dorothy to shop for anything, and now he was gallivanting around the city with her? Dorothy laughed again to disguise her disquiet, and her laughter was reinforced by remembering that the whore would be dead soon. "No doubt she talked him into buying her one before he leaves. I told you, he's got a weakness for their… services. Services that no dignified woman, no dignified wife, would ever dream of entertaining. But that's why they are whores, right?"
Jane and Agnes exchanged yet another look, although this one was not skeptical. They seemed amused. I suppose it's sort of funny how men have their foolishness. Funny if it isn't happening to them. Dorothy frowned, unhappy to remember she had found Muriel's similar tale of woe to be entertaining at the time.
"Cheer up, Dorothy, I'm sure he'll come running back to you," Agnes slowly said.
"I bet you're terribly angry with your maid, er, former maid," Jane prodded again, trying to suss out more juicy bits of the drama.
Don't speak to me about the whore! But Dorothy merely rolled her eyes. "Of course, I'm angry, but I can't say I am surprised. She was of low quality in every way possible. She was an awful servant, had some sass mouth, a terrible cook, could barely keep the place clean."
Jane gave a calculated grin. "I suppose she must have some redeeming qualities. Richard must have seen something in her, after all."
Dorothy's composure started to crack like hardened plaster. "I… I would doubt it. It's not… it's newness men want. New women."
Agnes nodded supportively. "I'm sure it has nothing to do with you, Dorothy. You've always loved him, always supported him, always been there for him. I'm so shocked because you both seemed to have such a solid marriage. I remember when I saw Richard and the maid on the street when he was escorting her home, and I told you about it the next day and you weren't worried at all! You trusted him so much, this must be heartbreaking to have your trust shattered like this."
Slow rage began to spread over Dorothy. Agnes, you blackhearted witch. You're winding me up more than Jane is. "Richard will come back," Dorothy repeated stoically. "We are still married. He's just having an episode of foolishness. He will come back to me."
They shared another look. "He's moved in with your old maid, Dorothy," Jane reminded her. "He bought an apartment for her. Richard's mother told me yesterday."
Agnes put on her saddest, most sympathetic face, but Dorothy was no longer fooled. "You didn't know?"
"So what if he bought her a house?" Dorothy asked through gritted teeth. "Let him. We've got enough money."
"Do you?" Jane cruelly interjected. "I saw you come out of that pawn shop. If you need money, dear, you can borrow some for me. Or perhaps get some from your husband, if that's still an option."
Dorothy wasn't aware that she was going to slap Jane until after she did it. Jane gasped but Agnes laughed and clapped her hands. "Oh Dorothy, what have you got to worry about? He'll come back, right?" Agnes taunted her.
Dorothy turned on her heels and stormed off, lest she stay and be goaded into murder. He's going to come back, she told herself again and again on her walk to the metro.