I Went Down (NaNoWriMo Read-Along)

4 Cal

Cal could hear Marietta in the parlor again, idly fretting with the piano keys. She’d spent far too much time moping recently, and he had a feeling that whatever was bothering her, she was taking it out on the other girls. The idea of worrying about his leading lady appealed to him; it was better than worrying about the presence of Jimmy Primrose and his righthand man—right knifehand man, more like—in his club the previous week. He’d seen the informer Maxward slink in, and watched Dapper Jack head out to wreak havoc on the White River Laundry.

The only gladness in it was that the laundry generated by the staff and patrons of Minnie’s went to a different laundry, and Cal did not have to wonder if he was doing the safest thing by continuing his business with them. The owners at the White River Laundry had attempted some midstream loyalty switch, with ruinous results. Jimmy Primose and Baccarat were both dangerous rocks to steer your ship past, as the Pelagoans said. The Angiers might put it a little differently—if you light the prairie on fire, don’t be surprised when your house burns.

Minnie’s was too close to the docks to be anything but Jimmy Primrose’s plaything, and, in any case, Baccarat seemed like a less trustworthy option. The island Pelagoans entrenched in a port city on the edge of the Plain of Angiers was one thing; Pelagoans blasting tunnels through the northern mountains and building railroads across that same plain that the people of Angiers had held for centuries was another. Dapper Jack’s methods might be atrocious, but his choice to work with Jimmy Primrose against Baccarat and the railroad interests was more understandable.

Cal pushed open the door of the parlor. As expected, Marietta was draped listlessly over the piano caressing the keys with one hand. She still wore most of her costume from the final number, though she had set the tall headdress aside on top of the piano. She looked up to see who had entered, then returned to her occupation.

“The show went well tonight,” Cal said.

“Thank you,” Marietta said without looking up.

“If you have the time, I was hoping you’d teach a few songs to Emmy—with Emiliana Jane.”

“Josephine.” Now she sat up. “It’s Emiliana Josephine.”

“Emiliana Josephine. Yes. I should be able to keep my own girls’ names straight, shouldn’t I?” He smiled at her, and earned a weak smile in return.

“I guess,” she said.

“She’s done well in the kitchen, so I suppose she’s earned a chance to try the stage. Don’t you think?”

That was the wrong thing, for she turned back to the piano.

“You certainly worked hard to join the stage yourself,” he tried. “And you have definitely earned your place as a leading lady.” Best to plow ahead and hope she would open up. He could resort to Helen to plumb the mysterious depths of the girls, but if they thought that she was only asking to report back to Cal they wouldn’t tell her much either. “But you seem like you’re not yourself lately. Is there anything I can do?”

Marietta shook her head. “Thank you, but I’m fine. Really. Don’t worry about me.”

“If there is anything, you can always let me know.” He waited a moment, then retreated to the doorway before he managed to chase her from the room.

She didn’t reply, but she didn’t slump over the piano again. Instead she began to play a sad air, all minor chords and mournful low notes, with her back so straight it was hard to believe she had been so limp a few minutes before. When she transitioned to a more martial tune, Cal retreated.

As he climbed up the stairs to his room he could hear the other girls below, still taking off their makeup and costumes, and chatting merrily. The last of the audience had been swept out the door by the a combination of the barkeep, the two waiters, and the overwhelming presence of Harlan. Helen had long since gone to bed, but the kitchen fires would have been banked by Emmy Jane, who had stayed up to see the show.

The Ibai girl had been obedient to Helen’s whims in the kitchen the cook had reported to Cal. His request to Marietta was probably unneccesary, for Emmy Jane had formed some immediate connection with Luessa. Since Luessa was the uncredited author of many of the songs which were played on the stage at Minnie’s, she was no doubt learning the music from her new friend.

At the top of the stairs, he saw the drifting yellow shape of Minnie. Did she haunt him because of his sins against her, or had he inadvertently tied her to this building by naming it after her? It wasn’t a question worth answering and he pushed it aside, along with the mutterings of the ghost as he walked through her.

“You don’t understand what I want for me,” Minnie said.

Cal shut his bedroom door and turned the key in the lock but she floated in anyway and hovered near the window. “You think you know what’s best for me, but it’s really what’s best for you.”

The first glimmer of morning light hardly showed over the street lamps or the fog, but Cal pulled the curtains shut out of habit. He removed his jacket and hung it over the chair. His hat went on the corner of the chair as well, and his shoes underneath. His body went on the bed. The springs groaned cantankerously as he settled down. 

“There’s no future for me here,” Minnie was saying. Cal rolled over and clamped the pillow over his head, trying to shut her out. It did no good, for he knew the next sentence better than he knew any scripture. “There’s no future for us. I don’t care what you do, but I’m leaving.”

He tossed and turned while Minnie continued her speech. Finally he got up and opened the cabinet underneath the washbasin. The heavy green glass bottle was nearly empty, but there was one good swallow left and he swallowed it like a man who has found water after a week in the desert.

He stumbled back to the bed. For a brief moment it seemed like there some substance to Minnie, that he had felt some cobwebbed sensation on his skin as he walked through her. But then the welcome blackness came.