Well, tomorrow was another day. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so busy entertaining Madame Mickey and could go off for a walk to acquaint himself with his surroundings. His eyes widened at the splendor of the château as he looked over his hostess’s shoulders. An old woman with a white cap and apron stood holding open one of the two fan-lighted doors. Inside, the entry foyer was warm and well lit. A spectacular chandelier—the likes of which Reuben had glimpsed only in the lobbies of New York’s grand hotels—hung from a frescoed ceiling across which paced horses and hounds against a woodland background. A graceful curving stairway led off to the left, while a patterned Persian carpet ran its full length to the upper floor. His sensitive nose picked up the aroma of something delicious baking in the kitchens. Against the side of the staircase nestled a divan the same bottle green as the carpet, its watered-silk fabric inviting to touch. Dark wood tables held vases of flowers from Mickey’s famed greenhouses. Reuben wanted to know it all, see it all, but he was being whisked down the corridor that was concealed behind the stairs to a makeshift bathing room. Later he would examine his surroundings. Someday it might be helpful when he made his own selections in furnishings and style.
Two old women and a boy of about twelve stood ready when Reuben and Daniel arrived for their bath. In the middle of the room stood two huge wooden tubs, half-filled with steaming water.
Reuben stripped down to his bare skin, and his cast-off uniform and boots were immediately removed by the boy. Boldly he stepped in front of the old servants, who eyed his naked body admiringly. The older one pointed at the tubs, urging him to pick one and get in. He settled himself luxuriously as pail after pail of hot water was poured over him. The woman handed him three cakes of soap and gestured. One was for his hair, one for his face, and the other was for—Jesus! She’d grabbed herself in the crotch to make sure he understood. Weakly he smiled his understanding and nodded. She cocked her head to the side, sharp eyes questioning like a crafty New York pigeon.
“I’ll do it!” Reuben said loudly. Misunderstanding him, the old woman reached for the washcloth. “No!” he cried; and immediately began to lather himself. He knew he’d used the wrong soap on his genitals when she and the others began to laugh. The sound was so genuine and good-natured that Reuben could only join in, sharing the ridiculousness of the moment.
Cackling to herself, the old woman joined her companions to help remove Daniel’s clothing. Reuben watched out of the corner of his eye as the trio stripped Daniel down and helped him into the second tub. He grinned, observing as he had so often in close quarters his friend’s generous endowments. Madame Mickey had chosen the wrong man. While he himself was standard issue, Daniel was gigantically hung. Someday he was going to make some lady very happy.
An hour later Reuben emerged from the tub, the skin on his hands and feet puckered but squeaky clean. Someone had laid out clothes for him—soft wool trousers in a gentle shade of tan, slippers that looked like shoes and fit perfectly, soft white underwear, and a crushable sweater the color of the sky on a summer day. None of the items were new, which he supposed accounted for their comfortable softness. After slicking back his dark curly hair and shaving, he examined himself in the mirror. “Reuben Tarz, you are a handsome devil. Daniel, I can truthfully say I feel like a freshwater eel. How are you doing?”
His face scarlet, Daniel mumbled something that sounded obscene. Both women had the third bar of soap and were scrubbing him industriously as the young boy stood ready with the towels. Daniel, his bad arm draped over the tub so as not to wet the cast, was holding on with the other so he wouldn’t slide beneath the surface.
Reuben turned his head so Daniel wouldn’t see him laughing. “That’s enough, ladies,” he ordered. “Out! Enough! Help him out!” He waved his hands, making scooping motions. Both old women cackled gleefully.
“You son of a bitch!” Daniel cried. “I saw you laughing! Do you know what they did to me? Should I tell you?”
“Only if it felt good.” Reuben grinned. “Well, did it?”
“Dammit! Now they’re going to dry me. Reuben, get them off me!”
“I can’t. They have their orders. You wouldn’t want Madame Mickey to be displeased with them, would you? They’re old, like grandmothers. Let them have their fun. They’re remembering what it was like. How can you deprive them of a little enjoyment?”
“I don’t like it,” Daniel muttered, his face flaming.
“Yes, you do. Don’t ever lie about things like that. It feels good, let it feel good. They aren’t taking anything away from you. Come on now, get dressed and let’s find our hostess.”
Dinner was a wonderful experience visually, and exquisitely gratifying to their taste buds. The dining table had to be at least eighteen feet long according to Reuben’s calculations. Six candelabras gleamed in the reflected surface of the polished mahogany. High ceilings, tapestried walls, crystal, china, and a fine silver service complemented the sumptuous meal. Reuben’s attention wandered constantly from his meal to the room, then to Madame Mickey. In this soft lighting her features gave off a warm radiance, and her eyelashes appeared to be soft shadows outlining her sparkling eyes. The gown she had chosen to wear was a simple black sheath that swung to the floor, skimming her hips and rising to a deep scoop revealing her generous bosom and the unexpectedly graceful arch of her throat.
Reuben sighed with contentment at the meal’s end. Noticing Daniel’s discomfort, Madame Mickey took charge. “Come, my darlings, we will have coffee in the drawing room and then it is bed for both of you. Tomorrow, if you like, I will show you around.” The slim black ribbon at Mickey’s throat held a modest gem. A diamond, Reuben guessed, and probably quite valuable.
There had been pictures in magazines of rooms like this, and once or twice he’d gone to the nickelodeon and seen lavish movie sets on the silver screen. Unlike the heavy Victorian furniture he was used to in the States, Mickey’s furniture seemed to Reuben the essence of lightness and space. The richness came not from bulk, but from style and fabric. This room was decorated in faded gold and pale blue, so different from the red and Oriental patterns back home. Flowered chair cushions, long, luxurious curtains in that same faded gold, all conveyed a feeling of age and permanence and comfort. Security. That’s what this represented, he decided. Nothing seemed new or was deliberately ostentatious. These furnishings gave the impression that they’d been collected over hundreds of years. Tomorrow, when he wasn’t so tired, he’d come into this room and dig his bare toes into the lush carpeting.
A log snapped in the fireplace, shooting sparks upward, Mickey smiled, reflections of the flames dancing in her eyes. “This, Reuben, is my favorite part of the day. More so now that I have two charming companions with whom to share it.”
Reuben’s stomach churned. The evening was almost over. The languid, inviting expression in Mickey’s eyes was doing strange things to him. Suddenly he realized she’d mentioned bed for both of them, but she hadn’t specified where they were to sleep.
“Now isn’t this better than the hospital at Soissons? Ah, how forgetful of me. Cigarettes. I have American cigarettes. Lucky Strike, I believe. Please, help yourself. Americans like and expect a cigarette after dinner, isn’t that so?”
“Allow me,” Reuben said gallantly as he struck a match to the heel of his shoe.
“There is an easier way to do that, chéri. See, on this little table beside the cigarette box is a tinderbox. Strike it on the side. Gentlemen do not use their shoes in polite company.”
Reuben’s neck grew warm, and Daniel sniggered. He had blundered—a gaffe, Mickey would have called it. “Sorry,” he mumbled. He turned to light Daniel’s cigarette only to hear Mickey admonish him a second time.
