The Golden Room

SEVEN

Minna Everleigh summoned Karen Grant to her office. Minna, remaining seated, pointed Karen to a chair.

'There's something I'd like you to do for me,' Minna began.

'If it's something I can do, I'll be glad to.'

Minna shifted in her chair. 'Have you ever been to Marshall Field's department store downtown?'

Karen smiled. 'He advertises it as "Everybody's Store", so I'm sure everybody has been there. Yes, it was one of the first places I visited when I came to Chicago.'

'Very well, then, I want you to do me a favour. I had intended to escort my niece, Cathleen, to Marshall Field's to select her wedding gown. I myself spend a fair amount of time and money there. The clerks and managers know me well, and so does Mr Marshall Field himself. Did you see him standing near the door?'

'No, I didn't.'

'Well, he may approach and question you as a new customer. If you want to avoid this, you'd better know what he looks like. He's a grey-haired man in his late sixties, pink cheeks, about six feet tall. He's a bit hunched and somewhat bow-legged. He usually keeps the forefinger of his right hand in his vest pocket because it's slightly malformed. Anyway, he always teases me about running a big business too with our Everleigh Club. Well, I realized if I took Cathleen in for her wedding gown, Marshall Field might see me and come over and make some joke about the Club. I could not let that happen in front of Cathleen. You do understand?'

'I do.'

'I'm asking you to escort Cathleen to Marshall Field's in my place and help her select her wedding gown. I told Harold

T. Armbruster when we all lunched with him that I wanted a white satin gown with lace for Cathleen. I'd like you to help her select something along that line. Price is no object. Will you do that this afternoon?'

'I'd be delighted,' Karen said with enthusiasm.

Karen had welcomed the opportunity to get away from the Club, where she had begun to feel guilty performing as a spy for Mayor Harrison. It had been all right in the beginning, when there had been only the mayor to satisfy, but now there was someone more important to satisfy – Minna's nephew, Bruce. Karen felt less and less pleased about being responsible for exposing Minna and Aida to their relatives.

Further, there was another reason that Karen welcomed the opportunity to go shopping with Cathleen. It would be an opportunity to discuss Bruce Lester with his sister. Karen wanted to know everything possible about him.

Because she was in love with him.

Because she wanted to find out from Cathleen if he was really in love with her.

With an effervescent, talkative Cathleen in tow, Karen descended from the electric streetcar at the corner of State and Washington streets.

Alongside her on the cobblestone street, Karen could hear Cathleen's excitement as they approached the mammoth department store. Marshall Field's was twelve storeys high and it occupied the entire city block between State Street and Wabash Avenue, and between Washington and Randolph.

They walked to the Washington Street entrance and were greeted royally by the liveried doorman. Inside, they crossed the highly polished black marble floor. House detectives, well-dressed clerks, and floorwalkers with carnations in their lapels blended in with crowds of shoppers.

Briefly, Karen led Cathleen on a tour of the showcases, pressing forward to see the array of gloves, powder boxes,

and jewellery illuminated by the pink overhead globes with their new electric bulbs. Karen pointed out the store's library, furnished with green leather chairs and Oriental rugs. They paused to visit the elegant powder room, a spacious expanse of pale-green travertine walls, silver mirrors, and green willow rockers.

They took an elevator to the top floor, where a salesman proudly informed them there was a cold storage vault that held 25,000 fur coats. Then they went down to the floor that sold muffs and hats, and after that to the lace counter, where they saw ruffled parasols in white, black, and ecru. Finally, they toured the yard goods section, wandering through endless aisles of silk, cotton, woollens, and chiffon with hand-sewn beading.

When they reached the display of lavish wedding gowns, a tall, regal saleswoman with bunned, grey hair piled atop her head, introduced herself.

'I am Mme Judith. May I help you?'

Karen nodded. 'My name is Karen Grant, and this is Cath-leen Lester. Cathleen's the bride-to-be.'

'Congratulations, Miss Lester,' said Mme Judith. 'May I bring you our newest styles?'

'Oh, that won't be necessary,' Cathleen exclaimed. 'I see the gown I want.'

She reached out her hand and touched the gown draped on a waxen store mannequin. The gown was made of heavy white satin and trimmed with rose point lace. A train of satin and lace flowed from a crown of orange blossoms set upon the mannequin's head.

'You have the best taste,' Mme Judith stated. 'This is our finest import from Paris.'

'I only hope Alan likes it,' said Cathleen.

'He'll adore it,' Karen assured her.

Mme Judith was removing the wedding gown from the form. 'I think this is your size, young lady,' she said. 'Why don't you try it on?'

The saleswoman carried the gown into die fitting room, and Cathleen and Karen followed. As Cathleen removed her outer garments her eyes remained fastened on the gown. 'It's beautiful. I was just thinking how lovely it would look on you.'

'On me?' said Karen. 'I haven't got anyone to marry.'

As Karen assisted her in getting into the gown, Cathleen said, 'I know someone who would like to marry you.'

'Who?'

'My brother Bruce.'

'He hasn't shown the slightest interest in me.'

'Oh, he cares for you,' said Cathleen. 'He's always speaking of you when we're together.'

'Why doesn't he speak to me?' said Karen.

Cathleen was adjusting the gown. 'Maybe because he feels he can't. Maybe because he realizes he's in big financial trouble.'

'You mean trying to raise money for your father?'

'Yes, that first. And then he must figure out how he can provide for a wife and himself.'

'You're trying to tell me he may consider marrying Judith Armbruster to – to take care of everything.'

'Well, unless something else works out.'

'What else can work out?'

'His long shot hope is the race,' said Cathleen.

'The what?'

'The American Derby day after tomorrow.'

Karen shook her head. 'Everyone thinks his horse can't win.'

'Bruce hopes he will, but I too believe it's a long shot.'

'I'd bet the winner is the odds-on favourite, Judith Armbruster.'

'We'll see,' said Cathleen.

She primped in front of a mirror. 'What do you think?'

'Gorgeous,' said Karen. 'It makes me happy for you.'

But it made her more miserable than ever for herself.

The morning of the American Derby was warm, but the sun stood high and clear and the temperature rose steadily. By afternoon it was hot. Just what Snapper Garrison had earlier hoped for and even predicted, Bruce Lester reminded himself as he walked into the stable area, accompanied by Karen and his veiled Aunt Minna.

Frontier was in front of his stall, placidly chewing some lumps of sugar as Snapper Garrison kept circling him, carefully supervising the trainer saddling the colt. Garrison watched while the saddle was placed on a cloth over the withers, then secured with a leather cinch belt. As the belt was threaded and tightened through the buckle, he turned to greet Bruce, Karen, and Minna.

'Welcome,' Garrison said. He mopped his brow. 'Perfect day. Couldn't ask for a better one.'

'You wanted it hot,' said Bruce. 'Why?'

Garrison's smile was enigmatic. 'You'll see, boss.'

'How does he ride?' asked Bruce. 'You've been working with him.'

Garrison patted the horse's flank. 'He's fast – too fast at the break,' said Garrison. 'By the time he reaches the mile he begins to wear down.' He grinned. 'I hope to change all that in the Derby.'

Bruce was not optimistic. 'Apparently no one else thinks he has any chance. The odds on Frontier are fifteen to one. The odds on The Picket are three to five. The Picket's an overwhelming favourite.'

'As he should be,' Garrison agreed. 'He's a big, powerful horse.'

A bugle sounded from the dirt track inside the wooden stands of Washington Park.

Snapper Garrison listened, and then put his foot in the stirrup.

'You still think we have a chance?' Bruce grumbled. 'Even though we're fifteen to one?'

Garrison swung his small frame on to the saddle. 'I never heard of an oddsmaker winning a silver cup.'

Minna stepped forward, closer to her nephew. Digging into her purse, she pulled out a wad of tickets. 'I think Frontier is worth a bet. Aida and I took $1,000 out of the bank. I've bet it all on Frontier to win. Here, take these tickets, Bruce. A present from your aunts.'

Reluctantly, Bruce accepted the tickets. 'I wish you hadn't, Aunt Minna. But I certainly appreciate your confidence.'

'I'm betting against Judith Armbruster,' Minna said tartly. Shading her veiled eyes from the sun, she squinted up at Garrison. 'Did I do something foolish, Snapper?'

The jockey grinned down at her. 'Maybe we both did,' he called down. 'I didn't have $1,000, but I did have five hundred. I laid it all on Frontier to win. If I lose, I won't have a roof over my head. You'll have to put me up, Minna.'

As Garrison urged Frontier forward for the parade to the post, Bruce called out, 'Good luck!'

'You three find yourself a place near the finish line,' Garrison called back. 'Just watch for the green and white colours.'

An enormous crowd, 49,500 persons, had jammed into the grandstand of Washington Park and crowded into the infield. The more affluent had come in tallyhos, carriages, buggies, and in their new-fangled automobiles. The less affluent had come too, by foot and by streetcar, and all waited expectantly in the heat for the start of the $25,000 American Derby.

Bruce, at the forefront, had pushed his way through the sea of humanity, closely followed by Karen and Minna.

At last, they'd eased their way to the finish line, pressed against the railing, and turned their gazes a quarter of a mile down to the starting line.

Bruce produced two pairs of cheap binoculars, one pair for Karen and the other for himself. Minna polished the lenses of her opera glasses.

The dozen horses in the race had paraded past the start,

turned to trot towards the webbing to be lined up by the official starter.

Bruce trained his binoculars on the starting line. As usual, the thoroughbreds were all milling about, bumping each other relentlessly, bursting in and out of the webbing as they were patiently brought back to their places. Bruce focused on Frontier, who was standing calmly at the pole position, alongside the inner rail. The competing horses, colts and fillies, continued to mill about in the blazing sun.

Gradually, the horses were lined up perfectly, and the starter could be seen about to spring the webbing, when Bruce saw that Snapper Garrison was raising both hands in protest. Bruce could see him pointing down to one of his boots. Apparently the laces of one of his boots had broken. New laces must be sent for. The assistant starter ran off.

Bruce watched a distressed – or seemingly distressed -Snapper Garrison dismount and casually walk behind the restless horses as the jockeys tried to quiet their nervous mounts. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen minutes, when at last the assistant starter returned with fresh laces for Garrison. Accepting the laces, Garrison took his time threading the new laces into his left boot.

At last Garrison was set. He put a foot on Frontier's stirrup and swung himself into the saddle. Now the other thoroughbreds were out of line again, twisting, turning, bumping into one another under the relentless mid-afternoon sun.

Through his binoculars, Bruce was able to make out a movement on Snapper Garrison's part. In his Number One post position, Garrison had slipped his left foot out of the stirrup, and was resting it on the rail of the infield fence keeping nearly his entire weight off Frontier, while the fractious other mounts perspired under the weight of their riders.

As thousands of spectators strained with expectation, awaiting the send-off of the American Derby, the starter still could not get the field off. Bruce glanced down at his watch. Over

an hour and a half had elapsed since the horses had been led to the webbing. Standing there, watching, Bruce realized that his own legs felt leaden, and he tried to imagine how the legs of the horses must feel by now.

Once more, the starter managed to bring the thoroughbreds into line, when Bruce saw Garrison rise on Frontier and desperately wave to the starter, screaming at him.

Garrison dismounted again, and by his gesture Bruce could see that he was pointing to his saddle girth. His saddle girth had broken and he was obviously demanding a new one. Again, he was off his horse's back, on the ground, while the other jockeys remained on their exhausted horses.

Through his glasses Bruce saw the starter heading for Garrison, confronting him, angrily waving his fist at him. Bruce brought down his binoculars and observed that Minna had lowered her glasses and was smiling broadly.

'Aunt Minna, you seem to know something I don't know,' said Bruce. 'What's going on? I've never known a race to take so long to get going.'

Minna was still smiling broadly. 'Let me explain. When Aida and I bet on Frontier, we didn't really bet on your horse – we don't really know him. We bet on Snapper Garrison. Because we do know him. Do you remember when you took him on, he wished for a hot day? You didn't know why. But I did. Snapper's problem was to overcome the strength of the rival horses, to weaken them, which would make Frontier their equal or better. And this he has been doing. First his boot lace. Then resting on the rail. Now his broken saddle girth. All of that arranged in advance, I'm sure. Snapper has contrived to keep those other horses and their riders at the post for just about two hours. Yes, it's two hours and all the horses are still at the post. I'm certain that by now Snapper is ready to go. Let's see.'

Minna had brought the opera glasses to her eyes, and now Bruce lifted his binoculars once more, focusing on the starting post.

A new saddle girth had been brought for Garrison and had been speedily exchanged for the broken one.

Satisfied at last, Snapper Garrison sprung up, mounted Frontier, and was firmly astride. Bruce followed Garrison's gaze as the jockey studied his rivals. The other horses appeared wilted, even tired. Bruce focused on his own colt. He could see that Frontier remained cool, quiet, rested – and yes, ready.

Bruce's binoculars arced towards the starter, who had the field lined up in place.

And then the webbing flashed upwards – and they were off.

Bruce leaned over the rail trying to make out how they'd started. Some unknown had gone to the front. The favourite, The Picket, was second by a half-length. Bruce scanned the rushing field driving for the first turn, but he couldn't find the green and white colours. Then he did – Frontier was in twelfth place, dead last and galloping lazily. Garrison's whip was still in his boot as they drove around towards the halfway mark.

The horses were pounding into the backstretch. The unknown leader had fallen back into the pack. Two hours at the post with a jockey on his back had begun to take their toll. The Picket had gone to the front by a length, then two lengths. Frontier was no longer in last place. The green and white colours were moving up. Bruce counted. Frontier must be eighth, no, seventh, no – sixth.

The horses galloped through the backstretch, rounding into the homestretch.

Bruce groaned. The Picket was opening up a three-length lead. Frontier moved into fourth place, but time was running out. Bruce shut his eyes. His baby would never make it.

When Bruce opened his eyes, the horses were pounding into the homestretch. At first, Bruce was unable to find Frontier because he wasn't in fourth place, nor was he in third place. He was in second, and Garrison had his whip out at last and was steadily fanning Frontier with his crop.

Heading towards the wire, Frontier was full of heart, full of compact, conserved strength, hardly working up a froth. He was making his bid. Moving like a whirlwind, Frontier was fast closing the gap between The Picket and himself. Snapper Garrison, riding low and hard, was driving for one more Garrison finish.

The crowd noises were thunder behind Bruce. The approaching horses were clouds of swirling dust and beating hoofs as the field approached.

Bruce did not need his glasses now.

What was happening was clear to the naked eye. Frontier had closed the distance between himself and the leader. It was neck and neck, stride for stride with The Picket as they streaked for the wire.

Suddenly, other spectators jammed in front of Bruce, pushing him backwards.

Momentarily, he lost sight of the finish.

Jumping on a free chair, Bruce had a glimpse of one horse flashing across the finish line, leading by a length. The dust blurred his vision, and for an instant he couldn't tell the colours of the winner.

Then he could make out the winning colours.

Green and white!

Frontier, Snapper Garrison up, had won the American Derby of 1903. It was Frontier at fifteen to one. It was the $25,000 first-place purse.

Bruce found a breathless Karen Grant coming towards him, hugging him, kissing him.

Then she stared up at him. Bruce was unable to read her mind, but Bruce guessed what was on it.

Karen was telling herself that maybe she had not actually won – but she was damned certain that Judith Armbruster had lost.

The telephone on Minna Everleigh's desk was ringing. She hurried across the room to answer it. 'Hello.'

She recognized the man's voice immediately. 'This is Harold T. Armbruster,' he said. 'Is this Miss Minna Lester?'

Minna, from long habit, almost corrected him by saying she was Minna Everleigh. She caught herself in time. 'Yes, this is Minna Lester.'

'How are you? Actually, I'm calling to speak to your nephew. Is Bruce around? I want to congratulate him on his horse's magnificent winning of the American Derby.'

Minna was enjoying this. 'He's out at Washington Park, turning away all the bidders for Frontier.'

'I can understand that,' said Armbruster. 'I was hoping he'd treat me as a special bidder. I'd certainly like to buy that horse, run him a little longer, put him to stud. Will you tell Bruce I'm interested?'

'Gladly,' said Minna. 'But I'm afraid it won't make any difference to Bruce, Mr Armbruster.'

'You're sure of that?'

'I'm positive,' asserted Minna.

'A $25,000 purse may seem a fortune to him now as a young man, but later he'll need all the money he can get.'

'He made $15,000 on his win tickets.'

'Even that can run out,' continued Armbruster. 'I want to tell him that for his future he will still require a steady, well-paying executive job. The offer I made him is still open.'

'You mean provided he marries your daughter Judith.'

'Why, yes, of course. He'd be in the family then, he'd be one of us. Then I'd know I could trust him wholly even in the most sensitive financial matters.'

'I think I can answer for Bruce,' said Minna. 'Nice lady that your daughter is, I don't think Bruce has his mind on marriage today. Or, in fact, on any pursuit other than breeding horses in Kentucky.'

'Too bad. Becoming vice-president of one of the country's largest meat-packing firms is nothing to sneeze at.'

'Mr Armbruster, in that regard, I remind you that Bruce is still a vegetarian. You can speak to him yourself at the

wedding next week. But I must tell you it will be one wedding – not two.'

With that call out of the way for Armbruster, and having concentrated at the work in his plant in the afternoon, his mind returned to a more immediate concern that evening after dinner.

The memory of his own marriage in Milwaukee was still vivid. Or rather, more exactly, the event that preceded his marriage so many years ago. Armbruster's father had taken him aside and told him that any young man unschooled in sex should gain some experience before his wedding night. One sexual encounter with a professional would relieve his tension about what was ahead with Pearl. Therefore, as a pre-wedding gift, his father had taken him to a well-known Milwaukee brothel for his first knowledge of sex with a woman.

Armbruster recalled that he had been terrified, yet he could not deny his father, and besides, he wanted to satisfy his curiosity and get it over with.

At the brothel, the young woman had been advised in advance that her customer was a virgin, and she had been instructed to treat him with consideration.

It had worked out well, better than he had hoped, and when he and Pearl had undressed for their wedding night, he had been ready. He had felt experienced, unafraid of sex with his bride.

Now, with Alan about to be married, Armbruster felt that his own son should enjoy the advantage of the same initiation into the mysteries of sex that he himself had undergone as a youth.

His mind made up to provide Alan with a sexual encounter the following evening, he had gone to the plant to make inquiries about the best brothel to which he might treat his son. For himself, Armbruster knew very little about brothels, except what he had overheard from his friends' bantering gossip. He had never been to one himself in his life with Pearl; in fact, had never been unfaithful to her even once.

Sometimes he saw stories in the press about the city's notorious brothels, but he had always ignored them as wasteful pornographic trash. In truth, he did not know the name of a single brothel in Chicago, but he was not above making inquiries to find out which was the best.

During the following day he met separately with two of his plant directors and his senior foreman.

He frankly told each of them the plan he had in mind for Alan. After doing this, he asked each one to give him advice on which brothel in Chicago they would recommend for the bridegroom's first serious experience.

To a man, each of his advisers had suggested the same brothel. To a man, each had told him, 'Take your boy to the Everleigh Club on Dearborn.'

Armbruster thought that the Everleigh Club rang a bell. It sounded familiar. Yet, he did not know about it. He assumed that this oversight was due to the fact that, like an ostrich that buried its head in the sand, he had always buried his eyes and his ears in his business. He'd paid no attention to anything on the outside.

He remembered having been told how to go about this initiation in the Everleigh Club. He must reserve a table for Alan and himself in the Club's expensive restaurant. He and Alan must spend lavishly on a good meal with fine champagne. After that, he must request entertainment upstairs for his son.

After supper at home, Armbruster told his son that he would like to speak privately with him in the library.

Once settled and at ease behind closed doors, Armbruster made his proposal to Alan. It was not really a proposal, but rather an order.

'Alan,' he began, 'in a few days you are going to be wedded to a lovely virgin from the South. That part is fine. But what is awkward, Alan, is that you too are a virgin. It is not becoming for you to be so totally inexperienced on your wedding night.'

'Why not?' Alan answered. 'After our wedding night I'll be experienced, and Cathleen will be too.'

'My son, listen to me, as I listened to my father before I was married. The wedding night can be a horrendous encounter, unless you know what you are doing. You can fumble about, do things wrong. A bad start can give you a bad marriage.'

'What are you trying to tell me?'

'That you need one sexual experience before you have the more meaningful one with Cathleen. You need another woman – a professional woman – beforehand.'

Alan protested. 'I don't need anyone and I don't want anyone before my wife. Dad, I'll have no problems with her, I promise you. I know about the female anatomy from my college courses in biology. I know something more important. Every time I set eyes on Cathleen, my penis grows stiff. I think that's all I need to know.'

'You need another woman first,' Armbruster persisted. 'We'll do it my way. I've learned the most luxurious brothel in Chicago is the Everleigh Club on Dearborn Street. Industrialists and celebrities go there regularly to enjoy its amenities. I've already made a reservation for supper there tomorrow evening. That's how it is done. We will have supper in the Everleigh Club, and a few drinks to loosen you up, and then I'll arrange for you to go upstairs and have your experience with one of their pretty young girls. I'll wait for you downstairs. By the time you come down, you'll be a man, my boy, a real man and grateful to me for your knowledge. Expect to accompany me to the Everleigh Club at eight o'clock tomorrow evening.'

At the Everleigh Club that night there was consternation.

Edmund had caught up with Minna and Aida and reported to them that Harold T. Armbruster had made a reservation for supper for the very next evening for his son and himself.

'I took the reservation,' said Edmund, 'but I know that Mr Armbruster is the last person you want to see here.'

Aida immediately fell into a panic. 'You've got to cancel him. Make up any reason you can. If he should see us here, and realize what we do, he'd call off the wedding. You've got to see that he's not admitted, because…'

'No,' Minna interrupted. 'That would be too suspicious.' She addressed Edmund. 'Are they coming here simply to dine?'

Edmund cleared his throat. 'Not exactly, Miss Minna. To dine, of course, but after that he said he would like some entertainment for his son upstairs. He explained that his son was getting married in a few days, and that the boy was a virgin, and he wanted him' to have at least one experience.'

'We can't allow that,' Aida said fearfully to Minna. 'The truth might get out.'

'It won't get out,' said Minna forcefully. 'It will remain between father and son, I assure you. I have no objection to letting Alan go upstairs and get some pleasure with one of the girls. If that's what his father wants, he should be allowed to do it. Cathleen and Bruce will never find out. Be sensible, Aida, several of the girls here have been taking trustworthy regulars upstairs to entertain them. There's no reason one of them can't have a roll with Alan Armbruster too.'

She weighed what was next on her mind.

'The important thing is to let this take place in the Ever-leigh Club, yet not let them know the so-called socialite aunts are running the house. Aida, you and I will just have to slip into the office and remain out of sight when the Armbrusters arrive, and stay hidden until they leave. We can do that with no trouble.'

'You mean stay locked up all tomorrow evening?'

'Not quite,' said Minna. 'We can go about our normal activity. But the minute that Edmund welcomes the Armbrusters in the entry hall, he can leave them a moment and rush in to Professor Vanderpool at the piano. You know all those music cues, those codes, we gave him to play when he wants to warn us of danger? Well, when the Armbrusters arrive, let him play "More Work for the Undertaker." That

will be the song that tells us the Armbrusters are here. Wherever you and I are, we'll hear it played and hurry into the study. When the coast is clear, Professor Vanderpool is to play it again. How does that sound?'

Aida was mollified. 'It sounds foolproof.'

'It is,' said Minna, 'so don't worry. Let the Armbrusters come and go. The reputation of Cathleen and Bruce Lester won't be damaged. I give you my word.'

At noon the following day, Bruce Lester had gone in search of Karen. He found her setting tables in the restaurant.

He went to her. 'Karen, have you got a moment?'

'Time on my hands,' she said. 'I have no real work until supper this evening.'

'Good. Can we have a word outside?'

Puzzled, Karen accompanied Bruce out of the restaurant. In the hallway she said, 'We can talk here.'

'It's nothing earth-shaking, just something to feed my curiosity.'

'About what?'

'My aunts' home here,' said Bruce. 'I've never had a real look at it. Whenever I ask Aunt Minna to show me around, she always says she's too busy, and so is Aida. Maybe a coincidence, maybe not. Anyway, I'd like to see the place. Since Minna and Aida are still asleep, I thought you could guide me through the mansion.'

Karen was immediately reluctant. 'It's not my house. I'm not certain I can do that.'

Bruce persisted. 'I'm sure there is nothing to hide. Unless you know of something.'

Torn between loyalty to Minna and Aida and the desire to please Bruce, Karen said hesitantly, 'Of course, I don't know their home as well as they do. But I've been all through it a number of times, and I could show you whatever I know.'

'That's all I want,' said Bruce. 'It's such a tremendous place for two small ladies, I'd like to see what they did with it. You don't mind?'

'Well, I suppose it's all right,' said Karen, taking Bruce by the hand. 'We can start with the library Minna is so proud of.'

She directed Bruce past the restaurant and into the library.

Bruce surveyed the library. 'All this intellect intimidates me,' he admitted.

'It is intimidating,' agreed Karen. 'Minna has over 3,000 books here. Look at that complete collection of Shelley. Over there, nineteen volumes of Chinese poems. Next to them, Guy de Maupassant. A complete collection of Edgar Allen Poe. Minna told me that Poe was a relative of hers on her mother's side.'

'I never knew that.'

'Did you know your Aunt Minna is writing a book of her own?' said Karen. 'She even discussed it with me. It's to be called Poets, Prophets and Gods.''

Bruce shook his head in wonder. 'Minna's brother, my father… I always thought he was the big brain in the family. I think I can say now that Aunt Minna is at least equal to him.'

As they left the library, Karen suggested that they skip the Art Gallery. 'Not my strong area,' she said. 'I only know the reproduction of Bernini's Apollo and Daphne. I don't know the paintings at all. Want to go to Minna's favourite retreat -the Gold Room?'

'You mean the one with the small pure gold piano and the gold cuspidors?' said Bruce. 'I've already seen it. I can't imagine anything gaudier.'

Karen laughed. 'Well, start imagining,' she said, leading him past the Gold Room. 'Have you seen the Copper Room?'

'No, but I'd like to.'

Karen led him into the Copper Room. The walls were panelled in copper and hammered brass. The furniture was made of Arabian brass. In the centre was a mahogany table with a table top made of Italian marble. All around the chamber were cages of yellow canaries singing in full voice.

They went on to the Rose Room, with its rococo pink wall hangings and its scattering of rounded easy chairs and divans upholstered in pale-pink silk damask.

Next, they came to the Grand Ballroom, dominated by a massive chandelier of cut-glass drops, shedding light on a hardwood floor made of rare woods in mosaic patterns.

'There's more?' asked Bruce with amazement, as they resumed walking.

'Here's the Chinese Room,' said Karen.

Bruce studied the Oriental hangings and draperies. In the middle of the chamber he saw a teak table holding an oversized brass beaker filled with packages wrapped in red tissue. 'What's this?' he inquired.

Karen started to explain that it was used by the girls, then caught herself. 'Those packages are Chinese firecrackers. When diners come in here for champagne, your Aunt Minna sets a few of them off. If they make more noise than the pulling of a champagne cork, Minna gives the diner a – a playful kiss on the cheek.'

'That's an unusual game,' said Bruce.

They went on to the Moorish Room. It was furnished with deep African couches and the fountain sprayed a musky, intoxicating perfume. 'Your Aunt Minna likes to open boxes of live butterflies.'

Involuntarily, Bruce was shaking his head. He pointed to folding doors leading to another chamber. 'What's that?' he asked.

'To be perfectly frank, I don't know,' said Karen. 'I've never been inside it. Shall we have a look?'

'Why not?'

Karen opened the doors and showed Bruce inside. 'Heavens,' she gasped. 'The entire floor is mirrored.'

'Astonishing.'

'I've heard of a Mirror Room,' said Karen. 'This must be it.'

She walked past Bruce inside the chamber, going gingerly over the mirrored floor, and stopped, fascinated by the mirrors beneath her feet.

Bruce was looking at Karen. His eyes went downwards to the hem of her skirt and the tops of her shoes.

'Karen,' he called out. 'I can see what you're wearing underneath your skirt.'

'What do you mean?'

'You're… you're wearing a lace-trimmed chemise beneath your corset.' He gulped. 'It separates but covers you between your legs.'

'My God!' Karen exclaimed. She came off the mirrored floor as fast as if she'd been walking barefooted on burning coals. At the door, she brought her hand to her mouth. 'What can a floor like that be doing in your aunts' home?'

'Or for that matter, what's a restaurant doing here?'

Bruce took Karen by the arm as they walked away. He was lost in thought.

'You know, Karen, I'm not sure this is Aunt Minna's and Aunt Aida's home,' Bruce finally said. 'It's more like a house.'

'A house?' Karen repeated. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean,' said Bruce, 'once in Louisville I was taken to a house. It was not as classy or large as this one, but almost as luxurious. It was a house of ill fame, Karen. This resembles it. You know, a house is not always a home.'

'Bruce! Do you know what you're saying?'

'I'm not really sure,' Bruce said.

'Well, don't say it, please don't say it!'

At nine o'clock that evening in the Everleigh Club, the Armbrusters, father and son, the latter uneasy in his woollen brown suit and bow tie, had finished their supper.

Harold Armbruster felt relaxed, expansive, as he continued to ply Alan with champagne.

Armbruster had advised his son to eat lightly and drink heavily to overcome his nervousness. They'd both dined on roast chicken, and now Armbruster sat back to enjoy a cigar and watch Alan steadily sipping the champagne.

'Quite a place, this Everleigh Club,' Armbruster admitted.

'Yes.'

'No one ever told me a whorehouse could look anything like this. I bet the girls are just as beautiful.'

Alan made one last effort at resistance. 'Father, I don't have to do this. I'll know what to do with Cathleen. Let's just go home now.'

Armbruster shook his head vigorously. 'It's now or never. If I let it be never, you'll be in real trouble next week when it matters. I'm going to see you through this, Alan. You won't be able to count the times you'll thank me later.'

'If you insist,' Alan mumbled.

'I've never insisted on anything more.' Armbruster waved his hand at Edmund, who was immediately attentive. Armbruster said to him, 'We're through eating. I'll wait down here and have another few drinks until my son is ready to leave. Will you see that he's taken upstairs for some entertainment?'

'Certainly, sir.' Edmund beckoned the nearest hostess – it was Karen. 'I'll have our hostess escort him upstairs.' When Karen reached his side, Edmund leaned over and whispered to her, 'Take the boy up to Margo's room. You know which one. Margo will be expecting him.'

Karen extended her hand to Alan, who rose reluctantly. He cast one wretched glance at his father, and then he trailed Karen out of the restaurant.

As they walked slowly to the staircase, Karen said, 'You look like you're going to the guillotine. Is it your first time?'

'First,' Alan answered in a quavering voice.

'It may be an ordeal,' said Karen, 'but it can be fun once you're relaxed. I don't think you'll be sorry. Margo is very nice.'

'I… I hope you're right.'

They reached the top of the staircase, and Karen guided him past the numerous doors.

'Margo, Margo,' murmured Karen to herself, 'she's in eight or nine. I'm sure it's nine.'

She opened the door partially and peeked in. 'She must be in the bathroom. In fact, I can hear the water running. All right, Alan, you just go in alone. Take off all your clothes and sit on the bed. Soon as she comes out, she'll tell you what to do.'

'Okay,' Alan swallowed.

Karen shut the door tightly, and left for the downstairs, praying it went well for the poor kid.

And that Bruce would never find out about this.

In the boudoir, Alan stood helplessly, surveying the room and seeing nothing but the brass bed, with its thick mattress covered by a white cashmere blanket.

As the sounds from the bathroom ceased, he realized that he could not just stand there fully clothed. With numbed fingers he began to shed his clothes and drop them in a heap, first his jacket, then his bow tie, then his shirt, next the shoes and socks, and finally his trousers. He was left standing in his sleeveless, one-piece union suit with its button fly partly fastened.

Embarrassed to wait naked, he moved towards the bed, and was about to slip under the blanket, when he heard the knob of the bathroom door turn.

Heart going like a triphammer, he turned towards the bathroom as its door opened and a small, attractive girl, lost in the dim light, appeared. She was loosely clad in a pure white peignoir and he could make out her legs, and then her lovely figure, even the dark patch between her legs. Momentarily breathless, his gaze went up to her breasts, fully evident beneath the thin garment, and then his gaze went up to her face.

When he saw her face, he gasped audibly.

This was no whore named Margo.

This was Cathleen, his Cathleen Lester, the virgin he was engaged to marry in a matter of days.

He jumped to his feet just as she realized that a young man was present in the room, almost undressed, and then she gasped too. 'Alan!' she exclaimed in a strangled voice.

Momentarily stunned, he found his voice. 'Cathleen! What are you doing here?'

'What do you mean what am I doing here? I'm living here with my aunts in their home until our marriage.' She stared at him. 'The question is what are you doing here – and in my room?'

'Cathleen, this isn't your aunts' home. This is a famous house of prostitution. It's the Everleigh Club.'

'You must be crazy. It isn't. It can't be. Where did you get the idea that this is a…?'

Alan broke in on her. 'It is. It's a brothel, a house of prostitution. It's known everywhere. Whatever your aunts told you, they are running this place. They are madams.'

'Don't you dare say that -'

'I'm saying it because it's true. Listen to me, Cathleen. For heaven's sake, listen to me. My father decided I must have some experience in sex before our wedding night. It's an old-fashioned idea. Take your son to a sporting house and make him learn what women are all about. The biggest brothel in Chicago is a house called the Everleigh Club, run by two sisters named Minna and Aida Everleigh – not Lester, but Everleigh. He brought me here against my will. I don't want to be with any woman but you. But my father insisted. He dragged me here for dinner and drinks tonight – I mean, what would a restaurant be doing in a private home? – and then he sent me upstairs to consort with a prostitute named Margo. The person who escorted me sent me into the wrong room. Now do you understand?'

Cathleen was pale, shaking her head. 'I can't believe it, I just can't believe it. You mean my Aunt Minna and Aunt Aida are actually madams, and they've been lying all these years? My father sent us here in good faith, to stay with our aunts before the wedding. He doesn't know…'

'Nor does my father know about Minna and Aida. He must never find out that his future daughter-in-law has been living in a house of prostitution.'

On her bare feet, Cathleen had moved closer to Alan. She said in a low voice, 'Alan, it's not important what your father thinks. To me, it's only important what you think.' She hesitated. 'Because I'm here, surely you don't think I'm a prostitute?'

'Of course not!' He shook his head vigorously. 'I know who you are. I know you're not working here.'

'But maybe you're not sure.' She reached out and touched Alan's chest. 'Darling, you've got to be sure before we go ahead. You've got to know I'm not one of those girls. Everything that I've told you is true. I'm a virgin, Alan, and I can prove it.'

With that, she unfastened her peignoir and let it fall to her feet. She faced him, utterly nude.

'Let me prove it, Alan,' she said, and then turned, walked to the bed, threw back the cover, and lay down.

Dazzled by the sight of her, Alan swayed on his feet, choking. His eyes feasted on her body as she lay on the bed. He felt the swelling hardness in his crotch. Suddenly his thick penis came straight up and burst out of his underwear.

He could see Cathleen's eyes widen.

For Alan, there was nothing more to hide or hold back, no longer a need for modesty.

He ripped off his union suit and tossed it aside.

Trembling with excitement, he tried to contain himself as he approached her.

He settled on the bed and dropped down beside Cathleen, so close that their bare hips and thighs touched.

Rising, his lips went to her firm nipples, kissing and licking them, then he was kissing her mouth. Their tongues met, and gradually her breathing heightened.

He was lifting himself, coming down between her legs, as her own legs came up to encircle him.

He was entering her, gradually entering her, slowly, with difficulty, as she moaned. 'Oh, Alan, I love you.'

'And I love you,' he whispered.

And through the joyful minutes that followed, their marriage was consummated without a wedding.

Downstairs, in a corner of the restaurant, Edmund came upon Karen Grant.

'Well,' he inquired, 'did you take care of young Arm-bruster?'

'You mean did I take him up to Margo's boudoir? I did. I put him into bedroom nine, and left him on his own with Margo. By now he knows the facts of life.'

Edmund was blinking at Karen. 'What did you say? You put him in room nine?'

'That's right. You told me to put him in room nine.'

Edmund was shaken. 'No, I didn't. I told you to put him in room six. Margo's in room six.'

'Oh, no…'

'Never mind,' said Edmund harshly. 'Do you know who's in room nine? Stay here. I've got to get to Miss Minna at once!'

Edmund whirled about, hastened through the restaurant, and raced for the Everleigh office.

He flung open the door without knocking.

Minna and Aida were on a sofa, chatting. Minna raised her head. 'What is it? Did old Armbruster leave yet? I didn't hear the Professor's song.'

Ignoring the question, Edmund entered the office, and propelled himself across the room to face the Everleigh sisters.

'Miss Minna,' he panted, 'I have some terrible news. There's been a terrible mistake. I just heard about it.'

'What is it?' Minna asked worriedly, rising.

'Someone escorted Alan Armbruster upstairs to – to be entertained by Margo in bedroom six. There was a mistake. Alan was led into bedroom nine, instead.'

'Nine!' Minna exclaimed, aghast. 'That's Cathleen's private room. I don't believe it! Are you sure?'

'I'm positive, Miss Minna.'

Minna's hands went to her head. 'Oh, my God, what a disaster. By now he knows Cathleen's Aunt Minna and Aunt Aida own a whorehouse, and by now he must believe Cathleen is a prostitute in this house. It's the worst thing that could have happened. I must put a stop to it -I must explain -'

Aida was on her feet. 'Minna, don't go out there – Arm-bruster's there -'

But Aida's warning came too late. Minna had already dashed out of the office.

To get to the entry hall quickly and up the staircase, Minna cut through the restaurant. She ran up an aisle, oblivious to several guests who tried to greet her as she raced past.

She was approaching the far end of the restaurant when she came on a lone diner, a hefty man puffing on a cigar as he watched her. He narrowed his eyes, then stared at her.

He threw down the cigar and leaped to his feet, stepping into the aisle to block her.

'Miss Lester!' he exclaimed. 'Can this be Minna Lester? What in the devil are you doing in this house of assignation? What are you doing here?'

She stopped in her tracks, confronted by his bulk. For seconds she was speechless. At last she spoke. 'I own it,' she said. There was simply not another thing to say.

'You own it?' Armbruster bellowed. 'You own this whorehouse?'

'I own it, my sister and I own it,' she repeated. She tried for an explanation. 'My brother in Kentucky doesn't know a thing about it. That's why he felt he could safely send Cathleen and Bruce to stay here before the wedding. I could never tell him. And Cathleen doesn't know. We changed everything, almost everything, so she wouldn't know. So, please…'

'This is unthinkable!' roared Armbruster, grabbing Minna by the arm. 'Come on, I want to get my son out of this

infamous Gomorrah!'

He dragged Minna out of the restaurant, through the entry hall, towards the staircase landing.

They both halted as they looked up in time to see Alan, fully clothed, a benign smile on his face as he descended.

As he reached the foot of the stairs, Alan grinned at his father. 'Thanks, Dad. You were right. I had a girl, and now I have enough experience for the wedding.'

Armbruster let go of Minna and snatched his son by the arm. 'Wedding, you say? What wedding? I'm not letting my son marry the niece of two whorehouse madams. It would destroy me in Chicago for ever, ruin everything I ever tried to build. Come on home!' Armbruster wheeled to confront Minna. 'As for you, don't you dare to come near me or any of us. You're not setting foot in my home again. There'll be no wedding! The wedding is off!'

With that, he pulled Alan away. Minna watched them go and then burst into tears.