Under the Dragon’s Tail

The bathroom at the Yeoman Club was luxuriously appointed. The water closet was of mahogany and porcelain, the faucets solid brass, the towels of satin damask. Annie, mother naked, was washing herself out with a rubber douche. Fenton was most particular about using French letters, but tonight he’d been too full, too lazy to use one. In fact, Annie had manoeuvred this state of affairs, pretending an urgency of desire she did not at all feel. She had her scheme well planned and it needed to be plausible. In two or three weeks she would approach him with anxious sighs, a tear unbidden. Then a little later, a frightened confirmation. If necessary she was quite prepared to escalate to hysterical scenes. She knew there was no chance of Fenton marrying her. He was a man of high aspirations. Next year he intended to run for alderman, and however cunt-struck he might be presently she doubted he could be pushed into such an unsuitable marriage. She’d read in the News that he had been paying court to the young daughter of one of his partners. So much the better. More reason for him to want Annie’s silence. Besides, she didn’t really want to marry. Not yet. In spite of the vulgarity of the Derby she liked the life, the attention, the feeling she had on good nights that she held them captive. Even the drunkest sot was silent when she sang “Home Sweet Home.”

She winced at the cool water. No, a handsome settlement for pain and suffering would be enough. She’d slip out of Fenton’s life, let him know discreetly that their problem had been solved and put the money away. She’d played out this script twice already with different men.

Annie finished what she was doing, put the douche back in its case, and started to get dressed. She studied herself in the mirror and frowned at her reflection. I’m getting as bad as Millie. Can’t lose my looks just yet. She pinched her cheeks to make them glow. She pulled a face at herself, a bit saucy but innocent. Promise of fun, naughty fun. A little lowering of the chin, raising of her eyes, they all liked that. When you give me your look, said Fenton, I grow erect at once.

She got sick of them sometimes. The knee tremblers, the flyers, the back scuttlers. All for what? Less than a minute’s worth of tickle and sneeze. But her savings in the Dominion Bank on King Street were growing. When she had enough money she intended to buy her own business and then she could afford to pick and choose her own man, if she wanted one at all. She’d even look after Millie and her brat if Meredith got stubborn.

She breathed in and hooked up her corset. Her dress smelled of sweat and cigar smoke. She would have liked to have worn fresh clothes but she’d come directly from the Derby to the rendezvous with Fenton, who was presently snoring and snuffing in the bed. He’d been too drunk to remember to leave money but she had no compunction about dipping into the pocket of his trousers where he’d stuffed his bill folder. She took out two ten-dollar bills and put them into her chatelaine, snapping it closed with more anger than she realized. There was no sound outside in the hall. Everybody was asleep, the waiters gone. Tonight she was glad to be leaving so late. She felt as if her nerves were at the surface of her skin, and the contemptuous glances she usually elicited would burn.