Part 30 (1/2)

”No. I have only one steamer trunk,” Oscar said. And then, on an impulse which he knew he might later regret, but could not now resist, he added, ”The other four were unfortunately lost at sea. As for my valet, he's a charming fellow. His name is Henry-he's floating about here somewhere-and we often sit together by the fireside and discuss the merits of republican democracy.”

”Excuse me,” said a familiar voice.

Cathcart, who had opened his mouth again, suddenly clamped it shut as Elizabeth McCourt Doe appeared at Oscar's elbow.

She was, of course, stunning. Tonight she was swathed in clouds of bright beaming scarlet, like a rising sun. The color should have clashed with her t.i.tian hair; but nothing in the world could have clashed with her t.i.tian hair. And when she looked smiling up at Oscar with those luminous violet eyes, and laid her slender hand upon his arm, he felt a curious weakness at the knees, as though his joints were liquefying.

”Excuse me,” she said to the group. ”But may I steal Mr. Wilde away from you for just a moment?”

Immediately, and without physically moving, the group had divided itself into two separate camps. Among the men, Cathcart smiled a courtly smile and graciously lowered his silver head in a small bow. Mayor Muggs beamed in delight around his pomegranate and announced, ”Ah, Mrs. Doe!” Among the women, Mrs. Muggs lifted her meager chin and, disdain making her bones shrink away from her skin, miraculously acquired additional creases. The frigate, sails snapping, ponderously wheeled her heavy guns about.

”I'll bring him right back,” said Elizabeth McCourt Doe, and, with a gentle pressure on Oscar's arm, she led him off.

Her silks rustling beside him, her scent fluttering beneath his nostrils, they pa.s.sed several chattering coveys of lumpen aristocracy. (Silver barons, cattle barons, timber barons and their respective baronesses, some of the men in costumes so stiffly starched that their occupants appeared to have petrified.) By the time the two of them had located an open s.p.a.ce, a pocket of privacy, Oscar had remembered that he was an aggrieved party. His knees were still weak, but he had determined to himself that the weakness was galling rather than curious.

He must maintain his aloofness; he must firm his resolve.

She stopped and he turned to face her.

She smiled and tapped him with the hand she held upon his arm. ”Oscar, you've been ignoring me all evening.”

Coolly he said, ”I ignore you? Madam, I a.s.sure you I have not.” How dreadful. He sounded like a butler. But his pride could see no way to escape the role which circ.u.mstance, and Elizabeth McCourt Doe, had thrust upon him. ”Permit me to point out that it is you who have been ignoring me. For two days, I might add.” Dreadful. Worse than a butler. An insufferable Prig.

She leaned toward him, leaning on his arm, and she smiled.

”This is fun, isn't it? Can we do this in bed sometime?”

In a flash, firmness drained away from his resolve and began to trickle into another (potentially more visible and embarra.s.sing) part of his person. ”Ah, Elizabeth,” he said, and in his voice he heard pa.s.sion and yearning, which he was pleased to convey; but also a kind of tremulous whimper, which he was not.

”Oscar,” she said, and canted her head to the side, her brilliant curls trembling along her scarlet shoulders. ”I couldn't get away. Horace had all sorts of horrible business meetings and he needed a hostess.”

”A hostess?” So perhaps they had not been, she and Tabor, skidding naked one atop the other for the past thirty-eight hours. As Oscar, for the past nine, had been busily imagining them; or busily attempting to avoid imagining them.

”You can't believe how boring it's been,” she said. She smiled and put her hands behind her hips, which caused her pert perfect b.r.e.a.s.t.s to lift up and strain against her bodice, as though reaching out for him like the hands of a child. ”Have you missed me?”

”Of course I've missed you. Elizabeth-”

”I talked to your friend, the Countess.” Smiling her Gioconda smile, she narrowed her eyes slightly. ”Should I be jealous of her?”

”Jealous?” He produced a laugh which he intended to sound light and airy; it came out giddy and shrill, nearly hysterical with relief. She jealous?

”She's a very beautiful woman, Oscar.” Still smiling. ”And French. And ever so much more cultured than I am.”

He laughed again. More successfully this time: blithe, debonaire, almost avuncular. ”My dear Elizabeth. No. I promise you. There is no woman, anywhere in the world, of whom you need be jealous. I only wish that I could prove that to you, just now, just at this very moment.”

Her smiled widened. ”How?” she said. ”How would you prove it?”

Oscar glanced to his right. The nearest bevy of barons and baronesses stood twenty feet off, all their pink faces staring frankly at Oscar and Elizabeth McCourt Doe. Instantly, in unison, like a troupe of minstrels, they turned away. Oscar glanced to his left. Saw Rudd.i.c.k leaning earnestly forward as he talked to a young waiter with a silver tray tucked beneath his arm.

Oh dear. Discretion, Wilbur.

He turned back to Elizabeth McCourt Doe and lowered his voice. ”I prefer showing you to telling you. May I see you tonight?”

She sighed sadly. ”I'm sorry, Oscar. I can't tonight. Horace has another boring meeting.”

Oscar felt his facial muscles wilt.

”Poor Oscar,” she said. ”And poor me.” She smiled. ”But tomorrow morning let me show you the sights of Manitou Springs. I'll rent a carriage.”

”You're the only sight I care to see.”

”I know a place, up in the mountains. It's beautiful. It's shaded and quiet and there's a little brook nearby. We can lie down on the pine needles.”

Oscar was willing to lie down in the brook. ”But the train to Leadville leaves at one o'clock.”

”I'll come pick you up at nine, at the hotel.”

”Nine o'clock, then.”

He smiled, delighted.

She smiled, reached out, put her hand lightly on his arm. ”I've missed you, Oscar. I'll see you tomorrow.”

”I look forward to it. There's something I wish to ask you. Something rather important.”

She smiled again, gently pressed his arm with her fingers, then turned and rustled off.

Tomorrow!

The ballroom, despite its size, was suddenly too small to contain both Oscar and his elation. He glanced around once more. Rudd.i.c.k had gone missing, but after an anxious moment (SCANDAL IN MANITOU SPRINGS!) Oscar spied the young waiter serving champagne to Colonel von Hesse. Four or five yards to their left, O'Conner stood talking to Mathilde de la Mole, the Countess wearing a lovely blue gown of taffeta and lace and an expression of heroic politeness. O'Conner had dressed for this occasion, as he did for all others, in his brown scarecrow suit.

At the moment, no one seemed to be paying Oscar any attention. He crossed the room, nodding politely to the gaggles and bevies and coveys. He opened the French door and stepped out onto the veranda.

But someone had been paying attention. As Oscar spoke with Elizabeth McCourt Doe, an intense pair of eyes had watched the two of them.

I know you, s.l.u.t. I know you, harlot. For all your expensive clothes and your expensive perfumes and your red red hair, you're no better than any streetcorner wh.o.r.e riddled with pox. No better than any alleyway trollop sour with stale liquor and the stink of a thousand squalid couplings.

I know you, Elizabeth McCourt Doe. I know you. I've learned about you. Left your husband. Ruined one marriage already, and now you're ruining another. And still you you prance and whinny with Oscar Wilde.

Shameless b.i.t.c.h.

You sicken me.

Wh.o.r.e.

Oh yes, walk away. Walk away while you can, you vile stinking hole. Walk away now. One day you won't be able to walk away.

One day, perhaps, I'll show you the flame that roars at the center of the universe.

The moon, nearly full, splashed white light across the flagstones. Overhead, the bare branches of oak trees clucked and sighed. Oscar looked up through them to the sky. The Milky Way swept across the blackness, an extravagant scattering of diamonds hurled against velvet. And over there was Orion. And there was Ursa Major. Or was it Ursa Minor? One of them, he remembered, had some sort of chummy relations.h.i.+p with the North Star.