Part 33 (1/2)
ANOTHER LETTER FROM FRANK.
MENOMINEE-JANUARY 27, 1917
On Sat.u.r.day evening, after the first week of the trial, I received another letter from Frank.
Dear May,
d.a.m.n, you're a stubborn one. All I wanted was to meet you for a drink. The least you could have done was give the message boy a time that would've worked for you. Are you afraid to talk to your Frank? What do you have to fear from me? You sure as h.e.l.l aren't following lawyer's orders! That line won't work on me. Remember the story you told me about besting the Mexican government back in '03? That's the real May.
You've got a birthday coming up in May, don't you? Number 48. Face it, May, you're no spring chicken anymore. You've been living off your looks and charms for an awful lot of years. Charm may never desert you, but 48 isn't so young, is it? When you were 20, 30, even 40, you could reel them in one right after another. But how many men are going to fall all over themselves for a woman pus.h.i.+ng 50? It's about time you looked in the mirror. Men want delicate little flowers, and the bloom's off your rose, my dear.
When we women reach our mature years we can't just think about the next adventure. We need to consider our security, how we're going to live our years out comfortably. And an awful lot of women end up living those years without a man. They die off on us, or they hang around in a wheelchair and expect us to wipe their drool and warm up the bed for them.
Have you known anybody who stuck with you as many years as your Frank? We both know you go through people like whiskey through a sieve. But I've always been there for you, whenever you needed someone to keep you company between your barons and tyc.o.o.ns.
This trial does more damage to you every day. It's not just the Menominee papers carrying the story. People all the way to New York City are reading about you. If you let this trial play out to its ugly end, you're going to end up a ruined woman. Think about all those prospective catches out there. How many New York businessmen are going to line up to be seduced by May de Vries after she's found liable for swindling a friend out of $100,000?
Let's call it off right now. I know you can come up with the money. And once you do, I'll invest it so that it'll last us a long time. Then we can get back to living again, and you can trust that your Frank will always be there for you.
Your faithful friend, Frank
THE WAX AND WANE OF HOPE.
NEW YORK-MARCHMAY 1903
What had I to show for my life? Enough money from Rudolph's last allotment and the Arkansas hotel sale to see me through a good many years. But no one to enjoy it with.
More than anything, I wished to return to Alonso. But I dared not. Dougherty would certainly follow through on his threat to expose my marital status, as well as the ploy I'd used to win the mining contract-if Alonso's father hadn't already done so. And if Alonso learned all this, he might a.s.sume I never really loved him. Even if I returned to convince him otherwise, Secretary Elvira Perez and Dougherty would no doubt do everything in their power to force my departure. And with a divorce looming, I could not depend on the Baron's protection, which might embolden them to jail me. No, that path was foreclosed.
I was inclined to determine whether Rudolph would take me back. But first I needed to settle the battle raging in me over our marriage. I'd been of mixed feelings for years, but I couldn't deny the appeal of the life I'd built with him: a respectable life in which I'd mingled with the landed and royal cla.s.ses in Holland and England; attended the finest theater and opera London had to offer; and, as a baroness, commanded respect and admiration everywhere I traveled.
If I simply accepted the divorce, I'd never know whether I might reclaim some measure of happiness with Rudolph. At the least, I could try to reconcile with him and give us a second chance. Once I'd finally decided on this course, my hopes soared. I sent him a cablegram from New York: PLEASE HALT DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS STOP BOARDING SS CEDRIC FOR LIVERPOOL IN TWO DAYS AND TRAVELING TO LONDON TO SEE YOU STOP.
Within hours I received his reply: NO NEED TO TRAVEL HERE STOP DIVORCE TERMS CAN BE MANAGED THROUGH CORRESPONDENCE STOP.
Was he serious? Could he be dissuaded? Although he sounded determined, perhaps I could devise some strategy that would instill doubt or reawaken his love for me. I could forgo groveling and let him think I was willing to proceed with the divorce, albeit throwing up plenty of hurdles, and see if that gave him pause. At this point it behooved me to seek legal counsel. I refused to turn to Frank. As far as I was concerned, she had no place in my life.
I invited my friend Hanna Harrington in from Southampton to luncheon at the Waldorf-Astoria. She recommended a Mr. Oliver Biltwell, who happened to specialize in divorce cases for New York's wealthiest. And she invited me to the annual Easter dinner she hosted for her closest friends. Under the circ.u.mstances it was especially gratifying to be welcomed back into my own circle of New York acquaintances.
Once Rudolph's solicitor made his terms known, I secured the services of Mr. Biltwell and countered Rudolph's ungenerous offer with my own proposal: a financial settlement four times the size of his offer, about $380,000, the London home, and the right to my baroness t.i.tle in perpetuity.
I decided to settle in New York for the time being: What other place, outside of London, offered so much entertainment, high society, and cachet? I checked out of the Waldorf-Astoria and moved to the Gilsey House, which offered more amenities for a long-term stay. As I went about renewing my New York acquaintances, I called on Daisy to come stay with me there (just like old times) and serve as my a.s.sistant.
She arrived at my room as arranged, at noon on March 28. When I opened the door, she swept in and embraced me. ”May, it's been far too long.”
I hugged her and grasped her hands. ”My dear Daisy, I can't tell you how many times I've wished you were at my side.”
”Your letters were a delight.” She raised her eyebrows in a show of mischievous camaraderie. ”I've missed some high adventure.”
”Ah, yes,” I said, chuckling, and led her to the couch in my suite. Then I noticed: ”But you've not brought a suitcase.”
That dampened her-and my-spirits. She perched beside me on the couch and clasped her hands primly on her lap. ”I must speak with you about Mother. I thought it best to talk in person.”
”Is something wrong?”
”She's got the rheumatism. Quite bad. I've taken to doing all the cooking and cleaning and ch.o.r.es.”
”I'm so sorry to hear that. And d.i.c.ky, how is he?”
”He drives his own coach now. We don't see much of him.”
”He doesn't help with your mother at all?”
”Every now and then he brings around a tin of cookies.”
”Ah, off on his own, then.”
”Like father, like son.”
I figured I might as well come out and ask, since Daisy seemed to be p.u.s.s.yfooting around. ”So you'll not be able to stay with me?”
”Not without some kind of arrangement.”