Pierre le Valle - The Pleasures of Bankruptcy

“You can easily see for yourself how I am situated, Mr. Freeman! I am perfectly solvent-if I could only collect the money owing to me. Business is bad just now, of course but it always has this time of year and I would really have no good reason for any complaint if only I could obtain what is due to me-for the lovely gowns and fine lingerie that I sell… to cover the beautiful, soft bodies of women and girls who never seem to give me or their overdue bills the least thought.”

“Yes-to be sure… I understand that well enough.”

The graying, heavy set man who sat beside Mrs. Rose Bolton at her office desk moistened his lips unconsciously and stirred vaguely in his chair as he listened to her final sentences.

“Certainly,” he said — in a tone which caused Mrs. Bolton to raise her shapely, well poised head and glance at him in an enquiring manner. “Of course… lovely-feminine bodies must have rich, beautiful coverings-but not at the expense of a person like yourself, who is struggling to make a living by providing all this… er… underwear and all that.”

“It never before struck me, Mrs. Bolton-but I suppose that the lingerie, panties, chemises, etc, are a far from negligible part of your business. I see these marvelous gowns in your showrooms, but I had not considered that these more intimate garments are also a specialty of the shop also-eh?”

Even though Mrs. Bolton had noted an unusual inflection in the voice of her wealthy landlord as he referred to these articles of apparel usually hidden from view, the words in themselves had no particular reason to shock a woman who was in the business of selling these things daily. So her attractive coloring was not heightened by even a shade as she nodded assent with a smile.

“Oh, yes…” she assured him. “We create gossamer thin garments of all kinds of — clothing the young aristocracy from the skin out… and it is amazing as well at very annoying to find how many of them are either reluctant or unable to pay their bills. It is as a result of this that I find myself compelled to postpone paying you the rent which has been long overdue. I have already explained to your agent… but perhaps you would care to look at my books and see for yourself exactly how I stand at the present time?”

Mr. Freeman bent above the volumes she laid open on the desk before him-but it was with unseeing eyes that he regarded them. He seemed oddly indisposed to abandon the… to her… unimportant topic she had launched.

“You-you build these undergarments right upon the bodies… which are to wear them?” he queried. “They are tried on-fitted to their wearers-just as you do with gowns and such things? These rooms of yours must have seen some delicious sights, Mrs. Bolton.”

The pretty woman looked up at him once more, somewhat startled by his tone. She noted the Bush of color in his face and saw that his gray eyes were turned down- apparently to her lap-although the books to be thus examined were upon the desk.

The dark green silk of her dress moulded her rounded thighs. The silk had mounted, too, as she sat there-and she realized that both her dimpled knees were well in view. She stirred somewhat embarrassedly and drew the dress downward to cover the bare flesh. And she essayed a laugh.

“Why… pleasant enough, I suppose,” she said, trying to humor this dangerous creditor even though he was disposed to discuss subjects that were not decorous. “As for 'delicious'-that is hardly the word, is it-considering that only other women and girls could have been here?”

“Of course…. no men, naturally not…” he replied, and he appeared to emphasize his words rather oddly. Rose Bolton thought. He hesitated a moment, before he resumed in a low and constrained voice:

“I suppose you realize,” he went on, “that the actual presence would be willingly foregone by some men-pro-riding they could only watch some charming young maid or matron quite unwittingly revealed to them in such- er… suggestive disarray as trying on a chemise or a pair of step-ins.”

He sighed heavily… in what might have been pity for the vicious instincts of mankind in general. Then he glanced covertly at the woman by his side-who was really flushed and quite startled by this time.

“Why… some of them would even pay heavily,” he went on. “You have no idea what an attraction it would be to many a well-to-do man.”

“They would pay with a jail term if they concealed themselves for such a purpose in my establishment,” said Rose firmly.

Mr. Freeman's mouth hardened a little at her reply.

“Of course,” he said, “it's only because we're both of us grown up… and friends, I hope-that I have ventured to mention some of the proclivities of hot-blooded males-”

Rose saw that he had stiffened in some displeasure… and she hastened to be cordial… for this powerful creditor must not be offended-especially at this time when she had such need of his forbearance. So she went very far-for her-in a quick attempt to restore his good humor.

“I realize,” she murmured, “that you were just warning me of what might occur if I allowed the male escort of some fair visitor-supposed to be awaiting her quite respectably in the main reception room-any opportunity to roam about the dressing rooms to see what he might find…”

“And I am no child-at thirty-five-to be surprised to hear of such a tendency in mankind. My own experience would lead me to believe it pretty common. I've had, Mr. Freeman, a warm-blooded husband-and another, a very near relative-and the latter especially has given me cause for great concern-and agitation!”

“Ah! Your young son is visiting in the Middle West, I understand,” said her visitor apropos of nothing, but yet very significantly. “How old is he now?”

Rose Bolton turned scarlet, and her keen distress was evident in her fine, liquid eyes.

“Seventeen,” she replied in a low voice. “You-you know too much about the scarcity of my near relations, Mr. Freeman, and I should never have spoken as impulsively as I did-for I might have realized that you would jump to a quick conclusion.”

“I wouldn't for the world have you think badly of my son Lester. He isn't at all bad really-” she went on fervently. “He's affectionate and fine-natured. But he was alone too much with his young mother-and you may guess more than I did about the blunderings of the newly awakened instincts of a young boy. I realize now that I looked on him as a child too long.”

“So-what happened-?” enquired the man bluntly and with obvious eagerness. “Don't fear to tell me all about it. You know my friendship and also my reticence. And besides, I might be able to advise you… since you are a widow.”

“I–I've told no one-I hardly think I could-” she said ashamedly and in a husky voice. “No, really… it would sound much worse than it really was-just his youthful, almost innocent instincts turned, unfortunately, in the only course available-and that a wrong one.”

“I shall, of course, have to imagine the worst,” said he, firmly. “Since a widowed, healthy young woman is not quite self-controlled sometimes-and since moments will occur when the virile youth at hand will appear as a man rather than as a blood relative.”

His lips were working, and a shadow of repressed passion passed across his face as he spoke.

“Ohh… Oh, my God!” stammered the appalled Rose. “How dare you-I mean, who can you… no-no-no!”

“Well then, why not confide in me?” he said quietly… in the hope that his accusation of the greater evil might draw forth a confession of the lesser… as he had deliberately planned.