Джеймс Кейн - Mignon

It came to me I’d heard of that house before, sitting around this bar. As soon as I’d finished I went out and said to a hacker: “Have you heard of Marie Tremaine’s?”

“Well, Mister, I hope so.”

“Take me there.”

It was a house on Bienville, in the Quarter, with two bay windows; a colored maid let me in. She started for a double door on the left of the hall. When I asked for Miss Tremaine she seemed surprised and opened the door on the right. I went into a red-plush parlor and sat down, first taking off my oilskin, which I folded beside my chair, putting my hat on top of it. I waited, and felt my stomach flutter when the door across the hall opened and a man came out with a girl, who whispered with him before he left. She was trim, neat, and shapely, and wore a red baize apron. What upset me was wondering what I would do if she came in where I was and sat in my lap, as I’d heard was the custom. She didn’t, but went back through the door she had come out of and closed it. I was just drawing a breath of relief when a woman came in, stood in front of me, and looked me over. She was small, with blonde ringlets beside her face, and quite pretty. I took her to be in her thirties, and she had blue eyes and strawberry-and-cream complexion, but all she had on was a robe, a white satin thing that she wore, with a gold fillet on her hair and gold slippers on her feet, but nothing underneath — as she carelessly, maybe not so carelessly, let me see. I said: “Miss Tremaine? Crandall’s my name” — giving the name I’d signed on the register of the City Hotel last night. I went on: “My carte de visite ,” and pressed a twenty-dollar bill in her hand.

She blinked, but I kept right on, determined to hit the thing on the nose, no matter how nervous I was. I said: “I’ve come on a matter of business, to ask some help that I need, for which I’m willing to pay.”

“ Alors? What help, please?”

She had a small voice, French accent, and cute way of talking. I asked: “Miss Tremaine, could you hire me a girl? For a little job tonight at the City Hotel? I kind of need a decoy, to entice someone out of his room—”

“La-la. La-la.”

“Oh, I assure you there’s nothing wrong. No — larceny, nothing like that. It’s just — that a search has to be made — for something—”

I ran down, knowing nothing more to say, and damning myself for not rehearsing it better, because how could anyone, especially someone like her, who looked plenty smart, possibly fall for such a tale, one so thin I couldn’t even finish it? However, she seemed more curious than annoyed and kept staring at me, as though to figure me out. Then a thought seemed to hit her as a smile crossed her face, which she hid with my sawbuck. Then she shifted her stare to my hat, which seemed to interest her somehow, though why I couldn’t fathom. Then suddenly she said: “This is business indeed. This requires of thought.”

I mumbled something, I guess, and then she said: “I should dress me. Shall we go to my apartment, perhaps?”

I was too rattled to argue, so picked up my gear and followed her out to the hall. She led up the carpeted stairs to the second floor, then down a hall to a door at the rear, which she opened for me. I went in. The room downstairs had been red plush; this one was ivory and gold. It had a white cotton rug on the floor, a white bearskin rug over it, white chairs with gold brocade upholstery, and a white grand piano with gold beading on it. At one end was a white bed with gold canopy, faced by white armoires. She said: “Please give me your things,” and took them to an armoire, where she hung them up. Then she pulled a gold rope, and golden portieres closed after her, also cutting off the bed, on a white pole that ran across. I’d never been in such a place, and strolled around, to memorize what it was like. I had a quick flash at the prints on the wall, French by their style, all in gold frames and some downright saucy. Then I noticed the flower vases, of bright brass as I thought, some of them with the camellias which were just now coming in season. But then it occurred to me: Brass is not often used for vessels meant to hold water because moisture brings up the verdigris. Then I thought it odd that these vases showed no green cast, as all brass does, no matter how brightly shined. And then the truth hit me. I went over, picked up an empty vase, and snapped my finger on it. It clinked with the music made only by solid gold.

It clinked and she popped — out from behind the portieres, a blue flannel dress half on, silken froufrou showing. Her eyes were like blue glass. I said: “You’ve good ears, Miss Tremaine.”

“ Alors? Qu ’ est-ce que c ’ est? ”

I went over, straightened her dress, put my arms around her, and gave her a little kiss, which she took on the cheek. I said: “I wasn’t stealing your vase — just testing it.”

“It is of gold, non? ”

“There’s no other such sound on this earth.”

“I have six — from a château at Reze-le-Nantes.”

“I compliment you. You like gold, I imagine?”

“I love gold.”

“Turn around, I’ll button you up.”

She turned and I buttoned her, taking a seat and pulling her down in my lap. Then I dandled her and gave her another kiss. She took it this time on the mouth, and responded a little, but with an odd squint in her eye. She pulled my eyebrows, said: “ Doux , as coton .”

“They’re not cotton, they’re hair.”

“ Pourtant jolis , as you are.”

“If I’m pretty, so is a cigar-store Indian.”

“ Et sweet. Et naïf .”

“What’s naive about me?”

To tell the truth, I’d lost some of my fear, so I didn’t feel so rattled, and was beginning to be a bit chesty — as though I was now experienced in matters of this kind and could almost act like myself. She kept on pulling my brows, and said: “Oh — you give me twenty dollars — you take kisses as lagniappe — is not this naïf? You think me madam — yet you remove the hat — is not this naïf indeed? Don’t you know, petit , that with madam you keep the hat on? That this is the insulte ancienne a man pays to her who befriends?”

“... If you’re not a madam, what are you?”

“I am joueuse , of course.”

To me it sounded like Jewess, and I snapped back, pretty quick: “Well, I’m Episcopalian myself, but know only good of the Jews, especially Jewish women—”

“ Joueuse! ” she yelped. “I play! I operate gambling house! This is not such house as you think!”

“This? Is a gambling house? And you—?”

“Am joueuse , I have said! I am not madam!”

“Good God.”

I dumped her off my lap, jumped up, and dived for my things, all at one jerk. I said: “I’m sorry — I apologize — I’ve been making a sap of myself and I-don’t-know-what out of you, and I’m on my way, quick.”

But she was right beside me, her hand on the armoire door, so I couldn’t open it. She said: “Have I acted désagréablement? Have I expressed anger, perhaps? Have I desired that you go?” She yanked me away from the armoire, pushed me back into the chair, and camped in my lap again. She said: “Is joueuse , for example, contaminée? Might she not wish to help? Might she not have girls, aussi? Who deal stud, vingt-et-un, et faro? Cannot this matter be discussed?”

“Miss Tremaine, my ears are too hot for talk.”

“They are red, very droll, mais oui . But the offense is not too extreme. After all, you hear of my place—”