A New York Haunting: Pt. 03

Anders swung his legs off the bed and sat beside her. Gingerly, he pinched the threads between the thumb and forefinger of each hand. Simone picked up the third one. "Now pull ... oui, like zat." The circular tube was distorted into a triangle. Using her other hand, she closed the gaps between the three anchor threads with a quick row of stitches, reattaching the guillotined bloom with an almost invisible repair. "Et, Voilà!"

He raised his eyebrows, impressed.

Setting the hat aside, Simone stood. "And now, mon On-dairs, you must go. Ze family will be returning soon." She tidied her hair and cap in front of a small mirror on the wall, while he rose and re-fastened his garments. With a wink, she shooed him out the door into the servants' hallway. "You go first. No one must see you."

Chapter 11. CAUGHT IN THE ACT

1895 continued

Following the Sunday tryst inside the mansion, two weeks remained in Anders' freshman year of college --- with the last being finals week. Reluctantly, he curtailed his assignations with Simone, sublimating his urges into a renewed devotion to studying for his exams. She did come to the cottage one night, reassuring him it would be a brief visit. And it was --- in fewer than ten minutes she was gone again, leaving him recovering his breath on the cot.

That Saturday, having restored order to his coursework, he yielded to Fulton's pestering and agreed to a round of golf with him at the recently opened Country Club of Rochester --- of which the Fordyces unsurprisingly were original members. Unsurprisingly too, he found himself waiting for his friend in the entry hall of the mansion. He cast his eyes about, hoping to see Simone.

The manse was oddly quiet. No doubt Mrs. Fordyce was shopping or making social calls. Mr. Fordyce might be in any number of places --- his study, the yacht club, his social club. Fulton's sister Cecily was away at finishing school, and his brother Grover was completing his senior year at Yale. After some ten idle minutes, Anders heard from the second story the muffled sound of a door closing and footsteps. A moment later, Fulton's voice called down from above.

"Hey Norski! I'm almost ready. Can you get the golf bags from the closet under the stairs? You can use Grover's --- our monograms are on the bags. And get my father's mashie --- mine's gone bung."

Anders crossed to the sloped-ceilinged closet which had in years past been involved in numerous games of hide and seek. Inside were the three leather golf bags as well as tennis rackets, snowshoes, and skis. A bent club immediately identified Fulton's bag without having to confirm the initials. Anders smiled wryly. Doubtless, the club had 'gone bung' in one of Fulton's fits of temper. As he searched through Mr. Fordyce's bag for a replacement, he heard a door opening behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, he beheld Simone exiting the servants' corridor. He lit up. "Simone!" he said in a low voice.

She turned, registering his presence with evident surprise. "On-dairs! What are you doing here? I thought you had to study."

"I'm caught up, so I'm taking a break to play golf with Fulton."

Approaching, she peered into the closet. "Ah, ze golf sticks."

"Clubs. Golf clubs. Are you well? You look flushed."

"I just run down ze stairs."

Anders beckoned her into the closet. "Come here," he whispered, pulling the door shut behind them. "Give me a kiss ... I've missed you this week." In the darkness, he felt her arms climb around his neck, and he returned the embrace.

"But you saw me Wednesday," she murmured.

"It seems like forever ago." His mouth followed her breath to find her lips. The kiss stimulated his randy inclinations posthaste, and without thinking, he dragged her skirts up. "Let's do it quick!" he urged. His fervid fingers delved in the opening of her drawers and paddled in her fluid-blurred lips. "Oh, how wet you are!" Two big fingers slid into her well-greased passage.

Simone broke from the embrace. "No, no. We can't. Not now." Their feet jostled skis and ski poles as she tugged on his wrist, freeing herself from his probing digits. "I have mes règles --- how you say --- my courses." Anders felt her briskly scrubbing his fingers with a cloth --- her petticoat, he realized. "I run down ze stairs to fetch some rags for it. I must go before ze blood goes everywhere."

Her lips brushed his cheek, then she decamped, leaving him in the closet. Her courses ... damn. He was aware that once a month females had to contend with blood coming out of their cunnies. Although his own desires were not thwarted by this fact, he glumly sensed that Simone might object ... given her reaction a moment ago to his fondling. Sighing, he hauled the two golf bags out. How long did courses last? His contemplation of the matter was interrupted by a clatter of footsteps descending the stairs.

"Got them?" Fulton called.

Each slinging a bag over a shoulder, they headed out.

It was not until Anders had teed off at the first hole that his curiosity about the subject was revived. There was an unusual stickiness where his fingers wrapped around the golf club grip. As they crossed the fairway, he examined his hand. Yes, there was a sensation of a gluey residue on the two digits which had been inside her, but no detectable blood. That seemed odd --- he could only suppose that blood from courses was different than usual blood. At the pond by the green, he used his wetted handkerchief to clean his skin.

The golfing excursion was his last diversion for several days as he slogged through finals week. He managed to restrain his amorous musings --- the prospect of the upcoming reunion with Simone motivating him.

Friday afternoon, after his last exam, Anders returned from campus in an excellent mood. He knew he had done well in all his classes and now was brimming with anticipation at resuming his bawdy education. He had previously informed Simone when the postponement would be over; thus, he waited for her in his bedroom that night, pacing up and down. But the French girl did not make an appearance. Cognizant that her duties in the house varied with Mrs. Fordyce's social obligations, he at last resigned himself to the solitary pursuit of pleasure.

Waking late the following morning, he discovered a note from his father indicating he had gone up to the lake to go fishing. As he made himself breakfast, Anders thought about Simone. One week had passed since he had last seen her --- when they had embraced inside the closet. Damn! He was raring for a fuck. Were her courses over?

The sound of voices through the open kitchen window caught his attention. Female voices --- getting louder. Recalling it was Saturday, he realized it was the two chambermaids Alice and Becky, as usual carrying laundry across the yard to hang it on clotheslines at the rearmost aspect of the grounds, next to the cottage.

His thoughts again returned to Simone, and he racked his brain for some means by which they might meet sooner than tonight. In the midst of pouring his coffee, the maids' conversation suddenly riveted his ears.

"No one can hear us now. Do tell me this big secret. What did I miss while I was gone?" Becky asked.

"Simone was dismissed!" Alice announced.

Anders almost dropped his coffee cup. Had he heard right?! Mind racing, he set it down and moved closer to the window. Had someone found out about them?!

"What happened?!"

"Mrs. Fordyce returned home early from shopping yesterday and discovered that French minx in a most compromising position with Mr. Fulton!"

There was a gasp and incomprehensible flutter of chatter. Anders' fingers gripped the window frame as his pulse accelerated.

"Hully gee! How do you know?"

Alice's eager voice continued, "Annie was dusting in the drawing room, and she overheard them all talking in Mr. Fordyce's study: Mr. and Mrs. Fordyce, Mr. Fulton, and Simone. And you won't believe what else Annie heard --- Simone claimed she was with child by Mr. Fulton!"

"Oh, what a scandal!"

"And she insisted that Mr. Fulton had to marry her! Here --- hand me some clothes pins."

"What happened then?"

"Well, Mr. Fordyce said he needed to confer with his son alone, then with his solicitor, and they sent her from the room. But here's the catch: when Annie had cleaned the upstairs rooms, she noticed Simone's rubbish basket had bloody napkins in it the past three days."

"So, she was having her courses even at that moment!" Becky exclaimed.

"Yes! She was lying about being pregnant, the wicked girl! And Annie knew it! When Mrs. Fordyce left the study, Annie begged her pardon for overhearing, but needed to inform her of truth about her maid. So, she told her."

"Then what happened?"

Alice snickered. "They summoned Simone back in and called her bluff: they would have her examined by a doctor to assess her claim. The alternative was a third-class ticket back to France and they would never register a complaint with her employment agency. Otherwise, if she didn't take the ticket and wanted to simply leave, it would be without a character reference, and they would report her behavior to the agency."

"Which did she choose?"

"The ticket back to France," Alice exulted. "She packed her belongings yesterday afternoon and left on the train for New York. Mr. Fordyce went with her to make sure she boards the ship."

Anders remained frozen at the window as the two maids speculated about what Simone would do next and how quickly Mrs. Fordyce would find another maid. In a moment, he turned away and strode out of the cottage, heading across the lawn. What the devil?! A tumult of emotions possessed him, but sheer confusion dominated them all. He knew not what he intended as he approached the mansion --- part of him still could not believe what he had heard.

He veered around the veranda and headed for the carriage house. Inside, he found the coachman harnessing a horse to the two wheeled gig. Anders cleared his throat. "Hey Harry. I was hoping to talk to Mr. Fordyce about something --- have you seen him?"

"He's gone to New York City." Harry raised a brow. "You haven't heard? He's putting Simone on a ship back to France."

"Oh. No, I hadn't heard. Thanks." So, it was true. Damn it all --- it was true. Leaving the carriage house, he immediately encountered Fulton.

"There you are. I was looking for you," Fulton said. "Do you want to go sailing?"

Anders felt a throb of animosity towards his old friend, and his hands curled into fists as Fulton called out to the coachman behind him. A moment later, he had composed himself and replied, "Ya, sure."

On the ride out to the yacht club, Fulton inquired how his exams had gone, and asked what his summer plans were. After that brief exchange, they lapsed into silence, each engrossed in his thoughts. Fulton remained uncharacteristically quiet even after they were on the boat and tacking back and forth on the lake. Anders intermittently glanced at him with narrowed eyes. Young Fordyce's pale face bore a sullen expression, his black eyebrows tense.

At last, Anders spoke. "I heard about what happened."

Fulton scowled. "Fuck them! Fuck them all!"

"Who?"

"My parents ... and Simone."

"Is it true?"

"Coming about!" Fulton called, abruptly turning the boat into the wind. They both shifted to the opposite seat; Anders trimmed the jib sheet and Fulton the main sheet. Once settled on the new tack, his friend replied to the question. "There's nothing that will put you off your shagging like your mother walking in on you, balls-deep in a girl."

"Where was this?"

"In Simone's room."

Anders' gut twisted. For several moments there was only the sound of the water rushing along the hull, then he said, "Was she pregnant?"

Fulton shot him a look. "How do you know about that?"

"People were talking."

"Blasted gossipy servants," Fulton grumbled. "Well, yesterday was the first I heard of her being pregnant."

"But could she have been?" Anders cleared his throat. "I mean --- were you taking precautions?"

"She told me it was safe, that she had some sponge or something stuffed up there. Christ! I'm not a doctor --- I don't know! All I know is I blew my lump inside her dozens of times this past month."

This past month. A month. Fulton had been fucking her for a month ... and spending inside her. Anders stared at the wind-filled sails.

"As it turns out, she was lying about that anyway," Fulton said. "Did you hear that part of the story? One of the maids had seen the evidence of her monthlies --- she wasn't pregnant. So, the whole thing was a damned scheme on her part to marry into money."

A surge of wind sharply increased the angle of heeling, and in concert they shifted their weight further to windward, leaning back to counterbalance the force.

"My parents were adamant about her returning to France. As if I would try to find her now --- now that I know the truth about that bitch," Fulton snorted. "Get ready! Coming about!"

Anders struggled to absorb this information, both for the remainder of the outing --- during which they spoke no further on the subject --- and when he returned home.

The following day, Fulton and his mother left for New York City to join Mr. Fordyce, and thence proceed to their summer house on Long Island. "They vowed to not let me out of their sight all summer, damn them," his friend had bitterly complained on parting.

Two days later, Anders' full-time summer job at the Kodak laboratory began.

For several weeks, he brooded over the events. What he knew to be facts were: (1) Simone had been secretly fucking both Fulton and him over nearly the same period of time. (2) Simone had let Fulton spend inside her but had made him withdraw. (3) Simone had claimed to be pregnant and demanded that Fulton marry her.

Fulton's assessment that the French girl had had an underlying scheme appeared to have merit. If she truly had some means by which to prevent pregnancy, why had she not let him spend inside her? Thus, he was inclined to believe she had been lying to Fulton about a 'sponge' --- hoping to indeed conceive and trap a wealthy man into marrying her. It then made sense that she had not wanted Anders to spend inside her --- given the marked difference in appearance of the two young men, any resulting child mustn't provoke questions about paternity.

In chagrin, Anders recalled the day he and Fulton had gone golfing --- how he had waited in the entry hall for his friend and the encounter that had ensued with a flushed and distracted Simone. How blind he had been! Doubtless, Fulton and Simone had been having a four-legged frolic upstairs while he had been twiddling his thumbs in the foyer.

The fact that she had declined to be examined by a doctor fortified the evidence of her deceit. Being caught together by Mrs. Fordyce before her plan had come to fruition evidently had prompted a precipitous playing of the pregnancy card. Little did Simone know that the mores governing ordinary people did not apply to wealthy families. Even if she had truly been with child, the chances that the Fordyces would have allowed Fulton to marry a common servant were virtually nonexistent.

Anders endeavored to comprehend his own role in the events. Why had Simone taken up with him if she was targeting Fulton? Doing so could have only complicated her ploy. Was manipulating two men simultaneously a bonus feather in the cap of her vanity? Had she had any affection for him at all, or had she been trying to rouse Fulton's jealousy? He remembered how she had openly flirted with him on the veranda in full view of Fulton inside the house.

Beyond that, Anders was certain Fulton had been in ignorance of their affair. Knowing his friend, there was no way he could have known and managed to hold his tongue.

A faint memory prodded him --- something Simone had said as they lay together in postcoital languor on her bed. Something about how nicely he did it and lamenting he was not wealthy. Could that have been an unscripted telltale? Had she turned to him for sexual pleasure she was not finding with her mark?

In the ensuing days after Simone's departure, his feelings towards her were pervaded by a sense of betrayal. But why should he feel betrayed? There had been no declarations of love between them, and certainly there had been no unspoken such feelings on his part. Nevertheless, her casualness about something that been so significant to him --- his sexual initiation --- wounded him.

Anders' feelings towards Fulton fluctuated from jealousy to commiseration. In this play, they both had been her creatures to command with her coy murmurs, deft fingers, and cock-trap sorcery. She had used them both --- but which was worse: to be used for sex or used for money? When the feelings of jealousy burgeoned, he wryly reminded himself that Simone had judged him to be the better lover. Notwithstanding, the truth of her exploitation stung for some time.

The passing weeks and the distraction of his job allowed him to move past the unsettling events. His father's death in the fall both displaced any residual pain over the affair and suspended his pursuit of amorous activity for many months. With the further tincture of time and increasing perspective, Anders eventually came to harbor a more charitable view of the matter, appreciating in retrospect the heady, two-week, erotic education he had received from a partner so admirably suited to provide it.

*****

During his first year of medical school, he quickly ascertained from his anatomy textbook that the proper term for the bijou was clitoris. But when the professor eventually lectured on female genitalia in anatomy class, Anders listened in bewilderment.

The labia minora were described as joining anteriorly, with the comment that any visible fleshly excrescence at this site equated with hypertrophy of the clitoris, and was evidence of self-abuse, criminality, hermaphrodism, or deviant sexual practices. The vagina was presented as an inverted, but largely insensate homologue of the penis.

Respectable women felt little pleasure in intercourse, the professor pronounced, but engaged in relations for moral reasons such as love for their husbands or desire for children.

Confusion drove Anders to the medical school library to investigate the known science of female sexual anatomy. Delving into innumerable texts and journal articles, he was fascinated to discover there was not a single answer, but ostensibly two opposing schools of thought on what had been a subject of debate for centuries --- a debate that evidently continued even now.

The Galen school of thought matched his professor's didactic: the vagina was the inverted homologue of the penis, and women felt little sexual pleasure. The opposing Hippocratic school of thought recognized the clitoris as the homologue of the penis and ascribed to it a central role in female sexual pleasure.

Recalling the professor's final comment about the significance of a visible clitoris, Anders was horrified to read of the practices advocated by some proponents of the Galen philosophy --- practices bent on destruction of the clitoris, including surgical excision, burning, leeches, and x-rays. And these shocking recommendations were not in ancient tomes, but in recent journal articles.

Upon recovering his equipoise after leaving the library, he pondered the irony that a simple French maid knew more about female anatomy than centuries of anatomists, philosophers, and physicians --- at least in the Galen school of thought. In all those decades of expounding upon the subject, had any of these learned men ever sought the opinion of an owner of a vulva?