Water in the Wine Glass

The gardens around me dulled with each drop of rain that fell. I sat, probably looking rather silly, on a lonely bench just under a simple pavilion. I know I looked silly, but inside me there was such dignity that, should a king approach me, he would feel ashamed. Laughing at the people who scattered to rush inside the nearest building, I waited for my next victim.

It was really an exaggerated term, the word “victim”, but I suppose I was causing him harm. Not physical harm, of course. I do not desire to live the rest of my days in either a prison or asylum. I was hurting his heart, though I do not suspect that he truly loved me. Whichever way he felt, it would be a simple battering of the heart- it wasn’t like I hadn’t done it before.

Suddenly, a black carriage pulled up, blanketed by the mist that echoes a rain’s fall. The driver tied the long reins that controlled a pair of black horses to a post by his seat and then proceeded to open the door of the carriage. Hurriedly he waited for the man inside to descend before he closed the door and rushed back to his shelter under the overhang of the carriage.

Monsieur Gilles was a wealthy man; tall, arrogant, brash, but yet sweetly charming. It was his charm that had won me, but within a matter of weeks, his arrogant nature began to show through. He was practically displaying me as a prize anytime his partners in business were nearby. M. Gilles was a successful lawyer, part of the reason he was so wealthy. But he also came from a good family that paid him allowances, and that was a very attractive factor to me.

But it was only so long before his being arrogant would drive me away.

”Mademoiselle Rainier, good afternoon!” he chirped, clearly in a good mood. Perhaps he would take it well?

”Same to you, Monsieur Gilles,” I replied. There was no use in being rude while he was still being respectful.

”Perhaps you might tell me why you were so insistent on meeting on a day like this. I mean really, we wouldn’t want you spoiling your hair or makeup!” he laughed. I squirmed, because his priorities were once more made clear that I should make my appearance as best as I could. After all, a trophy is only as good as its shine.

It was time for my routine to begin. I’ve practiced it many times, on other men, but it never gets simpler.

”Monsieur Gilles, I… I do not desire to be courted by you any longer.”

I’ve learned that men appreciate bluntness much more than hidden messages and hints. Not as intelligent as women, it would seem.
The poor man’s giddy smile immediately faded to a concoction of confusion, frustration, and overall sadness. He wouldn’t have a prize to hold to his side anymore, but I’m sure it wouldn’t be long before he’d found another.

”Clara, I thought that you were enjoying your time with me?” he thought out loud. “You seemed so happy, always smiling around me.”

If only he knew that they were fake smiles, painted on my face in order for him to still maintain his pride. Perhaps it was not a smart move.

”Monsieur, I was entirely content with you. However, my parents do not approve of the relationship. You see, sir, I am but thirteen years of age.”

The look of shock on his face was precious. Precious, because he thought I was actually telling the truth.

”That would make me twenty years your senior… good lord…”

There was one trait about him that I entirely found endearing, and that was his tendency to think aloud.

”I apologize, Monsieur. Do not think that it was your fault, it was I who lied to you about my age,” I said, lies spilling from my mouth like water over a mountain. It was a sensation that I’d grown used to, turning down man after man; and every time using a different excuse. I was older than I said, I was younger than I said, I had become a nun, my parents didn’t approve of their family; the list goes on for a thousand miles.

”I accept your apology. At the very least, you can remember that you are a very mature young woman. That is a trait that most girls seek but never find… as well as your beauty,” he encouraged, strangely calm. I cursed him three times: once for not offering that it could have been his fault, once for being so nonchalant about my leaving him, and once more for adding my beauty as an important trait to his list. I half-appreciated the compliment, and under his arrogant nature I was not surprised that he didn’t try to apologize, but his calmness disconcerted me. It was as though he would simply walk away and find another lady two minutes later! Oh, how I hated him… and it was a good thing, because I prayed that I would never see him again.

“Have an good afternoon, Monsieur Gilles,” I concluded. No use in drawing it out, he didn’t need any clarifying. Smiling a little, bravely pushing his pride on me, he helped me to a standing position. I smiled a little in retort, and shook his hand shortly.

”And a good afternoon to you, Mademoiselle Rainier,” he said blandly. Good, he had picked up on my sarcastic actions. I watched heartlessly as he got back into his carriage in a huff. From his window, I could see him raise his hand and wave, but I did not return the wave. There was no need to; our relationship was ended. I didn’t know him anymore.

As I stood there, under the pavilion waiting for my own carriage, I just thanked God that I didn’t have to fake cry.
By the time I had arrived back at my manor, it was very late in the afternoon. The sun had begun to sink from the sky, and the clouds acted as colorful brushstrokes of violet and amber. As I scurried up the steps to the main door of the countryside manor, I attempted to pull the many pins out of my golden hair which was now rather knotted and messy from the afternoon’s rain. Even hurrying from the pavilion to the street where my carriage waited did not save me from the rain ruining my hair.

As I burst through the doors, I paused to take a breath. It had become my ritual that, after leaving a man, I would come home and exhale his memory from my mind. My ritual was broken by the sound of an older woman’s voice. It was the head maid, Genevieve. A stout little woman with a strong mind and firm voice, I had come to respect her as a mother.

That was another lie I’d sold easily to Monsieur Gilles. Both of my parents had died when I was ten, victims to a rogue group whose only desire was to obtain our wealth. Thankfully, my uncle was able to still secure the money to our name, as I had been at a childhood friend’s house when the murders had happened. He didn’t want to look after me, and I didn’t blame him; what with his eight children. However, he was my only relative, so Genevieve was thrust into caring for me as a mother.

”His highness took it well?” she joked. He was no king, but you would think it with the amount of pride he carried. I laughed at her blade-like humor.

”Yes, actually. Too well, he was entirely too unemotional for my tastes,” I replied. “Perhaps if he had shown a little emotion I might have given him another chance, but the fool had to protect his dignity.”

”Ah, a common mistake among men. Well, personally, I’m glad you left this one. I know that you deserve a bit more than to be shown as another trophy on his shelf,” she retorted. Suddenly she grasped a clump of my ratty, wet hair with a look of disgust on her aged face. “Shall we run a bath, my dear?”

”Of course. I can’t appear as a beggar to the theater!” I exclaimed, smiling brightly. It was my monthly ritual to attend the plays that were put on by the local theater, and then the after-parties where the debutantes and other theatergoers mingled. It was there that I usually charmed men into courting me… it was there that I met Monsieur Gilles. I shuddered the memory off of my shoulders.

After a quick bath and drying my hair, came the dreaded application of the corset. I hated them, as every other woman appeared to, but I understood their use. Call me vain, but I enjoyed the increase in bust and decrease in waist that followed the rough tightening. Genevieve wrapped my lengthy hair into unique waves and knots, and carefully pinned them into place. I blew my bangs out of my eyes, annoyed, realizing that it would soon be time for them to be cut.

The buttermilk-colored dress that I was to wear was stunning. The gauzy sleeves melted into the bust and crossed over at the center. Along the edge of one side, there were small pink flowers that were accented by their green leaves. The waist was embroidered in a golden color, no doubt to enhance the color of my hair; and it met a beautifully folded skirt that rippled like the sea. I slipped on a pair of white opera gloves, followed by a ruby necklace, and I was ready.

”Good luck tonight, baroness, I pray you find a worthy man tonight,” cheered Genevieve as she looked over her masterpiece. She had made the dress, no doubt taking up all of her day. The look of approval on her face encouraged me to utter a quick “thank you” and make my way down to my carriage.

I’ve always loved the theater atmosphere. Mind you, it wasn’t nearly as grand or over-the-top as the opera houses, but that was part of the playhouse appeal. I couldn’t understand most of what the opera singers were saying anyways; I liked things to be expressed in my own language.

As my carriage pulled up to the theater building, I breathed in the sight of the golden lights, men in top hats entering the main doorway, their ladies accompanying them in their grandest jewels; but most of all I counted the men who did not show up accompanied by a lady. Those were the men that I would be approaching during the after-party, and attempting to charm.

With my driver’s kind gesture of opening my door for me, I stepped out of the carriage and smiled a “thank you” to him. I quickly made my way into the theater and found my seat as I realized that the crowds at the door were thinning. The show was about to start.

With a nod and a smile to each person that sat next to me, the curtains were drawn back. My heart leapt as I watched with a wide eye at the antics that were taking place on the stage. I adored the feeling it gave me; like I was actually watching whatever story it was take place. Even more, I admired the actors behind the characters. The fact that they could give birth to these fictional characters caused envy to sprout itself in my heart.

As the lineup of actors bowed, signaling the end of the play, I clapped my heart out. As they always did, they’d managed to exact laughter, tears, suspense, and romance from my very soul. It seemed I got more out of watching their fictional lives onstage than I did in my own; but I loved them for that.

And now, it was time for the rush of the after-party. Slowly, people flooded out the grand doors of the theater into the main hall. As the managers had come to expect these kinds of parties to erupt, a vast table of punch and hors d’oeuvres had been laid out. I smoothly grabbed a small glass and ladled the undoubtedly alcoholic punch into it.

”Enjoy the show?” inquired a pleasant voice that I oddly recognized. I silently prayed that it would not be one of my previous suitors, and thanked God when I realized that it wasn’t.

This man was tall, as most were, and he had a broad smile. Very attractive, I thought to myself. Very attractive indeed. I smiled my most pleasing smile as I went to shake his firm hand.

”Yes, I love these plays. I’m Clara Rainier,” I introduced myself.

”Julius Thibeault. I’m a regular here at the Theatre d’Or,” he explained. Why hadn’t I seen him before? I decided to blame it on the fact that a lot of people attended these plays, and I couldn’t possible have kept track of them all.

”You must live nearby, then, to be able to come to these so often,” I playfully pried.

”No, actually. I live in a mansion with my family on the outskirts of Paris, and I pay my carriage driver a handsome sum,” he explained jokingly. I liked that he showed something of a sense of humor. But I almost choked on my punch when I realized what he’d said.

”Family?” I choked out, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. Was I flirting with a married man?

”My parents,” he corrected, smiling a bright smile that filled my lungs with ecstasy. I laughed in reply, the only response I could think of that didn’t involve looking like a lunatic. “How about you?”

”Well, I don’t live with my parents, but I do have a manor in the countryside. I can’t say I pay my carriage driver nearly enough, however,” I flirted. This man would certainly be my next attempt.

I noticed that my punch glass was now empty, and pointed to it, signaling that I was going to turn to put it back on the table. As I turned to lay it down, I felt his hand on my lower back. The feel of his touch sent a chill up my spine and I blinked slowly as the sensation made its way through me. Suddenly his head was next to mine as he whispered.

”Care to get away from all the noise?”

It took all I had in myself to keep calm as I met my caramel-colored eyes to his majestic green ones. I smiled and nodded, mystified as he clasped my hand and pulled me through the crowd. What was it about this man that felt so sensual, so mystifying? His eyes were certainly a legitimate candidate; or perhaps his smile… or the way his dark auburn hair was so perfectly held back by a black ribbon?

Whatever it was, as he was leading me to the backstage area, I was falling in love. Perhaps this man would last longer than the standard month that most men had the unfortunate fate of not surviving. Perhaps I could truly love him, and the way he made me feel. Perhaps I could finally be rid of my terrible reputation… but certainly all that was too much to expect, and too soon.