Free Sex Wars by Marge Piercy Page B

tipping the porter. “Where should I look for a place?”
    “I don’t want to be too far from Vanderbilt.” She lowered her voice so the cabbie would not hear. “I took a lover—a newspaperman from the Sun, Charlie St. James. Newspapermen tend to know the politics of a place and the useful gossip. I don’t want to continue the liaison—I want to turn him into a friend. So when you meet him, be uxorious, if it wouldn’t offend you.”
    “Certainly. Maybe I can befriend him.” He cleared his throat to announce a change of subject. “What have you been reading?”
    “The Orations of Demosthenes.”
    “Did you read the Suetonius?”
    “On the train.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “What a nasty lot they were, the Roman emperors. I shouldn’t like to have caught the eye of Nero or Caligula. Anyone with that kind of power is too dangerous.”
    “Is Vanderbilt dangerous?”
    She thought for a moment. “To anyone who crosses him.” She remembered his famous letter to the men who forced him out of one of his steamship companies during the gold rush: Gentlemen, you have undertaken to cheat me. I won’t sue you, for the law is too slow. I will ruin you. Yours truly, Cornelius Vanderbilt. “He needs to win. But he’s not a brooder.”
    “Is he interested in you?”
    “Tennie is what he wants. I couldn’t do it, frankly. I can’t fake it.”
    “And Tennessee can?”
    “Sure. She faked spiritual séances for years, and before that, the gift of tongues. She’s a good actress—”
    “I bet you were a better one.”
    “My gift was rapid memorization. Tennie would have been better at acting. She has the gift of talking herself into being interested in a man if he looks like a good idea. She’s an easier person than I am. She has fewer spines.”
    “And less of a spine.”
    “Don’t underestimate her, James. She’s stronger than you think. She’s been through hell and come out unblemished.” Victoria laughed. “After all, she’s lost her virginity something like fifty times.”
    I N THE MORNING, James went out to look for suitable lodging. She told him to try Great Jones Street. She had no particular reason except that the name popped into her head, and she took it for a spirit communication. The name had a magnificent ring. In the meantime, she and Tennie prepared some products Annie might find useful.
    Victoria loved to take coffee in the conservatory with Annie. She was even growing accustomed to chicory. Today the bread was made with dates. Strawberry and quince jams, marmalade and honey in silver pots offered themselves on the silver tray. Something sweetly scented was blooming.
    Tennie spread out the products they had brought. “Vaginal sponges presoaked in vinegar. They’re pretty good at preventing conception.”
    Annie was wearing one of her many morning robes de chambre, thisone in pale lavender gusseted and trimmed with row upon row of lace. Someday soon Victoria would have such fine costumes instead of plain white cotton nightdresses. Annie was asking, “Can they be reused?”
    “Of course. You wash them after every time. The reason to presoak is that everything’s ready to go.” Tennie clapped her hands.
    Victoria took up a red bottle. “This is a preparation of cloves. It’s a bit numbing—fine for reduction of pain in the female parts. So often there’s abrasion and discomfort from so much activity. The cloves numb, but if the man penetrates, then there’s a feeling of warmth.” She would not put anything over on Annie, since she wanted her as a friend and wanted her trust. She described the items, careful not to claim too much.
    “He thinks she’s hot for him, but she actually feels less.” Annie smiled, motioning for more coffee.
    “In short, yes.”
    “Sounds good to me. What’s that?” Annie poked an elegant finger at a bottle of colorless fluid.
    “One of three colognes we produce. This is a mixture of rose and verbena.” Victoria held the bottle under