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by Zsenitan 07/20/2009, 12:44pm PDT |
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Women did not come to him as a rule. Rather, he went to them, climbing walls, swarming up posts and downspouts to reach balconies, ghosting through the pedestrian gates of porte cochères that had been left unlocked for his convenience. The widows and neglected wives of New Orleans who participated so eagerly with him in the diversions of the bedchamber were grateful for his discretion, and why not? To be seen in his company in the light of day would cause a whirlwind of speculation; to visit his rooms at this hour of the night was to court certain scandal. Added to that, the throughway known to the French as the Passage de la Bourse and the Americans as Exchange Alley was forbidden to respectable women. This pedestrian mall, with its brokers’ and lawyers’ offices, tailors’ shops, barrooms, gaming rooms and many fencing salons was the exclusive province of men. Some few females might tarry under its shadowed arcades after dark, but they could not be called ladies.
Moreover, Rio did not encourage encroachment. A fastidious disinclination to exploit those forced to hire out their bodies made him steer clear of street women, and there was no place in his life for the jeunes filles or comely widows of a lower class who might have been available to him. No, he preferred his accustomed liaisons. Intense but straightforward, they seldom lasted past a few meetings. His paramours were women of experience who preferred to satisfy their desires without risk to their social positions or their emotions, and certainly without attracting attention. They were much too discreet to appear on his doorstep.
Through his teeth Rio said, “Get rid of her.” |
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