The conversation was too rich—I couldn’t help myself. I snuck into her bathroom, where the door leading to her room was always ajar. Lifang kept a stool in there, by the tub, for when she helped Rose with her bath. I sat on that little padded throne, my legs tucked under me, and held my breath.
“Gene, it is foretold this would happen,” Rose said. “You can’t expect the world to be grateful forever that you showed up for the disaster.”
“Beg your pardon, I did more than show up. I organized them—friends and enemies alike—I had the balls to put them together. We worked for the common good—”
“Ah, very nice. Save that speech for court. The simple truth is: now that the crisis has passed and the city is rebuilding in earnest, your enemies have a greater appreciation for your scalp.”
“They aren’t just my enemies,” Schmitz warned, his voice rising. His sense of injury, incredulity more than guilt, passed through the walls as a huffy impatience. Schmitz marched grimly around Rose’s bed. I could just imagine her tracking him with her one eye while deciding her next move.
“Chrissakes, Gene, you’re making me dizzy. Stop galumphing and sit the hell down.”
He went on pacing. “And what will you do, Rose? Carry on, as before? All this talk of ridding the city of every hooker and saloon, that won’t stand for long.”
“Look at me, Gene. I’m not exactly fit to preside. The Rose is no more the flower she once might have been.” She paused and her voice dropped to a whisper. “What’s that rustling I hear? Is someone—?”
The mayor opened the door to the hall. “No one,” he said.
“Vera, she has keen ears, that one. They all do,” Rose grumbled. “Gene, check the closets. Go on—”
“Vera has a keen mind too,” he remarked as he dutifully opened and closed the mirrored doors. “Reminds me of someone. You sure kept that apple hidden, Rosie. Any more daughters you’ve got tucked in these closets?”
“Plenty of your secrets I keep in there, Mr. Mayor. Careful what door you open. There are bound to be tigers.”
Schmitz laughed. “Should I be scared?”
“Yes, Gene,” she said with all seriousness, “you ought to be damn scared. But not of me.”
“What are your plans for her? Will she take over the family business, then? The next madam?” asked Schmitz as he opened the door to the bathroom and found me curled on that little stool. I was fully clothed, but I felt naked.
“She doesn’t have the skills,” Rose declared. “The girl doesn’t have a flirty bone in her body.”
I winced at that, and Schmitz winced along with me. He shook his head to show me he disagreed—to show that we were, as ever, in cahoots.
“Nothing in here, Rosie,” he called, “but these twin crappers. What’s the second one for?”
“Oh, come now.” She laughed. “Have you never seen a bidet? It’s très French. For washing your stick and stones.”
“No kidding,” Schmitz said.
“I’m famous for clean, aren’t I?” Rose remarked. “Hey, come back here. I think I’ve got the answer to both our problems.”
He paused. Was he musing on what to do with me, what to do about me? He tipped his head, silently posing the question.
I looked the bastard in the eye and winked.
“Say, Mayor,” Rose bellowed. “Have you considered that this would be a fine moment for you and Julia to take that long-awaited trip to Europe?”
“Europe?” Schmitz queried. “Were we thinking about Europe?”
“Yes, Gene. It’s simple: if they can’t find you, they can’t try you. From now on, your middle name is stall, stall, stall. This would be an excellent time for you to disappear.”
The mayor did as Rose instructed: he and Julia left for Europe in late autumn and didn’t return for a month. During that time, Rose got busy. She had Tan and me organize the second-floor library to serve as her new office, and there she met with her lawyers and Martin, her accountant. She took her meetings in the late afternoon. If she felt robust, she saw the men in the study, and if she was feeling poorly, she met with them while reclining in bed. She used the bed as her throne, and directed the men to perch on lady-sized upholstered chairs—that, or she had us take the chairs away so they were forced to stand. I marveled at how the men got small and polite, seeing Rose laid out so.
When her meetings ran late, Rose summoned me, never Tan or Lifang, to serve the whiskey.
One afternoon, after the lawyers had left for the day, Rose called me to her bedside. Lifang had ingratiated herself sufficiently with her father that he once again allowed her upstairs. She was fluffing Rose’s pillows, getting her ready for her pre-dinner nap.
“Here,” Rose said, and she opened an envelope that Martin had left behind. She handed me a hundred dollars in bills.
“Now, stop selling my hooch,” she sniped.
Lifang, that minx tattletale, cupped her hand over her mouth and chuckled.
Like the mayor, I took Rose’s advice and visited Alma. The Geary Street trolley was one of the first to be fixed, and I rode it all the way to Golden Gate Park, where the tent encampments had given way to scores of newly built earthquake shacks. Alma had turned the park’s former playground building into her school, with donated books and blackboards and even little desks. I passed the day helping her teach penmanship and arithmetic to children ranging in age from five to ten.
Afterward, Alma took a couple of beers from her secret stash, and though they were warm as piss, we enjoyed them on a grassy bank overlooking the Tea Garden.
“Ah,” she said, “I am almost happy.”
“Why aren’t you completely happy?” I asked.
Alma rolled her eyes. “AB, of course. The man has one tragic flaw: he will be pushed only so far.” She sighed contentedly. “Let’s not talk about him. Tell Auntie Alma
