(1988) The Golden Room Read Free Page B

signalling Foley to join her.
    The first thing Foley saw was a magnificent young blonde stretched languidly on a marble-inlaid brass bed. She put aside the book she was reading, and lifted her head as Minna brought Foley into the bedroom. ‘Chet, this is Virginia. And Virginia, this is Chester Foley of the Chicago Tribune. I told you he would be here.’ With a wide, sweeping gesture Minna went on. ‘That’s a white cashmere blanket Virginia is lying on. Note the mirrored ceiling, and the divan with the silver-white spotlight directed towards it. The other door beyond leads to Virginia’s bathroom, which has a gold bathtub. The roses next to the bed are freshly cut. There’s a push-button concealed in the headboard that can call up another bottle of champagne. The oil paintings on the walls are all originals and imported from Italy. But the most brilliant work of art here is Virginia.’
    With this mention of her name, Virginia swung off the bed and stood before Foley. He was held speechless by her splendour. She was as tall as he and wore only a gauzy white peignoir. Her breasts were firm and their nipples pointed straight at him. He could see plainly the outline of her curved waist and narrow hips.
    ‘My boy,’ Minna said to Foley, ‘she’s all yours, an introductory gift from the Everleighs.’
    ‘Minna,’ Foley gasped, ‘I couldn’t possibly afford anything like -‘
    ‘Didn’t you hear me, my boy?’ said Minna, starting for the door. ‘I told you, this one’s on the house.’
    As she opened the door, Minna saw Virginia slip out of her peignoir. She was exquisitely naked as she moved towards Foley.
    Minna smiled, quietly shut the door, and descended the stairs to the ground floor. She strolled over to the library, took down a volume of Balzac, fished a package of Sweet Caporals out of her pocket, lit one of the cigarettes, and sank into a sofa.
    She read peacefully, and when twenty minutes had passed, she looked up to see young Foley coming down the last flight of stairs, appearing flushed and somehow older.
    Minna stood up.
    ‘Well, how was it, my boy?’
    Foley seemed breathless. ‘Incredible … it was incredible. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’ He caught his breath. ‘But I think I can. I know I can. Soon’s I get back to the paper, I’m going to write a wonderful story about the Everleigh Club. There hasn’t been one for months, and now I’m going to write the big story.’
    ‘No, you’re not,’ said Minna.
    ‘What do you mean?’
    ‘There’s going to be no story,’ said Minna emphatically, ‘at least not now. Usually we welcome publicity. It helps us. Right now any story would gravely hurt us. You know Mayor Harrison is running for reelection on a reform platform. Publicity about us would assure his election. If he is elected, he has promised that his first act will be to close down the Everleigh Club. I don’t intend to cooperate in our demise.’
    ‘But you’re so important in Chicago - can’t you prevent his being elected?’
    ‘I intend to. Minna Everleigh always has something up her sleeve.’ She winked at Foley and took his elbow. ‘Leave it to me. As for yourself, you look a bit tuckered out. I think another glass of champagne is in order.’
    Harold T. Armbruster was one of the three reasons why Chicago was called the Porkopolis of the world. The other two reasons were packing-house kings Philip Armour and Gus-tavas Swift. Among them, they owned almost all the city’s stockyards and slaughterhouses. And among them, Armbruster was the third-richest, having cleared two million dollars in the last half-dozen years. But it was not his desire to become the richest that had brought him out to hear a speech this night - at an hour when normally he was preparing for bed.
    Armbruster had come to Turner Hall to listen to the election campaign speech that Mayor Carter Harrison was scheduled to deliver before members of the Municipal Voters’ League. Armbruster had