Read Online Just North of Bliss by Alice Duncan - Free Book Online Page B

and Amalie tried
valiantly to finish the ice cream they’d ordered for dessert, he
proposed the second series of photographs to Belle. Win’s deepest
misgivings about her were confirmed.
    She stared at him, her beautiful
cinnamon-brown eyes gone as round as the moon outside. “I beg your
pardon?”
    Win sighed. “I would like to do a series of
photographs of you alone, Miss Monroe. I’m sure you’ve seen
photographs of Miss Mabel Clyde.”
    “I,” she said with a firmness that reminded
Win of boulders, mountains, cement, and other immovable objects,
“am not Miss Mabel Clyde.”
    Mabel Clyde was the reigning queen of the
chorus line. Her photographs appeared in newspapers and magazines
everywhere, she showed up in more cigarette packages than Win could
name, and posters featuring Miss Clyde were used to advertise
everything from Pear’s Soap to laundry bluing products.
    “Oh, Belle!” squealed Gladys Richmond. “What
a wonderful opportunity for you!” She clasped her hands at her
bosom, and her pretty eyes glowed with pleasure for her employee.
Win deduced the two ladies had become more than employer and
employee, and he honored Mrs. Richmond for her tolerance.
    “Exactly,” said Win with conviction. He
smiled at Mrs. Richmond, grateful for her help, although could tell
Belle wasn’t convinced.
    “I don’t believe I’d care to have my
likeness plastered all over the world, thank you very much, Mr.
Asher.” Belle turned to Gladys. “My family would be horrified, Mrs.
Richmond.”
    That was only an excuse; Win would bet on
it. It was she who was the horrified party in this instance. “Think
about it, please, Miss Monroe. I’m sure you’ll recognize the wisdom
of this if you’ll only think about it.”
    In a repressive voice, Belle said, “I fear I
don’t have the requisite personality for such an endeavor, Mr.
Asher. I’m sure Miss Clyde is a perfectly respectable young lady,
but . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.
    She didn’t have to. Win could read her
thoughts. She considered Mabel Clyde and all other women who posed
for cigarette cards and newspaper ads—or who sang in the chorus,
for that matter—little better than hussies, whores, and other
varieties of fallen females. She was probably right, but that
didn’t mean she had to be a fallen female in order to pose
for him, for God’s sake.
    In fact, the whole point of the study was to
present the Perfect American Woman to the world. And, dash it, the
Perfect American Woman wasn’t a whore! Win experience an urgent
impulse to shake his finger under Miss Belle Monroe’s perfect
little nose and holler at her to stop being such a prig. But that,
as he well knew, would only infuriate her.
    What he was going to do was chat with some
of his buddies in the newspapers and with some of his successful
business friends in the Chicago area. He and a fellow named H.L.
May had collaborated on projects before. Win could imagine H.L.
writing a moving article about the lovely Miss Monroe.
    While Win didn’t know Belle’s story, he
could imagine H.L. coming up with something—or making up something,
probably—that would capture the public’s fancy and makes its soft
heart bleed. H.L. May was good at that sort of thing. He’d been so
good at it earlier in the fair season that he’d won the heart of
Buffalo Bill’s premier bareback rider, Wind Dancer. They’d married
a couple of weeks ago, and Win had photographed the event.
    After he’d solidified his plans for the
series of photographs he wanted to take of Belle and secured H.L.’s
agreement to write articles to accompany the pictures, he’d
approach her again. At the moment, he figured he’d better not press
the issue. She was such a bullheaded young woman, he feared she’d
entrench herself in a position from which her pride wouldn’t allow
her to budge. “Why don’t we chat about it later, Miss Monroe.”
    She sniffed. He sighed, but knew he’d only
be wasting breath if he argued