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The "Great Prostitute," my Aunt Susan used to call her. But, her jewelry was lucky, to wear her jewelry was, --- well, you knew something extraordinarily good would happen to you... My whole family thought that, -- definitely believed it.
"Such good luck, Liebling!," Great Grandma Lisel would whisper, her yellow teeth inches from my six year old mother's little ear, her old lady smell sharp in her nose.
Then, Great Grandma would put antique necklaces around my mom's neck, slip heavy rings on her chubby little hands. But, whether you thought Great Grandma Lisel was really a prostitute depended on who you were. She WAS a famous beauty, what used to be called an adventuress and Great Grandpa Klaus was practically royalty.
My mom told me that when she was very old Great Grandma loved to rock wildly in her chair, cackling about Kaiser Wilhelm the Second always asking her to sleep with him. When Lisel wouldn't, the Kaiser tried to force her... (He desperately wanted her to be his mistress.) But, he was a small man and one of his arms was very weak and deformed, like a little bird's wing; he just didn't have the strength to rape her. (Lisel was a big hardy country girl who'd been raised on a farm in Mecklenburg.)
Then, frustrated, the jealous Wilhelm challenged her fiance, my Great Grandpa Klaus, to a duel thinking, stupidly, if he killed the very handsome and charming Klaus Von Ruhs he could, somehow, get Lisel to be his... Sabers never came out, or pistols either, because her Imperial Royal Highness the Empress of Prussia stopped the duel, afraid that her son, heir to the German throne, would be hurt. After the Empress left, with a smirking Lisel watching, Great Grandpa Klaus slammed his cousin Willy against the wall of Neuschwanstein Castle and beat the living crap out of him.
However, like a horny little dog, Wilhelm continued to sniff around Lisel's skirts. (After giving him that beating my dignified Great Grandpa was done with Cousin Willy antics. He simply wouldn't let himself be annoyed anymore.) Ha, ---my Great Grandma Lisel called the Kaiser '"Schweinehund,"--- "Pig-dog," ever after, bravely, even to his face. After a while, Willy went hunting for other "quail". (He WAS the heir to the throne, no matter how unattractive. There were lots of women who dreamed of perhaps being Empress Of Prussia, not just Willy's fashionable most current whore.)
I sighed. I would have loved living back then, --- the yummy gossip and scandals of the nobility, giggling in those halls of exquisite summer palaces. I would've waltzed night after magical night with dukes, counts and even princes under crystal chandeliers, or under the stars.
However, like a horny little dog, Wilhelm continued to sniff around Lisel's skirts. (After giving him that beating my dignified Great Grandpa was done with Cousin Willy antics. He simply wouldn't let himself be annoyed anymore.) Ha, ---my Great Grandma Lisel called the Kaiser '"Schweinehund,"--- "Pig-dog," ever after, bravely, even to his face. After a while, Willy went hunting for other "quail". (He WAS the heir to the throne, no matter how unattractive. There were lots of women who dreamed of perhaps being Empress Of Prussia, not just Willy's fashionable most current whore.)
I sighed. I would have loved living back then, --- the yummy gossip and scandals of the nobility, giggling in those halls of exquisite summer palaces. I would've waltzed night after magical night with dukes, counts and even princes under crystal chandeliers, or under the stars.
The once gorgeous Lisel was eventually made a duchess by my doting Great Grandpa when he married her. She died a long ago, but a lot of what she was lives on in me. Still, I'm just Theresa Ruhs, standing naked now, except for twenty four inches of Great Grandma Lisel's golden pearls, in the attic of my Grandma Trudy's little house, the house that she willed to my mom.
Mom didn't want to live here, in this little bungalow full of worn out antiques in South Euclid. She prefers her modern new apartment in Beachwood, but she lets me live free here as long as I pay the utilities and keep up the place. I drained a champagne bottle of it's last few inches. It was a cheap pink champagne, sweet and good. I laughed, looking down at myself, a silly little blond who can't make up her mind. I shook myself and my breasts wobbled only a little. I was glad they weren't big and they were the apple-shaped type rather than the ones that lay flat on the chest. I don't think I'm a beauty, but I'm proud of my natural blond hair. I never have to bleach it, only use a bit of lemon juice when I sit in the sun on a hot day.
I put my hands on my hips and frowned at the pile of fancies on the rickety brass bed. I sighed. It was almost airless in the attic where I kept my opera stuff. But, I wanted to put my gowns with Great Grandma's plumed headdresses and rhinestone trimmed shoes in her armoire and dressers. The dusty crowd of her chipped gilded furniture looked depressed.
I touched my neck, I was wearing Great Grandma Lisel's stunning golden pearls and the matching pearl ring in it's creative setting of a free-form square of 18 carat gold set with tiny rubies... Yes, I'd decided on them. They were the only real gems left in all our family's jewelry. I could have chosen what used to be called a "dog collar," or a wide choker studded with gems. It was a beautiful piece, --- the silvery gray imitation pearls and rhinestones set in silver, but they were only fake gems. Still, still, it would have looked gorgeous with the teal velvet gown with all it's ruffles. I have a long neck. I can wear a dog collar choker well... But, no.
Mom didn't want to live here, in this little bungalow full of worn out antiques in South Euclid. She prefers her modern new apartment in Beachwood, but she lets me live free here as long as I pay the utilities and keep up the place. I drained a champagne bottle of it's last few inches. It was a cheap pink champagne, sweet and good. I laughed, looking down at myself, a silly little blond who can't make up her mind. I shook myself and my breasts wobbled only a little. I was glad they weren't big and they were the apple-shaped type rather than the ones that lay flat on the chest. I don't think I'm a beauty, but I'm proud of my natural blond hair. I never have to bleach it, only use a bit of lemon juice when I sit in the sun on a hot day.
I put my hands on my hips and frowned at the pile of fancies on the rickety brass bed. I sighed. It was almost airless in the attic where I kept my opera stuff. But, I wanted to put my gowns with Great Grandma's plumed headdresses and rhinestone trimmed shoes in her armoire and dressers. The dusty crowd of her chipped gilded furniture looked depressed.
I touched my neck, I was wearing Great Grandma Lisel's stunning golden pearls and the matching pearl ring in it's creative setting of a free-form square of 18 carat gold set with tiny rubies... Yes, I'd decided on them. They were the only real gems left in all our family's jewelry. I could have chosen what used to be called a "dog collar," or a wide choker studded with gems. It was a beautiful piece, --- the silvery gray imitation pearls and rhinestones set in silver, but they were only fake gems. Still, still, it would have looked gorgeous with the teal velvet gown with all it's ruffles. I have a long neck. I can wear a dog collar choker well... But, no.
I'd wear the real golden pearls tonight to the opera, to a special pre-season performance of "Carmen," sung by world famous Basil Rappite and Madelle Gosse. I pulled a strapless cream colored gown from under the mound of clothes and stuff, --- really the best dress to flatter the golden pearls. I held it against me. Oh, how I wished that I had more real gem jewelry! A woman who's so formally dressed needs to be wearing really, really great jewelry!
Of course, Lisel Bauer had plenty of lovely jewelry, --- necklaces, earrings, bracelets, brooches... She got them as gifts from, her many admirers, but from her husband Klaus, mostly. But, my mom has her silver and cameo music box that Count Casimer Velky of Montenegro gave Lisel. It can still tiredly play a pretty, tinkly waltz, even though it's over a hundred years old.
But very sadly, during the Depression most of our family's finest heirlooms and precious things were sold. You can't eat a suite of sapphires, which is a matching necklace, earrings and bracelets, no matter how beautiful they are!
There's a very, very old photograph in our family album of beautiful young Lisel standing in front of a mirror, and like me, wearing only extraordinary pearls. (I'm surprised my prudish mom didn't destroy it. Great Gramdma Lisel was a natural honey blond, like me.) But, her pearls dropped to her knees, even doubled, a magnificent fortune of real and perfect pink pearls! Where were they are now, after so many years, that unique rope of pearls? Oh, well...
Tonight I would have great fun going to the opera, pretending to a magnificent Lady from the court of an elegant antique nation, from Prussia, (Sure, why, not?) --- a countess, a duchess, maybe even a princess... Such cool fun, I could hardly wait! I opened the big old armoire, pulling out the matching feather trimmed velvet cloak for the cream colored gown. I would also wear vintage satin rhinestone buckled shoes and a rhinestone and pearl tiara, with long matching earrings and formal white gloves that reached almost to my shoulders.
Tonight I would have great fun going to the opera, pretending to a magnificent Lady from the court of an elegant antique nation, from Prussia, (Sure, why, not?) --- a countess, a duchess, maybe even a princess... Such cool fun, I could hardly wait! I opened the big old armoire, pulling out the matching feather trimmed velvet cloak for the cream colored gown. I would also wear vintage satin rhinestone buckled shoes and a rhinestone and pearl tiara, with long matching earrings and formal white gloves that reached almost to my shoulders.
I took a bath with a fresh bar of rose soap imported from England, put my hair in a high twist with pearl topped pins, did my make up very carefully, very subtly, --- pearl and gray eyeshadow on my lids to flatter the color of my eyes, plenty of mascara, deep mauve-pink pearl lipstick. I got dressed, donned my jewelry, took my beaded gold bag and feather fan, raised my head high and swept out the door to the waiting cab.
WOW!... The fabulous Cleveland Opera House alight was a sight that always thrilled me! I paid the cab driver and walked to the entrance. Around me were people coming to see the performance. There were formally dressed dedicated opera patrons like me and men and women in fine dresses and suits, capes and elegant long coats. Also, though I hated to see it, people in hoodies, t-shirts and jeans. I lifted my chin, picked up my gorgeous skirts and made my way grandly to the door.
Crowds of people were entering... I nodded graciously to an usher, handing him my ticket stub, accepting a program, loving the look of admiration in his eyes as he unhooked the thick padded magenta velvet rope. He was still smiling when, with a flourish, he gestured to the left of the main floor entrance to one of the stairways leading to the boxes. A seat in the boxes was such a treat for me! Although it was way, way above my budget, it made me feel a like royalty for one "Cinderella" night.
I went up the stairs, the curving brass railing smooth under my fingers. I turned, at the top. My seat was in the front of the box. I entered, my long taffeta skirts rustling around me. I was untying my cloak when I felt a warm hand brush my bare shoulder in the lightest of touches, a man's hand. I jumped, frightened.
But, he said, "Let me help you, please." He bowed, slightly. Then, he carefully made sure that my cloak was entirely over the chair's back. His deep voice was cultured and charmingly accented. A Slavic gentleman, I thought, delighted.
As I looked far up into a shadowed face my heart started beating hard. Even in the dim light of the box it was easy to appreciate the smooth forehead and dramatic cheekbones under his thickly fringed deep set dark eyes. His lips were high colored and curving, the bottom lip fuller than the top. A glimpse of sparkling white teeth showed. He was wearing a long black cape over a black tux with tails, a ruffled silk shirt and a red satin bow tie that looked as if he'd hand tied it. There was a trace of ruffles at his wrists. His black glossy hair was in a pony tail at his nape. He smelled good too, faintly spicy, like cloves.
WOW!... The fabulous Cleveland Opera House alight was a sight that always thrilled me! I paid the cab driver and walked to the entrance. Around me were people coming to see the performance. There were formally dressed dedicated opera patrons like me and men and women in fine dresses and suits, capes and elegant long coats. Also, though I hated to see it, people in hoodies, t-shirts and jeans. I lifted my chin, picked up my gorgeous skirts and made my way grandly to the door.
Crowds of people were entering... I nodded graciously to an usher, handing him my ticket stub, accepting a program, loving the look of admiration in his eyes as he unhooked the thick padded magenta velvet rope. He was still smiling when, with a flourish, he gestured to the left of the main floor entrance to one of the stairways leading to the boxes. A seat in the boxes was such a treat for me! Although it was way, way above my budget, it made me feel a like royalty for one "Cinderella" night.
I went up the stairs, the curving brass railing smooth under my fingers. I turned, at the top. My seat was in the front of the box. I entered, my long taffeta skirts rustling around me. I was untying my cloak when I felt a warm hand brush my bare shoulder in the lightest of touches, a man's hand. I jumped, frightened.
But, he said, "Let me help you, please." He bowed, slightly. Then, he carefully made sure that my cloak was entirely over the chair's back. His deep voice was cultured and charmingly accented. A Slavic gentleman, I thought, delighted.
As I looked far up into a shadowed face my heart started beating hard. Even in the dim light of the box it was easy to appreciate the smooth forehead and dramatic cheekbones under his thickly fringed deep set dark eyes. His lips were high colored and curving, the bottom lip fuller than the top. A glimpse of sparkling white teeth showed. He was wearing a long black cape over a black tux with tails, a ruffled silk shirt and a red satin bow tie that looked as if he'd hand tied it. There was a trace of ruffles at his wrists. His black glossy hair was in a pony tail at his nape. He smelled good too, faintly spicy, like cloves.
The man was like every girl' s dream of a sultry romantic hero, --- Mister Rochester, Mister Darcy, even a vampire, like the sassy and sexy Lestat! I almost laughed at the vampire thought, but I choked it down. Did the corners of his mouth twitch in the tiniest of smiles, his eyes narrow with humor, watching the look on my face?
The man put a long fingered hand on the center of his shirt. His wide shoulders dipped a little toward me. He said, "I'm Alexandre Volkov. And, you are?"
The slow musical voice slid around my ears like plush velvet. I never heard such a voice! God, the sound of it did such warm trembly things to me! I was very shocked, but I felt very womanly and alive too. I fluttered my fan like a heroine in a Victorian novel.
The man put a long fingered hand on the center of his shirt. His wide shoulders dipped a little toward me. He said, "I'm Alexandre Volkov. And, you are?"
The slow musical voice slid around my ears like plush velvet. I never heard such a voice! God, the sound of it did such warm trembly things to me! I was very shocked, but I felt very womanly and alive too. I fluttered my fan like a heroine in a Victorian novel.
"My name's Theresa Ruhs."
Glossy black eyebrows went up. "Extraordinary, --- Ruhs, how do you spell it?"
Glossy black eyebrows went up. "Extraordinary, --- Ruhs, how do you spell it?"
"R-u-h-s."
"In German," he said, "'der Russe' means 'the Russian'."
"Right, it was originally Von Ruhs . My family were Germanized Russians. But, I'm from the poor American side of the family."
"You're still a Von Ruhs." His eyes were kind and he smiled, fully, easily bending slightly nearer to me. He must have been six and a half feet tall. I'm five feet, two. My knees felt suddenly weak. I sat. I looked down at his top hat on the floor next to his chair and grinned. Of course, that WOULD complete his outfit!
He sat down too. "Hmmm..." He seemed to be considering my name, "Theresa... Call me Alexandre, please. I like it that you don't go by 'Terry."
--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.
"Right, it was originally Von Ruhs . My family were Germanized Russians. But, I'm from the poor American side of the family."
"You're still a Von Ruhs." His eyes were kind and he smiled, fully, easily bending slightly nearer to me. He must have been six and a half feet tall. I'm five feet, two. My knees felt suddenly weak. I sat. I looked down at his top hat on the floor next to his chair and grinned. Of course, that WOULD complete his outfit!
He sat down too. "Hmmm..." He seemed to be considering my name, "Theresa... Call me Alexandre, please. I like it that you don't go by 'Terry."
--- Copyright 2021, by Antoinette Beard.
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