IV. The Masked Ball.
You inquire, Ralph-Jennie, if I have been blackmailed during my business career. I confess I have been more negligent than most cultured women-men, and as a punishment, have suffered more blackmail. I have insanely betrayed my secret to several dishonest young bloods who knew who I am and therefore forced large sums out of me. I shall describe the most remarkable case.
But first, why have I been the victim of blackmail? Because my strongest passion is to get into feminine finery now and then and play the coquette. I also occasionally yield to instinct in the way Nature ordained for me. But in all this I transgress not in the least against God or man. Of course I have offended against laws that are a legacy from the Dark Ages.
No man should cast a stone at me who indulges in marital joys more than once a week. For since my Pug Heaven apprenticeship, I have not myself averaged once a week. True I have changed partners about thirty times. But if circumstances had rendered it possible, I would have been satisfied with a solitary permanent one. But in the case of women-men, there do not exist the reasons for monandry and the permanency of the bond.
But while I have been guilty of nothing to be ashamed of in the eyes of the All-Wise, I have—owing to irrational laws, fear of imprisonment, and particularly |Androgynes’ Families Unsuspicious.| of bringing bitter disgrace and sorrow on my family—suffered myself to be bled unmercifully.
Ever since resuming residence in New York, I have taken advantage of all the public masked balls to gratify my instinct to pose as a belle. Even those under the humble auspices of the Draymen’s Union, the “Tonsorial Artists,” and the “Société Universelle des Cuisiniers.”
A particularly great event has been the annual Masked Ball of the Philhedonic Society. Every pair of trousers may attend which can scrape together $10 for self and “lady.” The patrons range from scions of the aristocracy out for a lark, to crooks bent on thievery. For conditions at the Philhedonic Ball are ideal for the light-fingered fraternity, particularly because every patron is in disguise, with a mask covering at least the upper third of the face, and the millionaire and the thief dance and flirt together.
Our families have, of course, no suspicion that we hermaphroditoi are only pseudo-men. While marvelling because we have never courted a girl, they have not been so far enlightened as to discern what that signifies. That they may always remain in their ignorance, we hermaphroditoi—as you are aware—set out from our respective domiciles for a public Masked Ball in masculine attire. Later, with hired masculine escort, we depart from [Paresis] Hall bewigged, bepadded, bepowdered, bejewelled, and begowned to shine as belles on the bewaxed floor of X——Garden. After arrival there, we associate, without waiting for an introduction, with whatever pair of trousers—that is, presumably—appears fair to look upon. We hermaphroditoi do our best to converse like real belles. An accidental |America’s Most Impious.| gruff note does sometimes betray us. But usually the gallant comprehends, sympathizes, and merely laughs at a good joke on himself.
The Philhedonic Ball is the spectacle of a life-time. I do not approve all that transpires. The two large orchestras, playing alternately, pour forth continuously into the inebriated ears of the three thousand revellers the thrilling music of the most voluptuous dances, rightly tabooed by all decent society. The revellers are as impious a crowd as ever gathers in America. I would approve the police’s radically restricting the present license. I am sure we hermaphroditoi are not among those who give the ball a bad name.
Some of the costumes have been ordered from Paris and London. Many have already graced the Mardi Gras of New Orleans or Nice. Practically every romantic or grotesque character ever heard of is on the floor: monkeys, parrots, geese, yellow kids, foxy grandpa, Happy Hooligan, Cupid, Mephistopheles, and a thousand others.
At a Philhedonic Ball of about ten years ago—at which the most remarkable blackmail episode of my life had its origin—I impersonated Euterpe. Down to my debacle, money fortunately came easy with me. I therefore endeavored to adorn every Masked Ball with the most elaborate feminine costume on display there. My Euterpe gown, terminating at the knees, was of turquoise satin. It was ornamented with several flounces of miniature sleigh bells washed in gold. Whenever I moved, they emitted a melodious jingle. My silk, open-work stockings were of an azure hue, and the pumps of purple kid, with mother-of-pearl buckles. My chevelure was surmounted with a goldplated |The Belle of the Ball.| lyre, studded with hundreds of Paris diamonds, which, under the myriad gas flames, scintillated dazzlingly. I had had my beardal hair eradicated so that I could glory in a countenance of an infantile softness and an exquisite glabrity.
Until about three, everything transpired after a beauteous fashion. My unrivalled costume had attracted a score of flirts, begging a dance with me. I finally fell to chattering with an individual in a bearskin. He soon declared his conviction that I was merely a female-impersonator. But by exception he manifested irritation at being hoodwinked, and nausea at the very idea of cross-dressing. A panic supervened upon his strident tones. I was overwhelmed with mortification and trepidation on discovering myself in the clutches of what I supposed one of those charlatans who attend the function in order to unearth a moneyed female-impersonator of some prominence with chantage as objective. I lost all heart for mimicking a belle. Most terrible of all, the fellow next denuded my face of the mask. Horrified lest my identity be disclosed, I pressed the lacerated fabric to my countenance and proceeded toward the dressing-room.
In the corridor, the fellow blurted out: “I think I know you. Those eyes of yourn—how far apart they are! They give you a queer look that no guy kin forgit who has seen you several times. Any bloke’d recognize you anywhere, even with a girl’s wig on. I have often passed you down on Wall Street.”
Though actually employed a stone’s throw from that street and promenading it almost every lunch hour, I responded almost inaudibly, I was in a state of |Tony Neddo.| such trepidation: “You are in error. I am employed on 42d Street.”
“Don’t think I’m a fool! I’m so sure of meself that I’m goin’ to hang ‘round Wall Street till I run into you agin. And I’m sure comin’ up to say ‘Hoddo!’ Sure I remember your sissie stride and, most of all, the way you stare at young fellers as if you were goin’ to eat them up! I work on that street meself; elevator man in the Z—— Buildin’. Me name is Tony Neddo. I’m not ashamed to let any one know who I am! But you! Do you know you’ve done an awful dirty, disgustin’ thin’ in comin’ to the ball in a girl’s rig? For this you’ll have to pay dear! But if you know on which side your bread is buttered, no guy’ll ever be the wiser on account of what I’ve just found out.
“But get rid of your tremblin’! You needn’t be ’fraid of me. I ain’t the mean guy you think. When you meet me in my every-day clothes, you kin see for yourself. You’ll see I’m a young feller of strong, pure manhood. You’ll see I’ve the build of a pugilist. Whoever you are, Mr. Skirt, I know, from the diamonds in your harp, you’re rich! On the other hand, I know I kin do for you far more than you kin for me. Any how, let’s you and me be best friends? We’ll part now, but you’ll sure see me comin’ up to you on Wall Street soon. Bye-bye, sweetheart!”
O Ralph-Jennie, the fellow was really cute as he took his departure. He captivated me by his good-humored farewell. It dissipated all my depression. While I realized he would descend to chantage, I already perceived he possessed innumerable compensating characteristics. Every individual is derelict in |Infatuation.| some respect. Tony had never been enlightened on the immorality of chantage. So I hardly devoted a second thought to his cupidity. At the time I possessed no “best friend”—no “adopted son”, as we older hermaphroditoi designate our sweethearts. I immediately commenced to gloat over Tony as my conquest—my boy! How proud I already was of him, although not yet having visioned his countenance! But he had strutted away in such a manly fashion and possessed such a deep bass, ultra-masculine voice! I could perceive he was athletic and a little larger than the average man. And I was particularly obsessed with his blatant, nonchalant description of himself: “Strong, pure manhood”!
Henceforth my stream of thought was surfeited with visions of conversing with him again. But the opportunity did not supervene until two awfully long hours—in the closing half-hour of the ball. The floor was ankle-deep with confetti, rendering further dancing impracticable. A goodly proportion of the revellers were anyway too tipsy or too fatigued to be on their feet. The hundreds promenading the arena, besides the couple of thousand in the boxes and balconies, were sprinkled with red, white, and blue confetti and wound round and round with paper streamers of all colors. A steadily flowing river of humanity was discharging into the street. I would myself have already taken my departure, but had devoted the last half-hour to dragging myself wearily to every nook and corner in search of my bear.
Finally, in the main corridor, a handsome adolescent stepped smilingly out of the stream of humanity |Chantage.| slowly moving streetward: “Are you looking for me, sweetheart? I am Tony Neddo.”
He dared excuse himself, for a moment or two, from his “lady”—considering to what class she belonged! We withdrew out of her hearing. I was tickled to death on now beholding what I had drawn in the lottery. I had known the fellow was ultra-masculine. But not until that moment did I discover that he was handsome into the bargain. Indeed he was indisputably the best looker of the hundreds of young fellows who, with their “ladies,” streamed by as we whispered together.
“How old are you?” I began.
“Nineteen is all.”
“Eleven years younger than myself. Just my ideal age for a young man to be adopted as my son. Tell me frankly: Did anybody ever tell you that you are unusually good-looking?”
“That’s not for me to say. But you yourself see me now when I have my own clothes on. I don’t look as if I belonged to the weak, crippled sex—as you do yourself—do I? I look to be a he-man, don’t I? While you are one of those awful she-men! Mr. Skirt, just think of your own shameful, disgustin’ nature! Your secret and character have come into me power. And it wouldn’t do you any good to hit back. I have nothin’ at all to lose.
“But I’m only talkin’ business now. Every bloke puts his foot into it now and again. And I did at our first meetin’. Because I was then just crazy for money. That’s all. But it only looks as if I’m after your money. What I really and truly want is the chance to make your life happy. I want to be your |Boon of an “Adopted Son”.| best friend. Just let me see what you would do for a young feller who would give himself to you, body and soul. No one is poorer than me these days. All I got is the suit on me back. I only rented that bear rig for the evenin’.”
“Well, Tony, how much would you expect?”
“Two hundred bucks a month.”
I argued for one hundred—all that at the time I cared to part with, although my infatuation soon after augmented so that I voluntarily presented him three times my first offer. But on this first night I repeatedly assured him coaxingly, though sincerely, that he was just the type of young fellow that appealed to me. Over and over again he replied: “I wouldn’t sell me goodwill so cheap! All your fine talk, Mr. Skirt, doesn’t get us anywhere. It doesn’t have the least effect on me. Only money talks. If you’ll part with two hundred bucks, I’ll know you think that much of me. Besides, if we don’t fix up matters now, don’t ever show your face again on Wall Street!”
But when he had bluffed to his limit, he accepted my first offer. And I didn’t mind the promise of that stipend to him—so winsome and handsome and assuring me he would be my soul-mate.
Because his “lady” was dancing attendance, our conversation had to be broken off before the end of five minutes. In parting, I said: “The more I have heard you converse, the better I like you, Tony. You are a pretty smart boy. I would be glad to give you an education, so that you can rise to my own social level instead of continuing in the servant class. We shall not regard our agreement as blackmail. Instead I now adopt you as my sole well-beloved son. I will |Now Man; Now Woman.| even be your slave. We shall enjoy together all the good things of life. But, remember, you must never do anything to betray my character and our relations to anybody. And, Tony, always call me ‘Frank.’ I would prefer that in private you called me ‘Eunice,’ but if you acquired the habit, you would sometimes make a break before people.”
Frank—Eunice.