of course, won my heart.”
And that was that.
Father and Mother, though, on hearing of this incident, took it seriously, although there had been no commitment elicited. They proceeded to check more deeply into Oscar’s fiscal and also personal affairs. Unsavory rumors were alluded to, but my parents refused to provide to me the details.
“Then they are only rumors,” I said stubbornly, “whatever their nature. I believe it is unchristian-like to lower oneself to pay credence to mere hearsay.”
Mother looked angry. “Now you’re beginning to speak as rudely as he.” Father merely raised an eyebrow. I took a deep breath. “I intend to marry Oscar Wilde!” “Nonsense!” Mother laughed.
“And has he proposed?” Father wanted to know. “Because he has not as yet spoken with me.”
“I know he will,” I assured them, although I did not feel completely certain of this. I felt in my heart that Oscar loved me—for he said he did, or so I thought—and what I felt with him erased that horrible feeling of disconnection which became stronger and stronger each day. But the actual words which lead to a vow went missing.
My persistence forced my parents’ hand.
“Then you will wish to know, Miss,” Mother said in her crispest voice, “that your intended has been seen in Dublin.”
“Well, of course. He was in Dublin just last month, which you know as well as I do.”
“How impertinent you have become! What I know, which you are about to discover, is that Oscar Wilde was spotted dangling on his knee a woman known as Fidelia.”
“Scandalous lies!”
“And further, Mrs. Edith Kingsford of Brighton has offered to intercede on his behalf with the mother of her niece Eva in arranging a match.”
I’m certain that the look on my face betrayed my heart. Disassociated though I was, a feeling of being crushed overcame me. That after one year together, Oscar saw fit to toy with my affections seemed impossible, and yet …
Without apology or excuse, I raced from the room. I could not bear to hear more. I tried to deny to myself what my parents told me, and yet when I went over details, little incidents rose from memory. Despite his attentions toward me, I was not blind. Oscar flirted outrageously with every young woman in his sphere. And, since I was facing fact, I had also to acknowledge to myself that he paid equal attention to young men.
When next he visited over the holidays, I was cool to him. His inquiries as to my emotional state brought evasion on my part. “I shan’t argue with you,” I assured him.
“It is only the intellectually lost who ever argue,” he declared.
“Must you always speak as if these are lines from your writings?”
“But they are, Florrie. What can life provide but the raw materials for art.”
“I should think that life might be a bit more serious to you.”
“Life is too serious already. Too normal. Don’t you find it so?”
“And what’s wrong with normal? God. Family. Work. Those are what life is all about.”
He paused at that. “Fate has a way of intervening in what otherwise would be normal.”
I looked at him seriously. “Oscar, I refuse to engage in a battle of witty repartee with you. You have broken my heart.”
I waited, but his reply at first was silence. His eyes seemed to sparkle yet were, at the same time, imbedded with impotent sorrow, the latter catching me off guard.
Auntie was, of course, in the parlor with us, although the hour was late and she must have been exhausted—when I glanced across the room, she was dozing by the window.
Oscar, it seems, had observed this also. We sat side by side on the loveseat before the fire. He moved closer and his arms encircled me. I cannot express the apprehension laced with arousal that filled my being. The silence in the room felt like a vise, holding me tightly in its grip, as tightly as Oscar’s arms held me. Heat blazed through my body, as if I’d fallen into the fireplace; incineration threatened.
I recall noticing his lips as they came toward mine, twisted into a shape I can only describe as portraying cynicism. I felt both horrified and kindled, but I could not turn away. As his mouth found mine, I experienced a peculiar sensation, as if the breath from my body were being sucked from me. I know I began to panic, arms attempting to flail, legs kicking, noises coming from me. And then I watched helpless as blackness rushed toward me. In a