business with a man who understood how crass it is to speak of money to a lady.
“Here you are.” I held out a nickel to the boy. “And be sure to thank Mr. Sylvan for the coffee.”
I kept my smile frozen in place until the door closed completely, then tore into the envelope. Mr. Sylvan’s usual billing, inflated, with this explanation: We have added a $10 fee for creating undesirable attention.
I felt my face flame, as if the man himself were standing beside me. Furious at the distraction from my first appearance in San Antonio society, I dropped Mr. Sylvan’s note into the waste bin, picked up the paper, and opened the curtains to the piercing morning light. I would never describe myself as an unusually beautiful woman. Still, I can say confidently that the image on the paper was stunning. The photographer—one J. P. Haley—framed it perfectly, including the half circle of the crowd who stood with their faces turned to me. I captured the effect I sought, looking mysterious and inviting, glass raised in tribute. Somebody, an editor I presume, captioned the photograph thus: While Miss Thalia Powers might have underwhelmed the audience in her tour as the widow Sadie Love, this widow captured everyone’s attention.
I caught my smile beneath my hand, as if there were somebody in the room watching. All across the city people would turn to this page and see me. Those who were there would look at each other over their breakfasts and say, “Do you remember seeing that woman?” Wives would bristle in jealousy at their husbands’ raised eyebrows, but what did I care about that? I needed men to see me. Stately, eligible bachelors. Lonely widowers. Even a man living in the wake of divorce. Enough dining with businessmen and dignitaries passing through the city. I needed roots. A home. A means of support. I couldn’t live forever at the Menger Hotel—a sentiment truer than ever as I pawed through my resources to satisfy Mr. Sylvan’s demand.
My photograph did not bring throngs of curious men into the lobby of the Menger. I was not a showgirl or some other morally questionable young woman. I had not advertised myself as a good to be procured, merely as a woman with the possibility to be found. And, a few found me. Local men of quality, equal to those who took rooms on their travels, walked into the lobby, took lunch in the restaurant, took a seat at the bar—all with a roving eye that came to rest the moment it fell upon my person. Then, a tip of a hat, a lift of a glass, a feigned curiosity that began with the same question: “Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” At which I would laugh and say, “My goodness, that photograph has proven to be more trouble than I could have imagined.”
One night in early December, my sixth week in residence at the Menger Hotel, I bid good evening to a man at the lobby door after a steak dinner that might have come from cattle on land he personally owned. He was a bit older than my preferred suitor (nearly the age of my late husband), and he confessed to have taken several whiskey sours at the bar for five nights in a row before summoning the courage to introduce himself to me. A sweet man, with florid cheeks and a hearty paunch, but by the time I was safely in my room, I’d set my mind not to see him under such circumstances again. It would be too cruel, I would tell him, to continue such a ruse when I was still in such mourning for my dear, recently departed spouse.
Safe within my room, I undressed, thankful to breathe deeply after such a satisfying meal, and unclipped my hair, letting it fall to its full length, just past my shoulders. Other women gave their hair full range to their waists and even lower, but such always smacked of a country hovel pioneer. I brushed and braided it loosely and ran a wet washcloth across my face and under my arms before donning a freshly laundered nightgown.
San Antonio, I’d soon learn, was not known for its harsh winters. That night was the first with a true chill about it—one that I felt along the edges of the room. This, and the fact that my nerves were still on edge from attempting to appear enthralled throughout the evening, took me to the small cabinet