The Mistress of Mankind
* * *Chapter I
* * *For those rich for being famous, and those famous for being rich, Libertine was not an unusual restaurant to be seen in. The dishes cost a king’s ransom, and were always served in fashionably small portions. The view from the top floor mezzanine was spectacular. Reservations typically had to be made months in advance.
Isbel was therefore surprised to discover that her acceptance of one particular invitation led to dinner there the very next evening. The invite had come quite unexpectedly from a man she had never met, but who could be considered as famous as she herself was, albeit for very different reasons. It was for that reason she said yes.
Allowing herself to be guided through the crowded restaurant by a host, she pointedly ignored the glances she received. In a private window booth she was greeted by the man who had asked for her company.
“Ms Isbel McCauley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He stretched out an arm for an energetic handshake.
“Thank you, Mr Lydon.” She replied, as he pulled out her chair to allow her to sit. It was old-fashioned gesture she would usually refuse as patronising, but for the sake of politeness she said nothing. The man radiated the aura of a distinguished gentleman, someone whose manners had been drilled into him at some elite boarding school, or so she imagined. The delicate young woman sat down at the table, took off her sunglasses, and flattened down her conservative blue dress.
“Please, call me John, or Alex, if you prefer.” Mr Lydon smiled, returning to his own chair. Isbel surveyed keenly him as he did. She had only seen pictures him in newspapers, and occasionally when he participated in political discussion panels on the news channels. He made less of an impression than she thought he would. He was not particularly physically imposing. He was a little rotund, and had lines of care around the eyes. He kept his hair slicked back in the style of Robert McNamara. His grey suit looked expensive. Old-fashioned, she thought again, as another white-shirted host appeared and asked what they wished to drink.
“I’d like a McCutcheon, please. Sixty if you have it.” Mr Lydon said.
“Margarita.” Isbel stated. “Silver tequila, Grand Marnier, lime juice, and mineral water.”
“That was quite specific.” He said with a broader smile, flashing a row of white but somewhat crooked teeth.
“I know what I like.”
“This is a fantastic restaurant.” Mr Lydon remarked. He sipped at his whiskey, looking out at the sparkling lights of the city as it became shrouded in the cool dark of evening. “It certainly makes an impression.”
“Is that why you invited me here? To try and impress me?” Isbel asked.
“To make a good impression, certainly. Not for any tawdry reasons, I assure you. But the food here is quite exquisite.”
“I know. I’ve been here before.”
Their meals arrived, and as they ate, Alexander talked a little about his role as an advisor for the current administration. He was self-depreciating and modest, but Isbel had read about his long tenure in various positions for different presidents. He had been a political fixer since before she had been born. He had played puppet-master in countless election campaigns too, on both sides of the aisle, for decades. For all those years of experience, he was still energised as he spoke, with a keen intelligence in his eyes. He opened up further when she asked about a recent sexual healthcare bill he had worked on, something she had been keenly following.
“I’m very proud of the work we did on that one,” He told her. “I’m happy you think it’ll be beneficial for disadvantaged women. I’m very aware of vocal you are about your feminist values. That’s one of the reasons I asked you to dine with me.”
Before Isbel could follow up on that, to pin him down on his true intentions, he changed the subject. He admitted with a rueful laugh that his wife was an enormous fan of hers, even as he confessed he never could find the time for popular culture. He did inquire closely about her last film, and praised her for producing as well as starring in it. It hadn’t been particularly well received by the critics, but Mr Lydon said he had found it delightful. She felt flattered he had found the time to watch it. As he spoke, another host appeared to clear the table of their plates, and Mr Lydon ordered more drinks for them both.
He dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin. Evidently he was preparing himself to clarify why he had sought out her company.
“Please tell me, Isbel … are you familiar with Wilmot’s?”
“Wilmot’s the ‘Gentlemen’s Club’? Of course I am! The whole country is! But it’s not a club, it’s more of a …more like a hangout for rich old bigots! The scandal in the news last year? The undercover report from one of their so-called “charity” events?”
“Yes, most unfortunate.” He nodded unhappily.
“‘Unfortunate’? It was awful! All the staff had to be young women. “Tall, thin and pretty” was the job description, wasn’t it? And they were all told to wear tight shirts, black skirts and black lingerie!”
“There was a dress code, yes.”
“They were ordered to let the men to put their hands up their skirts and pull them onto their laps!”
Mr Lydon shook his head, and rubbed at his greying temples. She seemed to have hit upon a particularly sensitive wound.
“I’m afraid it’s all true. But I promise you, the objectification of women makes me sick. And now that I’ve been elected as the club’s new president …”
“You’re the president of those jerks?” She snorted. Typical. Just another shitty sexist dinosaur, she sneered to herself.
“As president,” He continued, “I’m determined to make changes. That’s why I wanted to meet you. I would like you to be our first female member.”
“Me? Why?” Isbel said, taken aback.
“Well, that’s obvious! I know a great deal about you. You’re one of the most famous actresses in the world, and one of the highest-paid. You’ve received a lot of awards despite your young age. I know your films have earned billions of dollars worldwide. And most importantly to me, you’re an outspoken activist when it comes to feminism.”
“Hm! You can read all that online. You don’t know me at all.”
“Precisely why I wanted to meet with you! But, tell me, why did you agree to this dinner?”
“I’ll admit, I was curious to meet a man of your stature.” Isbel brushed her short brown hair away from her face.
“Thank you for the compliment. Please, allow me to explain. You’ve used your fame to be a vocal supporter of women’s rights. You’re an inspiration to millions of girls, your outreach online … if you accept my invitation into Wilmot’s, you would become our public ambassador, signalling our willingness to change.”
“Willingness to change? What proof do I have that you’re going to change your bullshit? You think I’m young and naive enough to believe that the politics of … whoever’s in your club, can really change?”
“That’s why I wanted to talk with you in depth. I think the first step is to change our undesirable habits. I need as much input from you as possible. I’m desperate for it. You see, I’m afraid my own thinking may be old-fashioned too. My world is sadly still dominated by men. I hope I can learn from you. Together we can improve not only the club but its members too. I need your help.”
Isbel tapped her fingernail on the side of her glass, considering his speech. Knowing that these clubs still existed in the modern world made her blood boil. They probably still sit around and complain about women getting the right to vote, she thought with bitter humour.
On the other hand … if Mr Lydon was sincere, then she would be in the perfect position to effect real change, at the highest level. Wilmot’s was a secretive institution, and there had been many rumours over the years about who its membership included. If she could integrate herself with such men of influence and power, using her fame to her advantage, it could be more effective than the speeches and statements she had made in the past. Real change. She cleared her throat.
“Well, I’m not saying I’m even remotely interested in joining your disgusting club. But I am willing to keep talking to you.”
“Thank you. First of all, if you’ll permit me, I’d like to tell you about the club itself. I think you’ll find it fascinating. It was founded in 1818, by a group of tobacco magnates. It’s named after Sir John Wilmot, the second Earl of Rochester. He was a seventeenth century poet and a courtier of King Charles the Second. He was infamous for his rakish lifestyle. In 1673 he fell in love with a beautiful young woman named Elizabeth Barry.”
Mr Lydon drained his glass, and waved at a nearby host to bring them another round.
“Your name, Isbel, is actually a diminutive of Elizabeth. Were you aware of that?”
“No, I didn’t know.” She rolled her eyes with sarcasm, wondering where he was going with this history lesson, as she finished her own drink.
“Wilmot trained her, first to be an actress, and then to be his mistress. She went on to become the most famous stage star of her time.”
“So you think telling me about an actress who was also a mistress will persuade me to join?” Isbel laughed, feeling a warm glow in her cheeks from the alcohol. “And I might be an actress, but I’m nobody’s mistress!”
“Of course you’re not. It’s just an amusing coincidence. Wilmot once wrote of Elizabeth, “With what face can I incline, to damn you to be only mine? Live up to thy might mind, and be the mistress of mankind.””
He paused, as though his thoughts had carried him elsewhere. After a moment, his eyes returned to his dining companion.
“Wilmot also wrote that Elizabeth, “Changed like nature herself, from passion to passion, from extreme to extreme, with piercing force and easy grace”. I think that you share those same traits, Isbel.”
“Please. I’m not weak for compliments.” She threw back playfully.
“Of course you’re not! And nor should you be. It’s not only because of your fame I wanted to meet with you. For a woman, you’re very opinionated.”
“Well, for a man, you’re very ignorant.” Isbel spat. He laughed and bowed his head.
“Now, don’t take that as an insult! It’s your opinions that make you so perfect for membership. Please, forgive me!”
It was Isbel’s turn to bow her head.
“Thank you. One topic I would like to talk to you about, is the uniforms we had our waitresses wear that regrettable charity night. I take it you were offended by them?”
“Of course I was! Women aren’t objects to be looked at.”
“So you believe there are no occasions when a woman should dress attractively for a man? You don’t think any women should do that?”
“Well some women might if they want, but I personally would never! I never wear revealing clothes or make myself up for men.”
“But you do choose to dress attractively, don’t you?”
“Yes, but I do it for myself.”
“You wear suggestive clothing, yes. As any beautiful woman should. I agree with you on that point. How do you feel about a woman dressing provocatively in the privacy of her own home? To please her partner sexually, for example?”
“Well, that’s entirely different. People are free to do whatever they want.”
“Don’t women dress provocatively because they subconsciously want to sexually arouse men?”
Isbel crossed her arms. Mr Lydon obviously required about fifty years worth of education.
“As I said, I dress for myself. I don’t care about arousing men. I choose my clothes on my own preferences rather than for the male gaze. Sometimes I might decide to wear a tight-fitting dress or a revealing outfit, but that’s if and when it suits me, not because I think society demands it.”
“That’s a wonderful way to think, Isbel. Let me tell you more about Miss Barry.”
She floundered. She expected a volley of ignorant counter-arguments, but here he was, supine and agreeable, hopping from topic to topic. The tequila felt warm in her stomach.
“With Wilmot’s training, she was transformed from an unknown starlet into the most famed actress of the Restoration. Colley Cibber wrote, “She had a power beyond all the actresses I have yet seen.” I perceive that you have a similar power on screen, Isbel, and that’s without training.”
Isbel couldn’t help but smile. He was right that she had never received formal training.
“Edmund Curll once remarked of Elizabeth that, “Passions were so finely expressed by her, that the whole theatre resounded with applause”. I think you too express passion exquisitely.”
“Well, thank you, I appreciate the compliment.” She replied. I’m not completely immune to flattery, she thought to herself.
“Of course, Elizabeth drew on her relationship with Wilmot for many of her performances, which scandalised many for their sexuality. Tell me Isbel, you don’t think you’ve reached such a level of fame at least in part because of your own sexuality?”
“That might have played a part, but I don’t care about how attractive I am to men.”
“But you do admit you are a very sexually attractive woman? Desirable?”
“Yes, I suppose so. But I don’t see …” He waved his hand in gentle interruption.
“You wear fashionable, revealing clothes to your film premieres, don’t you? You must admit that is to show your body off?”
“No! It’s because I like to feel good about myself. I hate the fashion industry. It portrays an image of totally unrealistic women, women who aren’t allowed to be themselves. It’s just wrong.”
Mr Lydon nodded as though he was beginning to understand.
“No, you are absolutely right. You are a compelling woman who is attractive because you are driven by self-worth, rather than a desire to arouse or titillate. You cannot help being sexually attractive, or having the effect you have on men. And you will agree when I tell you that you are obviously highly independent. You are very selective about whom you choose to love, I presume.”
“Yes, exactly.” Isbel replied, happy that he was beginning to think more progressively.
“And yet I imagine you give yourself permission to love passionately.”
“Well, yes.”
“Let me ask you, then: do you remember the red Lacroix dress you wore to the premiere of your last film?”
“Of course …” She said, with a touch of doubt. He did seem to know a little more about her than she had anticipated, down to the designer of her outfit. Still, he could have easily found a photograph of her on that night.
“It was backless, with a slit up to the thigh, yes?” He pressed.
“Yes. What about it?” Isbel replied, confused. Okay, that was a revealing dress. She tugged at the thin strap of her dress.
“That wasn’t an expression of your sexuality? That wasn’t an endorsement of the idea that fashion is used to attract mates, by enabling you to stand out amongst your rivals? Think about how you felt that night, in front of those cameras, that dress exposing so much of your body. Think about it closely for me. It was sexual, you must agree.”
Isbel couldn’t help but be reminded of how good she had felt in that particular red dress. Okay, she knew how sexy she had looked. But what did it matter to anyone but her?
“I admit it was an expression of my sexuality, but that was for me alone!”
“Of course it was. It was a way of exploring your self-assurance. Confidence is an exceptionally appealing trait. If I may interject a thought however, about what I observed about you that evening. Proper posture always makes you more fascinating. It’s one of the traits men say they notice most about a woman.”
“That’s hardly important to me.” Isbel said firmly.
“I want you to try a little exercise for me. To help me better understand your point of view. You might wish to discover if certain techniques might not be able to improve your own confidence. You admitted already that you’ve never had any formal training in the arts?”
“Yes, that’s true, but I don’t think you of all people can teach me …”
“Please, allow yourself to indulge me for just a moment. Straighten your back and hold your chin up. See if you feel any differently.”
Isbel breathed in deeply. Did she really want to humour him this way? She uncrossed her arms and pulled her shoulders back a little.
“Like this?”
“Yes. Consider your bearing and your essence.”
She raised her chin slightly, whilst still holding his gaze. He nodded appreciatively. As she faced him with her shoulders taut, Mr Lydon signalled over a waiter for yet more drinks.
“A quality man has no interest in a woman who slouches. He regards her as lazy, and if there is one thing men hate, it’s a lazy woman. It makes sense, doesn’t it? Are you attracted to lazy men?”
“No …” She admitted.
“No, of course you’re not. It’s something we can all change about ourselves. And that’s why I’m here. To make changes. If you will allow me to continue, if a man sees a woman whose body language seems to indicate that she doesn’t care about herself, he will simply lose interest.”
“What makes you think I care?” Isbel countered, shaking her head again. The dark brown curls of her hair bounced almost indignantly. Mr Lydon raised his hands to placate her.
“It’s natural for you not to think about these things. That you are a strong, confident woman is why I was keen on getting to know you. You obviously care about your image. Why wouldn’t a self-assured woman in full command of herself not feel that it’s not important to hold herself properly, and not care about how her body language does or doesn’t appeal to the opposite sex. Don’t you agree?”
“Yes, I suppose I do.” She said, trying to follow his line of reasoning, even if it confused her a little. His words echoed her own thoughts, it seemed to her. She was perhaps too quick to judge him. He paused as fresh glasses were placed before them.
“Then please, feel free to remain with your back straight, if it makes you more comfortable, and if you agree it indicates that you care about yourself. Do it for yourself if it makes you feel good, is all I ask. Let me return to the red dress you wore. The idea displaying your sex appeal for your sole enjoyment is fascinating to me, and I’d like to explore it further. You are sure you weren’t thinking at all of how you stood out that night? How attractive others might find you?”
“Well, no!” Isbel remarked, as she lifted her glass to her lips.
“Did you think at all about the colour of the dress? Was it chosen for you, or did you decide upon that one in particular?”
She thought back. The store had sent an entire rail of dresses over to her to choose from.
“No, I picked that one myself.” She said.
“Yes. For yourself. Did you know that psychological research has proved that the colour red is unique in rendering young women more sexually attractive?”
Isbel frowned, disbelieving.
“It’s true. Studies have shown that that particular colour makes women seem more attractive and more competent.”
She decided Mr Lydon had drifted into the realm of nonsense, no matter how knowledgeable he seemed. But he continued, expressing himself by waving his hands.
“They have also shown that women tend to wear red or pink when they are ovulating. When they are most fertile. To better attract a mate. Were you on your period then, Isbel?”
“What? How fucking rude!” She snapped at him in shock and anger. She was about to stand up and leave, when Mr Lydon reached out and touched her gently on the forearm. She saw embarrassment and remorse in his eyes. She remained seated.
“Forgive me, Isbel. That crossed a line, I can see. Please, let us pursue another avenue instead. Clear your mind of such distractions. Are you aware of certain recent discoveries regarding the dinosaurs?”
“What?” She asked, flustered not only by his rudeness, but now by this next strange turn in conversation. Suddenly, she remembered that she had indeed been on her period when she wore that dress. He was right. She shivered and tried to hide the sudden feeling of embarrassment that burned her cheeks. That doesn’t prove anything, she thought determinedly. Mr Lydon didn’t pay any attention as she pretended to brush a loose curl of hair from her brow. He simply continued his monologue.
“Many fossils have been unearthed over the years that show that some of those prehistoric reptiles had feathers.”
“Yes, I know that. Everyone knows that. Birds evolved from the dinosaurs.” Isbel said, taking another sip from her cocktail. He was being contrary and confusing and she was struggling to see where he was going with this.
“You’re right of course. But this new research suggests that the first feathers were very inefficient, and reduced the animal’s ability to run fast. That would make it more difficult to escape predators. Why do you think an animal would develop something that would actually be a hindrance to its own survival? Does that make sense?”
“Oh, I don’t know. But no, it doesn’t.” Isbel shrugged, exasperated.
“I want you to picture another force at work. A process of sexual selection. Traits deemed attractive to the opposite sex became more pronounced from generation to generation. These dinosaurs used their forelimbs for sexual display. Perhaps they ran around flapping their wings to show off how pretty their feathers were.”
Isbel stifled a laugh at such a ridiculous thought. He flashed his crooked teeth again.
“Feathers and dresses and the colour red on a woman’s body, it’s all one and the same. One and the same. We are all a product of our biology, Isbel. Men and women. It’s as old as the dinosaurs. So you must agree, that no matter your own thoughts, it’s simply a biological urge.”
“Well, from a certain point of view …” She started, intending to introduce a counter-argument. He quickly jumped in, in a smooth, reassuring tone.
“You don’t have to admit, you simply have to consider that it’s not impossible that, on some level, females display themselves for possible sexual partners, following their biological urges, and that you were really dressing that night, not only for yourself, but to attract and arouse.”
“Well,” She sighed. “If you have to put it like that, then yes. I was.” She decided this single point she would concede to him.
“And if you intended to arouse, did you yourself feel aroused?” He ventured.
“Well, yes …” She admitted, feeling slightly that she were giving away something she had not meant to. But she recalled feeling especially good that night. And wasn’t that why she expressed her sexuality? She didn’t—how did he phrase it? She didn’t care about how her body language did or didn’t appeal to the opposite sex. Even if it made perfect sense that it was her biological urge to attract and arouse.
“Wonderful. On certain things we can agree!” Mr Lydon laughed, raising his glass. She smiled back at him. Catching a glance at his watch, Mr Lydon started.
“Oh dear! It’s later than I thought. I’m afraid I must go. Please, will you agree to see me again? I feel that we’ve only begun to scratch the surface of your opinions. We have so much more to discuss.”
Isbel considered his request. She had to admit the thought of entering Wilmot’s as it’s first female member was becoming more appealing to her. And he was right, they still had much to discuss before she could possibly agree to it.
“Yes, let’s meet again. I’d like that.” She said, standing up, careful to hold her shoulders straight and her chin high. Mr Lydon nodded and clasped her hand.
“This was a very illuminating conversation, Ms McCauley. Coming to a mutual understanding regarding your biological impulses has been a great help. I’ll be in touch soon. Next time, I can tell you something of what goes on in Wilmot’s. I’m sure you have lots of questions, and I’ll be happy to answer them. I’ll tell you more about Elizabeth Barry, too if you want.”
“I’d like that, Alex.” Isbel replied.
“Good night, then. And next time we meet, I expect to see you wearing red.”