Chapter Text
1938
As a Korda, Maria Abarough-Korda’s funeral had no expenses spared on it. Money was nothing to Zsa Zsa, especially when it came to honoring his late wife. Though was it truly just to honour her, or was it out of guilt? It was a strong accusation to say Zsa Zsa felt guilt these days. However her overtly grand headstone and memorial statue might have given it away more than anything else. All Korda’s in some way, wanted to be remembered. Maria was a Korda even if just by marriage, and though she lived differently from Zsa Zsa, he knew her. She would have liked it.
He ignored the eyes on him at all times during the procession, icy snow clinging to his eyelashes. He concentrated instead on the casket on his shoulder. On the other side of him was Nubar - which, again, was something he ignored entirely. It seemed appropriate to invite him: some might have thought it to be vindictive. Zsa Zsa had thought once he might enjoy looking Nubar in the eye - if the rumours were true (not that he indulged in rumours) - but he had yet to achieve such an act. The rest were her brothers and an uncle.
The officiant said a few words. Zsa Zsa couldn’t remember them. They threw roses and dirt onto the casket. And just like that, it seemed to be over.
Almost.
Zsa Zsa would have liked to be away by now. Doing something useful with his time, like making money, but he knew etiquette demanded more of him. They were in Maria’s home city, nowhere near his Palazzo, so he couldn’t retreat to one of his many studies. Instead he wandered the room with a yet-to-be-lit cigar in his mouth, having already inspected the entire hotel the Abarough family had booked out for the following days. Maria was a celebrated, severe woman. Her and her family were all the same. He had liked that about her: she was cut and dry, and he needed someone like that in his corner. He hadn’t anticipated the cutting to also be aimed at him so much.
The golden halls of La Cardinal were hypnotic: white floors, shining mirrors and velvet curtains hiding little nooks. Within one such nook, Zsa Zsa discovered Marty and Bob. They invited him in, pouring him a drink from their fresh bottle of whiskey. Still, Zsa Zsa tested the glass before drinking. “How are you?” Marty had always been on the pulse of emotion so to speak more than the other two - it didn’t make him any good at dealing with emotions, but he at least knew they existed.
“As well as I can be.”
It was all Zsa Zsa wanted to admit, even to his friends. That was the thing about Korda’s: they didn’t have many emotions to speak of. He positioned himself so that he could peek past the partially closed curtains, watching the crowds. At the far end of the hall, Little Liesl sat on a lone chair propped against the wall. She had a glass of milk in her hands. She probably couldn’t see him from there… And actually, she should probably be leaving soon. The nun she was with would organise that, surely. Or maybe it was up to him now.
“What will you do now?” Bob asked to break the silence. He did mean about business, or just in ways of grieving, but Zsa Zsa took a different meaning.
“Well,” he shrugged, “I suppose I will give Maria the appropriate grieving time, and then find a new wife.”
Marty and Bob were to say the least confused. But now that Zsa Zsa had put it out into the world, it was part of his list of goals. He had realised it with just words alone - and Marty refilled his drink as he spoke, “Sorry if this is a bit personal, but don’t you think any time might be too soon?”
As per the Korda way, Zsa Zsa scoffed, “I have a household that needs taken care of, is that not a wife’s job? Why would I want to rely solely on staff when I can have someone who loves my home as much as I do?”
Is that why you are hardly there? The pair thought, but had to give him some leeway on the day of his wife’s funeral. This gave Zsa Zsa time to continue his train of thought:
“This time I need to find someone who Nubar doesn’t want to sleep with.” he kept his voice down, if only because he knew people were nosy. However the affair had been well known between the trio for some time. Marty and Bob looked at each other, wondering who might take this one. Their mental game of rock, paper, scissors had their answer: Marty shifted in his seat.
“Do you need to get married at all?”
Zsa Zsa looked at him as if he had grown two heads: “What?” he took the cigar from his mouth, still unlit despite his best efforts in the last half hour, “If you could get married, you would.” It seemed that Zsa Zsa’s comment struck an intended chord, and Marty straightened a little.
“If I could get married, it would only be once.” Marty couldn’t help but bite back. Zsa Zsa knew how to get at him. But they were both chasing each other’s tails now:
“You think this is my choice?!”
“Don’t pull that at her funeral!”
“Pull what! I asked you a question!”
“A loaded gun is what you’ve given me!”
“Taisez-vous!”
The sound of Bob interfering with their argument changed Zsa Zsa’s biting direction completely: “Oh, now you want to join in - how’s your wife?”
A sore subject for a little man. To be trapped in an unhappy marriage was to be expected of many people, but it wasn’t a source of pride for any of them. He wasn’t sure what made Zsa Zsa bring her up other than misguided vitriol, to give him something to snap onto: jealousy that at least he had a wife? Or to simply point out the fact that Bob was still trapped with someone he somewhat hated? The answer didn’t matter, because it did its purpose, and Bob visibly bristled before hissing out: “Alive.”
Zsa Zsa seemed to be ready to dive across the table at Bob, but the only thing stopping their conversation was the curtain snapping back to the small room: at the sight of their friend Miss Crystal, Bob was the only one to stand at attention. Out of politeness, of course. The two men looked up at him.
“Gentleman!” she snapped - short brown hair, curling under her ears. She was suitably dressed for the funeral, if not still somewhat glamorous - it came across as if it was effortless for her. The shine of her diamond earrings, the bracelet hanging from her wrist. Fortunately, or unfortunately, she was the type of person that always looked like she was trying to host a jazz bar without the intent to. “I fear I have to remind you this is a funeral. If you have nothing kind to say to each other, I suggest you zip it.”
“Yes, Crystal.” “Sorry, Crystal.” “Oui…”
She eyed them all separately, then finally looked at Zsa Zsa again. “Your mother-in-law is looking for you.”
The worst words he could hear. Still, Zsa Zsa stood, deciding to take the high road in front of Crystal before either of them could: a frustrating move. “My apologies, gentlemen. This day has simply gotten the better of me.”
“Yes,” Marty agreed with his analysis before continuing innocently, “I’m sorry, Korda.”
Bob stood in silence, pushed only by the pointed look of Crystal herself, that he opened his mouth: “I am sorry too.”
“Your humility is noted.” Zsa Zsa continued the fanfare, bowing his head to them both with a hand to his chest. It was hard for him to get cheap jabs at Marty, but Bob was like a salmon stuck on a shallow riverbed. So when he moved to stand with Crystal, he offered his arm to her - and she accepted. “And your wife,” Crystal began again, as if it was an afterthought, “Is asking for you.”
It took Bob a moment too long to realise he was the only one this message could be for - he blinked, “Oh, what is she wanting?”
“I am not a messenger. I don’t know.” Crystal’s grip on Zsa Zsa’s arm tightened, perhaps to play the game, and led him out of their line of sight. Marty tried not to laugh, taking a drag of his cigarette as if it might disguise the sound. Bob was too old to consider himself easily embarrassed, but he did hate the hot feeling on the back of his neck that came from that interaction. “I will see you out there I suppose.” He fixed his tie, nodding his goodbyes to Marty who raised his hand.
Crystal and Zsa Zsa circled the crowds - she was expertly taking them the long way to his mother-in-law. She had no experience in such relationships, but it seemed to pain him to talk to her. She couldn’t decide if that was because she was like her daughter, or if that was simply the way it was with mothers. “How are you?”
“I don’t like that question.” Zsa Zsa protested being asked so often, and so he turned it around, looking at her finally, “How are you?”
“This is depressing.” Crystal was sometimes too honest too quick, and she feared this was one of those times. But Zsa Zsa nodded: it was depressing for some. Especially when he could hear his mother-in-law wail in the corner. He’d have to visit her a few more times within the year, and then he could be done with her for good.
Crystal was, on paper, suitable for being a wife. He was surprised she hadn’t married already (though he was aware she had been engaged twice for some lengths of time in her youth). She had her own job, a singer, and travelled. So she wasn’t going to be in any position to take care of the household, or children. Still, “How many children do you want in your life?”
“That are mine?” Crystal took the question smoothly, used to his mental gymnastics. It also made sense to her: the death of his wife must have made him think of his future. What he had, what he didn’t. “Zero. You?”
“More than zero.” he seemed regretful, or thoughtful. It was hard for her to read him, but she did compel him to be honest. Their eyes met, Crystal far more suspicious than him as her judgement and her quick tongue once again spoke before anything else:
“You sent Liesl to a nunnery.”
At the time it had made sense, to try and protect her from truths she was too young to understand. And to give Zsa Zsa time, and space, to consider his options with Maria. And now, what else did she know? It didn’t make sense to rip her from that to bring her back to an even emptier home. Without her mother. “Well,” he started, giving himself time to think, “It gave her a chance to learn things she might not have otherwise at home. And now I don’t have time to look after her, with my business as well. Even with a nanny.” Was there fear there? Crystal didn’t have time to dig the way she liked to, and Zsa Zsa kept it that way. Brief. But even with those few words, she thought: he was trying to lead Liesl away from the childhood he had. Strange.
“Then you should say goodbye to her.” Crystal let go of him, and it was like he was released of his truths. Zsa Zsa handed her his cigar, “And then you must speak to your mother-in-law before she drives me mad.”
“I will.” he promised, marching away from her as she took a long draw.
Saying goodbye to Liesl was a fast, militaristic affair. He put her straw hat on her head and said goodbye to the woman that brought her. He told her to write, not that he’d get it, and told her he would visit, not that he would. She didn’t seem fussed about it, though did ask the sister where her mother was. Too young for a funeral. Far too young. Zsa Zsa remembered his own mother’s funeral…
He needed a drink.
As the afternoon progressed into the evening, the mourning had morphed into celebration. Zsa Zsa was usually quite fond of a party, and had been to enough funerals to expect it. Somehow, he felt anger. People were celebrating at his wife’s funeral. People were smiling, and laughing. And maybe they deserved to feel a modicum of joy in this moment of dread. And he thought spitefully, maybe his wife deserved to be forgotten so that people might be happy. But the thought disappeared as quickly as it intruded into his brain. The thought might have, but the feeling of spite did not. So he sat with Marty and Bob again, in the main hall, watching the crowds. Now with a few bottles of liquor in all of their stomachs, they had taken up the rather classless game of Find Anatole A Wife.
Zsa Zsa spotted another lady wandering in with two children - hyped up on sugar and all sorts. She was beautifully simple, in mind and in face, he knew that much. He pointed.
“Sophia.”
“She can’t have children.” Bob was very aware of Zsa Zsa’z intent on having a family. Not that he was very good at it from Maria’s perspective (or Liesl’s, Bob assumed), but he seemed to like the idea. Or rather, believed it was the done thing, and so he did. “Those two are adopted.”
Zsa Zsa spared his friend a glance, then looked at the children. Now that he mentioned it, there were no obvious signs of blood relation. “Adoption. That’s fun. Like a tombola.” he had never considered it before, but why not? It made for an undetermined outcome. One of those children could be a genius. If he adopted ten, there was a higher chance of geniosity.
“What did her last husband do?”
Marty tipped some ash away. “Trade, I think.” they could hear the cogs turning in Zsa Zsa’s head, “Leave the poor woman alone, Korda. She only just lost him.”
“I am doing nothing!” he insisted, trying to relax further into his chair to prove the point, fixing the button of his suit jacket, “I am just thinking. I’ve always wanted a big family.”
Bob found the statement crass, if not an outright lie: “You sent Liesl to a nunnery.”
Zsa Zsa ignored it. He wished people would stop pointing this out. Yes to them it seemed entirely related that his want for a family contradicted with sending his only child (so far) away, but at the time had to. A complete house, his father taught him, was a man and a woman and some children. Sometimes many children. Where those children came from didn’t really matter: it was the man’s job to spread seed. But he honed in on the first part, mostly:
It didn’t matter where they came from.
Zsa Zsa’s father used the term as an excuse for Nubar, and whatever other bastard children made it out into the world. Zsa Zsa decided to understand it a different way: it’s not that Zsa Zsa didn’t want to have children or go about it. But it was a lengthy process, and though neither would ever know or admit it, Bob was right: he was not a good father. Not good at raising, particularly. So why not skip the faff and find a child? Train them, hone them, teach them. Let them bring about their own riches.
Sophia, against the reputation that preceded her, was doing a smart thing. Zsa Zsa accepted the glass set down before him, mindlessly drinking - the mixture of exhaustion of the day and already being drunk hindering his caution. Sadly, that was what his assassin had been waiting for: ten minutes later, when Zsa Zsa tried to go to bed, he instead collapsed to the floor.
Fortunately, one of Maria’s brothers was a doctor, and though Zsa Zsa was confined to his room for the next week to get over his case of ‘light poisoning’, he made a quick recovery.