Mrs. Houdini(18)

It was with great surprise that after their first night together, as the morning breathed itself through the open window of Harry’s room, Bess learned that she was expected to take Dash’s place in the trick. Dash wanted to strike out on his own, Harry said; he had never quite been comfortable with the uncertainty of the profession, and he wanted to return to the city and try his hand at other things.

“You and I will be the Houdinis now,” he said, beaming. “Harry and Bess. We’ll be on the billing together.”

Bess was aghast. “You can’t be serious. A few days isn’t enough time for me to practice all those tricks.”

“You’ll be fine. You’re much smaller than Dash—it will actually be better this way.”

Of course, she knew that what he was doing was merely deception, and if one knew the secret one could easily step into another’s part. Surely, as a Floral Sister she had been playing a part. Still, knowing how tricks were done and doing them were two different things altogether.

“What should I wear? I don’t imagine I could wear one of my singing costumes, with all those feathers.”

Harry went over to his dresser and pulled out a pair of thin black tights. “You can wear these.”

Bess took one look at the tights, hanging limply from his hand like a wrinkled snakeskin, and burst out laughing.

“I couldn’t possibly! You’ll—you’ll have me look like a prostitute, in front of all those people?”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, Bess. I’ve been to plenty of shows—circuses, things like that. This is what the women wear. You’ll have some kind of a dress on, too. Just—not so much as you’re used to.”

“I don’t think I can step onto a stage in that.” Out of costume, her usual nonstage underclothes alone consisted of drawers and an undershirt, a drawstring corset, a petticoat, a long-sleeved chemise, silk stockings and garters. “I’ve never shown so much of myself.”

Harry laughed. “Yes, you have.”

“My singing costume wasn’t that—”

“With me. Last night.”

Bess glared at him. “You’re a lousy brute!”

Harry shrugged. He was much more cavalier when he was talking about his act—a different person altogether, not the tender, nervous boy of the night before. Still, his stage arrogance—the confidence, the clear-eyed determination—was alluring.

“Besides, I’ll bet you know how to do half of my magic already. I’ll test you. The ropes—”

She shook her head. “Now you are trying to fool me. That’s the one thing that’s not a trick. I’ll bet you really do know how to break out of those ropes and all kinds of fasteners. It’s your talent.”

He laughed. “You’re a smart one.”

She hesitated. “There’s one more thing, and it’s something I can’t control. Whenever I’m nervous, my hands shake. I’ve tried, but I can’t stop it. What if they shake onstage?”

Harry smoothed her head. “You won’t have to do any of the difficult restraints. Just leave those to me.”

“Fine. But you have to do something for me first.” She hesitated. Voicing her request made her anxious. She wasn’t even sure it was what she wanted. “We’re married now. I want to introduce you to my mother.”

“She’s not going to like me, you said so yourself,” Harry said, frowning.

Bess thought about it. He was probably right. “We’ll see.”

“I’m ashamed that I’m poor, but I’m not going to be ashamed that I’m Jewish.”

“No one’s asking you to be.”

He folded the tights and put them back into the drawer among his other costumes, which had been carelessly stuffed inside. “Why does it matter to you that I meet her? You said you had moved in with your sister.”

“Because,” Bess said, “if you want me to meet your mother—and you said you did—it’s only fair that you meet mine. We’re not going to start this marriage off unfairly. You said it yourself—you want me on your billing, by your side. Not in the wings.”

Harry sighed. “All right. Let’s go today then, and we’ll meet each other’s mothers. And anyway, we’re leaving next week for the circus, and we’ll have to tell them.”

Bess glanced around his room, seeing it clearly now, for the first time in daylight. It was disastrous. His clothes lay in piles in the corners, covered in dust and dirt, and the place smelled strongly of sweat. Empty lemonade bottles were stacked on the bureau. Harry came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist. “It’s only temporary,” he said, as if reading her mind.

Bess grimaced. “That’s good.”

“There’s a Yiddish word my mother used to use: balaboosta. It means homemaker. That’s what she was. Always very organized. As you can see, I don’t have those same skills. Now you’ll be my balaboosta.” He grinned.

“Oh, I will?” Bess wasn’t sure she wanted to be anyone’s balaboosta. She had grown up in a house full of children and had never envied her mother the enormous tasks of housekeeping she faced every day.

Harry pulled her down onto the bed and flipped her over so he was lying on top of her. For a moment she wasn’t sure whether he was going to smack her or kiss her. Then he ran his fingers under her dress and began to tickle her mercilessly. Bess shrieked.