Mrs. Houdini(19)

“Say you will!” He laughed. “Say you’ll do it!”

“Okay, okay!” Bess cried, squirming under his grip. “I’ll be your balaboosta!”

Harry sat up and smiled at her. “Good. I knew you’d come to your senses.”

She tried to push him over, but he was too strong. “You are so infuriating!”

Harry took her chin in his hand and kissed her. “But I’ll do my part,” he said. “I’m going to take care of you. I promise. You’ll have everything you want.”

Looking around the room, she wasn’t so sure this would be true. But despite his flaws, she already loved this stranger beside her. She had loved his swagger onstage and his dark, impenetrable eyes, and now even his incompetence at housekeeping.

She lay back on the bed and closed her eyes. “Have you ever been inside the Brighton Beach Hotel?”

“Not yet.”

“Neither have I. But I’ve memorized their menu. Littleneck clams, baked bluefish, meringue for dessert.”

“One day,” Harry said, “we can go there. We’ll come with our servants and stay the whole summer. We’ll watch the races along Ocean Parkway on Sundays. And we’ll have one dinner in the hotel and after the fireworks we’ll go over to Tappan’s for a second dinner.”

Bess laughed. “Yes. Instead of Paddy Shea’s. Anna thinks that’s the height of elegance. But then again, she also dreams of staying in the Elephant Hotel on her honeymoon.” Compared to the Brighton Beach Hotel, with its white curtains and silver chargers in the dining room, the Elephant Hotel was garish; it was built in the shape of an elephant, with rooms that were cramped and dark.

“With the cigar shop in front? You’re kidding.”

Bess shook her head. “What did you do before you were Harry Houdini?” she asked. “Do you have any skills beside magic?”

“Do you mean how will I support you if I fail at magic? Well, I won’t fail,” he said. “But, to humor you, I can tell you I was very efficient as an assistant necktie cutter for a little while. At H. Richter’s Sons in New York.”

Bess sat up. “H. Richter’s? Next to Siegel-Cooper? I worked as a waitress in their café during high school! Do you think we’ve met before?”

Harry thought about it. “I quit five years ago. So you would have just started.”

Bess tried to remember the faces of the patrons who used to frequent the restaurant, but they were only shadows. “I do think it’s possible. The men from H. Richter’s came in for coffee all the time.”

“What were you doing working at fourteen anyway?”

The hair rose on Bess’s arms. “My stepfather was—is still, I suppose—a terrible drunk. I don’t think he’ll be there when we go to Brooklyn, thank God. He’s never there. But after my mother married him, he used to come into my room at night. At first it was nothing—just friendly kisses on the cheek, to say good night. Then one night, when I was sixteen, he tried to climb into bed with me. I kicked him so hard he was laid up for a week. After that, I moved into my sister’s apartment with her and her new husband. So I got a job to help pay my part of the rent.”

Harry stroked her head. “You poor thing.” His expression was pensive. “I think a part of me remembers meeting you and a part of you remembers me. Even if the memories are not on the surface right now. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to you.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in things like fate?”

Harry shrugged. “Well, I believe in stories. Sometimes we can make them true even when they’re not.”



Mrs. Weiss lived in a walk-up tenement apartment on East Sixty-Ninth Street with Harry’s younger sister, Gladys, and brother Leo. Leo worked on the docks and was rarely at home, but Gladys led them into the living area. She was a tiny girl, barely twelve years old, and very frail, her wrists thin as rope. Bess saw her standing in the doorway—she was clearly blind and stared right past them into the darkness of the hallway; the right side of her face was marred with faint scars. Harry hadn’t told her anything about his siblings, never mind a blind sister who had certainly been the victim of some kind of accident—but it was clear the girl worshiped him. She grasped his arm as he led her toward the faded pink sofa where Mrs. Weiss was waiting in a black lace church dress, hands clasped in her lap, to receive them. Her gray hair was tied neatly behind her head in a low bun.

“Mein geliebter Sohn!” she cried, reaching up to embrace Harry, tears streaming down her face. She kissed both sides of his face three times. Harry had told Bess that Mrs. Weiss didn’t know a word of English. German was the language of the household, and Bess had fortunately learned a conversational use of it in her own house, although her parents spoke mainly in English. She had not mentioned this to Harry; she was eager to hear how he would present her if he did not think she could understand him.

“Mother, dearest,” Harry said, motioning to Bess, “this is my wife, Beatrice.”

Mrs. Weiss looked at her sharply. “You love each other very much?” she asked Harry.

“Yes, we do.”

Bess could see Mrs. Weiss’s hesitation as she considered her response. Finally she smiled. “Then I have not lost a son,” she said. “I have gained a daughter.”