Mrs. Houdini(24)

Now she was brazenly flirting with him, leaning into him and saying something that was making him laugh. She had the tiniest waist Bess had ever seen, and Bess watched as Harry reached out and placed his hand on her hip.

“Bess.” Doll put her arm around Bess’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about them, love. He’s just trying to make you jealous. He’s your husband.”

Behind them, Bess heard a cork popping, and she turned to see one of the sailors holding a bottle of champagne over his head, the white froth pouring down the sides and onto the table.

“Where did you get that?” Bess asked him.

He grinned at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” When she shrugged he said, “We just got back from a haul, and I’ve got a stash of money. Want a glass?”

Bess nodded. “I would, please.”

“You’ll have to do a little something to get it.”

Bess blushed. “I don’t think so. I’m no chorus girl.”

“Nothing as bad as you’re thinking, you dirty girl,” he said coyly, holding up an empty beer glass. “You see, I only have this one glass to drink out of. Just come sit on my lap for a few minutes, and we can share it.”

Bess looked over at Harry again; his arm was still around Evatima’s waist.

“All right,” she said and moved cautiously to the sailor’s table. He was actually quite handsome, and clean, too—unlike most of the men she encountered in the beer halls. He looked about Harry’s age, and had similar dark features and a rounded chin.

“Are you Catholic?” she asked him as he handed her the glass.

He laughed. “I look it, don’t I? Sono italiano.”

“My mother would like you then.” She took a large gulp of the liquid and wiped her mouth.

“Is she that easy to please?”

“That hard to please, you mean.”

He put one arm around her stomach to keep her from falling off his knee. She could feel his hardness under her dress. “And what about you?” he asked. “Are you easy to please?”

Bess laughed. “Sometimes.” The champagne was going to her head, and she felt light with alcohol and flattery. Too late, she wondered what kinds of men she would have been able to attract if she hadn’t been so eager to marry Harry.

She leaned back against the sailor and lay her head on his shoulder. He bent over, pushing the hair out of her face, and kissed her hard on the mouth.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Harry, still seated at his far table, staring at her. Evatima was gone, and he was wearing a look of such incredulous horror that she felt as if she had been struck in the gut.

He stood up, almost mechanically, and made his way to the door. She scrambled off the sailor’s lap and followed him outside. She found him sitting on the sidewalk, his face in his hands, crying.

“Harry,” she said. “It was nothing. It was a mistake.”

“How could you?”

She put her hand on his shoulder. “Darling, please don’t be mad. It was just a kiss.”

“I need you to leave,” he said, lifting his head.

Bess looked at him, startled. “Leave? What do you mean?”

“I want you to go to your sister’s. I’ll take you to the train station.”

“That’s ridiculous. You were flirting, too, to make me jealous. What about your promises?”

“You betrayed me, Bess. You swore you never would, and you did.”

She felt as if she were on the edge of hysteria. “If I go to my sister’s, will you come find me?”

Harry stood up. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“We can’t leave—all those people inside are there for us.” She watched him walk away, his gait stiff and unnatural. She was terrified, but also inflamed by the alcohol, and by the memory of his flirtations with Evatima. She ran after him. “Fine,” she cried. “If this is what you want, I’ll go! You’ll regret it!”

They didn’t speak on the walk. The last train to Grand Street left at ten. Harry bought her ticket and stood with her on the platform until the train pulled in. “Good-bye, Mr. Houdini,” she said when the doors opened, trying to maintain her dignity.

Harry looked at her coldly. “Good-bye. I’ll wire your sister to tell her you’re coming.”

Bess’s knees trembled as she climbed the steps onto the train. She half expected Harry to come running after her, but when she looked out the window he was still standing there, his face unforgiving in the blue moonlight. She wondered what she would say to Stella, when just a week before she had so brazenly declared herself willing to give up everything for a man who was now abandoning her.

She sat shaken, as if in a dream, during the thirty-minute ride. How did one go about getting a divorce? she wondered. And how would she arrange one if Harry was leaving in two days for the circus? She felt herself choking back tears, imagining him doing the act without her. Just a short time ago he had proclaimed her extraordinary, and she had believed him. But then he had cast her off just as quickly, and she was a fool. By the time the train pulled into the station she was sobbing quietly, much to the horror of her seatmate, an elderly woman clasping a heavy brocade handbag.

Bess looked around for her own case and realized, alarmed, that she hadn’t brought one—all she had was her little purse with powder and a few coins. When she saw her sister’s tall figure standing on the platform, waiting for her, she knew it was true—Harry had wired her after all, and he wasn’t coming back for her. She took the steps two at a time and threw herself into Stella’s arms.