Jenny and Barnum (36 page)

He made her toes crack. “But you were wonderful tonight.”

“I'm still wonderful. Look at me, Barnum. I feel wonderful. The sin of it.” She paused, glancing to herself, offering herself that way to his gaze. He began to dry her breasts. “America,” she breathed. “What was I thinking when I came here?”

His eyes twinkled. “Not that this was a sin, surely.”

“You're so unafraid.” She ran her hand through his thinning hair. They were becoming lovers, she realized, exploring each other, and she wanted more and more to play her part. “I want to believe that you are the one of them all who is steady and true, but you're not—”

“I'm steady and true to myself—”

She yanked his hair, and shook his head. “You're the only one who is worse than me. You will do anything. On the ship I most certainly did not think this was a sin. I flirted with Charlie. I let him kiss me.” She kissed his forehead. “Fat, silly old man with a nose like an apricot. Do you hate me for talking like this? I knew what was happening,” she whispered, “but it was pleasant and I wanted to amuse myself.” She kissed his eyes and his lips. “I let many men kiss me.”

He brought her toward him. “But now you're in America.”

She giggled. “I thought I was in the Emperor's palace. Oh, Barnum, if you knew how I hate that story.”

“I'm not surprised. From what I've heard, you were a change of pace for Andersen. After you, he went scurrying back to his young boys.”

She closed her eyes again. “Don't talk like that, you horrid man. I let Andersen kiss me, too.”

Barnum kissed her neck. She tilted her head back and put her arms around him, but she was still holding the champagne glass. She tried to drop it gently on the carpet, but there was the tinkle of glass breaking. Just this one time she tried to surrender the burden of thinking. Under the circumstances, she could not fail to recognize the meaning of the breaking glass in Jewish ritual and tradition, or for that matter that Otto was Jewish. But she was Christian. Or believed she was. Wanted to be, Swedish bitch bastard wanted to be a wanton, Barnum undressing her in front of a fire on the top floor of a houseful of freaks. She could not fail to see the significance of surrendering to that, either. But she surrendered; she showed her strength, she thought, and finally, perfectly, surrendered; she surrendered.

14.

Barnum's idyll ended abruptly on Monday evening. From Sunday morning onward, it was not what he could have imagined anyway but Monday evening was a disaster beyond all imagining, making the Tuesday front page of every newspaper in the city. If he had not been chasing after Jenny Lind, literally, down one street and the next, until the sky started growing light, Barnum might have been able to keep the worst of it out of the public eye. Not all of it, to be sure, for when one of Barnum's troupe went to the hospital, it was news. Barnum had only himself to blame for that. In point of fact, he had no one but himself to blame for
everything
.

First, he forgot Charlie.

In the years before Charlie met Lavinia, Sunday after Sunday, whenever Barnum was in New York and Charlie wasn't on tour, Charlie would walk up to the American Museum and join Barnum for breakfast. In the old days, before Barnum reformed, or slowed down, he would forget to tell his teen-aged and worldly wise star attraction that there might be a third at the table—some fair young thing. Even if one of the employees downstairs knew that Barnum was not alone and could inform Charlie accordingly, Charlie would come up anyway, riding up on the employee's shoulders, more often than not. And since in those days a hangover was usually waiting to pounce on Barnum the moment he opened his eyes, Charlie did not hesitate to climb up on the bed and kick Barnum's backside until the great man rolled over, groaned, and caught sight of his gleeful little pal.

All that happened years ago, but the Sunday morning after Jenny's second concert was the first in two years that Charlie was in New York alone, knowing that Barnum was not in Connecticut for the weekend.

Of course, given his own frame of mind, Barnum was not surprised that he never gave Charlie a thought.

What awakened Barnum Sunday morning was the sound of Jenny screaming—and his first sight was of a pop-eyed Charlie, his mouth agape, losing his balance and falling back on his little keester on the bed. Because of his size, Charlie had not been able to see who was in the bed until he was on it.

“Oh, my God!” he squeaked.

Barnum could not contain his mirth, as much as he wanted to. Even as he spoke, his belly was shaking.

“No taking the Lord's name in vain, mosquito! Not on Sunday, and not in front of this lady!”

“Stop!” Jenny cried, from under the covers where she had hidden herself.

Charlie moaned like a hopeful nephew at his rich uncle's funeral. Barnum laughed out loud.

“Kill me, Barnum!” Charlie cried. “Step on me like a bug!”

Barnum eyed the cowering lump beside him. It was a grand opportunity. “I'm going to tear the skin off your face, you little degenerate,” he snarled.

Charlie sat up, alarmed until he saw Barnum's expression. “Don't hit me, Barnum,” he begged, working his way into the scene. “Oh, please, don't hit me!”

Jenny's head popped up, her finger tips clutching the tops of the blankets. “Don't you hit him—oh!” She saw it was a joke, and buried herself again.

“Now I
am
going to hit him!”

“You planned this, the two of you,” came her muffled protest.

“Oh-oh,” Barnum said with a shudder. “You better straighten her out, Charlie.”

“Not a chance, you old rouge.”

“I hate you both!” Jenny cried.

Barnum sat up. “Let's have a song, Charlie. Sing us a song.”

“You madman!” Jenny tried to curl up even smaller under the covers.

“Why can't we have a song?” Barnum asked blandly. “Come on, tadpole, a little tune, if you please.”

Charlie got himself seated on the footboard. Barnum had no idea of what he was going to do. The little man elaborately cleared his throat.

“
In ancient days there lived a maid,

Who plied a very ancient trade.

Her trade was one of ill-repute—

In fact, she was a prostitute!
”

Jenny came up like a shot, the covers falling down from her shoulders. Charlie grinned. “Good morning, my dear.” He sang:

“
Hi, ho, Cathusalem,

The harlot of Jerusalem!

Hi, ho, Cathusalem,

The daughter of the rabbi!
”

Jenny covered her face again. “You're both horrible!”

“That's enough, mouse,” Barnum said. “Make your exit, if you please.”

“I'm hungry, Barnum. I came here for breakfast.”

“Wonderful—but wait outside.”

“I'd cook it myself,” the little man said, as he lowered himself to the floor, “but I'm too short to reach the stove.”

Jenny sat up again. “What time is it?”

Charlie was sauntering toward the door. “Too late for church, sugar.”

“Worm!” Barnum yelled.

“Yes, worm!” Jenny shouted, laughing. When the door closed, she fell back on the pillow and looked at Barnum. “I am ruined.”

“No, you're not.”

“Oh, I am, and I don't care.” He kissed her. “What do I do, Barnum?”

“Now? Let me make love to you.”

She looked startled, her eyes darting toward the door. “Now? He's right outside. He'll know.”

“He expects no less,” Barnum said. “This is the way human. beings are, and he knows it because he's been in the same situation himself.”

“It doesn't bother him?” she asked between kisses. Her arms were around him. “I'm such a stupid woman, Barnum. I'm not a failure, too, am I?”

“No. And you're beautiful, a beautiful woman.”

“I am in pain,” she said.

“So am I.”

“Is it normal?”

“We have overindulged,” he said.

“Oh, Barnum, you have turned the world upside down—and me as well.” She giggled at her own joke, closed her eyes, and moved to accommodate him.

Charlie knelt on the counter, buttered the toast as his share of the breakfast preparations, and then sat on the table Indian-style with his plate of ham and egg in front of him while the other two kissed and held hands during the meal. He told them they were both crazy and he should have expected something like this because he had thought they were crazy ever since he'd met them. Barnum could not fail to see that Charlie was in a better mood than he had been recently. When Barnum said as much, Charlie pulled a pink envelope out of the inside pocket of his jacket and passed it over. The envelope was blank, and there was a single piece of matching pink paper inside. Was Barnum supposed to take it out? Charlie nodded. A line—just one line. No salutation. No signature.

Do you still love me?

Barnum recognized the handwriting: it was Lavinia's.

“Let Jenny see it,” Charlie said.

“What do you think?” Barnum asked.

“She made a mistake. Now she knows it, too.”

“Lavinia?” Jenny asked.

Charlie nodded. “Try to understand her. I made a mistake, too—well, lots of them—but the one I'm thinking of right now is drawing you into our problems when we were on the
Great Western
. The two of you shouldn't have trouble with each other. I'm going to talk to Lavinia about it, too.”

“Then you're going to see her,” Jenny said.

“I think she wants me to, and I still love her. I love you, too, but you're too big.”

She giggled and blushed.

“I'm going to see her,” he went on. “After all, what actually happened, and how important is it? I didn't treat her right, I know that. I kept telling myself how much I loved her and how lucky I was, but once I had everything arranged the way I liked it, I didn't pay much real attention to her at all. I could have married her a year ago, and I should have, except for what I just told you. Being married wouldn't have made me a more attentive lover.” He turned to Jenny. “There's the second thing, how important is it anyway? I mean, for everything I say and do, the fact remains that I'm a midget. Barnum doesn't like me saying this—”

“In public,” she said.

“Yes, in public I don't say it, but I think of it, and it will always be in the corner of my mind—that I'm a freak, a mistake. If I were an ear of corn growing out in the garden, I wouldn't make it to the table. I'm not important. What happens to me isn't important. If people knew about this, they'd probably laugh—”

She reached for his hand. “I know about it, Charlie, and I don't laugh. Do you know why?”

Barnum watched him stare. There was a fury in Charlie, and now he was afraid of what she might say.

“Charlie, I don't laugh because I love you, too.”

“I told you, you're too big. Do you see? If other people laugh, then it really can't be that important. Besides, you have to understand Lavinia. She's not the kind of person who can say, ‘Charlie, let's sit down and talk.' She's like me. She keeps things in and then she blows her top, like a steam engine. Some people are like that, not even brave enough to speak up when their toes are being stepped on. They have to blow up. It has nothing to do with size, but if you imagine spending your life looking up at school children, then maybe you'll understand what people like Lavinia and me go through.”

Now the floor shook, and the building thumped as if reverberating with nearby cannon fire.

“Here she comes,” Charlie said.

Jenny turned to Barnum. “Who?”

“Our prima ballerina,” Charlie said.

“Anna?” Jenny put her hand to her mouth. “Charlie, when you're with Barnum, you're as wicked as he is.”

He was holding her hand with both his hands, one wrapped around her thumb, the other around her little finger. That was how Anna found them when she shouldered through the door, Barnum holding Jenny's other hand up to his lips and—what Anna (and Charlie) couldn't see—his own free hand under the table, stroking the willing Jenny's ample thigh.

“Oh. Miss Lind, I didn't hear you come up. I heard Charlie a while ago—”

“We both came up hours ago, Anna,” Charlie said. “When you heard me, I was returning from the fishmonger's. The two of them sent me out for herring.”

She looked at the table. “There isn't any herring.”

Charlie smiled slowly. “I didn't like what he had.”

But Anna was looking at the way everybody was holding hands. Barnum was certain he would be able to come up with an explanation that would smother her suspicions—and gag her flapping mouth—but he really thought that it was just a matter of time before the cat got out of the bag, and the real gossip started.

Jenny was far from happy with so many people knowing her private business.

“You bastard,” she called Barnum when they were alone. “You fat, old, ugly bastard.”

“Why is it that that's the worst thing you can think of to call me?” he asked her at one point, and he regarded her answer as nothing short of amazing.

“You insist on doing everything your own way,” she said. “You want to turn the world inside out. You don't believe in right or wrong, good or evil—”

He wanted to tell her that he did, in his own fashion, but he was too struck by the way she had responded to him. There was no question that she had heard him, but she never looked at him, and merely went on talking, as if daydreaming aloud. It occurred to him that she was not really cursing him, but identifying him with her. He still had his European agents' reports on her, and Charlie's letters—she was thirty now, even if she did not want to say so, and had let her birthday slip by unnoticed. According to all his information, she thought
she
was fat, old, and ugly—on different terms from those in which she had just described him, of course, but the
words
were the same, said with a smile—and for the first time ever, he was sure.