The Last Illusion (16 page)

Harry frowned. Clearly he hadn’t considered this before. Then he shook his head. “Couldn’t be. The guy just got here and you know what? Whoever did this would have to be familiar with my act. How would an outsider know where the key was kept in my jacket? I’ve never had to use it until last night. Had to be one of us.”

“And yet you don’t suspect the other performers?”

“Nah.” He shook his head again and patted Bess’s hand. “They’re both decent guys. I’d trust my old mother with them.”

“Speaking of your old mother, I went to your house looking for you. I hadn’t realized she lived with you.”

“She’s just visiting,” Bess said quickly. “Usually she lives with Harry’s sister, Gladys, or sometimes she stays with his brother Leopold, the doctor.”

“You have a brother who is a doctor?”

Harry nodded. “That’s right. Lives on the Upper East Side so he’s
come to visit us a couple of times. And my younger brother came up from Atlantic City, where he was performing to be with us too,” Harry said. “Did you meet my brother Dash? We’re a real close family, Bess can tell you that.”

“They sure are. Harry treats his mother like a queen.”

“She deserves it,” Harry said proudly. “She had to raise us kids alone in a new country when my father died. I promised him I’d look after her and I have. When I come back from this next tour in Europe, I’m going to buy her a house—a real fancy place, just like this clinic. In a good neighborhood in New York.”

“My, you must be doing well,” I said.

“Oh, we are,” Bess said, gazing at Harry adoringly. “Harry gets paid a fortune over in Europe. He only came home to see his mother, didn’t you, Harry? Otherwise he’d have stayed over there.”

He sort of half nodded, then turned away. I was watching Harry and there was something in the way he looked away quickly that made me wonder. If he could make so much more money in Europe, why exactly had he left at the height of his success and come home? Was it only just to see his old mother?

Bess propped herself up and leaned against her husband. “Did you know that the Tsar of Russia wanted to make him his right-hand man. He thinks Harry is in touch with the spirits or the supernatural or something.” She gazed up at Harry and laughed.

“I should have stayed. Maybe they’d have made me a prince. Given me a palace or two,” Houdini said jokingly.

“You know very well there was no way I’d have ever lived in Russia,” Bess said angrily. “And to tell you the truth, I’ve no wish to go back to Germany.”

“I told you, poopsie, you can stay in England next time I go over there. All right? Now don’t get yourself into another state.”

I got to my feet. “Maybe I should be going. I know that Bess is supposed to have absolute quiet.”

I looked across at Bess. If she had summoned me so urgently, was she going to let me go again? Was this meeting just designed for me to meet Harry, and nothing more?

“Thank you for coming, Molly,” Bess said, holding out her hand to me.

In the manner of old friends I took it and bent to kiss her on the cheek. “My pleasure, Bess. I’ll come and visit you again any time you want.”

“I look forward to that. I hope to be out of this crummy place by the end of today, don’t you think, Harry?”

“Crummy place? Bess, this is costing a fortune. And the doctor thinks your nerves need treating.”

“Yes, but it’s creepy here. I’d rather be at home. You’ll ask the doctor, won’t you?”

“Whatever you say, babykins. If you’re sure you’re well enough to go home.”

“I’m feeling much better. So maybe you’ll come and see me at the house then, Molly.” She was still clinging tightly to my hand. In spite of her frail appearance she also had a grip of steel. And she was staring hard at me, her eyes imploring. “You know the address, don’t you?”

I nodded and started to walk toward the door, unsure how to prolong this interview even though it was obvious Bess didn’t want me to leave. Was there some kind of hint I should have picked up from Bess upon which I should be acting?

I paused at the doorway, waiting for her to say more. I decided to give her one more chance to say something. “Mr. Houdini, do you think that maybe you should mention what happened last night to the police—if you really believe that someone was trying to interfere with your act, then that’s a crime, isn’t it? It could even have been murder.”

“We don’t want the police involved,” Harry snapped, dismissing me with a wave of his hand. “I’m only here for a couple of weeks longer. What kind of crowd would we get with police tramping all over the theater? Likely as not they’d shut us down. Don’t worry yourself, Miss—Murphy—is it?”

“Just call her Molly,” Bess said, “since she’s going to be your friend as well.”

“So don’t worry yourself, Molly. Believe me, I’m going to be taking extra care in future, double-checking everything—until I get back on that liner sailing for Europe.”

“You’re going to perform tonight at the theater then?” I asked. “Even though Bess is laid up like this?”

“I can’t let my American fans down and Mr. Irving has been good to us in the past. And now he’s paying us good money. Besides, I can do the act without her,” he said. “Of course I can’t do the Metamorphosis by myself, nor the mind-reading part, but the public comes to see the handcuffs, don’t they, baby?”

“But you always said that the mind reading puts them in the right mood to believe anything, didn’t you?” Bess said, looking up at him adoringly.

“Your brother says he used to do the Metamorphosis with you,” I suggested. “Maybe he could help you out.”

Houdini laughed. “That was when he was a skinny kid. Have you seen him now? There’s no way he’d fit into that trunk these days. Besides, he’s got his own act now. Know what he calls himself? Hardeen. Don’t they say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery?”

“So he does what you do?”

“Pretty much. Handcuffs, escapes, all the same kind of thing. Doing okay at it too. Of course he’s not in my league yet.”

The brother who just arrived in town and who called himself Hardeen. I wondered if he now saw Houdini as a rival, maybe.

“Harry, I’ve just had the cleverest idea,” Bess said suddenly. “Molly wants to get back into show business. Why don’t you use her in the act, just until I’m on my feet again? I’m sure she’s a quick learner and we could teach her the simplest of the mind-reading tricks.”

Houdini looked at me critically, then burst out laughing. “You want to use her in the act? Are you crazy? Look at her.”

I didn’t find this very flattering, I can tell you. I may not be petite but I’m not ugly.

“What do you mean? She’d look fine in the right costume and makeup,” Bess said.

“But she’s too big. She’s as big as I am. There’s no way she could get into the trunk.”

“Of course not,” Bess said. “I’m not saying she could do the Metamorphosis. You could do that other stunt by yourself. You know, the one where they put the handcuffs on you and chain up the trunk? The one you did when I didn’t come along with you to Russia. The audience loves that one.”

“I suppose I could,” Harry admitted.

“And she could help you with the mind-reading tricks I do, and act as your assistant.”

“I could never teach her the signals in time.”

“I’m a fast learner,” I said, although I wasn’t sure this was true. “I could give it a try.”

“You do need an assistant, Harry,” Bess said. “You always say that it helps to have a pretty girl onstage for the audience to watch, so that they take their eyes off you.”

“She doesn’t have a costume, does she?” I could tell he was now fishing for excuses. He really didn’t want me but he was scared of crossing Bess. “She’d never fit into anything of yours.”

“That would be no problem, Mr. Houdini,” I said. “I have friends who know a good theatrical dressmaker. I’m sure he could make me something appropriate.”

He opened his mouth and tried to think of something else to say, then sighed.

“I know, but—someone who hasn’t been in the business? I’m the star performer, Bess. I don’t work with amateurs.”

“Fine. It was just a suggestion,” Bess said angrily. She turned away from him and faced the wall. “But I had a bad scare last night, Harry. The doc says I was lucky to come through the way I did. So I don’t know how long it will be before I can trust myself on that stage again and I kind of think that the audience will soon get tired of just watching you standing there with a bunch of handcuffs.” She turned back to him. “They like variety, Harry. They like things they can’t explain. And they like a pretty girl. You know that.”

Harry looked from her face to mine. Bess reached out and took his
hand. “For my sake, Harry? Couldn’t you at least give it a try? Just a try?”

She was gazing up at him imploringly. For a long moment there was silence. Then he said gruffly, “Okay, babykins. I guess I could at least give her a try.”

Whether I liked it or not, it appeared I was about to become a magician’s assistant.

Fourteen

I
was already having serious misgivings by the time I presented myself at the house on 102nd Street the next morning. The day had not started particularly well. I had already dragged Ryan out of bed and made him take me to his dressmaker friend who turned out to be a gorgeous young man with eyelashes any woman would kill for. He was introduced as Daniel, which I found amusing as he was about as different as possible from my future groom, and I knew exactly what that future groom would think of him.

“Darling, what am I supposed to do with her?” Daniel asked, looking at Ryan in despair after we had explained what I needed. “She has a waist the size of an elephant.”

“I do not,” I said angrily. “It’s just that I’ve never seen fit to wear a corset.”

“And it shows, darling, it shows. I suppose I could build you something with plenty of whalebones, but you’ll have to absolutely pour yourself into it.”

“It doesn’t have to be like the French Follies,” I said hastily. “I don’t intend to cancan or striptease. I just have to give an impression of
glamour onstage and to distract the audience from what the illusionist is doing.”

Daniel shook his head. “But glamour demands an hourglass figure.”

“You are the master,” Ryan said. “If anyone can create her an outfit, you can.”

“Flatterer,” Daniel responded. He gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, well, I suppose I’ll see what I can do.”

“And I do need it in a hurry,” I pointed out.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “You don’t need me, you need a miracle-working saint. You Irish know your saints, don’t you? Who is the patron of producing instant glamorous outfits?”

I looked at Ryan and we laughed, thus breaking the tension.

“Don’t worry, he fusses a lot but he’ll do it, and you’ll look fabulous,” Ryan assured me as we came away. “He really is a genius. I absolutely insist that he makes all the costumes for my productions.”

So I had what was probably going to be a horribly expensive costume being made for me with a grudging promise that it would be ready for a fitting in the morning. Now all I had to do was learn how to be an illusionists’ assistant in one lesson. How did I get myself into these things? I wondered.

The day was not quite as stiflingly hot as the one before and I was altogether in a better mood when I alighted from the train at Ninety-ninth. That mood seemed to be radiated from the other people on the street. Old men were sitting on stoops, windows were open with bedding draped over sills to air. The girls were still playing jump rope games and women paused from their sweeping and polishing to look up with a smile, remembering the days when they had time for games.

Houdini’s brother opened the door to me at their house. “Oh, it’s you again,” he said. He didn’t look too thrilled to see me.

“Has Bess come home from the hospital?”

“Yes, but she’s really weak. My mother is making her some Hungarian beef soup.”

“And your brother is here?”

“Ehrie? Yes, he’s with her.”

I hadn’t heard him called that name before. “Ehrie?” I asked.

He nodded. “That’s his name—Ehrich. I guess that’s where he got the name Harry from for his act. Well, I suppose you’d better come in.”

He led me into a dark hallway and then opened the door to a front parlor. It was truly hideous—dark, overstuffed, and Victorian at its worst with velvet sofas, chairs with skirts to them to hide the offending legs, dried flowers and birds under glass domes, in fact not an inch of space that hadn’t been decorated with something. Then I remembered that this was a rented house and forgave the Houdinis for the awful taste. It was also clearly a traditional front parlor, the type that is never used, except for weddings and funerals. The pillows looked as if no back had ever leaned against them. I perched uneasily on the edge of the nearest chair and waited.