‘No.’
‘Made John Junior a lot of dough. The wrong trade I went into. Though death we had plenty of toward the end. People beaten to death in speakeasies, people having “accidents” off the top of skyscrapers. Too much high living. I laid her out, you know.’
‘Who?’
‘Billie. John Junior’s wife. God, she was beautiful, even at the end. Most beautiful thing I ever saw. Here, look.’ Mr Torchinsky stooped down some more and reached into a drawer at the bottom of his desk. He rummaged for a moment and then brought out a large paper bag. From inside the bag he carefully removed a magazine and laid it in front of me. It was a copy of Vogue from 1925. On the cover a young woman looked out grinning. She was gorgeous. A kind of living poster for what the jazz age wanted to be. She wore a khaki shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a blue—and-green-striped tie and dark pants tucked into knee-high leather riding boots. I guess the outfit might have been considered somewhat shockingly masculine for the time. Billie, however, looked very female and very fabulous. Her short blond hair with its Marcel wave was a feminine full stop to a formidable costume. Beside her, looking calm despite the fame, stood a huge tiger. A banner proclaimed the woman: Billie Blake, Tiger Tamer. I suppose it was a cliché of the jazz age really — a 1920s woman, young, blonde, exciting, living life on the edge — but I thought it was thrilling.
‘Greatest female cat trainer of all time,’ declared Mr Torchinsky. ‘And she had some competition then. In her time it was a growing business. I think there were more than fifty animal trainers in the US in the twenties, but Billie carried the flag. Such an instinct the girl had for it. Mr Torchinsky picked up the magazine and leafed through it tenderly.
‘And you knew her?’
‘Oh yes, I saw her in the cage many times. So beautiful. It was something to watch. Not that I think her family was pleased. They wanted her to be a nurse, but she couldn’t do it. She had this thing about blood. Forgive me, but a nurse who can’t deal with blood is like an undertaker who worries about ghosts. I think she graduated and everything but then she had a kind of breakdown. Her father, who was a big noise in bicycle wheels, sent her to California to recuperate. Bicycle wheels, such money in that too. Boots, bicycle wheels, things in factories. Me, I’m an undertaker.’ Mr Torchinsky sighed as he looked at the faded, rich people having a good time in the old publication.
‘John Junior only saw that magazine and decided to marry Billie. I remember when I met her. When John Junior brought her home to the house.’
After her breakdown, Billie had been packed off to stay with her uncle Lief and his daughter Grace, Grace Gerritsen. Grace was a year younger than Cousin Billie and not anywhere near as beautiful. What she was was tall. ‘Statuesque’, people said, when they were being polite. She was also fantastically strong. Built like an Olympic rower. It gave her a kind of magnetism a lot of people found attractive. Until Billie arrived, Grace had led a rather solitary life. She was studious and liked to read, especially history. She didn’t go out much, but Billie changed all that. The two young women hit it off right away and it didn’t take long for Billie to make sure they were the talk of the town. Two independent women with money to spend and the energy to spend it. It was the summer of 1922 when Grace, then seventeen, and eighteen-year—old Billie went to visit Selig Zoo in Los Angeles. There they saw a stuntman wrestle Rajan, a huge four-hundred-pound Bengal tiger. It was the most exciting thing either of them had ever seen.
The stuntman was called Roth and Billie asked him if she could come in the cage with Rajan. People didn’t know about wild creatures then, and anyway Billie was legendary for not giving up when she wanted something. She plagued Roth until he relented.
‘You have to sign a release form,’ said Roth. ‘I ain’t havin’ your friend here crying when Rajan turns you to corned beef’ Billie laughed and signed. She wouldn’t let Grace do it. She was like that. Always protecting her. Playing the older one. A small crowd gathered as Roth opened the cage door and let Billie in. Rajan was lying in a corner at the back of the cage. He got to his feet as Billie entered and began to pace round her. Billie stood her ground and let him approach. Grace stood entirely still, watching. The crowd was silent. Then Rajan lowered his head and gently butted Billie on the leg with his fore head. She reached out and petted him. He promptly lay down and fell fast asleep. $350 later, the two women owned a tiger. It was no problem for the zoo. For that money they could get a new tiger and have money left over for a flock of penguins. Things were different then.
John Junior arrived in California in July of 1925 with two purposes. To do some deals with Hank Forepaugh, owner of the Fantastical Forepaugh-Sells Circus, and to bring home a wife — Billie. By then Billie was quite a name. She had even been in Vogue magazine. John had never met her but he hated detail. That was what Milton, his money man, was for. John Junior had only been in the entertainment business a couple of years but he was already making a big noise. When he arrived at the Sacramento site where Forepaugh-Sells was currently raking it in, Hank Forepaugh was more than happy to give him the big tour. The two men and Milton emerged from a small side tent. Hank was in full flow.
‘I am telling you, the public cannot get enough of the Ubangis. It is the biggest side—show attraction ever. They are fabulous. From West Africa. French, ain’t it? Who knows? Anyhow, there’s thirteen of them including Queen Guetika or somethin and two guys. The rest are women and they are fantastic. They have these lips like saucers. Apparently it’s, what do you call it? Tradition. In their culture, you know in Africa, they figure women are beautiful if they have these huge lips. Really. They split ‘em open when the girls are babies and stick discs in them. Then they get bigger and bigger discs till they have these flabby lips.’
Milton mopped his brow with an initialled handkerchief ‘Imagine them going down on you. I mean, I was thinking with those lips.
Forepaugh shrugged. ‘What the hell do I know? I don’t care. The public can’t get enough of ‘em. I stick ‘em in a side tent and folks can buy fish and unpeeled bananas for a nickel to feed to them. They eat it too. Whole raw fish and unpeeled bananas. If you’re interested we could talk.’
‘Excuse me. I’ll be right back.’ Something had caught Milton’s eye.
John Junior stepped over the pools of mud round the big top. He was skirting round what he really wanted. Immaculately dressed as ever, and any elephant looking closely at him would have known the truth. John was in musth. He was searching for a mate so hard that he was practically leaving a scent trail. He stayed smooth though.
‘What do you hear about Barnum?’ he inquired of his fellow promoter.
Hank shook his head. ‘Gee, they say he got a mermaid from some Jap fisherman in the Fiji Islands. A genuine preserved mermaid. The real McCoy. That guy gets so many breaks. Imagine that landing in your lap.’
John shook his head. ‘Seen it. It’s actually the head and upper body of a monkey very carefully sewn on to the tail of a large fish. It’s good though. He’s making money.
Hank sniggered. ‘Bastard.’ He paused and sucked on a large cigar while he contemplated. ‘I got a spare monkey. What kind offish?’
A formidable-looking woman emerged from one of the side tents. She wore a hat so large and so feathered with confidence that it probably could have approached on its own. The woman’s hair was pigeon grey and pulled back into a traditional chignon. She wore a black dress. Very long and very proper.
‘Mr Forepaugh!’ she called in the clipped, forceful manner of the English aristocracy. It was a voice accustomed to calling servants across fierce drafts in large family houses. ‘Mr Forepaugh.’ Hank sighed and hid his cigar behind his back.
‘Mrs Lintz. How delightful. Is everything okay?’
‘No, Mr Forepaugh, it is not, as you put it, okay. There is a monkey in that enclosure which is quite clearly unwell.’
‘Yeah, oh yeah, the monkey. Don’t worry. I have great plans for the monkey. Mrs Lintz, may I introduce John Burro
ughs Junior? John, this is Mrs William Lintz, she’s from England. She takes in sick animals from circuses and stuff’
Animals are my hobby and my life, Mr Burroughs. We have a moral duty to see that our animal friends lead a good life,’ interrupted Mrs Lintz.
‘Indeed.’ John tipped his hat toward the elderly woman.
She gave him a small nod and then inquired, ‘Would you be the Burroughs of the Burroughs Western Wonder Show of the World with Stupendous New Equine Features?’
‘The same,’ said John.
Mrs Lintz tutted. ‘I went. It only has one horse in it.’ John smiled. ‘You don’t say? Less work for the animals, eh? Lovely hat, Mrs Lintz.’
Mrs Lintz, unaccustomed to compliments, blushed.
Hank knew a good moment when he saw one and slipped away to his wagon, leaving John with the formidable woman. John could delay no longer.
‘Would you care to see the tigers, Mrs Lintz?’ He graciously offered her an arm.
Billie and Grace were both at the tiger enclosure. As usual Billie was inside the cage and Grace waited by the door. Billie and Rajan were locked in an embrace which drew sharp breaths from Mrs Lintz. She and John stood in silence as Billie concluded her workout by opening Rajan’s mouth and putting her head in. As she released his jaws and stood up, Rajan’s teeth snapped shut. Mrs Lintz gasped.
‘Oh my dear,’ she cried, ‘isn’t that dangerous?’ Billie grinned through the bars as Rajan slunk off to a corner.
Absolutely. Very dangerous.’ She leaned closer toward the elderly woman. ‘Tigers have really terrible breath.’ John laughed as Grace moved to open the cage door and let Billie out. Then she held a small basin for her, checked the temperature of the water and handed her cousin a small towel so she could wash her hands. Mrs Lintz was still somewhat taken aback.
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Lintz,’ Billie chuckled as she splashed water without a thought. ‘It’s all make-believe with animals. You see, they think you are stronger than they are. It’s my business to keep that idea going.’ Billie finished wiping her hands and held the towel for Grace to take. The two women smiled at each other as Grace moved to empty the bowl. Billie looked at John. ‘So, Mrs Lintz, who’s your friend?’
‘I do beg your pardon. Miss Blake, may I present John Burroughs Junior.’
Billie cocked her head on one side. ‘Of Burroughs Western Wonder Show of the World with Stupendous New Equine Features? I hear it only has one horse in it.’
John smiled. Apparently so. I’m new to this line.’
‘New? What did you do before you launched into entertainment, Mr Burroughs?’
‘Boots. I was in boots.’
Billie smiled. ‘Burroughs Boots — The Best Boots Money Can Buy. And now the public stand in line for your shows wearing your boots.’
‘I do hope so.’
‘Now, Miss Blake,’ Mrs Lintz beetled on. ‘Your tiger…’
‘Rajan.’
‘Rajan. Is he well cared for by Mr Forepaugh?’
‘I care for him, Mrs Lintz,’ interrupted Grace. ‘He is very happy.’
John looked at her for the first time. ‘Happy? Is that a concern? Miss.
Grace looked him in the eye. ‘Gerritsen. Grace Gerritsen.’
Mrs Lintz could hardly contain herself ‘Concern! It should be the only concern.’
‘I see,’ said John, ‘and pray how can you tell he is happy?’
Billie smiled. ‘Easy, Mr Burroughs: he never tries to eat me.
It was obviously a passionate subject for Grace. ‘Of course we must worry if an animal is happy. Why—’
A fantastic noise erupted from behind the main tent and Milton appeared, running, with his pants halfway down his legs. He was desperately trying to pull them up but this was hindered by the speed with which he was running. Hot on his heels came Forepaugh.
‘I’m going to kill you, you prick!’ Milton hightailed it round behind Rajan and stood looking through the bars and tugging up his pants as Forepaugh approached. The two men circled round, eyeing each other.
‘Look, Forepaugh, I’ll make you a deal.’
‘You were screwing my wife.’
Milton didn’t deny it. ‘Must have been a misunderstanding. Listen, we could talk.’
‘I am not talking with anyone who is fucking my wife.’ By now Mrs Lintz had become quite faint. Grace helped her into the fresh air.
‘What do you think?’ whispered John to Billie as they watched the stand-off.
‘I think he was probably screwing the wife.’ Billie eyed the two men dispassionately and whispered matter-of-factly, ‘Forepaugh‘ll kill him.’
‘No, I know Milton. They’ll cut a deal. ‘John carried on watching Forepaugh and Milton and spoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘I want you to come to New York with me, Miss Blake.’
‘Why would I do that, Mr Burroughs?’
‘Well, I was thinking, if we’re going to get married it would be more convenient if we lived in the same state.’
Grace, Billie, Rajan, Milton and John Junior caught the 8.05 out of Sacramento bound for New York. The porter secured them two first—class compartments for the humans and a boxcar for Rajan. John Junior stopped Milton for a second in the corridor as they boarded.
‘So, what deal did you do with Forepaugh?’ he asked.
‘No problem. I cut him in on the action. There’s plenty for everybody and it’s so neat.’ Milton became sweaty with financial excitement as he removed his notebook from his vest pocket.
‘I got it all figured out, John. We buy whole distilleries.’
‘What distilleries? They closed them all.’
‘They didn’t knock ‘em down. They just closed ‘em. Distilleries, corner saloons. They’re closed but someone still owns them and they still have a stock of whiskey. Look, here’s an example. .
‘Forget it, Milton. We are not bootlegging. I want everything above board.’
Milton mopped his brow in aggravation. ‘Listen, John, in the last normal year before that splendid law called Prohibition was passed, our fellow citizens consumed two billion gallons of hard liquor. And what are they doing now? Drinking coffee? No, they are waiting for us to come good. They are waiting for us to come through with—’
‘No liquor.’
‘Did I say liquor?’ Milton smiled at his own skill. ‘John, would you deny a sick man his medicine? Or a religious man his sacramental wine?’
‘Of course not. So we sell a little medicine, a little church wine.’ Milton scanned his notebook for the figures. ‘Sacramental wine is very big. Every practicing Jewish family is allowed one gallon per adult per year. The amount of wine a synagogue can get depends on the number of worshippers. Now, I can get you a six-hundred-member synagogue working out of a delicatessen on Upper East Side, five hundred and forty out of a Chinese laundry. All kosher. The Assembly of Hebrew Orthodox Rabbis in America. Nice people. Run by an Irishman called Sullivan.’
John sighed. ‘I said above board.’
‘Really? Above board? The bearded lady? Snow White’s actual dwarves? George Washington’s nurse? And you‘re telling me above board?’
‘That’s different. Isn’t there something else?’
Milton flipped through his papers. ‘I was thinking we could move the factories. You remember boots? You used to make boots?’
‘The point, Milton?’
‘I just did it as an exercise, but if we close down all the Sassaspaneck factories and move everything south, say Georgia, I figure we can clean up. No unions, cheaper labour. They say the white trash’ll do what you tell ‘em. We can do a stretch—out. Increase the work but not the money. At the moment we’re paying eighteen dollars ninety-one a week per head for forty pair boots. I figure we can go to twenty-three dollars but one hundred pair. Of course, it’ll kill the town.
‘Whatever you think, but no bootlegging. ‘John moved to knock on the door to Billie’s compartment and paused. ‘So what happened with Forepaugh’s wife?’
&
nbsp; ‘Give me a break. She was begging for it. Forepaugh never touches her.’
‘But she was a good-looking woman.
Milton put away his notebook bible. ‘Yes, but he hurt his back. Some big fire in Monterey. He had to carry the four-hundred-pound fat lady from the freak show out of the blaze.’
John was impressed. ‘Boy, he must like the fat lady.’
Are you kidding? Do you have any idea of her return at the side—shows? Mind you, some of those side—show dames can be something. I once slept with Barnum’s wild lady.’
‘Borneo?’
‘Nah, Rhode Island.’
‘Come on, Milton, I want you to meet the woman I am going to marry. Oh, and Milton?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Button your pants.
On arrival, Billie decreed that Burroughs House was plain and that John’s sister Phoebe was delightful. Phoebe took to Grace instantly and was soon being wheeled about and cared for by her new friend. On the lawns of Burroughs House, as the sun was setting, John gave Billie her engagement ring.
‘Why are you doing this, John?’ she asked. ‘You hardly know me.’
‘I know everything I need to. You are beautiful. You are fearless and clever. I’m rich. I can look after you and together we will raise the most beautiful family.’
It was as good a deal as Billie was ever going to get. So she agreed. They formed a gene pool. In the distant woods a moose sounded his forlorn foghorn. Billie laughed.
‘I had always imagined music for this moment, not that terrible noise.’
John smiled. ‘Grace would tell you that that is not terrible. It only sounds dreadful to us because we can’t hear it with the ears of a moose in love.’ That night John began drawing up the plans for the greatest house of love ever built, and Billie lay on Grace’s bed and wept and wept.
Torchinsky sighed again and closed the magazine. He looked at the front cover and smoothed the edges with his hand.
‘So beautiful. I never laid out anything more beautiful.’ It was bizarre. I had come about a dead dog and here I was talking old romance with a humpbacked undertaker married to a woman with a moustache.
Whistling for the Elephants Page 9
