“Jim, I told you a hundred times. The inauguration isn’t until Easter Sunday.”
Russell’s comment relieved any residual concerns the men might have had and freed them to continue with the original purpose of their visit.
“So,” said Diamond Jim, “what are you three reprobates doing here? I didn’t see you dining.”
“We were in the back talking with Louie about a function,” said Seeley. Louie was Louis Sherry, who owned the restaurant.
White jumped in. “Herbert is planning a bachelor party for his brother, Clinton. It promises to be quite the affair.”
“And shall I assume the two of you are assisting in this project?” asked Diamond Jim, but it was more of a statement.
“I wouldn’t dream of throwing a party without these fellas,” said Seeley. “Their experience is priceless.”
“No better party-throwers in all of New York,” responded Diamond Jim. “I’m just sorry I was out of town and missed John Cowdin’s. I heard that was a real humdinger.”
“You definitely don’t want to miss this one,” said Breese. “The invitations are going out soon. Make sure you’re in town. You won’t regret it.”
“What special kind of debauchery do you boys have planned?” asked Russell. “Are there going to be three teenage girls instead of one?”
White bristled. “Not one word of that girl’s accusations is true.”
“By ‘girl,’ you do mean Susie Johnson?”
“Yes, of course. She wants publicity to promote her career or to extort money from me. Probably both. I hired her to jump out of a pie, no more, no less.”
That event had become known as the “Pie Girl Dinner.” The papers had gotten wind of it and had run with the story of the over-the-top indulgences of the wealthy. When Susie Johnson went to the police with her accusation that Stanford White had raped her and the possibility that Breese and others had also been involved, it only enhanced the story. So far, nothing had been done. After all, White and Breese were rich, well-connected New Yorkers and Susie Johnson was—Susie Johnson.
“I apologize for asking. It’s obviously very distressing.”
“What’s distressing?” asked Reginald Larrabee, who had just arrived at the table with Lance Fuller.
“Reggie, Lance!” White exclaimed. “I didn’t see you. Where are you sitting?”
“We’re not,” replied Fuller. “We popped in on a last-minute whim and Roger is searching for a table.” Roger was the maître d’.
“Do you gentlemen know Diamond Jim Brady and Lillian Russell?”
“Only from the newspapers and stage,” said Fuller, nodding to Russell when he mentioned the stage. “We’ve never met, but I would recognize them anywhere. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
After some pleasantries and hand shaking, White addressed Larrabee and Fuller. “We’re about to sit down. Why don’t you join us?”
“I’d love to,” responded Reggie. “Capital idea.”
“Reggie,” said Fuller, “I know you spent a lot of time in jolly old England, but as your good friend I would suggest you try to eliminate any British expressions. We’ve fought two wars against them and some people might not take it in the right spirit.”
“I appreciate your concern, and might I say—capital idea.”
After a beat, they all laughed. “You’re incorrigible, Reggie,” Fuller remarked.
They all said their goodbyes, and the five men left for their table, leaving Diamond Jim and Russell alone. He turned to her.
“No need to say it, Jim. I’ve been a bad girl, but someone has to hold him accountable.”
“We don’t know he did anything.”
“Please, what kind of man hires a fifteen-year-old girl to jump out of a pie half-naked?”
“A very creative one?” Russell’s Stop kidding yourself look made Diamond Jim relent. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean he did it.”
“No, it just means he’s sordid and vile, as is his partner in crime, Jimmy Breese.”
“The girl was almost sixteen. That’s a marrying age.”
“At least you didn’t say there’s sixteen and then there’s sixteen.”
“Actually, I was leading up to that.”
Russell shook her head and smiled, admiring her friend’s sense of humor. Then she got serious. “Jim, part of my job is to read people’s behavior, and from what I can see, your friend Stanford White is guilty as sin.”
“He’s a business acquaintance, not a friend. And whether he’s guilty or not, these are very influential men who could drop a word here or there and hurt my business. I came from nothing and have no desire to go back to it.” With that he adjusted his diamond stickpin.
“All right, from now on, mum’s the word, but only when you’re around.”
“I’ll accept that. Thank you.”
And they both returned to their feast.
* * *
Mary was giving Josie her first of two evening feedings when Harper entered their apartment. Their daughter was still being fed on demand, which seemed to be every three hours. When Mary was on a case and couldn’t be there for her, she’d leave bottles of milk for whoever was watching Josie: usually Harper; her mother, Elizabeth; or her brother, Sean, depending on who was available.
“Hi, honey,” Harper greeted her, then he paused in surprise. “I just called you ‘honey.’ I promised myself I’d never sound like a clichéd married man and here I am freely speaking like one.”
“It’s okay, honey,” Mary replied with a twinkle in her eye.
“Well then, as long as we’re embracing clichés, how was your day?”
“Actually, quite good. I have a new client.”
“Really, who?” It was a natural question, but Mary’s look told him he had overstepped his bounds.
She and Harper had an agreement. She didn’t tell him about her work, and he didn’t tell her about his. She had initiated it after Harper, fearing she was in danger, had rushed to help her several times while she was on a case and wound up getting hurt. Not only was this sort of situation dangerous for her husband, it was bad for business—even if he were to come out of a case unscathed, she would be so distracted by looking out for him that it would be impossible to do her job. Harper didn’t like it, but he’d finally agreed with the caveat that he wouldn’t tell Mary about his work either. It was a childish tit for tat, and they both knew it. But sometimes couples forge these types of agreements to allow one of them to save face and give the other some comfort. In the long run, it usually drives a wedge between the two and no comfort is found. Some get past it, some don’t. It was too soon to determine what would happen with Mary and Harper. The one thing they had in their favor was that they were very much in love.
Harper raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry, broke the rules.” He turned away, a bit frustrated.
Mary stood, putting Josie over her shoulder to burp her. “I’m the one who’s sorry, but I don’t think I could stand you getting injured or worse.”
“I completely understand, but it doesn’t take into account how I feel. I’m a pretty modern man. I like to believe I’m forward thinking—”
“You are. You definitely are,” Mary agreed quickly.
“Still,” he continued, “it’s hard to swallow that I can’t protect my wife and rather need her to protect me.”
Josie emitted a magnificent burp, much louder than anyone would expect from a little baby, lightening the mood. Harper smiled and touched her small cheek gently.
“That’s it, Josie. Always speak your mind. Don’t let anyone stop you, just like your mother.” He kissed her on the cheek. Her eyes were heavy with sleep, and he took her from Mary and laid her down in her crib. A strong feeling shot through Mary. She couldn’t imagine loving Harper any more than she did at that moment. She went to him.
“T
his is silly. I’ll tell you who my client is. He’s—”
Harper immediately shushed her. “Not important. The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.”
“That’s the last thing I want, too.”
“So we both agree you shouldn’t be uncomfortable.”
“You know I meant you. I love you, Harper Lloyd.”
They kissed, drawing closer. And as their embrace became more passionate, they made their way to the bedroom with all the fervor and heat of a young couple about to make love for the first time. That’s how it was with Mary and Harper. Even with a baby now to look after, their desire for each other hadn’t faded in the least. If anything, it had grown.
But they didn’t break their agreement, and that one wall between them remained.
3
The next day Mary had work to do. She left Josie with Harper, since he would be home all day writing. “Are you sure she won’t interfere with your work?” she asked.
“Josie? Impossible. She comes up with great ideas.”
“Well then,” she said with a smile, “I’ll leave you two to collaborate.”
As she headed to Manhattan to meet Gilbert, it still bothered her that his task seemed so easy, considering the sum he had promised her. As much as she hated clichés, one kept repeating over and over in her head—Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. In an effort to chase it out of her mind, she thought about the origin of the phrase, that the size of a horse’s teeth indicated its age, and that image stuck in her brain, replacing the ancient saying. Not exactly an improvement. Finally, her train was delayed by another one that had broken down in front of hers, and her anxiety about being late for her appointment with Gilbert took over.
She was upset that she was fifteen minutes behind schedule when she met him at the Casino Theatre at 1404 Broadway. As a woman, she felt she had to be flawless or people would doubt her ability in what was overwhelmingly a man’s profession and also, to her dismay, a man’s world. Gilbert was sitting in the middle of the orchestra section watching a rehearsal of the operetta The Princess of Trebizond. Lillian Russell was starring in the production, and they were currently on a break. Sitting next to Gilbert was his assistant of the past ten years, Dorothy Davies, whom he sometimes called Dottie, but mostly Double D. Dottie was also British, and Gilbert took her on all his business trips. She was there to do his clerical work, take notes in business meetings, and verify what had transpired in those meetings. Mostly, she was seen and not heard, but Gilbert trusted her enough to discuss matters with her afterward. In reality, though, he only heeded her advice when she agreed with the decisions he had made, and she knew that.
“Mary, glad you could join me. Please sit.”
She detected a tinge of annoyance in his voice and she immediately apologized. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late. One of the trains broke down and—”
“No bother at all.” But there really was some bother. She decided to drop it though. No matter how real it might be, an excuse is just that: a reason for not fulfilling your responsibility. Her thought process was interrupted by Gilbert’s introduction of his assistant, Dottie.
After they shook hands, Mary commented, “Those are marvelous-looking gloves, Dottie.” They looked very expensive, a fine leather that was dark red and went well with her burgundy dress.
“Oh, thank you. I saw them in a window on Savile Row in London and just had to have them.”
Gilbert added, “Some women are obsessed with shoes, others with jewelry. Dottie’s passion is gloves.” He then shrugged. “I’ve been married for almost thirty years, and I still don’t understand women.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Mary responded. “We’re supposed to be a mystery.” Gilbert and Dottie both smiled and Mary changed the subject. “Are you considering Lillian Russell or any of the other actors for your production of The Grand Duke?”
“No, casting The Grand Duke is easy. Actors flock to our operettas.” He glanced over at Dottie, who dutifully smiled her agreement. “I’m on a mission, so to speak, for The Fortune Hunter.”
Mary was a bit confused. “Isn’t that a drama?”
“Precisely. My intention is to ask Lillian Russell to play the female lead.”
“A musical-comedy actress in a drama. Interesting.”
“I haven’t met a comic actor yet who wasn’t dying to do drama, nor, for that matter, a dramatic actor who didn’t crave a comedy role. Think of it: Lillian Russell in her first dramatic turn. The crowds will line up around the block, dying to get into the theater.”
“I applaud you. You know theater a lot better than I do.” Actually, she thought the idea would be a creative disaster even if it did work financially. But she wasn’t being paid to give advice on producing a play, especially not to W. S. Gilbert.
He gestured toward Dottie with an open hand. She quickly and dutifully took an envelope stuffed with cash out of her pocketbook, then handed it to him, and he in turn gave it to Mary. “Hopefully, I’ll have a play to show her shortly.” As she opened it to look inside, he said, “Feel free to count it. I believe all four thousand is there.”
Mary did check, and it was. “Thank you, William. I expect you’ll have your play in your hands later today. If there is any problem at all, I will—”
“Billy!” The booming voice that interrupted them belonged to Lillian Russell, who was charging up the aisle to greet Gilbert.
He stood and extended his arms, gesturing toward her. “Lillian.” He then nodded to Mary, signaling that it was time for her to go. As she did, he walked to greet Russell.
“You rascal,” Russell bellowed as they hugged. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to view my rehearsal.”
“I didn’t want to throw you off your game.”
“Of all people, you should know, Billy darling. No one throws me off my game.”
At the exit to the theater, Mary turned and saw the two of them sitting down to talk. She would have liked to hear the conversation that followed Lillian Russell’s enthusiastic greeting, especially the part where he asked her to do a drama. But she needed to go back to Brooklyn. She had a meeting in Prospect Park. In the Long Meadow section, where the sheep grazed.
* * *
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times.” Mary’s mother, Elizabeth, was in full lecture mode. “When you have a child, only one person should be working.” She slammed a meat cleaver down hard on a piece of lamb for emphasis and turned to one of her employees. “That’s how you do it. Rack of lamb, eight ribs, one side. Got it?” The man nodded. Elizabeth handed him the cleaver, wiped her hands on a towel, then removed the white apron she was wearing, revealing a simple and proper dress for business. Though she had never worked until her husband died, she had taken over his butcher shop and proven herself to be a shrewd businesswoman, surprising the men with whom she was competing. She had already expanded to two stores and was currently negotiating for a third in Manhattan. Her lecture about family was directed at her son-in-law, Harper Lloyd, who stood by the counter, holding her granddaughter, Josie.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” she said, resuming her discourse on child-rearing as she took Josie from Harper. “Come to Grandma, Josephine.”
Josie didn’t respond to Elizabeth at all. She kept looking at her daddy. Harper knew why. So did Elizabeth.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You keep leaving her with me because of these sudden emergencies, and I’ll have her responding to her proper name. Won’t I, Josephine?” Again, Josie didn’t react to her.
Elizabeth wasn’t Harper’s first choice to watch Josie. He’d known from experience that she was going to give him a hard time, but his father was working as was Mary’s brother, Sean, and Mary’s best friend, Sarah, lived too far away. So, he bit his lip and went to her.
“It’s not an emergency,” replied Harper. �
�I got a lead on an article I’m writing. The person is leaving town this afternoon and—”
“That sounds like an emergency to me.”
Harper was getting itchy to leave and decided to drop this petty matter, an area in which Elizabeth excelled. “I appreciate you watching Josie for a couple of hours while I attend to business. Two hours at the most. That’s all it will be.”
“Not a problem in the least. I love spending time with my little Josephine.” She turned to Josie. “Grandma is going to teach you all about the meat business.”
Satisfied that everything was settled, Harper kissed Josie on the cheek. “Love you, Josie. Daddy will see you in a couple of hours.”
As he left, she began to cry and Elizabeth tried to soothe her, but to no avail. Josie had done that before. Harper knew he had to steel himself and keep going. She reached out her hand for him, and then it happened.
“Da-da.”
Harper stopped and turned. Filled with joy, his heart started pounding. “Did you hear that? She said my name. It was her first word and she said my name!”
“She’s probably in her babbling stage. It could have been anything.”
“Da-da.”
“That’s not anything. That’s me!” said a jubilant Harper. He rushed to Josie, took her little hand, and kissed it. She immediately stopped crying. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Daddy will be right back and then we can spend the rest of the day together doing whatever you want to do.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, oozing sarcasm. “You can once again trounce your father at chess.”
Harper ignored her comment. He kissed Josie on the cheek once more and headed for the door. She started crying again. This time Harper kept going. He couldn’t wait to get back to her.
He stepped out onto a street teeming with pedestrians. It was a typically noisy day. A man driving a milk wagon was yelling at a fruit peddler to move his cart, a group of kids was playing ring-a-levio, and there was a slew of shoppers going in and out of stores.
Near Prospect Park Page 3
