Near Prospect Park

by Lawrence H. Levy

  “My mother? That would really make me want to kill myself.” She saw the alarm on Roosevelt’s face. “I have a child. That alone will stop me from doing anything irrational, but I do have to take steps to protect my family.”

  “You’d be a fool if you didn’t, and if there’s one thing I know for certain, you’re no fool.”

  “I’m feeling very much like one lately. My brilliant plan to catch a rapist/murderer completely turned on me. It’s also within the realm of possibility that I might suffer the irony of all ironies: being put on trial and having to defend myself against White’s allegations.”

  “Stanford White is not pressing charges. He’s not eager to testify under oath in court.”

  “I suppose it’s some sort of consolation that he’s afraid of getting caught in a lie.”

  “I believe it was more that he didn’t want anyone to know a woman had batted him about as badly as you did.”

  Mary shook her head. “That’s perfect. He’s more afraid of having his masculinity impugned than being exposed for the horrendous crimes he committed.” Mary rose. “Thank you, Mr. Roosevelt. I know you did everything in your power to help, and I appreciate that.”

  “I’ll continue trying from my end. I’m completely committed, Mary. Mark my words. My mission is to make sure he’s behind bars.”

  “I have no doubt that you will accomplish that, sir,” Mary said, though she did doubt his efforts would come to anything. Roosevelt was a good man, but he played by the book, and she was going to have to massage that book in order to get White.

  They nodded goodbye to each other and Mary left his office. A few steps beyond Roosevelt’s door, Mary felt a hand placed on her shoulder from behind her. An unnatural surge of fear and anger shot through her body. She instinctively grabbed the hand and flipped the person over her shoulder to the floor, then looked down at the man and was about to pound him further.

  “Mary, Mary, stop!”

  She saw through her blind rage for the first time. It was Sean. “Oh my God, Sean! I’m so sorry.” She helped him up.

  “For a second there I thought you were trying to get even for all the squabbles we had as kids.”

  Mary was momentarily back to her normal self. “Why would I? I won those.” She looked at him with an impish grin. “Why are you in New York?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. I heard my sister just beat the living daylights out of Stanford White and I—”

  Mary welled up in tears. “He raped me, Sean, and he’s going to get away with it.” She hugged him and he held her tightly.

  “I’ll fix that bastard. He’ll never be able to use it again.” His eyes glowed with anger. Mary couldn’t recall seeing him like this before.

  “No, Sean. I’d never be able to forgive myself if you got in trouble because of me. Promise me you won’t do anything.”

  “Mary—”

  “Promise me.” He reluctantly nodded. “I’ll get him. My first plan failed miserably, but I learned from it. I will get him.”

  “Let me take you home, Mary.”

  “Thank you, but go back to work. I have preparations to make.”

  “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  “Let me be the judge of that. Go.”

  “Oh sis, I am so sorry.” He hugged her again, and they stayed that way for a while before Sean acquiesced to her wishes and left.

  As soon as he was gone, Mary felt a deep depression settle over her and then the anger surged again. For the first time in her life, Mary had become a victim. She tried to shake the feeling but couldn’t. She had always fought off any vulnerability and now it looked as if it had come home to roost…at least for a while.

  She went downstairs to the property room in the basement to reclaim her pocketbook, the contents of which, especially the mason jar and champagne flute, were examined by the police. She stopped abruptly when she saw that the man presently at the window was Stanford White. He was retrieving his things and had just asked for the champagne flute that Mary had hid in the mason jar.

  “There is also a book,” said White, “a stack of papers if you will.” As the property room attendant searched for it, Mary stepped forward.

  “That book is mine, Mr. White. In case your mother didn’t teach you, you’re not supposed to take property that isn’t yours.”

  White was startled. “Someone get this woman out of here. She assaulted me.”

  “Rest easy, Stannie. I have no intention of touching you ever again. I prefer a challenge, and you’re much too soft. I am here for my possessions, which do include my husband’s book.”

  White turned to Mary and spoke in a low voice with clenched teeth. “That’s mine. You know very well that you found it in my apartment.”

  Mary spoke loudly, “Oh I did, did I? I could have sworn you told the police that I had planted it there. Shall we go back upstairs so you can inform them your initial story was fiction?”

  White was frustrated. The property clerk returned with the book. “Here it is, Mr. White.”

  White waved his hand dismissively. “Give it to her.” And he headed for the door. Mary didn’t miss her opportunity.

  “Thanks, Stannie. This is going to be published, by the way, and I’m adding a chapter on how a harmless, defenseless woman easily pummeled a big, strong architect. I’m quite certain your upper-crust friends will find it very entertaining.”

  White hastened his pace. He turned, gave her a perturbed look, and then pushed through the door on his way out. Mary was already devising a new plan in her mind. It seemed foolproof to her, but so had her previous one.

  29

  Elizabeth hit Mary with a flood of questions when she picked Josie up at her butcher shop. Mary did her best to dodge them, but her mother knew her daughter well and could always recognize when something was wrong. Mary denied her suspicions, but that never stopped Elizabeth.

  “I know something happened, Mary. You look awful.”

  “Thanks for the compliment, Mother.”

  “Stop it, will you? I’m concerned.”

  “I’m sure you are, but must that concern always involve a derogatory comment about me?”

  “You’re very good at avoiding the question and concentrating on the unimportant.”

  “I learned from the master, or is it the mistress?”

  “How dare you speak to me like that?” Elizabeth’s sharp, knee-jerk response surprised Mary.

  “It was a question of gender, not moral fiber. But your reaction has now caused me to wonder.”

  “Then let me put your mind to rest. I am as chaste as the day I was born.”

  “After having two children, that’s quite a trick, unless you’re proclaiming to be the Virgin Mary. And please excuse me, but somehow I don’t think you fit that description.”

  “You’re always angry with me. It’s that man Freud’s doing with his insane new theories that everything is the mother’s fault.”

  “Actually, our problems started way before Freud.”

  “You’ll find out. A mother is as happy as her least-happy child.”

  “And you’re miserable, so it’s my fault.”

  “Mostly, but your brother does add to it whenever he can.” Elizabeth took a brief moment of reflection, then she sighed. “I’m sorry, Mary. I really didn’t want to argue with you. Can we stop this?”

  Mary looked at her mother warily, not completely trusting her apology. She said hesitantly, “Yes.”

  “I’m a little tired from trying to teach Josie to walk. I really didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  Still not convinced, Mary responded, “I apologize, too. And don’t worry about Josie. She’ll get there.”

  “I know she will. She’s a Handley.”

  “Lloyd, really, but she’s half Handley.” Mary paused then. “And I look awfu
l because I didn’t get much sleep last night. That does happen.”

  “Do you want me to keep Josie another night so you can catch up on your sleep?”

  “Thanks, Mother, but tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and I really want to be with her as much as I can this time of year.”

  “Ah, before I forget…” said Elizabeth as she disappeared into her office. She returned with a wrapped present in a medium-sized box and handed it to Mary. “It’s a china doll. I’m sure Josie will love it.”

  “You shouldn’t have, Mother. These are very expensive.”

  “Nothing’s too expensive for my granddaughter.”

  Soon they were both distracted by Josie’s gurgling happily in her carriage. Mary leaned over the carriage and arranged her blanket as she spoke. “You woke up, sweetheart. Did you have a good sleep?”

  “Josie always sleeps well when she’s with Grandma. Don’t you, dear?”

  As usual, Josie looked at Elizabeth and was about to start bawling when Mary picked her up and comforted her.

  “Why does she hate me? I’m calling her Josie now.”

  “She’s a baby, Mother.”

  Josie had already calmed and Mary put her back in her carriage. “I’ve got to go. Thanks, Mother.”

  “It’s a pleasure any time I see my family.” As Mary pushed Josie toward the door, Elizabeth called to her, “Mary, there’s something I want to discuss with you.”

  “Can we do it later? I’m exhausted.”

  “Of course. Later it is.”

  Still confused by her mother’s behavior, Mary left with Josie. Why was she being so agreeable? Did she have some ulterior motive that involved coercing Mary and Sean to live life the way she saw fit? Was she trying to implement the old phrase You can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar? Mary figured it was probably something like that, but she refused to dwell on it. She had much more pressing problems to solve, not the least of which was the depression and anger that had set in after she left Elizabeth; the effects of the rape (not her mother) were almost paralyzing her thought process. She knew she had been traumatized, and no matter how smart or strong she was, those feelings would be around for a while. She only hoped that she could steel herself to accomplish what she needed to do.

  * * *

  On that Saturday night, December 26, Mary was having dinner with Jacob Riis at the rooftop restaurant above Madison Square Garden. She had spent the previous two days with Josie hoping it would quiet the awful thoughts running through her brain. Every time she began to gain some level of peace, she would remember that Harper was not there to spend their first Christmas with their daughter. It depressed her, and then her mind would inevitably wander to the rape and whatever peace she had sought was ruined. It hadn’t been easy dragging herself out of her apartment, where she had been experiencing crying jags and bouts of paranoia. But this was an important event and one that she hoped would bear fruit.

  Winter was upon them and the chilly weather made Mary and Riis thankful this new Madison Square Garden restaurant was equipped with the latest modern conveniences. That included a riveted steel, coal-burning furnace, which had been invented by David Lennox. Mary hated being physically uncomfortable while eating and the Lennox furnace provided a warm and pleasant atmosphere. Consequently, the restaurant, one of the more popular eating establishments in New York, was completely full. Mary and Riis sipped their predinner martinis as they perused the menu.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Mary?”

  “No doubt in my mind. I’m ordering the swordfish.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “I realize that, Jacob, but it’s the only thing I can be sure of at the moment. My life has been turned upside down several times, mostly with surprising and tragic twists. Certainty has eluded me, and I’ve decided to take another tack.”

  “So instead of finessing a way to stop the train by calling the station house or some other means, you’ve decided to stand on the tracks and wave at it, hoping it will see you and stop in time.”

  “That’s close, but in essence you’ve chosen the wrong analogy. I intend to rile the conductor so thoroughly that he will come at me full steam ahead and derail the train after I’ve jumped to safety.”

  “That would require a completely seamless execution with no room for error.”

  “I’ve attempted every logical approach, and each one has been an utter failure. I have to take that chance, Jacob, and I can’t thank you enough for your help.”

  “I would never be able to forgive myself if any more harm came to you and Josie. Harper loved you both so much.”

  “Harper was always a risk-taker. That’s why he was such a good reporter. I’ve always been cerebral. Maybe a part of him has rubbed off on me. I hope so. I’m in dire need of it.”

  Mary glanced to the right of Riis and saw someone approaching the table. It was Stanford White clutching a newspaper, and he was as livid as his class would allow in a public establishment. His face was almost as red as his flaming hair and mustache. “Get ready, Jacob. I think we hit our mark. The conductor is officially riled.”

  “What are you doing?” White demanded.

  “Trying to have dinner, Stannie. We are in a restaurant.”

  “Very witty. You know perfectly well what I meant.” He unfolded his copy of the New York World newspaper. There was a full-page announcement beckoning all publishers to read a new book, The Hidden Shame of the Upper Class by Harper Lloyd. In large letters under the title of the book was a one-line synopsis that read “An exposé of the fabulously wealthy, chronicling the cowardly and perverse exploits of a famous architect and his band of merry men.”

  “Oh, that,” she said casually. “We were trying to decide where to place the advertisement: Pulitzer or Hearst. We couldn’t so we went with both papers: the World and the Sun. Then the Journal and the Brooklyn Daily Eagle picked it up. Did I leave anyone out, Jacob?”

  “The New York Times.”

  “Ah yes, of course, the Times. And by the way, I did add that chapter I mentioned to you. It didn’t take long. It basically wrote itself.”

  White looked at Riis. “You were involved in this, Jacob?”

  “I assisted with the newspaper connections by calling in favors, though I doubt Mary really needed my help. Harper was universally loved.”

  “You’ve forced my hand, Jacob. I will have to amend my lawsuit to include you.”

  “You must do what you must do, Stanford. This is one man’s fact-based account of events he witnessed, and I believe people should be held responsible for their actions, don’t you?”

  “A lawsuit, that’s very exciting,” said Mary. “Think of the priceless publicity a sensational trial will bring. That alone is bound to guarantee huge sales.”

  “Mary,” said Riis, setting her up for the coup de grâce, “aren’t you getting a bit ahead of yourself? You haven’t signed with a publisher yet.”

  “It’s a fait accompli. The announcement just came out today and several publishers have already contacted me. I’ll get copies made for them on Monday.”

  “How convenient,” remarked White. “You should receive the notice of my lawsuit the following day.”

  “I look forward to it, just as I have this dinner,” responded Mary. “You can’t possibly think that we were here by accident.” At White’s puzzled look, she continued. “My lord, you do.” She started laughing.

  “Go ahead, amuse yourself. I promise you that your jocular mood will change radically once I’m through with you.”

  “For a so-called brilliant architect you have a fatal tendency to be predictable and obtuse. We are here, at this restaurant, your favorite haunt, to observe your personal reaction. I must say, you haven’t disappointed me one iota.”

  “I fully intend to not only disappoint but also to rake you over t
he coals while your screams for help fall on deaf ears.”

  Mary stared at White with an intensity she hadn’t shown him before. “You were lucky last time and retained all your limbs. Next time luck will be removed from the equation.”

  Though he tried to hide his reaction, White was shaken. He nodded perfunctorily and returned to his table. They watched him go, then Riis turned to Mary.

  “If your goal was to irritate him, I believe you more than accomplished that.”

  “Hopefully, it will spur him into making a mistake, preferably more than one.”

  “I guess I knew there was always a chance of getting sued. Oh well.”

  “That’s always the rich man’s first threat, but I’ll be shocked if he actually follows through. He has an inflated sense of self. The negative publicity would be crippling to his image and possibly his business, too. It was different with Susie Johnson. She was a fifteen-year-old who was easy to ignore. I’m in my thirties, fairly well known, and a widow. If I were a man, I’d be the perfect witness. Being a woman, I’m one step removed but still capable of causing irreparable harm.”

  “You’ve also just placed the proverbial target on your back. Please be careful, Mary.”

  Touched by his concern, she reached across the table and patted his hand, letting him know how much she appreciated his friendship.

  The waiter approached their table, ready to take their order. Mary saw him, then turned back to Riis. “I’m suddenly not very hungry, Jacob. Do you mind if we don’t have dinner?”

  “Not at all. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m fine. I have the urge to go home, be with Josie, and read Harper’s book again.” Though most of her statement was true, she most definitely wasn’t fine. A wave of depression had just washed over her, but she didn’t want to burden Riis with it.

  “A second time. That’s a huge compliment. Harper’s chest would be bursting with pride.”

  “It’s quite good, fabulous even. I wasn’t very supportive of his career when he was alive. Now I see what a marvelous talent he was and I…” She stopped, her voice trailing off.