by David Khalaf
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HOUDINI HAD COUNTED up all of the ways he could die and was satisfied. There were only a few more than usual, but not so many that it gave him pause. He was confident he could pull off the Hangman’s Death the following evening.
So then why can’t I sleep?
He had spent the entire day scouting the location and planning out every step. The stunt would occur on the busiest stretch of Hollywood Boulevard, directly across the street from the famous Egyptian Theatre, where the United Artists movie premiere would take place. He would perform on top of a one-story building that housed a few small businesses: Betty’s Fine Eveningwear, McCadden’s Rare Books, and an Emory Partridge toy store.
The building was flat and sturdy and would support the crane easily enough. With a piece of chalk, he had drawn a large circle on the sidewalk below, which would be blocked off for the spikes. It would also keep spectators far enough away for the illusion portion of his stunt to work. On the roof he had measured and marked places to drill bolts into the building’s beams to secure the crane, which would be installed on top of the roof in the morning.
Houdini had made a special trip to the county hospital for a straightjacket. It was a standard issue, made of thick duck cloth and lined with five leather straps to secure the long sleeves behind the back. He had escaped from that exact model hundreds of times. When he first held the straightjacket in his hands earlier that day, it had nearly brought tears to his eyes. Whereas others recoiled at the sight of one, to Houdini the jacket felt like an old friend—a familiar face greeting him in the midst of the strangers and palm trees and relentless sunshine that made up this strange city.
Even though every step of the stunt was accounted for, Houdini found himself staring up at the ceiling. He realized it wasn’t the anticipation of the performance that left him rolling in bed, it was the anticipation of vengeance. It was Fairbanks. Despite the inappropriateness of Houdini’s actions a few days before, the man had crossed a line and humiliated him in front of Pickford.
Even so, Houdini needed the man's help once Atlas arrived. He could only hope Fairbanks had enough integrity to keep his word.
Houdini got up from bed and went to the phone by the door. On a hunch, he placed a call through the operator to his brownstone in Harlem. It rang seven or eight times. He was about to hang up the receiver when he heard a groggy voice.
“Hello?”
The sound of his wife’s voice gripped his heart like a vice. He had never been away from her for so long, not since the day they had first met by the beach.
“Bess!” Houdini said. “What are you doing there?”
“Harry! Where are you?”
“I’m in Los Angeles. You’re supposed to be at the cabin. It’s not safe there.”
“I was at the cabin for five days,” she said. “I didn’t hear from you, so I came back yesterday. Someone ransacked our home.”
Terror gripped Houdini. Atlas had been in their home. He knew where Bess was.
“You have to leave!” Houdini said. “There’s a dangerous man. He could be back at any time.”
“I’m not leaving,” Bess said. “I doubt he’ll be back, and I’m tired of living on the run. Besides, I don’t want to pull little Samuel out of school again.”
“This is no time to joke. You must leave!”
“No,” Bess said. “Come home, Mr. Houdini, and we’ll deal with this together.”
Houdini knew that tone. His wife was staying, and there was nothing he could do to change her mind.
“I have to finish something first,” he said.
“What is it you’re doing out there?”
“Making friends,” he said.
And making enemies.
“You’re not doing anything foolish, are you?” she asked.
“Not foolish,” Houdini said.
It was only foolish if it was unnecessary.
“Please be careful,” she said.
The worry in her voice, it extinguished all of his anger toward Fairbanks. Let the actor have Hollywood; Houdini wanted to be home with his wife.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
They said their goodbyes, and Houdini hung up the phone.
Bess was vulnerable as long as Atlas was out there. To keep her safe, his best bet was to focus on his stunt and lure Atlas to Los Angeles as soon as possible.
The phone rang, and Houdini picked it up.
“Bess?”
“I’ve been thinking…”
Houdini recognized the gruff voice of Louis B. Mayer on the other end. He didn’t bother to apologize for the lateness of the call.
“There’s nothing about your stunt that identifies it as MGM,” Mayer said. “We may as well get some publicity in while we’re at it.”
“Whatever you like,” Houdini said brusquely. “You can hang a sign from the roof of the stores.”
For all Houdini cared, Mayer could tap dance out in front so long as it didn’t interfere with the stunt.
“Bah! Signs,” Mayer said. “They’re everywhere. No one reads a sign. What I was thinking is that we need a symbol. The symbol of MGM. We need Slats.”
“What are slats?”
“Slats is our lion,” Mayer said. “The MGM lion. Damn animal sits in a cage on the backlot all day, burning a hole in my pocket with all the meat he eats. Why not put him to good use? Why not put the lion in your performance? It’s brilliant!”
Houdini was not the type of man to chide another, but he had more pressing concerns than tending to Mayer’s whims.
“It’s not brilliant,” Houdini said. “It’s idiotic. I’m not going to incorporate a wild animal, whom I’ve never worked with, into an act that is happening in less than twenty-four hours. You’re a fool.”
It was quiet on the other end of the line, like the brief silence of a building wave before it crashes onto shore.
“Men have called me a fool before,” Mayer finally said. “If he was my employee, I fired him. If he was my boss, I soon replaced him. It takes a fool to get things done. It takes a fool to have vision. So when I call you past midnight to tell you that I have an idea, I’m not brainstorming with you, I’m giving you a command, damn it! That lion is showing up tomorrow and you’d better find a use for it in your act, or you’ll find yourself blackballed from this town for the rest of your life!”
The phone went dead on the other end. Houdini set down the receiver softly. He went into the kitchen to make coffee. There would be no sleep that night.
