really comes to see Harry. What the assistant does is to distract the audience at the crucial moment. You could do that. And I’m sure we could teach you some of the mind reading too.”
“But I thought the show only ran for the rest of this week. That’s hardly enough time to train me to do anything.”
“Next week we’re in Brooklyn,” she said. “Twelve shows in all. That’s a lot of opportunity for someone who’s up to no good.”
“And how are you going to persuade your husband to go along with this?”
“I tend to have—nervous turns—from time to time. I could easily claim that the sight of that poor girl all sliced up has made my nerves play up again and I simply can’t face going onstage with him. Then I’ll present you as my friend who’s a quick learner.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Your husband saw me the other night.”
“Yes, but he didn’t know who you were, did he? You were just someone on the stage. So that works in our favor. He’ll already associate you with the theater. I’ll tell him I invited you to see the show the other night and you were watching from backstage when the accident happened.”
I examined myself critically. “I don’t look much like a magician’s assistant,” I said. “I’m not petite and delicate enough and I’m certainly not glamorous. And as for a costume . . .” I held up my plain broadcloth skirt.
She frowned, thinking. “That might be a problem,” she said, giggling girlishly. “You certainly wouldn’t fit into mine. I only weigh ninety pounds. And you’re bigger than most. I’ll have to see what I can do. But you said you’d been onstage once. So you know about makeup and that kind of thing.”
“Yes, I do still have my theater makeup, and I know how to apply it,” I said. “And I do have friends in the theater who might be able to help me.”
“That would be swell. I tell you what. Why don’t you come and see the show tonight—as my guest. Come and watch from the wings.”
“I thought you said that was bad luck.”
“We’ll chance it for once. I’ll tell them I’m not feeling well and you’re holding my smelling salts.” She glanced up and smiled. “Then after the show I’ll introduce you to Harry and we’ll take it from there.”
“All right,” I said.
She got to her feet. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Miss Murphy. It was a godsend meeting you the other night. I’ve been so worried about my poor Harry. This is such a relief.”
“I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Houdini,” I said as I escorted her to the door. But as I closed it behind her I stood in the cool stillness of the front hall, my head buzzing with thoughts and actually feeling sick.
“Molly, my girl, what have you done now?” I said out loud.
Six
T he first thing I did was what most women would do in a similar situation: decide that I had nothing to wear. If I was to meet the famous Harry Houdini at the theater tonight and be presented as a future assistant I had to look the part of a theater artiste. And as to finding something I could wear onstage—something like Lily’s glittering white ensemble—well, I had no idea where I might rustle up one of those.
I went upstairs and examined the few items of clothing hanging in my wardrobe. My own clothing was plain and practical in the extreme. I had, after all, arrived in this country with literally the clothes on my back and my earnings since had just about kept body and soul together. But at the far back of the wardrobe I found something that encouraged me. It was the outfit Oona Sheehan had lent me when she had hired me to impersonate her. It was a smart black-and-white striped grosgrain two-piece. I took it out and examined it in the light. It was unfortunately rather the worse for wear, having been through a lot while I was in Ireland, but it would do at a pinch for tonight’s meeting with Houdini.
But as to what I could wear as a magician’s assistant . . . I did the next
“But I thought the show only ran for the rest of this week. That’s hardly enough time to train me to do anything.”
“Next week we’re in Brooklyn,” she said. “Twelve shows in all. That’s a lot of opportunity for someone who’s up to no good.”
“And how are you going to persuade your husband to go along with this?”
“I tend to have—nervous turns—from time to time. I could easily claim that the sight of that poor girl all sliced up has made my nerves play up again and I simply can’t face going onstage with him. Then I’ll present you as my friend who’s a quick learner.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Your husband saw me the other night.”
“Yes, but he didn’t know who you were, did he? You were just someone on the stage. So that works in our favor. He’ll already associate you with the theater. I’ll tell him I invited you to see the show the other night and you were watching from backstage when the accident happened.”
I examined myself critically. “I don’t look much like a magician’s assistant,” I said. “I’m not petite and delicate enough and I’m certainly not glamorous. And as for a costume . . .” I held up my plain broadcloth skirt.
She frowned, thinking. “That might be a problem,” she said, giggling girlishly. “You certainly wouldn’t fit into mine. I only weigh ninety pounds. And you’re bigger than most. I’ll have to see what I can do. But you said you’d been onstage once. So you know about makeup and that kind of thing.”
“Yes, I do still have my theater makeup, and I know how to apply it,” I said. “And I do have friends in the theater who might be able to help me.”
“That would be swell. I tell you what. Why don’t you come and see the show tonight—as my guest. Come and watch from the wings.”
“I thought you said that was bad luck.”
“We’ll chance it for once. I’ll tell them I’m not feeling well and you’re holding my smelling salts.” She glanced up and smiled. “Then after the show I’ll introduce you to Harry and we’ll take it from there.”
“All right,” I said.
She got to her feet. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am, Miss Murphy. It was a godsend meeting you the other night. I’ve been so worried about my poor Harry. This is such a relief.”
“I’ll do what I can, Mrs. Houdini,” I said as I escorted her to the door. But as I closed it behind her I stood in the cool stillness of the front hall, my head buzzing with thoughts and actually feeling sick.
“Molly, my girl, what have you done now?” I said out loud.
Six
T he first thing I did was what most women would do in a similar situation: decide that I had nothing to wear. If I was to meet the famous Harry Houdini at the theater tonight and be presented as a future assistant I had to look the part of a theater artiste. And as to finding something I could wear onstage—something like Lily’s glittering white ensemble—well, I had no idea where I might rustle up one of those.
I went upstairs and examined the few items of clothing hanging in my wardrobe. My own clothing was plain and practical in the extreme. I had, after all, arrived in this country with literally the clothes on my back and my earnings since had just about kept body and soul together. But at the far back of the wardrobe I found something that encouraged me. It was the outfit Oona Sheehan had lent me when she had hired me to impersonate her. It was a smart black-and-white striped grosgrain two-piece. I took it out and examined it in the light. It was unfortunately rather the worse for wear, having been through a lot while I was in Ireland, but it would do at a pinch for tonight’s meeting with Houdini.
But as to what I could wear as a magician’s assistant . . . I did the next
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