“Fine. It was just a suggestion,” Bess said angrily. She turned away from him and faced the wall. “But I had a bad scare last night, Harry. The doc says I was lucky to come through the way I did. So I don’t know how long it will be before I can trust myself on that stage again and I kind of think that the audience will soon get tired of just watching you standing there with a bunch of handcuffs.” She turned back to him. “They like variety, Harry. They like things they can’t explain. And they like a pretty girl. You know that.”

Harry looked from her face to mine. Bess reached out and took his hand. “For my sake, Harry? Couldn’t you at least give it a try? Just a try?”

She was gazing up at him imploringly. For a long moment there was silence. Then he said gruffly, “Okay, babykins. I guess I could at least give her a try.”

Whether I liked it or not, it appeared I was about to become a magician’s assistant.

Fourteen

I was already having serious misgivings by the time I presented myself at the house on 102nd Street the next morning. The day had not started particularly well. I had already dragged Ryan out of bed and made him take me to his dressmaker friend who turned out to be a gorgeous young man with eyelashes any woman would kill for. He was introduced as Daniel, which I found amusing as he was about as different as possible from my future groom, and I knew exactly what that future groom would think of him.

“Darling, what am I supposed to do with her?” Daniel asked, looking at Ryan in despair after we had explained what I needed. “She has a waist the size of an elephant.”

“I do not,” I said angrily. “It’s just that I’ve never seen fit to wear a corset.”

“And it shows, darling, it shows. I suppose I could build you something with plenty of whalebones, but you’ll have to absolutely pour yourself into it.”

“It doesn’t have to be like the French Follies,” I said hastily. “I don’t intend to cancan or striptease. I just have to give an impression of glamour onstage and to distract the audience from what the illusionist is doing.”

Daniel shook his head. “But glamour demands an hourglass figure.”

“You are the master,” Ryan said. “If anyone can create her an outfit, you can.”

“Flatterer,” Daniel responded. He gave a dramatic sigh. “Oh, well, I suppose I’ll see what I can do.”

“And I do need it in a hurry,” I pointed out.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “You don’t need me, you need a miracle-working saint. You Irish know your saints, don’t you? Who is the patron of producing instant glamorous outfits?”

I looked at Ryan and we laughed, thus breaking the tension.