Bicycle Built for Two (3 page)

To her surprise, Alex did so. She’d expected
him to refuse to do anything she suggested. Even sitting, he took
up too much room. “I’ve come here today because of the incident
that happened yesterday.”

“Yes. I’d already figured that one out.”

His smile was short and cynical. “Ah, I see.
Well?”

“Well, what?”

“It was a very unfortunate incident.”

“You said it.” She resisted the impulse to
finger her bruises. Her heart screamed that none of this was her
fault, and that if Alex English had a shred of human compassion in
his soul, he’d be nice to her. But that was silly. Kate knew better
than to expect compassion from rich businessmen.

In the face of her defiance, Alex seemed to
be getting annoyed. Kate hoped so. His cynical smile vanished, his
eyebrows lowered, and his frown looked more heart-felt. “Miss
Finney, I’m sure you realize that we can’t have such things
happening at the World’s Columbian Exposition.”

“Yeah? Well, I can assure you that I’ll
never try to strangle anybody, if that’s what’s got you
worried.”

His lips pinched together briefly. “I never
expected that you would.”

“And,” Kate went on, “I’ve never once stolen
anything from anyone or tried to gyp anybody out of anything. If
that’s what’s bothering you, you can forget it. I earn my money
honestly.”

Another sneer marred the clean lines of
Alex’s face. “By telling fortunes and dancing in a lewd
costume?”

“Lewd?” Kate, who’d had her own qualms about
dancing in her version of Little Egypt’s costume, did a creditable
job of gawping at Alex. “You’d better not tell any of those
Egyptians that you think the costume’s lewd. That’s the way they
dress. I don’t think they’d like it if you accused them of being
lewd—and they all carry really big scimitars.” She smirked at him.
“That’s a kind of sword. And those Egyptian fellows are really
protective of their ladies, too.” She wished American men were more
like them.

“You know very well what I mean,” Alex
growled.

Kate stood up. “Yeah, I know what you mean.
You don’t want my kind working at your precious fair.” She pointed
a finger at Alex. “Well, let me tell you something, Mister. I may
have been born poor, and I may have a disgusting drunkard for a
father, but I’m not my father. I’m a hardworking girl who’s only
trying to make a living for my mother and myself.”

“Now see here, Miss Finney, I—”

“No, darn it!
You
see here!
I
didn’t do anything
wrong! It’s not my fault my father’s an ass! If you want to punish
somebody, punish him. I didn’t ask for him to be my father. Believe
me, if I could have chosen, I’d have chosen to be born to a nice
family with lots of money and a pretty little farm somewhere in the
country. I didn’t get the choice.”

“Really, Miss Finney, there’s no call
for—”

”No call for me to say these things? Like
heck, there isn’t! You come sauntering in here like a king,
sneering at me and what I do for a living. You treat me like dirt,
and—”

”Now, see here! I didn’t—”

”You did so! You sneered and smirked and
wrinkled your nose and acted like Lord Whosis who just discovered
ants on his salad plate! Well, for your information, Mr. Alex
English, I’m not a darned ant! I’m a girl who’s trying her best to
overcome her beginnings and create a life for my mother and myself.
And if you dare try to kick me out of this Exposition,
I’ll—I’ll—”

But Kate didn’t know what recourse she’d
have should this awful man try to expel her from the Exposition.
The realization was so bitter, and her need to keep her jobs at the
fair so great, that she actually, almost, came to within an inch of
crying. She’d never be so weak. Rather, although tears welled in
her eyes and her throat ached as if her father’s fingers were still
tight squeezing it, she slammed her fists on her hips and glowered
at Alex.

Alex rose from his chair and clapped his hat
on his head, thereby covering all of his pretty blond waves.
“There’s no need for this hysteria, Miss Finney.”

“Hysteria!
Hysteria
? You come
waltzing here, threatening my only means of income, and you accuse
me of being hysterical? You’re a louse, you know that, Mr.
English?”

“Really, Miss Finney, I didn’t intend
to—”

”Like heck, you didn’t!”

Alex squared his shoulders. Kate might have
been impressed by the broadness thereof if she didn’t feel so
utterly desperate. “I can tell that you’re not fit to undertake a
polite discussion at the moment, Miss Finney, so I shall leave you
now.”

“Good.” She was glad to see his eyes snap
with anger.

“I’ll be back.” And, upon that dire warning,
Alex English left Madame Esmeralda’s fortune-telling booth.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Kate
collapsed into one of the chairs at the table holding her crystal
ball, shaking like a leaf on an aspen tree in autumn. She’d used
the ball only the day before to bash her father over the head. The
memory of that awful incident, and the possible repercussions
thereof as represented by Mr. Alex English and his ilk, made
despair flood her. She buried her head in her hands and prayed for
some sort of miracle.

“Or even a fair shake, God.
Can I have maybe just
one
fair shake for once?”

As usual, she didn’t hear a word from God,
and her innards told her that, as usual, fair shakes were not
handed out to the likes of her.

Chapter Two

Alex was more disturbed by his encounter
with Kate Finney than he’d expected to be. In truth, he hadn’t
expected to be disturbed at all. After all, it was he who was the
rich, successful fair backer, not she. She was a mere nothing. A
girl of questionable moral character who owed her continued
presence at the Exposition to his good will.

Dash it, she hadn’t been at all what he’d
anticipated. As he’d approached Madame Esmeralda’s fortune-telling
booth, he’d expected to find a woman who more nearly resembled what
he’d pictured a low-class girl like her to be. He’d anticipated
encountering a disreputable-looking specimen, a blowzy degenerate,
a hussy. In short, he’d expected to find the real Kate Finney’s
antithesis.

The real Kate Finney hadn’t fit his
assumptions at all. Not one little bit. Well, except for her sassy
attitude and disrespectful manners. But she hadn’t used poor
grammar. And she hadn’t been painted up like a scarlet woman. And
she hadn’t worn anything particularly scandalous. Granted, those
silly-looking Gypsy garments had been outrageous, but they had
covered her from top to toe. She’d even had a violently colored
print scarf draped around her neck. Alex shook his head, frowning
and thinking about that slender, delicate neck.

It was difficult to imagine a drunken man’s
hands encircling the small white column and attempting to squeeze
the life out of it. And the girl’s father, at that. Thinking about
it gave Alex a sick feeling in his middle, which was most unusual.
What was it Gil MacIntosh and Kate had both said? Her father wasn’t
her fault? In spite of himself, a reluctant laugh escaped Alex’s
mouth. Kate Finney had spunk; he could give her that much at
least.

Still and all, he didn’t think her sort
belonged here, at his precious fair. He walked down the Midway
Plaisance away from Kate’s booth, and glanced with satisfaction at
all the wonders presented therein. The Libbey Glass Works exhibit
was a particular favorite of his. He’d stood for over an hour one
day, watching the workers blow glass into gorgeous pieces of art.
He’d bought a couple of them for his mother. And he and Gil had
dined more than once in the Polish Village, where a fellow could
get a good Polish sausage sandwich, complete with sauerkraut and
mustard, and wash the whole mess down with a pint of delicious
light-colored beer.

And hadn’t the fair introduced the
delectable new treat, Cracker Jacks, to the public? And the
hamburger? Why, there were new innovations everywhere here, even
when it came to food! This was what education was all about. This
was what the Fair Directory aimed to present to the public. And if
Sitting Bull’s camp surrounded an ostrich farm that drew interested
people by the thousands, wasn’t Buffalo Bill’s Wild West an
educational enterprise? In a manner of speaking? Granted, the fair
directors hadn’t allowed the great Colonel Cody to occupy space
within the fairgrounds itself, still, the Wild West had become an
integral part of the total fair experience.

Then there was the art and music that
proliferated everywhere. J. P. Sousa was performing his rousing
marches daily in the White City. Flags waved everywhere, and
patriotism was rampant. This was America’s fair. This was the
culmination of two hundred years of American ingenuity and cultural
and industrial prowess.

And then there was the Street in Cairo. Alex
permitted his smile to fade. He had no quarrel with Egyptians or
their culture, no matter what the pert and saucy Kate Finney
claimed. If such scanty costumes were part of the Egyptian
heritage, so be it. Alex might consider such costumes an indication
of a backward and morally corrupt culture, but he knew that
Americans found it both interesting and educational to witness the
backwardness of other nations. Indeed, viewing such sights was good
for American morale, because doing so could make a man proud of how
advanced his own culture was.

The problem was that unlike the venue in
which Kate worked, there were no scanty costumes worn by women on
the Street in Cairo. One had to go out of one’s way to see the
scandalous dancing of Little Egypt. And Kate Finney. Alex
discovered his hands bunching into fists as he recalled Kate, and
forced them to relax.

Imagine! A little person like that getting
his goat. Such a thing had never happened before. Nobody talked
back to Alex except his sister Mary Jo, because he was the most
reasonable and considerate of men. And Mary Jo only did so because
she was fourteen years old.

He remembered sneering at Kate and not
removing his hat when he entered her booth, and he cringed
inwardly.

Very well, he’d made a mistake there. He
ought to have approached her differently. But how could he have
known that she was such a— Firebrand? Outrageous bit of goods? He
couldn’t find the precise phrase to describe her. This was due in
part to her very unexpectedness. She hadn’t looked cheap and she
hadn’t sounded like the product of the slums. Rather, she was
fairly short, perhaps five feet, two inches or thereabouts, and as
slim as a boy. She had dark brown hair that she’d dressed neatly in
braids which, he presumed was a Gypsy style of hair dressing or
something. The hairdo made her look like a small girl, not at all
like the conniving harpy Alex had assumed her to be.

And spunky? He got angry just thinking about
how impertinent she’d been to him. He hadn’t anticipated that
quality. He’d expected cringing and crying, not overt belligerence.
Gil’s accusation came back and socked him in the jaw. Alex stopped
walking and grimaced.

Had he been too hard on the girl? He didn’t
like to think so. He liked thinking of himself as a good man, a
tolerant one, a man who didn’t judge people without evidence. The
fact that he’d judged Kate before he’d met her didn’t sit well with
him, and he wondered now if he’d hoped to have his preconception of
her confirmed by his visit.

“Dash it.” Alex scuffed the toe of one of
his brand-new, hand-sewn, French-calf walking shoes, for which he’d
paid the extravagant price of five dollars, and pondered the
intricacies of life. Perhaps Gil was right. Perhaps Alex had become
the tiniest bit complaisant as his fortune had grown. Maybe he was
becoming stodgy. Maybe he was developing into an intolerant man,
unwilling to give the Kate Finneys of this world a chance to earn a
living. He didn’t like to think that, either.

Lifting his chin and straightening his
spine, Alex came to the conclusion that he was being much to hard
on himself. It was, after all, his responsibility to see to the
wholesomeness of the World’s Columbian Exposition. If the presence
on the premises of Kate Finney threatened good taste or public
morals, it was his duty to rid the fair of her besmirched
presence.

With that in mind, and feeling generous and
forgiving, he decided to visit the troubled and troubling Kate
again. Perhaps he’d even watch her dance. Maybe he was being too
critical of her. If he were to be absolutely honest, he’d have to
agree that she wasn’t responsible for her father being a drunkard.
However, if Alex discovered that she was a disruptive influence,
and if he found her to be a magnet for the kinds of unruly behavior
of which neither he nor his fellow Agriculturalists approved, then
she’d have to go.

He felt better about himself after that, and
his step picked up as he walked toward the Polish Village. He felt
the need for a restorative sausage, kraut, and, most particularly,
a glass of beer.

# # #

Kate tied a wide black velvet band around
her throat and gazed into the mirror, dissatisfied. Darn her
father, anyhow. It was bad enough that he refused to shoulder his
responsibilities for his family, but to interfere with her efforts
on her family’s behalf was too much of him. Not that she expected
anything better from that source. He’d always been a louse. She
wished he’d fall down drunk in front of a milk wagon someday and
get himself run over and killed. But Kate knew he’d never do
anything so obliging. Why didn’t justice prevail in this stupid
world, was what she wanted to know. It wasn’t fair that her mother
was sick and her father, who was as worthless a specimen of
humankind as ever lived, thrived.

Philosophical questions only confused her so
she chucked them out. She had more important things to do. Getting
ready for her dance number, for instance.