The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (41 page)

I slipped into my shirt and vest and the double padded suit, covering up my tights. If Barnum denied me my stage, I would deny him my talent. My stomach growled and I cringed. My talent—at least as long as it lasted. Well, tonight I would not be afraid. I would talk to Iell and we would choose. A stiff brush to the jacket shoulders, a final change of cravat, boots blackened to a high shine, and I was ready. The long mirror in my bedroom reflected a man quite thin of face and hands but otherwise normal. I tucked what was left of the Chinaman’s root into my pocket and popped half an éclair into my mouth.

So many people were using the service stairs that it stank of sweat and filth. I held my breath as I pushed past the dancers and chattering
servers to get to the second floor. As soon as I swung open the door, a new world opened up. The grand Atrium rang with the oompah of the brass band, the chiming of a hundred voices, the swishing of skirts and clicking of heels. Refracted shards of light bounced off a hundred hanging mirrors, and I lifted a hand to shield my eyes against the illumination.

“Can I serve you, sir?” A spry redheaded girl handed me a flute of champagne, the rest of the glasses on her tray teetering on napkins in the shape of elephants. I followed her all the way to the entrance of the Ballroom. Inside, the costumed animals threw down icy stares from their pedestal perches. Violins and cellos played a Bach concerto at the far end of the room.

The first thing I did was look for Iell. I wandered about in the big oval room, filled with the city’s finest, but did not see her anywhere. Then Barnum and his wife entered and posted themselves near the Ballroom’s main doors. As they welcomed guests, I did my best to keep out of their line of sight. Mrs. Barnum looked surprisingly elegant in a sand-colored evening dress.

Most of my fellow performers hung about on the sidelines in deference or in shyness, with the exception of Ricardo, who stood out front doing tumbling tricks and pulling faces at the women as they passed. Zippy sat off in a corner, sharing a flask with one of the waiters.

Alley, Emma, and the visiting giant, Captain Bogardus, were being presented in an action tableau. They’d mounted a low riser placed there for temporary acts and, with Colonel Nutt at their feet, took suggestions from the passing crowd.

“Diana and the Great Fox Hunt,” a gentleman yelled out, and in response, the Colonel turned to the others. “Hunting,” he reinterpreted, and Alley changed himself into a pot-bellied, slack-faced poacher with Emma next to him miming a bow and arrow in her hands as Captain Bogardus tumbled onto his behind like a dead elephant. This continued with suggestions of
war
and
drunken sailors
. When Colonel Nutt reinterpreted
Scarlet Letter
as “women of the night,” the improvised tableau brought whoops from some of the male guests, especially after
Emma thrust out her mighty chest and a guest sporting a gray beard ran at her from the audience and threw his skinny arms around her waist. Alley seemed almost to be enjoying himself, maybe because this was the last tableau he would ever do.

The room grew warmer as the number of bodies increased, and I desperately wanted to slip off my heavy jacket. Instead, I sipped at my champagne and pushed through the crowd, spurred on by the need to find Iell.

Finally I saw her, enthroned on a plush, straight-back chair along the north wall. Her beard hung loose and sprawled out across her chest, and the silver of her dress shone through like a prize. From a distance, I watched her hold court, her head high but her attention clearly focused on some inner vista. She looked fatigued, as if she’d begun to tire of it all. I lifted a gloved hand toward her, but she didn’t seem to see me.

“Are you putting on weight?” someone said behind me, and I jumped.

Matina wore a light pink dress, and when she lifted her arms to fix a stray ringlet, perspiration stains ran from her armpits to her waist like pools of spreading ink.

“Padded jacket,” I answered, catching my breath, and then slipped the jacket off and folded it over my arm.

Matina regarded me, smiling.

“And that new bed of yours?”

I smiled. “Broken nearly in half.”

Matina sighed. “I behaved horribly last night, didn’t I? I’m sorry, Barthy, I really am.”

“You did nothing wrong. I am a scoundrel. A coward. Any number of atrocious things. And what a cad, to have treated you as I have. I should have trusted you. I’m so sorry, my dear, I truly am.”

Matina shrugged and flicked an invisible piece of lint from the front of her gown.

“Are you going to leave with Alley?” I asked.

“He likes me quite a lot, you know, and he’s a good man. But I
haven’t made up my mind yet. You might be right. I’m not sure I belong out in the world.”

“My dear, you will do well anywhere.” Warmth spread through me when Matina smiled at me again, and in a final attempt to confide in her, I sputtered out, “Matina, please, there’s something I want to show you.” Reaching into my coat pocket, I brushed my fingers across the root.

“Mr. Fortuno. Join us, if you would!” Barnum, not twenty feet away, waved to me. He stood with his wife and another couple, a gentleman accompanied by a big-hatted lady, and beckoned imperiously.

“Looks like the old man wants to see you,” Matina said. “Go ahead. Tell him about your broken bed.” She winked. “After your unicorn remarks at the meeting, I’d like to see the look on his face.” She stood on her toes and kissed me on the cheek, and I straightened my vest as she trundled into the crowd. “Goodbye, my dear,” I whispered.

Before I made my way over to the Barnums, I slipped on my padded jacket.

“Fortuno, come meet some friends of mine. Margaret, Henry, this is Bartholomew Fortuno, performer extraordinaire.” Barnum gave no indication of our recent spat in the Green Room. He presented only his public face, eager to entertain his friends. “Fortuno, may I present the Wallingtons.”

“Sir. Madam.” I kissed the hand of the big-hatted woman, and she giggled like a girl. But rather than shake hands with the gentleman, I took a step back and bowed curtly. The man wore a cutaway of the finest silk, but I could tell from his stiff carriage and his misshapen nose that he used to be a boxer. Had I been living in his world, I’d have been his superior. I resented having to play second fiddle at Barnum’s behest.

“And of course you already know my charming wife,” Barnum said, without an ounce of sarcasm. Mrs. Barnum nodded pleasantly. Ignoring my pounding heart, I kissed her hand. Obviously, Barnum had joined forces with his wife, and they were closing ranks against me. Fine. I
waved a passing server to bring me more champagne. When I lifted the flute from the tray, the glass was surprisingly steady in my hands. I glanced at Mrs. Barnum. Her face was a pleasant mask.

“Fortuno, these folks were just asking about you,” Barnum said. “Why don’t you share something of your great philosophy with them.” He turned to his friends. “Despite his current costume”—ah, he
had
noticed my padded jacket—“Fortuno here is a man who takes great pride in who he is. I can’t help but appreciate a man who thinks so highly of himself.”

I was filled with a reckless feeling, as if everything was on the table and I needed only to see my final card before knowing if I’d won or lost. A quick look over my shoulder told me that Iell had risen from her chair and was now chatting with a few admirers. Not far away, Matina twirled in front of a couple who’d stopped her for a quick demonstration.

The big-hatted woman gave me a mincing smile and brazenly opened the front of my jacket. “Aren’t you starving, sir? I’d be absolutely famished if I weighed as little as you.”

I imitated Barnum’s smile. “If you were as thin as I, you wouldn’t be hungry at all. Besides, I’m feasting my eyes on you as we speak.”

The woman threw her hands in the air gleefully. “What a character, Phineas! Wherever did you find him?”

Barnum smiled in Mrs. Barnum’s direction. “These people are easier to find than you’d imagine. Aren’t they, my dear?”

Mrs. Barnum returned his smile. “They are, indeed, and Mr. Fortuno here would be hard-pressed to replace us.”

“Talent always finds a home,” I replied coldly.

“Phineas! Charity! Greetings.” A ruddy-faced Mathew Brady approached us, his thick glasses reflecting the light. On his arm was a beautiful woman—Bridgett! “And is that you, Fortuno? Something about you seems different.” Brady squinted through his thick glasses, and I instinctively pulled in my stomach.

“I was telling my friends here how lucky our performers are,” Barnum said.

“Well, I’m the lucky fool around here,” Brady answered, “escorting
such a charming creature as this. An old man like me.” He patted Bridgett’s arm with his papery fingers and turned to the Wallingtons. “Let me introduce to you all the lovely Madame Zouve.”

Bridgett held out a ring-laden hand and stuttered, “Mi Eenglesh no berry gud,” and brandished her limp hand to one person and then the next. Brady patted her under her chin and laughed.

Mrs. Wallington smiled at Brady. “Very charming.” She let her fan rest against her left cheek while Bridgett curtsied. Then she turned back to me. “But frankly, I’m interested in learning more about our thin friend here.”

“Enough disguise. Take that jacket off, Fortuno. Let the woman see the real you.” Barnum slapped me hard on the shoulder, and instinctively I complied, slipping off my padded jacket and gripping it in one hand. When Barnum saw that I wore a normal dress shirt over my tights, his expression changed.

The large-hatted woman fanned herself furiously. “Surely they object to being ogled all the time.”

“Goodness, no, they love being stared at,” Barnum said. “And, as my wife says, where else do they have to go? Pull up your shirt, Fortuno. Make the women squirm.”

“No, sir. I’d rather not.”

Both Barnums looked at me as if I’d dropped dead upon the floor, but Whatever crisis my action might have initiated was momentarily postponed when Brady pointed toward Zippy, who was vomiting into the punch bowl at the far end of the room. I slipped back into my padded coat, tipping my hat to the guests. “If you will excuse me,” I said, seizing upon the distraction as an opportunity to slip away.

T
HE BALLROOM
had grown more crowded. Although the attendants had thrown open the doors to draw in air from the balcony, the breeze did little more than sweep in the stink and the rumble of the city. I forged a path through the merrymaking toward where Iell now stood. When she saw me coming, she raised her hand above the teeming heads
in greeting, but as I moved closer, she mouthed something to her admirers and walked off in the opposite direction.

I pushed harder past the guests, knocking into a serving girl and upsetting half her tray. Stopping to turn the spilled glasses upright, I almost lost Iell in the crowd, but I finally caught a glimpse of her gliding along the south wall. She stopped at the base of a stuffed bear dressed as a party guest. It was mounted on a mantel four feet above the floor and flanked by potted maple trees to create the illusion that it was walking into the party directly from the forest. Iell slipped behind one of the potted trees at floor level. It took many minutes to get through the crowd and reach her.

Iell’s voice, sly and warm, floated out from the shadows. “You’re a bit pale tonight, Bartholomew. How is your eye?”

I reached into the darkness, took Iell’s hand, and brought it gently to my lips. Her skin tasted of oil and salt, and my mouth watered as I kissed her wrist. “Why did you walk away from me?”

Iell said nothing, so I let go her hand. Out of respect, I willed myself to be patient. My eyes fell level with the bear’s feet. One of its nails, shriveled and carelessly attached, dangled from its foot. In front of us, the Ballroom churned with couples dancing to the orchestra’s thin rendition of “The Tennessee Waltz.” Across the room, Matina circled the floor surrounded by a pack of midgets, all eight of them grabbing the bottom of her skirts and twirling her about, like ants carting away a great morsel of food.

“We’ve so many things we need to discuss,” I said, speaking into the shadows.

“Like what, Bartholomew?”

“Freedom. A new life. You promised me we would talk tonight. Please. Step into the light where I can see you.”

Iell stepped forward, but her presence was like the flutter of a bird’s wing—impossible to grasp—and I noted that her eyes were heavy-lidded. She’d probably just used opium. Even so, I fell beneath her spell. Did she love me? I had to know.

Raucous laughter broke out across the room. A man with a golden trumpet teetered wildly as he climbed on top of a dais along the south wall. He started to play a madcap song, and Zippy danced beside him like a monkey, hopping from foot to foot, his long arms hanging loose.

“I need to know what you want from me. We’re running out of time.”

Iell took my wrist and worked her index finger beneath the top of my glove. “Do you know what I most appreciate about you?”

I waited.

“Your patience. You are such a gentleman.”

A single sour
ta-dah
spewed from the trumpet, and Barnum came barreling across the room, a wild grin plastered across his face. I desperately hoped he hadn’t seen us, but he made a beeline straight toward me, the crowds parting as he came through. He stopped in front of Iell. His chest and neck looked massive. Clearly he’d seen us together, and he didn’t like what he’d seen. But what did it matter? He was going to know everything soon enough.