The Transformation of Bartholomew Fortuno: A Novel (21 page)

As for me, I willingly allowed him to slip his hand inside my jacket and play the tips of his gloved fingers over my ribs, probing each bone, because I knew that he, like few others, truly understood my gift. And though he gave no indication that he sensed any difference in me—my vigor had increased considerably after my recent taste of that root—his glowing smile reminded me that he knew I was the real thing, no doubt about it.

But shortly thereafter, Mrs. Barnum entered the studio with Fish, and the mood shifted. Even Brady seemed a bit flustered when he saw
her, gesturing for his assistant to bring out chairs and tea and dashing to join them up on the far side of the room as all of us stood at attention—afraid to appear too happy or sad or nervous or relaxed. It was never wise to draw undue attention to oneself when Mrs. Barnum was near. The same question was clearly on all of our minds: What is she doing here?

When Brady disappeared into the shadows, I prepared myself for the session. I felt a bit overexposed when I took off my jacket and pants, peeling down to my tights, but Brady needed to capture my true essence, so I didn’t really mind. The problem was Mrs. Barnum, who stared down her spectacles at the lot of us, whispering God knew what in Fish’s ear. When she finally glanced my way, I ran a finger across my eyebrows, hoping I looked at least presentable.

We waited, knotted together in the corner like schoolchildren, as Brady’s assistants hauled in more glass and trays of foul-smelling liquids and ducked under the long black cloths attached to the viewfinders. Finally, Brady reappeared, dragging a potted fern behind him. His main assistant, a paunchy youth with skin the color of goat cheese, clicked his tongue and ran to help him bump the fern noisily up the steps and onto the platform’s center. It was only when Brady stumbled and needed help down the stairs that I realized how much his eyesight had deteriorated.

“You!” Brady yelled out to Alley, who had slumped to his haunches to rest, and gestured to a collection of props in the far corner of the studio. “Could you kindly retrieve that chair at the top, my fine mountain of a man?”

Alley scaled the prop pile and plucked the gilded chair like a prize. He tumbled down, chair held high, and placed it carefully on the center of the dais.

I slid my eyes toward Mrs. Barnum, who seemed preoccupied with the tea that had just arrived. I glanced over at Matina and noticed how her gown made her skin look like alabaster. “Your dress is lovely,” I whispered in her ear.

“Do you think so? Thank you so much.” Matina sighed and tilted her body gently into mine, her upper arm pressing squarely against my
side. Even with the extra vigor from the root, it made me nervous to support her great weight, but I didn’t want to offend her by moving away. “You know, Barthy, I’ve been thinking. Perhaps we should plan an evening out,” she whispered. “Just the two of us. This Sunday, perhaps.”

I took a step backward. An evening out? Hadn’t I offered to take her with me on my first trip to the Chinaman’s and she unequivocally turned me down? And that was well before I found out how hard it was to navigate the streets. I could no longer imagine going out with Matina in tow.

Matina sensed my hesitation. “We needn’t do anything fancy, Barthy.”

“I’m so sorry, my dear. But I really don’t think . . .”

Matina paled.

“Quiet now,” Brady ordered. “I want the rest of you on the dais. We haven’t much time, so up you go. We’re going panoramic!”

We moved forward in a group; when I tried to help Matina by taking hold of her arm, she pulled it away.

Ricardo pushed his way to the front. “Christ almighty!” he cried out, and in spite of Mrs. Barnum’s presence, or perhaps because of it, he pulled out a flask from his hip pocket and took a swig. Emma reached out to take the flask from him. Surprised, Ricardo lurched and lost his balance. When he tried to steady himself, he bumped against an assistant carrying a tray, and its black liquid spewed onto the floor behind us. The air stank of sulfur.

“My sweet peppers, you must take care! Come over here, you naughty lad. And watch the mess. Don’t walk through that.” Brady grabbed Ricardo’s flask, slipped it into his own pocket, and led him around the oil spill and up the stairs. When Ricardo made a beeline toward the gilded chair, Brady tetched at him and pointed him to the far left.

Up we all went after that, and, like the characters in a minstrel show—the master of ceremonies, the banjo player, the fiddler, Mr. Tambo, and Mr. Bones—we arranged ourselves into a wide horseshoe. In the middle, the empty chair sat like a taunt. Brady rubbed his hands
together and looked toward a closed door to his right, then up at the windows, where the sky perceptibly lightened as the sun rose higher. I tried to catch Matina’s eye, but she avoided me. The air was musty and close.

The dour look on Mrs. Barnum’s face as she sipped her tea caused Fish to hold up his watch and point. “Yes, of course.” Brady answered Fish’s gesture with a loud clap. “We’ll fetch her now.”

The assistant scurried out the side door, and when it reopened we all turned our heads. Matina snorted, Emma chuckled, and my belly went hollow with excitement as Iell walked into the room. Sunlight poured in from behind her, brightening her hair, which draped deep red against her bodice. Iell floated toward the dais and mounted the stairs, walking to the empty chair without hesitation and without so much as a glance in the direction of Mrs. Barnum, who was tracking her every movement.

“You’d like me to sit in this chair.” It wasn’t a question. Before she sat, she looked behind her at the lot of us, her gaze stopping briefly at me, her eyes running the length of my torso. She’d not seen me in costume before, and for a brief moment, I heard her words again:
Apparently, you do have a choice.
But she gave me a small smile, and my concern dissipated. What a charming woman. So like my mother but, thankfully, without my mother’s unpredictability. My mother was strong, no doubt, but she was also superstitious and believed in odd omens. She could become hysterical if a cat stood crookedly on a windowsill, for example, or if a tree branch broke into some odd shape. In contrast, Iell seemed fully in control of her charms. She took her seat, and Brady dove beneath his black cloth.

“All right, now, I want you to look like a family.” Head buried, he pulled one arm free to wave his hand like a flapping bird. None of us knew how to interpret such a request, so he popped out, his hair frazzled. “What is the problem, my beauties? Gather closer to the center. Come on now, it’s not so hard.”

Without thinking, I stepped forward and grabbed hold of the top rungs of Iell’s chair, wisps of her red hair brushing against my fingertips. I heard Matina gasp behind me.

“And the rest,” demanded Brady. “What are you waiting for?”

Slowly, the others followed suit until they had all shuffled closer to Iell. Matina was the last to move. When she slid behind me to my left, I stared straight ahead toward the camera, suspecting I’d made another error in judgment but unable to correct my path.

Two of Brady’s minions stood at the table, dipping dark glass plates into an oily emulsion before sandwiching them in a metal drainer. The shorter of the two plucked out a plate and slid it into the back of the camera. Brady crawled beneath the cloth once more.

“Perfect. Hold still!”

We held our breath.
Flash!
A sudden explosion of light nearly blinded me. My fingers slid across the top of the chair a half-inch closer to Iell.
Flash!
Matina sniffed behind me. Were those tears?
Flash!
They couldn’t be.
Flash! Flash!
Much too late to change position, much too late to move, I shut Matina from my mind and looked down my nose at Iell. If I dared, I could tangle my fingers through her hair and pull her to me. To my horror, I felt the stirring of my sex. For a moment I wasn’t even sure what was happening. But yes, I could definitely feel movement below, like a serpent coming to life.

“I said not to move!” Brady yelled, but I had to inch to the left to hide behind the chair. Desperate, I glanced over toward Mrs. Barnum. Thank God she was busy putting sugar in her tea. I concentrated on the boards on the far wall after that, and counted ten more explosions of light before Brady dropped his waving arms, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. The sun had completely risen by then, and as it washed across the studio, its blinding light helped me regain enough control to move away from the chair. What in heaven’s name had come over me? Never in my life had I had such a bestial response to a woman.

Brady waved us free. “All right, my lovelies, that’s it! You can all go home now.” Matina stood alone near the stairs and I stepped away with the intent of joining her, but Iell stopped me with a touch to my wrist, beckoning me nearer. She now seemed a bit unsteady, as if she could not feel the seat beneath her or had just awakened and was trying to orient herself to the living world.

“I got your charming note,” she whispered, looking up at me with cloudy eyes. “I was thinking that perhaps you’d consider making another trip to the Chinaman for me. Mr. Barnum need not know.”

Would I mind? Absolutely I would mind. Hadn’t I already decided never to go again? But Iell was so fetching and so in need of my help, the words slipped out of me. “Nothing would make me happier than to make another trip for you. As often as you like.”

“Ah, Mr. Fortuno, I cannot tell you how grateful I would be.”

She held up a hand for me to help her to her feet, but before I could touch her, Brady’s assistant swooped in.

“Not you, my dear. Barnum wants more pictures of you alone.” The assistant helped Iell up from her chair, muscling me away, and led her toward a closed door in the back.

Immediately, I turned to Matina, but Alley had already helped her down the stairs. He shot me a wicked look, and I thought for one startling moment that he’d seen the change in my body. But that was not possible; all my colleagues had been standing behind me. No, Alley’s ire was clearly in defense of Matina, and I supposed I didn’t blame him. I’d upset her and needed to make amends quickly. But why should she be so upset over my eagerness to join Iell? Matina and I had never made such claims on each other before. Damn that kiss.

I let Matina and Alley go on without me. Alley would see her to the carriage, and it would be better if I waited and spoke to her later, after she’d calmed down a bit. Looking around, there was no sight of Iell. I was done here, and I would walk back to the Museum alone. Why not? It wasn’t that far, and it was still early enough that the streets would be empty.

Fish called out to me after I’d finished dressing for the street.

“Over here, Fortuno. One moment more, if you please.” He pointed to a wooden chair and motioned for me to occupy it. Mrs. Barnum sat expectantly next to it, her heavy black shoes rooted squarely on the floor, her cane propped against the nearby wall. Emma stood next to her, but she turned and left after Mrs. Barnum waved a dismissing
hand. My throat constricted. Why in the world would Mrs. Barnum wish to speak to me?

I slipped on my gloves and forced myself forward, checking to see whether any of my colleagues were lingering nearby.

“Mr. Fortuno, how nice to see you again.”

I bowed briskly to the woman and my heart pounded. Mrs. Barnum’s iron-gray hair, pulled tightly against her scalp, emphasized her high cheekbones and a nose as sharp as a beak. Her black dress bespoke civility, but that external calm was clearly studied. One glance at her scorching eyes warned me against complacency. She smiled graciously, gesturing for me to sit, and I could think of no way out. The unpadded wood of the chair hurt the bones of my pelvis. Could she have planned that? Of course not. I was being ridiculous.

“I am told you and my husband have become close of late,” Mrs. Barnum said, breaking the silence that had already grown between us.

“Kisses his arse,” Ricardo yelled, from somewhere behind me. To her credit, Mrs. Barnum ignored him, and one of Brady’s assistants hustled him out.

“He employs me,” I said cautiously.

Mrs. Barnum lifted her well-groomed eyebrows. “As do I. People sometimes forget that.”

“Of course, Madam, of course.” I pulled my coat tightly over my jersey. The two of us were now alone in the studio.

Mrs. Barnum smiled again. “Do you enjoy your work at the Museum, Mr. Fortuno?” Her tone sent a shiver up my spine.

“Absolutely,” I asserted, shifting on the chair. “How could I not? It’s a big step up from the circuses.”

Mrs. Barnum squinted as she considered me, and my palms began to sweat. “So you are an ambitious man?”

“No, not ambitious. Though I believe that a man can make what he wants of his life.”

“Funny. I’ve always thought it was life that made what it wanted of a man.” Mrs. Barnum played with a large garnet ring she wore on one finger, and even though my greater height forced me to look down on
her, I felt like a child at his parent’s feet. Mrs. Barnum regarded me skeptically. “Did you know my husband was a shop boy when he married me?” she said finally.

“Yes, I had heard that.”

“Like you, he claims not to be moved by ambition, yet I have lived with him for many years, and if it isn’t ambition that drives him, I don’t know what else to call it. Perhaps it’s something higher: a religious quest, a calling. Who am I to judge?” She sniffed dryly. “But he has peddled people like you for as long as I can remember. Don’t misunderstand me; I don’t entirely mind. His obsessions have kept him occupied, and until now they have been lucrative and relatively harmless. But this new fixation of his? That’s another thing entirely.”

“Fixation, Madam?”

“I think we both know who I mean.”

I nodded in assent. Obviously, she was referring to Iell. The room grew much warmer, and I wondered where this conversation was heading. Brady laughed from some hidden room in the back, and I remembered that Iell was still with him. My stomach rolled over.

“What is it I can do for you?” I asked, the fear of what she might want of me stronger than my fear of offending her.

“It’s my belief that you have been colluding, however mildly, with my husband. Helping this person obtain certain items. I would ask you to stop.”