The Last Illusion

I woke early, my stomach in a knot about what I had ahead of me. I was ready and raring to go by eight, and I wanted to pay a call on Daniel the dressmaker, but I knew better than to disturb theater folk before ten. I made myself walk slowly in his direction and on the stroke of ten I knocked on his door.

“Just call me a miracle worker, but I think I’ve come up with a solution to our problems,” he said, opening the door to admit me into his cluttered room. “Rather stylish, if I say so myself.”

He handed me the garment that had been lying beside his sewing machine. I looked for somewhere to retire when he asked me to try on the garment but he laughed. “I can tell you haven’t been in the theater, my darling. We don’t worry about such things. Besides, I’ve seen it all before and you are in no danger from me.”

So feeling rather foolish, I removed my dress and allowed him to help me into the costume. It really was rather lovely: white satin bloomers, a frilly white jabot at the neck, and over it a bright green cape, lined with sparkling gold.

“We show off your legs, which are your only good feature, apart from the hair, which is rather striking, I have to admit,” he said. “And we draw attention away from the waist, or lack thereof, by the frills at the neck and the flowing cape.”

“It’s lovely,” I said, because I could tell this was expected and the reflection in his mirror was quite pleasing. “Could it possibly be ready for tonight?”

He rolled his eyes again and gave a dramatic sigh. “I told you I was a miracle worker, didn’t I? I suppose if I work slavishly all day . . .”

So I left him with at least one thing in place. Now all I had to do was become the person who was to wear that costume. I arrived at the theater to find Houdini pacing impatiently.

“There you are at last,” he said. “Right, let’s get down to it. Lots to learn and no room for error. You think you can do this?”

“We’ll know by the end of the day, won’t we?” I said. “But I’ll give it a good try. If not, I can always watch you from the wings, if that’s what Bess wants.”

He paused, considering this. “The act goes better with a second person,” he said. “You saw last night. They weren’t satisfied with just the escapes.” He clapped his hands and started barking orders.

My goodness, how we worked that day. I’ve never been afraid of hard work in my life. After all, I had to run a household and look after my father and three brothers after my mother died and that was no easy task. I worked in a sweatshop for twelve hours a day once when I was on a case. But I don’t think I’ve ever had to work as hard as that day with Houdini. He was a perfectionist himself and demanded perfection.

“Again,” he would say, clapping his hands as if I were a performing animal. “No, never turn your back on the audience. Wrong hand. This way. Now, cross the stage. No, not like that. And don’t stick out your behind when you wheel in the cabinet.”

Over and over it we went until I was so tired that I felt close to tears. He only released me just before six o’clock to take a cab to pick up my costume.

“What about makeup?” I asked.

“You can use Bess’s tonight.”

So there I was, dressed in my new costume, my face made up, my hair piled up with an egret’s feather ornament in it, and feeling absolutely terrified. I was about to go out there, in front of all those people, with one of the most famous entertainers in the world.

“Don’t let me down,” he said, as we made our way down to the stage.

It was interesting to watch the reaction of the other theater folk. Old Ted had only frowned when I had arrived in the morning to rehearse. But when I came back for the performance he said, “So that was what this was all about—trying to wangle yourself into a job? At least I suppose it’s better than what some young ladies will do to be cast in the theater.”

“I’m only helping out because Bess Houdini isn’t well enough to go on,” I said. “Let’s just say I was in the right place at the right time.”

“If that’s what you say,” he said, clearly not quite believing me.

The stagehands had reacted with astonishment and amusement when they saw me rehearsing. And after they had gotten over their surprise at seeing an intruder turned into part of the show, I provided good entertainment for them as I stumbled my way through learning the physical positioning of the act. And Mr. Irving, the theater manager, had come stomping onto the stage as we were in midrehearsal.

“What’s this I hear about some new girl?” he demanded. “What is this?”

He frowned as he stared at me. “You’ve been hanging around for a few days.”