She and Harry parted almost immediately—he toward a group of men in the back and she toward the excited chatter of Doll and Anna. They had found a new performer for their group, who would be joining them the following week, and they had given up their short-lived grudge against Bess for abandoning them.
“What is it like to be married?” Doll asked. “Do you feel like a different person?”
Bess shook her head, tears pooling in her eyes. Doll grabbed her hand. “What’s wrong? Did I say something?”
“We had an argument,” Bess said. “Harry and me. Just before coming here.”
Anna laughed. “Oh, is that all? Darling, married people argue all the time. It’s nothing.”
Bess covered her face with her handkerchief. “This was different.” She wanted to tell them what Harry had asked her to do, but she was too embarrassed.
“That’s what everyone says. I know my fair share of married women—I’ve got six married cousins, you know—and they all say that.” She handed her a heavy glass of beer. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”
Bess took the glass and swallowed the contents in four gulps. It was thick and bitter, and she almost retched it back up. “This is the worst beer I’ve ever had,” she said.
Anna shrugged. “Of course it is. We’re in the Gut.”
“Champagne tastes better.” Her mother had forbidden alcohol in the apartment—an order her stepfather never tolerated—but she would not forget the champagne Harry had opened after their wedding, the sensation of the bubbles popping against her tongue.
“Of course champagne tastes better,” Doll said. “What a silly thing to say.”
Bess looked across the room at Harry, who was seated at a far table with his legs stretched out in front of him, laughing. Evatima Tardo, the snake charmer, was seated beside him, her hand on his thigh. She was a strange, black-haired Cuban beauty, who spoke English with a heavy, seductive accent and performed a miraculous act—she enticed rattlesnakes to bite her bare shoulder and was able to sing beautifully as dozens of pins were pushed into her face. She had a mysterious tolerance for pain and poison that Harry envied. She claimed she had been bitten by a poisonous fer-de-lance as a child, which had immunized her, but Harry was certain she was lying and was always trying to entice her to tell him her secret.
Now she was brazenly flirting with him, leaning into him and saying something that was making him laugh. She had the tiniest waist Bess had ever seen, and Bess watched as Harry reached out and placed his hand on her hip.
“Bess.” Doll put her arm around Bess’s shoulder. “Don’t worry about them, love. He’s just trying to make you jealous. He’s your husband.”
Behind them, Bess heard a cork popping, and she turned to see one of the sailors holding a bottle of champagne over his head, the white froth pouring down the sides and onto the table.
“Where did you get that?” Bess asked him.
He grinned at her. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” When she shrugged he said, “We just got back from a haul, and I’ve got a stash of money. Want a glass?”
Bess nodded. “I would, please.”
“You’ll have to do a little something to get it.”
Bess blushed. “I don’t think so. I’m no chorus girl.”
“Nothing as bad as you’re thinking, you dirty girl,” he said coyly, holding up an empty beer glass. “You see, I only have this one glass to drink out of. Just come sit on my lap for a few minutes, and we can share it.”
Bess looked over at Harry again; his arm was still around Evatima’s waist.
“All right,” she said and moved cautiously to the sailor’s table. He was actually quite handsome, and clean, too—unlike most of the men she encountered in the beer halls. He looked about Harry’s age, and had similar dark features and a rounded chin.
“Are you Catholic?” she asked him as he handed her the glass.
He laughed. “I look it, don’t I? Sono italiano.”
“My mother would like you then.” She took a large gulp of the liquid and wiped her mouth.
“Is she that easy to please?”
“That hard to please, you mean.”
He put one arm around her stomach to keep her from falling off his knee. She could feel his hardness under her dress. “And what about you?” he asked. “Are you easy to please?”
Bess laughed. “Sometimes.” The champagne was going to her head, and she felt light with alcohol and flattery. Too late, she wondered what kinds of men she would have been able to attract if she hadn’t been so eager to marry Harry.
She leaned back against the sailor and lay her head on his shoulder. He bent over, pushing the hair out of her face, and kissed her hard on the mouth.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught a glimpse of Harry, still seated at his far table, staring at her. Evatima was gone, and he was wearing a look of such incredulous horror that she felt as if she had been struck in the gut.
He stood up, almost mechanically, and made his way to the door. She scrambled off the sailor’s lap and followed him outside. She found him sitting on the sidewalk, his face in his hands, crying.
“Harry,” she said. “It was nothing. It was a mistake.”