Bess was quiet. “You know why I’m lonely,” she said finally.
Harry stopped cleaning but did not look up. “I can’t help you with that, Bess. We’re just not meant to have children.”
“We could adopt a child.”
“You have a dog.”
Bess scoffed. “A dog’s no substitute for a child.” Besides, even Carla, their Russian Pomeranian, was always left behind in New York under the care of the housekeeper when they traveled.
“Well, right now we can’t adopt. In a few years, when I’m more secure in my career, then we can talk about it. But you can’t drag a child around the world like this. It’s not fair.” He stood up. “I’m just very, very tired. And we have to pack our cases again tonight. We have to leave earlier than we planned for Atlantic City.”
Bess watched him turn away. “Is it because you’re afraid there’s something wrong with you?” she said. “That maybe you aren’t capable of making a child?” Harry stopped but didn’t turn around. Bess’s voice broke. “Or what if it’s me? Did you ever think about that? Did you ever think about what it would feel like to be a woman who can’t give her husband a baby? What use am I then? You have your work, but what do I have?”
Harry turned around. The hardness in his face had disappeared. He looked sad, and old for the first time in his life. “Bess,” he said. He took her in his arms and ran his fingers through the back of her hair. “You have me.”
“But I don’t have you. We’ve been invited to the most beautiful evening of the season, and you won’t go with me.”
Harry sighed. “You know how I feel about those parties. My head’s just too full of work right now to carry on a conversation about business or politics.”
Bess set her jaw to keep her lip from trembling. She would not let Harry ruin her night. “It’s all right,” she said. “I’ll go alone.”
She expected him to protest, but he only looked at her surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She picked up her handbag. She thought of the candlelit tables and the chairs garlanded with roses, waiting for her arrival. “I’m very sociable, you know. I can talk about politics all night.”
Young’s Million Dollar Pier had been open for only a few months, but it had become a sensation among tourists. Built as an arcade and amusement hall, it was not yet as famous as Steel Pier, but Harry had chosen it as the location for his jump because the closest jetty was over a hundred yards away. The millionaire John Young, who had built the pier, met them on their arrival and took them to survey the site. He had booked Harry to give a performance to attract attention to his new project. Harry would jump, handcuffed, into the ocean, free himself, and come ashore. The publicity from the jump would help sell tickets to his theater show, which would take place the following three nights in the pier’s theater.
Bess took a liking to Young immediately; he was a natural showman, like Harry. Everything about him was grand, down to his colorful neckties and his perfectly coiffed hair. Part of his charm was his careful attentiveness. He complimented Bess on her filigreed brooch, resting at the base of her neck. “The pier is almost two thousand feet long,” he explained. “But you don’t have to worry. It’s very sturdy; it was built with concrete. There’s a concert hall, a theater, and a telegraph station inside. We are finishing the aquarium right now. There will be sea creatures on display I guarantee you’ve never seen.”
Harry followed them inside, but Bess could tell he was barely listening. His eyes were darting across the room, examining the structure from every angle. It was early springtime, but the ocean was cold and rough, and the sea spray came up to the windows, the salt caking the glass. She wondered if he was concerned. He rarely told her about any hesitations. “My chief task,” he liked to say, “is to conquer my own fear. If I can do that, I can do anything.”
The inside of the pier was like a glamorous hotel. There was music playing softly from a piano across the room, and shining white floors. Young led them toward the center of the building, which opened onto a vast lawn, cluttered with sculptures and small potted trees. “This is my home,” he boasted. “When the post office delivers my mail, they deliver it to Number One Atlantic Ocean.”
Bess was awed. She and Harry had seen a great many spectacles in Europe, but a house in the ocean was not one of them. Across the lawn, the gray stone of Young’s residence glistened like glass.
“I had no idea this was here,” she said. “From the outside, you can’t even tell.” A cold burst of air rushed over the lawn. Bess wrapped her mink stole more tightly around herself. “It is cold, isn’t it, Harry? Perhaps we’d better go inside so you can warm up before you perform.” She could tell he was distracted. He did not like being in the company of others, besides her, for very long.