3
The next day Mary had work to do. She left Josie with Harper, since he would be home all day writing. “Are you sure she won’t interfere with your work?” she asked.
“Josie? Impossible. She comes up with great ideas.”
“Well then,” she said with a smile, “I’ll leave you two to collaborate.”
As she headed to Manhattan to meet Gilbert, it still bothered her that his task seemed so easy, considering the sum he had promised her. As much as she hated clichés, one kept repeating over and over in her head—Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. In an effort to chase it out of her mind, she thought about the origin of the phrase, that the size of a horse’s teeth indicated its age, and that image stuck in her brain, replacing the ancient saying. Not exactly an improvement. Finally, her train was delayed by another one that had broken down in front of hers, and her anxiety about being late for her appointment with Gilbert took over.
She was upset that she was fifteen minutes behind schedule when she met him at the Casino Theatre at 1404 Broadway. As a woman, she felt she had to be flawless or people would doubt her ability in what was overwhelmingly a man’s profession and also, to her dismay, a man’s world. Gilbert was sitting in the middle of the orchestra section watching a rehearsal of the operetta The Princess of Trebizond. Lillian Russell was starring in the production, and they were currently on a break. Sitting next to Gilbert was his assistant of the past ten years, Dorothy Davies, whom he sometimes called Dottie, but mostly Double D. Dottie was also British, and Gilbert took her on all his business trips. She was there to do his clerical work, take notes in business meetings, and verify what had transpired in those meetings. Mostly, she was seen and not heard, but Gilbert trusted her enough to discuss matters with her afterward. In reality, though, he only heeded her advice when she agreed with the decisions he had made, and she knew that.
“Mary, glad you could join me. Please sit.”
She detected a tinge of annoyance in his voice and she immediately apologized. “I’m sorry I’m a bit late. One of the trains broke down and—”
“No bother at all.” But there really was some bother. She decided to drop it though. No matter how real it might be, an excuse is just that: a reason for not fulfilling your responsibility. Her thought process was interrupted by Gilbert’s introduction of his assistant, Dottie.
After they shook hands, Mary commented, “Those are marvelous-looking gloves, Dottie.” They looked very expensive, a fine leather that was dark red and went well with her burgundy dress.
“Oh, thank you. I saw them in a window on Savile Row in London and just had to have them.”
Gilbert added, “Some women are obsessed with shoes, others with jewelry. Dottie’s passion is gloves.” He then shrugged. “I’ve been married for almost thirty years, and I still don’t understand women.”
“Haven’t you heard?” Mary responded. “We’re supposed to be a mystery.” Gilbert and Dottie both smiled and Mary changed the subject. “Are you considering Lillian Russell or any of the other actors for your production of The Grand Duke?”
“No, casting The Grand Duke is easy. Actors flock to our operettas.” He glanced over at Dottie, who dutifully smiled her agreement. “I’m on a mission, so to speak, for The Fortune Hunter.”
Mary was a bit confused. “Isn’t that a drama?”
“Precisely. My intention is to ask Lillian Russell to play the female lead.”
“A musical-comedy actress in a drama. Interesting.”
“I haven’t met a comic actor yet who wasn’t dying to do drama, nor, for that matter, a dramatic actor who didn’t crave a comedy role. Think of it: Lillian Russell in her first dramatic turn. The crowds will line up around the block, dying to get into the theater.”
“I applaud you. You know theater a lot better than I do.” Actually, she thought the idea would be a creative disaster even if it did work financially. But she wasn’t being paid to give advice on producing a play, especially not to W. S. Gilbert.
He gestured toward Dottie with an open hand. She quickly and dutifully took an envelope stuffed with cash out of her pocketbook, then handed it to him, and he in turn gave it to Mary. “Hopefully, I’ll have a play to show her shortly.” As she opened it to look inside, he said, “Feel free to count it. I believe all four thousand is there.”
Mary did check, and it was. “Thank you, William. I expect you’ll have your play in your hands later today. If there is any problem at all, I will—”
“Billy!” The booming voice that interrupted them belonged to Lillian Russell, who was charging up the aisle to greet Gilbert.
He stood and extended his arms, gesturing toward her. “Lillian.” He then nodded to Mary, signaling that it was time for her to go. As she did, he walked to greet Russell.
“You rascal,” Russell bellowed as they hugged. “You didn’t tell me you were coming to view my rehearsal.”
“I didn’t want to throw you off your game.”
“Of all people, you should know, Billy darling. No one throws me off my game.”
At the exit to the theater, Mary turned and saw the two of them sitting down to talk. She would have liked to hear the conversation that followed Lillian Russell’s enthusiastic greeting, especially the part where he asked her to do a drama. But she needed to go back to Brooklyn. She had a meeting in Prospect Park. In the Long Meadow section, where the sheep grazed.
“If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times.” Mary’s mother, Elizabeth, was in full lecture mode. “When you have a child, only one person should be working.” She slammed a meat cleaver down hard on a piece of lamb for emphasis and turned to one of her employees. “That’s how you do it. Rack of lamb, eight ribs, one side. Got it?” The man nodded. Elizabeth handed him the cleaver, wiped her hands on a towel, then removed the white apron she was wearing, revealing a simple and proper dress for business. Though she had never worked until her husband died, she had taken over his butcher shop and proven herself to be a shrewd businesswoman, surprising the men with whom she was competing. She had already expanded to two stores and was currently negotiating for a third in Manhattan. Her lecture about family was directed at her son-in-law, Harper Lloyd, who stood by the counter, holding her granddaughter, Josie.
“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” she said, resuming her discourse on child-rearing as she took Josie from Harper. “Come to Grandma, Josephine.”
Josie didn’t respond to Elizabeth at all. She kept looking at her daddy. Harper knew why. So did Elizabeth.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You keep leaving her with me because of these sudden emergencies, and I’ll have her responding to her proper name. Won’t I, Josephine?” Again, Josie didn’t react to her.
Elizabeth wasn’t Harper’s first choice to watch Josie. He’d known from experience that she was going to give him a hard time, but his father was working as was Mary’s brother, Sean, and Mary’s best friend, Sarah, lived too far away. So, he bit his lip and went to her.
“It’s not an emergency,” replied Harper. “I got a lead on an article I’m writing. The person is leaving town this afternoon and—”
“That sounds like an emergency to me.”
Harper was getting itchy to leave and decided to drop this petty matter, an area in which Elizabeth excelled. “I appreciate you watching Josie for a couple of hours while I attend to business. Two hours at the most. That’s all it will be.”
“Not a problem in the least. I love spending time with my little Josephine.” She turned to Josie. “Grandma is going to teach you all about the meat business.”
Satisfied that everything was settled, Harper kissed Josie on the cheek. “Love you, Josie. Daddy will see you in a couple of hours.”
As he left, she began to cry and Elizabeth tried to soothe her, but to no avail. Josie had done that before. Harper knew he had to steel himself and keep going. She reached out her hand for him, and then it happened.
“Da-da.”
Harper stopped and turned. Filled with joy, his heart started pounding. “Did you hear that? She said my name. It was her first word and she said my name!”
“She’s probably in her babbling stage. It could have been anything.”
“Da-da.”
“That’s not anything. That’s me!” said a jubilant Harper. He rushed to Josie, took her little hand, and kissed it. She immediately stopped crying. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Daddy will be right back and then we can spend the rest of the day together doing whatever you want to do.”
“Yes,” said Elizabeth, oozing sarcasm. “You can once again trounce your father at chess.”
Harper ignored her comment. He kissed Josie on the cheek once more and headed for the door. She started crying again. This time Harper kept going. He couldn’t wait to get back to her.
He stepped out onto a street teeming with pedestrians. It was a typically noisy day. A man driving a milk wagon was yelling at a fruit peddler to move his cart, a group of kids was playing ring-a-levio, and there was a slew of shoppers going in and out of stores.
None of that fazed Harper. He was on an important mission, but at the moment all he could think about was Josie’s first word. “Da-da” kept ringing in his ears. It brought a big smile to his face and made him oblivious to his surroundings.