TWO FOR THE MONEY

I

Paris, France 1878

Rene Montgomery raised her opera glass and peered at the box adjacent to stage left: her husband was there talking to two women. For what reason she knew not. Reading lips was not possible, even with the magnification her glasses afforded. Humphrey had been strangely attentive toward her lately and it had worried her enough to notice a single strand of gray hair one night while primping at her bedroom mirror.

At first she didn't see the man, who was sitting in a box off to her right on the same tier, staring at her. When she lowered the glass something caught the corner of her eye. She turned and saw the man beckoning her. Raising the glass again she saw that it was Richard Harrison, a friend from Pittsburgh. He seemed quite earnest in his appeal. Wondering what he

wanted, she rose from her seat, deposited the glass into her purse, and left the box by pushing aside the red velvet curtain.

Richard Harrison, by this time, was waiting for her in the curved hallway outside his loge. Balding with wisps of hair meticulously combed over bare skin, the jacket he wore seemed too large and his head too small for his body. When he talked or smiled one missing upper front tooth was quite noticeable.

"Rene, I had to talk to you about your husband. Don't know when a better chance will come along."

She straightened her hat and remained silent. He liked to talk and it was better to let him ramble into sentences that were always short and interesting. Her brooch timepiece showed fifteen more minutes before the ballet started. He better hurry, she mused.

"Humphrey came to me a few days ago. I was embarrassed. With Marie sick in bed the apartment looked a mess. He seemed more worried than I've ever seen him. And when I asked him what troubled him, he said, 'Can't take it any longer.' Take what? I asked. He gazed at me for several seconds, not saying anything. He seemed awfully nervous. Then he said, 'Have you ever stole money from your wife?' Of course I told him no. Then he told me what method he used to take bunches of money from the safe in your dressing area. Did you give him the combination?"

Rene shook her head. "No, and I haven't opened the safe for more than a year. Perhaps I should." And she thought, perhaps I should right away.

"I thought not," Richard said. "That's why he's gotten away with the theft for so long."

"Did he say what the money was for?"

"Poque [poker]. He started playing the five hand game eleven months ago. Said it was new and exciting. He became addicted in grand style, betting heavy and losing often."

At this point the orchestra's first sounds of the overture came muffled through the walls. A few seconds later Richard hesitated and then whispered, "Here he comes. There's more I must convey. Can you meet me at the Trocadero Palace tomorrow?"

"There you are, darling," came from her husband as he approached their position. "You left your box."

Rene froze, but managed to say also in a whisper, "At ten, then," and in her natural voice as she turned round to face her husband, said, "Humphrey, who were those women you were talking with?"

As his arm brushed against Rene's gown, Humphrey said, "They belong to the Pittsburgh Historical Society. Funny how you can bump into people you know in a foreign land. Hello, Richard. I didn't know you were here. Since when did you like the ballet?"

"Good to see you, Humphrey. Marie wanted to come and see Desiree dance. If you'll excuse me, I hear the orchestra

warming up."

Rene nodded, took her husband's hand, and led him away from Richard's loge.

II

At 10 a.m. the next day Rene found Richard sitting at an outdoor table in front of the Trocadero Palace. The impressive building was part of the complex built for the 1878 World International Exposition in Paris and held sights that awed the

onlookers as they wandered through the lavishly decorated interior. Richard rose from his chair and moved out one for Rene. She sat down and pulled off her gloves, placing them on the table. She thought he looked more refreshed than at the ballet. Even the wide gap in his upper teeth held a certain charm when he smiled. A waiter arrived dutifully and hurried off after she ordered coffee and a sweet roll.

"So?" he said with uplifted eyebrows.

Rene knew immediately what he wanted to know. "While Humphrey slept I checked my safe. I was shocked. He's taken

more than fifty percent of my funds. At breakfast I didn't say a word about it. I needed to hear from you first, before approaching him with my discovery. I'm still seething, even now, sitting with you."

"I can imagine how you must feel." He picked up his coffee cup, sipped the hot liquid, and set the cup back down on the table next to his empty plate. "However, that's the least of your worries." He paused, waiting for the right moment.

Impatient, Rene pressed his hand. "You're a good friend, Richard. Humphrey sometimes acts like a child."

"You may be right. He's bought a race horse." He stopped and waited for his bit of news to take effect.

She looked startled, then: "When?"

"About three months ago. I promised him not say anything about his purchase. But the change in him has been affecting him more than he realizes. That's why I wanted to talk with you."

She squeezed his hand again, released it, and rested her hand on her lap. The waiter arrived with her coffee and sweet roll. Soon as he left, she said, "Is the horse winning?" She tested the roll and the coffee while he talked.

"On the ticket he's known as Watch Me Run." He laughed. "But every time he does, I close my eyes. He comes in dead last more than he should. Great looking horse, though. Stands seventeen hands. Gorgeous, brilliant legs. But, unfortunately, he isn't worth the price Humphrey paid for him. And Humphrey keeps up a good front when he's talking with the reporters, telling them, 'Watch Me Run is a late comer.' "

"Where and when does Watch Me Run run next?"

Richard studied her for a moment. Then: "Ho-ho! That would put a kink in his spine. You dropping by." He smiled and folded his hands on the table. "Sunday after next. At three o'clock. Liberty Park. He usually sits in the grandstand in front of the reporters." He paused, picked up his coffee cup. "Ho-ho! Got to be there and watch his face." Then he thought of

something momentous. "You showing up not so humorous. He'll know I told you his secret."

"No need to be concerned. I'll come with friends who attend every race like fanatics. I needed a new experience. He'll never catch on until I confront him with the evidence of his sticky fingers."

"Ho-ho! You are a devil of a woman."

Rene thought Richard's appraisal aimed a little too high. But she had made up her mind that Humphrey needed to change his recent habits. She, above anyone else, knew how to approach he husband to make a point worth his attention.

III

On the day of Watch Me Run's race, Rene and her friends, Samuel Fuller and his wife, Gina, arrived at Liberty Park just after one-thirty. There were enough spectators, bettors, horse lovers, pick pockets, drinkers, peeping Toms, and assorted human species of known or unknown varieties that guaranteed bumping into Humphrey accidentally would be impossible.

Liberty Park was well laid out, as far as race tracks go. The grandstand and the emerald green grounds that surrounded it on the sides and in front were magnificent and appealing. The dirt track, with its reddish soil and inside oval rail that measured 1 1/8 miles, contrasted with the little impact upon the eyes and man's always expanding imagination. When the sleek horses and their jockeys flashed by the stands, flying toward the first turn, everyone followed them with a multitude of interests. Rene, with her opera glass, searched the crowd for her husband. He was there with Richard, high in the grandstand against a low wall that separated spectators and reporters. She had not told her friends what the real purpose of her attendance was about and would remain so inclined. Samuel and Gina enjoyed her company and that knowledge alone was good enough as a front to hide her actual plot.

Her plan was simple enough. At least simple for a woman with little knowledge of the race track system. She had gleaned from Richard during their long talk in front of the Trocadery Palace how the betting system worked. It all played out perfectly well and orderly.

While the bettors queued the winner's booths at the conclusion of the second race Rene took Samuel's crooked arm and walked with them to the betting booths. Threading through the milling crowd was no picnic at the park. She was jostled, pushed, bumped into, cursed at, even stopped and gaped at once when a man thought she resembled his wife. He shook his head, tipped his hat and run off, bumping into others and causing a general ruckus.

Near the betting booths Rene spotted Richard first, knowing of course that Humphrey would be within shouting distance.

Humphrey was fifth in line at the middle booth. She steered Samuel toward her target while remaining silent. Samuel removed his wallet and took out several French notes as he took up his position last in line.

Rene dropped her hand, said as innocently as possible, "Well, look there. It's my husband." She left her friends and, with mocked surprise on her face, walked up to Humphrey and tapped his sleeve.

Now third in line, he whirled round and, seeing her standing there, nearly dropped two bundles of notes clutched in his hand. Rene, what are you doing here?"

"I came with Samuel and Gina. Thought I'd try watching the ponies run. They're the perfect pair to show me a good time.

You come here often?" It was an innocent question, but Humphrey's manner turned to other problems.

Instead of answering her, he said, "I can't believe you're here."

The line moved up one and he stepped forward to close the space.

Rene continued to develop her plan. "They're teaching me how to place a bet."

"I can show you how."

"Are you good at it?"

"Reasonably so."

She opened her purse and took out a stack of French notes and flashed them in front of his eyes. "Took these notes from my safe." She didn't have to say another word. The look of fear on his face was quite revealing.

The line now waited for him to complete his transaction at the booth. His hand shook as he turned to the bald man wearing arm garters behind the open gate. He was trapped and feeling low and queasy. He said, "Equal amounts on Watch Me Run for win, place, and show."

While the bald man counted the notes, his practiced fingers separating them into three piles, Rene said, "Is Watch Me Run a good horse to bet on?"

Humphrey continued to eye the transaction. "Best of the day."

"Good enough for Samuel to change his mind?"

"If he's already picked a horse, let him bet the way he chooses." He snatched the tickets handed to him by the bald man and took a step away from the line. As he stuffed the tickets into the side pocket of his jacket, he said, "Go ahead and say what's on your mind, Rene."

"Not here."

"Where?"

"I need a drink."

"All right. Let me tell Richard to take a long peek at the horses."

"And I must inform my friends."

Humphrey nodded, glanced at Samuel and Gina, then moved away. So far her plan was going better than she had anticipated.

They found an empty table close to the crowded bar. Rene sat down on one of three chairs and set her purse on the round table. Humphrey remained standing, his face getting whiter as time passed.

"What do you want?" he said with a nervous voice.

She considered, said, "Some brandy mixed with white creme de menthe."

Humphrey left and bullied his way through the throng at the bar. He returned with two drinks, set them in the center of the table, then settled reluctantly into a chair facing her across the two different shaped glasses, which remained untouched for several minutes.

She looked at him long and coldly before saying, "You owe me a lot of money, Humphrey."

Humphrey's face drained the rest of its color; his tongue became dry and too thick to retort.

But she continued on, her voice icy, deliberate. "It would have been easier to tell me your plans. More likely I would have approved. Have I ever refused you spending money? This instant, I'm completely disgusted with your deliberate betrayal. When were you going to tell me?"

He picked up his whiskey, gulped the entire contents and clutched the empty glass in front of his chest as if it would somehow help him confront his wife better. Then in a voice filled with emotion, said, "Many times, but things always seemed to go awry. I always intended to return the money before you took account of your funds. The more I tried, the more I lost. It was maddening. Richard couldn't help me. No one seemed able to help me. I don't know what to say to defend my actions."

"Try telling the truth."

When he drew in enough courage to look at her straight in the eye he saw something that had never existed before; a spine built with steel. Or had it always been inside her stout body, laying dormant? He swallowed some of his arrogance.

"All right." He set the glass on the table, not needing it as a prop any longer. "I bought a race horse, hoping to see a substantial profit. So far he hasn't been winning like he should."

"Watch Me Run. The ticket’s in your pocket?"

"Exactly." He swallowed and became thirsty. "I need another drink."

She nodded and watched him order another whiskey and return with the drink snug in his hand as if it were a vital part of his defense. He slumped into his chair and leaned forward, placing his forearms on the table, said, "I still don't know how to proceed," more to himself than to her.

"Do you know how much you've taken?"

He shook his head, pulled twice on his drink and parked the glass on the wet spot in front of him. "I'm sure you're going to tell me."

She leaned forward now, eyes blazing. "Thirty-five thousand."

The actual figure jolted him like he just ran full tilt into a brick wall. "That much? My God. I didn't realize."

"Realize this," and she picked up her purse and released it. There was a loud thunk when it hit the table. "It's your pistol, fully loaded. Anger made me bring it along."

His eyes widened in alarm, then changed into one horrible question.

"Relax," she said. "The moment's past. I'm not going to shoot you. I wanted to though, right after counting the money in the safe."

His body shrunk in the chair. Now he drank greedily, emptying the glass and setting it down with shaky fingers. "I guess saying I'm sorry wouldn't be good enough."

"It's beyond that too," she said. "How much is Watch Me Run worth? We've got to recover some of the loss."

He noticed it was the first time she had used "we" in a sentence for more than six months. "Not much I'm afraid. His track record of late has been miserable."

"Yet you bet on him today?"

"For what I thought were good reasons. He's been clocking excellent time during his warm ups for today's race. Our jockey told us he spurts with new power. And on one of the runs he broke a record that was established five years ago."

"But there's no guarantee."

"In this business there's no such word in the dictionary."

They remained quiet, looking at each other, testing the thickness of the other's mettle. Then the noise of bar chatter suddenly disappeared. The crowd seemed to be breaking away from the area, hotfooting it toward the spectator seats.

A chair spilled over and clattered to the floor. A glass broke into a thousand pieces. A man's hat rolled on the floor until it bumped against the leg of Humphrey's chair. Rene and Humphrey turned when they heard loud cheering and wondered what could be happening.

It was Richard who brought the news. His face was flushed with excitement as he ran to their table. He thumped Humphrey's shoulder and stood shaking all over. "He's won, Humphrey! That Old Loafer came in three lengths ahead of the pack. I've never seen him so magnificent. You should have seen it! God, I can't believe it. I need a drink!" He left, running happily toward the empty bar.

Rene and Humphrey eyed each other, Rene wondering if just talking alone would actually change Humphrey's outrageous behavior.

Charles Trent Alling has published four short stories and one history book. He is currently working on a fictional biography of Abraham Lincoln while he was president during the American Civil War.