Read Bravado's House of Blues for Free Online Page B

Barnham.”
    “Ah,” Fort said. “The Mystery Poetess of Boston I’ve heard so much about.”
    “Nantucket, originally,” she said, extending her hand. “Mr. Fort. A pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand, squeezed it.
    “Nantucket?” Jacob asked. “Really?”
    She nodded slightly. “Born and raised.” She turned to Fort. “So what were you going on about?”
    “His book,” said another of the men. “And he’d best stop, considering the limb I’ve climbed out on for him.”
    Fort released her hand. “I told you, Dreiser, you needn’t bother.”
    A bespectacled man with a greasy comb-over and wide lips inserted himself between them, taking her hand. “Miss Barnham.”
    “Mr. Dreiser,” she said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. The fingers of his other hand lingered a bit long on her wrist. She gently pulled away, craning her neck to see around Dreiser. “What’s it called?”
    He stepped aside. “The Book of the Damned.”
    “Fantastical or spiritual?” she asked.
    “Neither, actually,” Fort said. “Or perhaps both, I suppose.”
    “Fort here chases down the unusual and extraordinary,” Dreiser said.
    “Yes, Mr. Schonfeld told me as much,” Agnes said. “Do tell me a bit about it.”
    Fort’s smile widened. “I’d be happy to, Miss Barnham. What strikes your fancy? Strange markings on meteorites that have fallen from the sky? Artifacts found within rocks? A rain of fishes in a cornfield?”
    Agnes shrugged. “Anything, really. Just tell me the most amazing thing you’ve seen.”
    Dreiser laughed. The others in the group chuckled as well, except Jacob. Jacob stared at her, a strange look on his face. Charles Fort blushed.
    “Fort here hasn’t actually seen any of the amazing things in his book,” Dreiser said, clapping the man on the back. “He gathers them up from the library.”
    “Not so, Dreiser,” Fort said. “I’ve seen the most amazing of the amazing.”
    “Pray tell,” Agnes said.
    Fort put his hand on her shoulder, turning Agnes slightly. “Do you see the piano there?”
    She nodded. The group became quiet.
    “Are you watching carefully?”
    She nodded again, squinting intently.
    “Now . . . move just to the left. The woman there, in the blue dress? Do you see her?”
    “Yes.” She was a short middle-aged woman talking with a group of matrons. She glanced over, smiled and gave a subdued wave.
    “That woman is my wife, Annie Fort, and she is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” He chuckled and dropped his hand from her shoulder to glance back at his friend. “What do you think of that, Dreiser?”
    “Fort, you devil, I’m speechless,” Dreiser said.
    “And that,” Charles Fort said to the group, “is the second most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.”
    The conversation moved on around her, but Agnes couldn’t hear anything. It was as if someone had stuffed cotton into her ears. The music faded. The voices drifted and the room slowed down. She watched as Jacob talked with his friends, watched his hands move, watched his eyes move. Light came from him and suddenly he seemed very much the same larger than life figure that stood against the sky in her memories of that plaza in Mexico City.
    Maybe, she thought, visitations happen every day. She opened her mouth to say so, to somehow add something to all of the words she could no longer hear. Then Agnes realized suddenly that Jacob’s eyes were fixed on hers, his lips forming a surprised and nervous smile, his hands limp at his sides with no further point to make.
    A quiet miracle rustled but refused quite yet to be born.

    *

    On a rather dreary Friday evening in late May, the phone rang unexpectedly. Her father answered, grumpily thrusting the phone toward her after a few minutes of listening. “Some editor.” He screwed his face into a twist, as if he smelled something foul. “Wants to talk to you about your poem.”
    They’d never phoned before; usually corresponded by mail. Agnes