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Ling made a face. “Why would I want to be a bell?”
“It’s an expression. You look beautiful.”
“I do not,” Ling said, blushing.
“I’m sorry. I meant to say, who is that hideous beast in drag?”
“Now you’re just trying to annoy me.”
They’d reached the ticket booth. Ling handed over Marlowe’s handwritten IOU. It was creased from constant handling.
“What is this?” the ticket taker said, scoffing at the flimsy paper.
“It’s from Jake Marlowe himself. He signed it. See?” Ling said.
The ticket man shook his head. “Not to me, it’s not. Tickets are two dollars and fifty cents. Each.”
Ling’s mouth hung open. “But… but that’s a fortune!”
“There must be some mistake, sir. Miss Chan was promised a ticket,” Henry said.
Behind them, the others in line grew restless: “Get out of line!” “Step aside—let the paying customers through!” “What’s the trouble? Oh, just someone wanting to come in for free.” “Oh, look! There’s Mr. Marlowe!”
On the other side of the gates, a determined-looking Jake Marlowe cut a striking figure walking through the crowd, shaking people’s hands, welcoming them to his great vision of the future.
“Just a minute!” Henry said, and raced toward the gates. “Mr. Marlowe! Mr. Marlowe!” he called. “Mr. Marlowe!”
Jake Marlowe peered through the golden bars at Henry, his smile faltering. “Mr. Marlowe, it’s me, Henry DuBois? I’m here with Ling—Miss Chan. Sir, they won’t honor your IOU. They say we need a ticket.”
Marlowe stood for a second more, then walked away, glad-handing his way through the crowd.
There were few feelings that Ling hated more than shame, and now her face burned with it.
“Told you,” the ticket man said. “Everybody needs a ticket. Two dollars and fifty cents. Each. Next!”
“I shall write to the mayor!” Henry said to the gawkers and gossipers. “Let’s go. Heads high,” he murmured low into Ling’s ear, and they retreated to a bench a safe distance from the colorful swirl of the exhibition. Ling’s eyes were blurred with angry tears as she stared across the bustling fairground at the pavilions and booths on the other side of Marlowe’s gates, and at the white-domed Hall of the Future, where the glories of science would thrill other people. Where it was all happening. Without her. She’d given Marlowe the benefit of the doubt. She’d defended him to Mabel and the others, and he had looked right at her and denied her. Shamed her.
Henry handed over his handkerchief. “I’m sorry.”
Ling blew her nose. “I knew. That’s the awful part. I knew. I just didn’t want to believe it.”
“To hell with Marlowe. I’ll buy you a ticket. Why, I’ll buy you four tickets, and you can go four days in a row and stick your tongue out at that pompous fool every time!”
Ling snorted through her tears. “You don’t have enough money for one ticket, much less four.”
“That’s true. But it felt like the time for gallant speechifying. I rose to the moment rather well, I think.”
Ling was overcome by her love for Henry, jokes and all. It was funny how that could happen, how something strong and good could rise up from under the pain. Henry was her friend. She wished she could say something, I love you or You are the best friend I’ve ever had; I hope I’m a good friend to you, too. She hoped he could feel all that was unsaid between them. Somehow, she thought he would.
Ling handed back Henry’s handkerchief. “Thank you.”
Henry grimaced and held the snotty cloth by a corner before tucking it into his pocket. “Don’t mention it.”
The two of them watched the streams of people entering the gates of the fairgrounds. The children waved little American flags.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Henry said. “I’ll get a little money from David and Theta, enough to buy you a ticket. They’ll let you in.”
Ling stood up, balancing her weight on her crutches. “No.”
