Kill the Night
Page 9
With its spacious, arched, carriage court and a multitude of towers interspersed along its walls, it cut an impressive sight from outside. Several baggage handlers moved in to collect their baggage, and then Ida and Edison stepped into the Grand Central Main Terminal.
Ida sucked in her breath. The Norman Castellated Romanesque structure had been decorated inside with marble floors, twenty-six-feet tall Corinthian columns, stained glass windows, and even a marble fireplace.
The concierge, a tall thin man with a terrible comb over and a whisper of a mustache, strode to them. “Mr. Edison? Miss Tarbell? I’ll have your bags taken to your suites.”
Ida looked confused. “Suites?”
“Grand Central Hotel is one of the finest establishments in the city. I have had two suites waiting for over a year. One for me, and one for Randolph.” Edison smiled. “Randolph will be sleeping on my couch, Miss Tarbell.”
“That is most considerate of you, Mr. Edison.” Ida watched Edison motion to one of the drivers with a top hat and cape standing by the outer door. The gentleman nodded and went outside where, ostensibly, he would prepare the carriage for wherever Mr. Edison wanted to go.
“My pleasure, madam. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business I must attend to.”
“I would like to go along,” Ida started.
Edison turned with a stern look and shook his head.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible at this point. Inventors do require a modicum of privacy for preparation. However, when the demonstrations are in production, Miss Tarbell, you will be the first one to know. I will call on you in the morning.”
“In production? Then can I ask questions as you put your inventions on display? We can talk about how you came up with them.”
“Most certainly, madam. That is why you are here. To give accurate account of the Edison legend,” Edison stopped and then turned. “If you will excuse me.”
As Edison crossed the marble floor and exited into the afternoon Chicago heat, a messenger boy ran up behind him with several sheets of telegraph notes. Edison took them and with a final backward glance in Ida’s direction, climbed into a waiting carriage.
Ida Tarbell checked into her hotel suite, spent a rather leisurely hour unpacking, and then went about exploring the hotel. To her amazement, she found that the basement of Grand Central Hotel had one of the city’s few working thermaes. In grand Roman tradition, a series of progressively warmer rooms had been built. Ida began with a rubdown with oils then progressed to a small private bathing stall, and finally to a hot room where a female attendant used a body scrubber to remove dead skin and then added more massaging oils. A quick dip in a private, cold pool and within a couple of hours she sat in the hotel library with the long trip behind her.
On the far side of Grand Central Station, a carriage pulled to a stop and Wedderburn stepped out. His hat shielded his face from the glare of the midday sun. Milo stepped forward but Wedderburn turned and waved the short man off.
“You know what to do next, Milo. No distractions. No delays. Ride. The wind at your back.”
“Sir, I would feel better if—”
“Thank you, Milo. Now go.” The stern, commanding voice gave no room for misinterpretation.
Milo nearly fell stumbling backwards. He climbed back into the groom seat and looked at Wedderburn with a hurt, childish expression. “Driver, move along,” he said hoarsely.
The carriage pulled away. After it was out of sight, Wedderburn moved quickly across Washington Square Park. The new arch loomed in the noon sun.
Not far away now.
Interlude 24
Tuesday, March 14, 1893, 3:36 p.m.
The Castle, Chicago
Located at Sixty-Third and Wallace in Chicago, The Castle became one of the many establishments that went up in the hustle-and-bustle days before the Exposition opened. Many people had foreseen the need for hotel rooms for the millions of visitors expected to visit the four-hundredth anniversary of Columbus’ discovery of America. Two miles from Jackson Park, Tesla had arranged for rooms in one of the more convenient hotels. The Castle’s new construction meant good running water and no creaky floors. The hotel was large enough for anonymity, and with its spacious rooms, made a good find.
Tesla entered the Sixty-Third Street lobby of the hotel at a hurried pace, head down and arms clasped behind him, deep in thought. Mr. H.H. Holmes, the owner of the hotel, emerged from his back office and upon seeing Mr. Tesla, laid a room key on the counter and smiled. He wore a bowler hat and sported a thick handlebar mustache. His clothes were spotless and wrinkle free. He briskly rubbed the counter with a cloth and it was clear to see he liked to keep a clean establishment.
Nikola had nearly made it to the elevator when a voice called out from nearby. He stopped and turned to see Julian Ralph.
“Mr. Tesla, I’d like to have a further word with you.”
Tesla drew his pocket watch out, noting the early hour with a glance. “Mr. Ralph, I—”
“Please, Mr. Tesla. I just need your response to this latest piece.” Julian Ralph held up a copy of the Chicago Daily Tribune to Tesla.
“It says right here that Mr. Edison called your AC current one of the…” he looked at his notebook then continued, “‘greatest threats to civilized society.’ Several city legislators in Chicago are asking the Exposition owners to retract your winning bid due to safety concerns.” He looked at Tesla, who took the paper and scanned it.
Tesla turned towards the proprietor. “Mr. Holmes, please have dinner sent to my room.”
The proprietor smiled. “Of course, sir. Will there be anything else then?”
“Just another set of toiletries, please,” Tesla remarked as he took a handkerchief out of his pocket to open the elevator door. As it closed behind the two men, the proprietor called out.
“You’re not going to be having any other guests upstairs tonight, are you, Mr. Tesla?”
“No, Mr. Holmes.”
“Remember to place the dishes and trays outside the door when you’re finished if you would kindly. The kitchen boy doesn’t have keys to the rooms. He’s barely up from a street urchin. Lord knows how sticky his fingers might be.”
“Understood, Mr. Holmes,” Tesla said softly, irritated, as the elevator rose.
Tesla opened the door and went into the study. He motioned towards the bar. “Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Ralph.”
The room had been built in the classic Italianate style, with tall, narrow, double-paned windows. In Tesla’s room, they extended nearly the entire length of the wall facing Sixty-Third. The Exposition could be seen in the distance, and with the sun still in the sky, the view of Chicago remained impressive. When the inventor walked back into the room, the reporter drank a glass of sherry and stared out.
“Several senators warned President Cleveland that attending your Exposition Exhibit could be dangerous.” The reporter held up a daily of the Chicago Tribune.
Tesla shook his head sadly and laid his waistcoat over the back of a chair.
“Is nothing more dangerous than man spreading lies,” Tesla muttered.
“It also says because your turbines will make heat engines obsolete, the number of people put out of work will cause a calamity of joblessness.” Ralph pointed to an article on the lower half of the paper.
Tesla wagged a finger. “Is utterly ridiculous. Last year, accepted invitation to England to speak before institution of Electrical Engineers. I didn’t really want go, but after declining, finally accepted. There, demonstrated electrical field of sufficient intensity could be developed in room, so wireless vacuum tubes could be illuminated. Requires turbines and transformers. One of the most spectacular events in science!”
“Mr. Edison says your patents are nonsense—attempts to do nothing more than ride on the back of his genius. What do you say about that?”
“Mr. Edison doesn’t follow through
with agreements and attacks anyone in way.”
“You’re saying he broke a contract?”
“He owed money. Never paid, and my patents are more effective than his!” Tesla growled, still reading the newspaper.
“So you’re calling one of this country’s leading industrialists and one of the most brilliant minds of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries a thief and a liar! You’d better have some pretty good evidence to back up a statement like that, Mr. Tesla. I wouldn’t want to be in the crosshairs of a slander suit in your shoes!”
“We had handshake,” Tesla muttered.
H.H. Holmes stood up from his desk and closed the receipt book, letting out a long breath. Then he looked at Mrs. Pitezel. Their two small desks were pushed together, facing each other. He liked being able to look at this small-hipped, curly haired beauty. He pulled out his pocket-watch and observed it showed almost five o’clock.
Mrs. Pitezel, his assistant, had just spent the last half hour moving all the ledgers and stacks of papers from one side of her desk to the other and back in a quest for some “receipt” she kept mumbling about. She had started dabbing the corners of her eyes.
As he leaned over, he noticed that she had her bodice loosened, something she seemed to be doing more often lately. He had a nice view of her ample and firm bosom, even the brown of an areola, for a couple moments while he rummaged around. She even pretended not to notice.
“I just can’t find it!” she said, frustrated.
He pulled a brown, torn envelope from the stack and laid it in front of her. “Let's give it a rest. It’s past dinnertime.”
H.H. came around the desk and leaned next to her. “I’m sure Mr. Pitezel is waiting for you at home with dinner.”
The woman snorted. “A flask of brandy is more likely his dinner, with a mess to clean up for mine.”
H.H. made no attempt to hide his leer at her bosom.
“Poor woman. If only there were something that could be done to make your situation better.”
Interlude 25
Tuesday, March 14, 1893, 6:07 p.m.
The Castle, Chicago
The tall figure strode across the street and up to the front door of The Castle, his Stetson and blue jeans wearing the dust of the trail and gentleman’s boots wearing the mud of the streets. He paused at the door.
H.H. opened the door for Mrs. Pitezel, placing her coat around her shoulders and letting a hand linger a bit too long and a bit too low.
The woman flushed, beaming at the proprietor. Then, noticing the figure at the bottom of the stairs, pushed his hand away. “Good evening, Mr. Holmes. I shall return the ‘morrow to finish the books.”
H.H. cleared his throat. “Yes, quite, Mrs. Pitezel. Have a nice night.”
The woman stepped down the four stairs to the street and walked around the silent stranger.
“Are you looking for a room, sir?” H.H. asked. The man didn’t respond.
H.H. held the door open, stepped to his left, flipped up the counter, and stepped behind it. The whole of the main entry had never left his field of vision. H.H.’s eyes flicked toward the open door and he saw the figure still just beyond the doorway.
H.H.’s hand went under the counter for the registry and he glanced down for only a split second, then back at the doorway. The man was gone. Strange. Where did he go?
When the bell further down the counter rang, H.H. visibly jumped. Somehow, the man had crossed the foyer through his line of sight, and now stood on the other end of the counter far to his right, near the elevator.
The gentleman’s forefinger, set in a calfskin glove, still hovered over the bell as its chime faded. With his face partially obscured by the wide brim of his hat, Wedderburn raised his head and smiled at the proprietor. “I would like a room please.”
Tesla stood at the window, staring down at the street. Julian Ralph sat at a small table with an oil lamp and smoked a cigar. Tesla turned from the window. “You’re writing article about Exposition, yes?”
“That is the task my publisher set to me.” Ralph nodded.
“Well, is not just about four hundred years of Columbus. Is about next four hundred years. Is about revolutionizing life.” Tesla shook the newspaper in his hand and turned back to face the window, raising his arms to the city sights. “Is about revolutionizing city, revolutionizing nation. Is about changing world! You want to see how works? You want City of Lights?”
Julian Ralph took the cigar out of his mouth and looked at Tesla pensively. “What are we talking about?”
“Access. Is that not what reporters look for, access?”
“I don’t have to show you the article for approval.”
“Don’t care. Am sure once you see what I am doing in basement of Electric Building, should convince!”
Ralph nodded. “Well, I suppose tomorrow—”
“No. Tonight! Leave now.”
“Well, I don’t know if—”
“No time like present!” Tesla said, grabbing his jacket. “We’ll take side staircase. Closer to street!” Then he moved through the rear door.
H.H. unlocked the hotel room for Mr. Wedderburn and stepped back, holding out the room key. “There you go, sir! Have a good night!”
Wedderburn did not take the key, nor did he move. He looked into the room, then back at Mr. Holmes. “Please take a look inside and make sure everything is in order. I don’t want to be blamed for something already broken.”
“Sir, I assure you that the room is—”
“If you please.” Wedderburn motioned, and for some reason H.H. found himself stepping into the room. Once inside, he heard the door close behind him.
“Is everything in order?” Mr. Wedderburn asked.
“Yes, sir, everything is in order.” He turned.
“Would you please open the curtains for me?”
Sighing irritably, H.H. turned to the windows. He opened the curtains and looked out at the city.
“I’d like to ask about one of your other patrons,” Mr. Wedderburn said, from across the room. He had tossed his hat on the bed and removed his gloves.
“Well, we do value our clients’ privacy.”
“I’m inquiring about a Mr. Nikola Tesla.”
H.H. turned and found Mr. Wedderburn standing directly behind him.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I will not divulge our guests or their information to you.”
Mr. Wedderburn remained quiet for several long seconds. Then his voice, now resembling a low growl, came again, “Perhaps you’d reconsider.”
Down on the street, Tesla and the reporter were looking for an omnibus, a streetcar or even a private carriage. An omnibus came by, but it already had too many on board.
Tesla pointed at it. “You see, Mr. Ralph. The truth is, it has already been decided. My turbines are working beneath the Niagara Falls, providing power for the Chicago Exposition, Chicago’s electric traction and more! Once the Expo is over, everyone will switch to AC power.”
Finally, Ralph flagged down a four-horse carriage and it slowed before the two men.
Tesla turned to glance back at the hotel. For a moment, at one of the windows, he thought he spotted a tall figure step up and draw the drapes closed.
Interlude 26
Wednesday, March 15, 1893, 7:12 a.m.
Grand Central Hotel, Chicago
Ida awoke to a gentle knocking. A young woman entered, set down a tray of food, and left without a word. Ida ate absentmindedly, annoyed that Edison had so quickly left her behind. After breakfast, she dressed and then went to Edison’s suite and knocked with no answer. She had gone downstairs and argued for several minutes with the floor staff about his whereabouts. They informed her that Edison had not returned the previous night.
Ida decided to go from Central Station to Jackson Park by streetcar. The city had grown tremendously in the first years of the 1890’s, and streetcars wer
e one way Chicago dealt with the tremendous strains of expansion.
Another evolution of city life featured the bicycle revolution. Everywhere, men and women travelled about on bicycles. This revolution, in turn, facilitated the need for concrete roads for riding. Ida spent time in New York, Philadelphia, even Paris, but none of the cities had the uniformity of concrete pavement from one end to the other, and extending into the countryside, that Chicago had.
The city boasted the largest streetcar network in the world and already had replaced most of its complex cable technology with electric traction for the upcoming Exposition. Ida paid her nickel and climbed aboard the electric wonder as it pulled her south towards Jackson Park and the World’s Fair. As she rode, she looked out the window at the bicyclists moving about the city to and fro.
Interlude 27
Wednesday, March 15, 1893, 7:22 a.m.
Electrical Exhibit, Westinghouse Space,
Chicago Columbian Exposition
Julian Ralph stared bleary eyed, bending down to observe the spinning egg. “Mr. Tesla, we’ve been looking at things all night and this is the most interesting thing you’ve shown me, yet!”
Nikola laughed. “Even the Egyptian Temple?”
Ralph smiled. “The Temple really impressed. But this is really amazing. It just keeps spinning.”
“It’s the principle of rotary magnetics.” Tesla grabbed the copper egg from the Polyphase Coil and held it up. “This will lead to the incorporation of the induction motor throughout the country.”