The Babe Ruth Deception Read Online Free

said, then stood on the sidewalk, a tall figure in a suit that fell just so from his broad shoulders. With a purpose, he set off down the cross street.
    â€œSo much for poor wifey, sitting home alone,” Eliza said from the rear seat.
    â€œBabe’s not really a homebody?”
    â€œNot his home.”
    * * *
    Fifteen blocks later, they turned the Stutz over to the doorman. For Fraser, entering the Ansonia’s imperial lobby was an experience that never grew old. A large ceramic urn perched on a marble table worthy of St. Peter’s in Rome. Tonight the urn exploded with blue gladiolas, orange hibiscus, and ivory calla lilies. Lobby noises echoed across checkerboard marble floors that alternated with plush carpeting. Overstuffed furniture awaited distinguished backsides.
    They could never afford such a premier address on Jamie’s salary at Rockefeller. But Eliza, a leading theatrical agent, could handle the rent on her own. And lobby encounters with their neighbors—sports figures like the Babe and heavyweight champ Jack Dempsey, musicians like the opera tenor Caruso—were good for her business. It didn’t hurt that every floor held a kitchen with staff who would prepare meals for tenants. Neither Eliza nor Jamie was much of a hand at the stove.
    The lobby was quiet. The Ansonia’s friskier residents were still at post-theater suppers or nightclub shows, while the more staid folks had hunkered down for the night. The elevator operator knew they were going to the third floor. His presence made Jamie choke back the question until he was fumbling the key into their door lock. “How deep are you into these people—Abie Attell, Arnold Rothstein?”
    Eliza placed her bag on the hall table and flicked on the lights. When he closed the door, she stepped into his arms, her face against his shoulder, facing away. “Maybe the better question,” Jamie said, “is how deep are they into you?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œReally?”
    She sighed and stepped back to look up into his eyes. “If that terrible movie makes any money, which it shouldn’t if there’s a God in heaven, everything will be fine. Money fixes everything.”
    â€œAnd if it doesn’t?”
    â€œI don’t know. I’ve never been in business with people like this before.”
    â€œHow’d it happen?”
    â€œHow does any bad decision happen? I got talked into this movie in the first place, even though I don’t know much about films or anything at all about baseball.” She stepped over to the mahogany coffee table in the parlor and took a cigarette from a silver box. She lit it and inhaled deeply. “You liked the idea, remember?”
    â€œSure, anything with Babe Ruth seems like a sure winner, but when was the last time you listened to my opinion about business?”
    Eliza flounced onto the couch. She accepted Fraser’s offer of a nightcap. He poured them each two fingers of bourbon, good stuff that the Ansonia staff helped him find despite the legal ban on such beverages. He sat next to her.
    â€œAll I can say is it seemed like a good idea at the time,” she said. “In June, just before we started to film, one of the partners backed out. George Reiniger—you remember him?”
    Fraser shrugged a no. Neither of them spent a lot of time on the other’s professional life.
    â€œWell, George showed up with a substitute who could cover his fifty thousand for the project. We jumped at it. We needed to get going so we could cash in on Babe’s big year, first year in New York, all the home runs. We had to get the movie out before the season ended.”
    â€œWell, Babe’s holding up his end, still hitting homers,” Jamie said. “He broke his own record weeks ago.” He felt warm now, expansive. The bourbon tasted like dessert.
    â€œWell, that turned out to be Abe Attell.” She finished her cigarette and