Free Magruder's Curiosity Cabinet by H. P. Wood Page A

continue in such a hostile environment. We hope our demonstration has intrigued you and that we will see you soon at West Eighth Street, where Her Holiness is available for spiritual consultations.”
    Archie chuckles. “Ahh, so that’s her game. I was wondering.”
    The disappointed crowd disperses, and the assistant opens up a trifold screen, placing it in front of the girl so she can leave her trance in privacy.
    A moment later, she bursts through the canvas and storms up to Archie. “What in hell is your problem?”
    He bows low. “Your Holiness…”
    â€œOh, shut up. I’ve got a right to make a living, you know.”
    â€œYou were making a perfectly fine living with me, as I recall.”
    â€œNo, Archibald, I was making a perfectly fine living for you. Very different.” She notices Kitty. “Who is this, then? Found a new pigeon, have you?”
    â€œThis is Miss Kitty Hayward, recently of London. Miss Hayward, may I present the most celestial Yeshi Rinpoche, formerly known as Yeshi Lowenstein.”
    Kitty coughs. “I’m sorry? Lowenstein?”
    â€œArchie here loves to imply that I’m a fraud, but I am actually from Tibet. But we Tibetans don’t have surnames. So when I arrived in America, I borrowed the surname of the people in line ahead of me.”
    Archie smiles. “My practical girl.”
    She frowns. “I’m not your girl , Archibald. Not anymore. My brother and I make our own way.” She points to her assistant, chatting up the crowd and passing out business cards. “That’s him. Tenzin.”
    Kitty raises an eyebrow. “Tenzin…Lowenstein.”
    Archie laughs. “I love America! Miss Lowenstein, if you please, Miss Hayward and I had a rather profitable morning. Would you and Mr. Lowenstein care to join us for lunch?”
    â€œWe’re too busy, no thanks to you.” Yeshi glances at Kitty disdainfully. “Mind yourself around the old man here. If he tells you how many fingers you have, count them anyway.” She stalks off toward her brother, but Kitty stops her.
    â€œPlease, wait. The levitation. How is it done? I must know.”
    Yeshi smiles. She stretches her out her arms, and her long sleeves brush the sidewalk. “I am Her Holiness Yeshi Lowenstein, the first American Rinpoche. I can do anything.”
    â€¢ • •
    The trout stares vacantly up at Kitty. You don’t scare me , she thinks. I’m so hungry, if you sat up and begged for your life, I’d eat you anyway.
    The unlikely companions attack their platters. Archie and Kitty are seated in one of Feltman’s numerous outdoor dining areas. The courtyard is bordered by high trellises on three sides, with lanterns strung along the top. The trellises create the illusion that diners are gathered in an intimate environment where they were terribly lucky to get a table—rather than in the three-acre behemoth that is Feltman’s, serving thousands of patrons every night from its many kitchens.
    Feltman’s menu is itself a marvel of mixed signals, with French cuisine competing for attention with sausages and hot dogs for fifteen cents each. “Bratwurst versus meunière,” Archie muses. “It’s the Franco-Prussian War on a plate. Of course, we’d be eating even higher off the hog if Pearson had done right by us. You should have heard the greedy little muskrat. ‘Boohoo, this painting will sit in my warehouse for months, la la la,’ all the while licking his chops over the image of your father’s big, fat wallet. I had to take the painting halfway out the door before he raised the offer to a hundred bucks. Meanwhile, Pearson stands to collect ten times that amount.”
    Kitty raises an eyebrow. “But he won’t collect one thousand dollars. In fact, he just lost one hundred dollars.”
    â€œPearson, as far as he knew, was about to earn the easiest grand of his