Introduction

A scandal that shocks a nation?and a passion that transforms a woman.

At the 1893 Chicago World's Fair, the modern, the exotic, and the ground-breaking collide. But Dora Chambers has more pressing matters to consider. Hoping to begin a life of wealth and privilege in Chicago, she sets out to earn the approval of the Fair's Board of Lady Managers to appease her ambitious, aloof husband. Unimpressed, they give Dora the distasteful task of enforcing proper conduct at the Egyptian belly dancing exhibition.

But Dora's sensibilities are not so easily flustered. She finds herself captivated by these exotic women, and by their enigmatic manager, Hossam Farouk, who makes his mistrust of her known?although his lingering glances hint at something else.

As Dora's eyes are opened to the world beyond a life of social expectations and quiet servitude, she finds the courage to break free of her self-imposed bondage, and discovers the truth about the desire and passion in her own heart.

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Excerpt

Chapter One

Dora Chambers entered the Egyptian Theatre behind the crowd of gritty laborers and pale office clerks, the older gentlemen and boys barely of an age to shave. The masculine scents of their hair pomade and Ivory- soaped skin mingled with the fragrance of the tendrils of smoke curling from brass burners set along the stage. She raised her handkerchief to her nose.

“Are you sure you're up to this, dear?” Agnes Richmond placed a grandmotherly hand on Dora's shoulder and leaned closer to be heard over the high- pitched whine of a horn.

“Of course, she's up to it,” muttered Geraldine Forrest as the three settled along the back of the standing room gallery behind the rows of filled seats. She brushed at the sleeves of her tailored wool jacket and, for the third time since they'd arrived, adjusted the wide- brimmed hat sitting atop her sweep of golden hair. “I'm sure she'd do anything to keep her new husband happy.”

“Yes, of course,” the older woman said. “You must have felt exactly the same about Mr. Forrest, God rest his soul.” She took Dora's gloved hands in her own. “It doesn't appear those women intend to follow through with their threat after all. It's quite a relief, really. I understand their concern, but frankly, the Columbian Exposition hardly needs the trouble.”

A commotion at the entrance interrupted her, and the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd in the cavernous hall pressed back, nearly sweeping Dora off her feet. When she righted herself, a stream of women in black wool frocks and simple hats had cleaved its way down the main aisle and toward the stage. Each held a sign in her grip with letters still dripping with wet paint: “Send the foreign filth home,” “Propriety before profits,” and “Close the belly dance theater now.” Their shouting drowned out the music until it stopped altogether.

“Move back, dear, out of the way now.” Mrs. Richmond urged Dora toward the rear of the gallery, though everyone around them pushed toward the door.

Dora followed instructions, and huddled with Mrs. Richmond and Mrs. Forrest at the back of the emptying theater. Perspiration dampened Dora's forehead and two droplets slid down the crevice of her back where the corset was pulled the tightest. She dabbed at the trickle but couldn't reach it through the layers of linen and whalebone, cotton and wool.

On the stage, she saw several dancers huddled together as well.

“That's enough, that's enough now. Clear out.” A uniformed man pushed his way inside and was waving his hands over his head in a call for order. Behind him stood another dozen uniformed men, poised to act.

“We won't leave until this den of vice is closed down,” cried a dour, elderly woman who emerged from the pack to stare down the officer. “We will not allow it to defile our city any longer!”

“You've been warned, madam. We'll arrest anyone who disrupts this theater's lawful operation.”

“Is it lawful for these women to fl aunt themselves in this vulgar manner? Is it lawful for these men to witness this obscene display?”

The woman adjusted the glasses on her nose in a way that made her look down on the officer though he towered over her.

“Not for me to say, ma'am. Grievances should be taken up with the Fair directors. Now you and your sisters here have two minutes to disperse.” He made a show of pulling out his pocket watch and checking its face.

The grim- faced woman turned to the stage, where the dancers still stood against the back wall. “You have not heard the last of this,” she hollered. “We will rid this Fair of your filth.” Then she turned and with a swipe of her hand signaled her fellow protesters to follow her out.

The officers followed behind, leaving only the performers, Dora, Mrs. Richmond, and Mrs. Forrest.

“That was the Society for the Suppression of Vice?” Dora asked, tucking a stray strand of her black hair behind her ear beneath her straw boater and gripping her parasol more tightly, still unaccustomed to its constant presence. “It's just a group of ladies. What harm could they possibly do?”

“Never underestimate a group of ladies, my dear,” Mrs. Richmond admonished. “Take our Board of Lady Managers. The directors themselves put their trust in us to sort out this mess, and I for one am proud to say it is our Lady Managers' privilege to contribute to the Fair's success. Remember, if this World's Fair succeeds, Chicago succeeds. The opportunities will be endless.”

“Chicago is full of opportunities, isn't it?” Dora liked the sound of it. It's what Charles had said on their wedding day two months ago in New Orleans, when she'd packed her dresses and twenty years of memories into a steamer trunk, ready to start a new life eight hundred miles away. “The past is irrelevant in Chicago,” he'd whispered in her ear as they stood at the steamship bow, waving to strangers and feeling the rumble of the engine choke smoke into the sky as it prepared to leave the only home she'd ever known.

Mrs. Forrest craned her neck to see out the open door. “I'm sure I just saw Mrs. Sheffield and Mrs. Loomis.”

“Where, dear?” Mrs. Richmond searched in the same direction.

“I should say hello.”

“I'm sure that isn't necessary.” Mrs. Forrest smiled demurely.

“Let me convey your tidings for you. You and Mrs. Chambers don't really require my assistance here, do you?”

“Of course not. I'm sure Mrs. Chambers and I can manage; there's no reason we all must endure this dreadful business.”

“I knew you'd understand.” The woman air- kissed Mrs. Richmond, ignored Dora and made her way down the crowded aisle.

Dora noted the snub as she watched the woman leave. She leaned in to Mrs. Richmond. “Have I offended her?”

“Don't mind Mrs. Forrest. It takes her a while to warm up to new people. I was surprised she asked to join us. It really isn't like her.” She pulled up the timepiece that hung from a chain around her neck. “The next performance will be getting under way soon, but I want to have a few words with the Egyptians first.” She looked around the theater. “That must be the manager,” she said, pointing to a man walking toward them from the door.

He was tall, with broad shoulders, a lean waist, and blue- black hair that fell in thick waves to his shoulders like a soft shroud against the hard angles of his cheeks. Dora guessed he was Egyptian, for he wore the typical white tunic over narrow pants and had the same bronze skin as the performers on the stage. He regarded her with eyes like polished obsidian stones.

“You must be Mr. Hossam Farouk, the man in charge here?” Mrs. Richmond stiffly extended her hand in greeting and introduced herself, emphasizing her title as vice president of the Board of Lady Managers.

“I am Hossam Farouk,” he replied. He took the proffered hand and lifted it to his lips. “But I would hesitate to say I am in charge.”

His accent made the words sound like a song.

“Surely you're being modest. Mr. Sol Bloom himself has told me you're the man to see. I'm sure you're familiar with Mr. Bloom?”

“By reputation.” He crossed his strong arms over his chest and stretched his six- foot frame to its full height.

Who in Chicago didn't know Sol Bloom by reputation? Even Dora had read stories of the young entrepreneur from San Francisco. He'd been recruited by the Fair's directors to turn the Midway Plaisance from what had been conceived as a collection of anthropological exhibits into a carnival of profitable amusements to help recoup the Fair's staggering building costs. The games, the rides, the animals, the alehouses, even the dancers were added largely by his orchestration. Some claimed he even coined the name “belly dancers” to titillate the public and sell more tickets. “In light of today's events, we were hoping we might have a word with the dancers, if that's convenient,” Mrs. Richmond said.

He bowed. “We are always willing to accommodate Lady Managers.” His chin lifted to a proud angle. “Please, excuse me, and I will see what I can do.”

He went to the stage and the dancers, who had been watching the conference, and they quickly gathered around him. They exchanged words and flashed quick glances at Dora and Mrs. Richmond.

The one who had been performing just before the interruption took a step back and folded her arms over her chest. She was the smallest of the troupe, but carried herself with a confidence that contradicted her size. She shook her head and the other dancers did the same. The man rubbed his face with his palm, shot another glance at Dora and Mrs. Richmond, and continued his speech. “I'd say Mr. Farouk might be right; that little one looks like the boss around here,” Mrs. Richmond said under her breath. “A spitfire, for sure.”

The small dancer inclined her head and relaxed her stance. She turned to the others, said something, and they all nodded. Then all those dark eyes turned toward Dora and Mrs. Richmond.

When they neared, it was the little dancer who spoke first. “You have something to say to us?”

These performers were known by so many names: belly dancers, muscle dancers, posture dancers, dancing girls. Dora had seen them in newspaper etchings alongside stories about the shows, but the images hardly captured the exotic women in front of her. The one who spoke- she couldn't have been any older than Dora's own twenty years- was outfitted in a short crimson vest that stretched taut across her bosom and left her abdomen uncovered, except by a blouse that fit snug as a stocking and exposed her collarbone and too much of her upper limbs. She clearly wore no corset, which alone could cause a scandal. Her skirt lacked proper length, revealing far more of her bow- tipped slippers than the rules of modesty should allow. The other adornments- a belt of tassel- tipped ribbons dangling to her knees, a profusion of beads and stringed coins roped about her chest, coils of metal bracelets wrapped around her wrists, even the loose dark hair hanging down her back- hardly concealed any more of her form. The other dancers wore similar costumes of varying colors- cobalt, marigold, persimmon, and plum.

And like Mr. Farouk, this little dancer spoke English with an accent that gave her speech a rhythm nearly as exotic as their desert music.

Mrs. Richmond jutted her chin. “If it is convenient.”

The dancer shrugged.

Dora gaped. These dancers surely had no idea who the Lady Managers were.

“We won't keep you long, Miss . . . ” Mrs. Richmond said. A swollen blood vessel cut an angry path along her temple.

“My name is Amina Mahomet,” the dancer replied. view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

1. Throughout the novel, Dora Chambers finds her instincts often run counter to what is expected of her. How is this apparent in her relationship with her husband? Her mother? The Board of Lady Managers? How would her experience change if the story were set in the modern day? Do you think that change would alter the outcome?

2. The Chicago World's Fair plays a major role as a setting in the novel, but it also has a metaphorical meaning to Dora Chambers, as indicated by this line on page 75: “The whole place was like a crucible that could transmute something ordinary into something profound, and it whispered to Dora of possibilities.” What are these possibilities? What do they mean to Dora? In what ways does she hope to change?

3. Why do you think it is so important to Dora to be accepted into Chicago's world of wealth and privilege? When do you think she begins to question this ambition? What replaces that ambition?

4. This novel tackles many issues-women's rights, cultural misconceptions, freedom, identity, friendship, love. What do you consider the main focus to be? Is there one theme in particular that stood out for you?

5. Where do you see Dora in five years? Do you think she is still happy with the decisions she made at the end of the story?

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