Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [63]
“Such power,” Colette went on, speaking now a little too quickly, “if released at once, would be enough to destroy every building in New York City in one terrible explosion. But science has found a way to harness radioactivity to save lives rather than destroy. Doctors today insert micrograms of radium, encased in tiny glass nodules, directly into a cancer patient’s tumor. In weeks, the tumor is gone. All over the world today, because of radium, people are alive and well who would have died from cancer only a few years ago.” Here was a pronouncement the audience was in fact prepared to applaud, but this time, her nervousness growing, Colette failed to pause. “Now I will demonstrate for you one of the extraordinary byproducts of radioactivity: luminescence.”
“Oh, my child,” said Mrs. Meloney, “you’re going to experiment—in church? Do you think that appropriate?”
“It will be only a small demonstration,” said Colette.
“All right,” said Mrs. Meloney. “But let’s not demonstrate very long, shall we?”
Gathering two vials from her case, Colette stood awkwardly in the pulpit. The awkwardness lay in the absence of a table. Colette needed to combine the two compounds. Smiling nervously, Colette knelt to the floor and set her materials down. This allowed her to work with both hands; unfortunately it also made her invisible to her audience.
Suddenly there was an outburst of clapping. Colette looked up, puzzled. The ladies’ attention was fixed on the plump gentleman behind her, who, beaming jovially, had raised his fists high over his head. From each hand dangled a wristwatch, casting a greenish phosphorescent glow.
“There’s your luminescence, Miss Rousseau,” announced the gentleman. “There’s the magic of radium.”
More applause.
“Thank you, sir,” cried Mrs. Meloney, “you are a knight in shining armor. And thank you, Miss Rousseau, for that most educational lecture.”
“But I—” began Colette, who had only just started.
“And now, my friends,” continued Mrs. Meloney, “for the most gratifying portion of this evening’s event. In Connecticut last week, I had the pleasure of meeting one of the titans of American industry, whose kindness and sense of public duty are every bit the equal of his eminence in commerce. He is one of this nation’s leaders in oil, in mining, and in radium. Please join me in welcoming Mr. Arnold Brighton.”
The plump gentleman came up and bowed in all directions to a long ovation. He was completely bald except for a tuft of wiry brown hair above each ear, but fastidiously attired, with shiny trimmed fingernails and gold cuff links that glittered as he raised his arms to quiet the ladies’ applause.
“Thank you, thank you—oh my, where did I put my speech?” Brighton patted his pockets with gleaming fingernails. “Did I give it to you, Mrs. Meloney?”
“To me, Mr. Brighton?”
“Oh my. Is Samuels here? He would know where I put it. Well, my competitors always say I lose my head with the ladies. They won’t employ women, you know, whereas my luminous dial factories are the largest employers of women in their states. My competitors can’t understand how I could employ girls in a factory. My answer is simple. The female wage is lower than the male—significantly lower. Oh, I know what you’re thinking. With so many men out of work, especially men who served in the war, don’t they deserve the jobs? I beg to differ. Men have wives and children they’re expected to support. That costs more. Whereas ninety percent of my girls are unmarried. That costs less. And look at their handiwork—look at these lovely watches. Applying radium paint to such tiny surfaces requires feminine dexterity and cleanliness. Mrs. Meloney, will you permit a gentleman to offer you a gift? Or would Mr. Meloney object?”
Appreciatively scandalized laughter attended this remark.
“For shame, Mr. Brighton,” said Mrs. Meloney, but she extended her ample arm coyly, allowing Brighton to secure to her wrist the larger of the two watches, in which violet gemstones were embedded. She held up her arm, displaying