The fire and the gold (21 page)

The house lights began to dim and as the theater darkened, the curtain went up with a whispering hush-hush, silencing the audience. Melora straightened in her seat. Cora leaned slightly forward, as eager as her sister.

Tony wasn't on in the first scene. There was the maid, busily swishing away with her fluffy feather duster, and Melora felt dreadfully like giggling. She could just imagine herself up there. Melora Bonner indeed!

A uniformed chauffeur was talking to the maid of the wealthy family for whom they worked, and in particular of the playboy son. That would be Tony, of course. The chauffeur announced menacingly that the young scion of the family had better keep away from his daughter or he would know the reason why. Then the principals, the stars of the company, came onstage as husband and wife, the parents of Tony. A round of applause greeted them.

As the play unfolded, Melora began to feel that it was rather silly and not very real. These people talked in an exaggerated manner and struck such ridiculous attitudes. Once she stole a look at Quent to see how he was reacting, but his expression gave nothing away. Beyond him Cora seemed absorbed.

The second scene showed an unbelievable backdrop of a garden scene, with the flower beds painted too brilliantly and the sky a flat blue with stationary clouds. Now Mae Wentworth came gracefully through the garden gate. There was no doubt that she was lovely, delicate, adorable, and quite at home before the footlights. The lines she spoke might be silly, but the audience loved her instantly.

In her role she was plainly looking for someone, as if she had a secret tryst, and when Tony came onstage she ran eagerly to meet him. Melora's hands tightened on the arms of her seat, her palms damp. This was the moment—now. That handsome, flashing young man up there on the stage was Tony. She waited for the electric moment of recognition, of conviction. But nothing happened. Mae Wentworth flung herself into his arms and Tony kissed her fervently to show how madly in love he was. He was behaving somewhat as he had that day when Melora had seen him on top of a packing box making the crowd on Van Ness do his bidding, winning them with his charm, leaping down to play the hero and rescue Alec.

On the stage all this seemed more convincing. Tony was good in his part. Around him there was somehow an aura of drama which made you believe what he wanted you to believe, whether you liked it or not.

It was plain that the feminine part of the audience adored him. He got a good hand of applause when he went off and Melora too applauded dutifully. Cora folded her own hands tightly in her lap and did not clap. Quent snorted impolitely.

When the first act was over Cora leaned across Quent to speak to her sister. "He needn't have kissed her so hard! I don't like that Mae Wentworth at all."

Melora laughed. "It's only a play, Cora. The actors don't mean what they're doing. And she's really very appealing. What did you think of Tony?"

"Oh, Tony's wonderful of course," Cora admitted readily. "It's just that I don't like the way he kissed that Wentworth person."

"Though nobody has asked me," said Quent, "I think this play is as hammy as any I've ever seen."

As the play went on, Melora began to feel uneasy. Tony was good, but he was doing something which made her uncomfortable. He was giving an exaggerated impersonation of what the son of wealthy parents might be like. Such a performance was puzzling. Why couldn't Tony have patterned his interpretation on what he knew from life? Money and position, or the lack of them, weren't all-important. Not all poor people were noble, nor rich people ignoble. Yet that, under and through the lines he spoke, seemed to be what Tony was implying.

The thing that troubled her most, however, was the fact that at no time while she watched him came a recognition of Tony as the person she loved. When the final curtain came down she wondered if she had been foolish to harbor such an expectation. It wasn't in some make-believe role that she could love Tony. It was for himself offstage. That or nothing. So perhaps the moment of recognition was simply postponed for a little while until they went back to his dressing room.

On the way up the aisle someone called to Cora and came toward them through a line of seats. It was a boy her sister had gone to school with—Harry Norman. They had not seen him since before the fire, and he had changed so much that she was surprised. He was taller and heavier, but more than that he had taken on a look of maturity.

Cora dimpled and summoned her gayest smile as she went ahead up the aisle with Harry.

"Well?" Quent said. "How do you feel now?"

"Feel?" said Melora. "How should I feel?" He saw too much; saw things she didn't want him to read —her continued confusion and uncertainty and doubt.

"One of these days," he went on as they stepped into the lobby, "you'll have to tell me what that last act was all about."

Melora did not answer and when Cora had told Harry goodby they went into the cool evening and around toward the stage door. The doorman let them through, waving them toward dim corridors and cubbyholes backstage. A smell of recently cut wood and fresh paint hung over the rebuilt theater.

Tony, seated before a mirror in a tiny dressing room, was removing his make-up. He wore a dark red robe, with a towel flung about his shoulders. When he saw them in the glass he jumped up to invite them in. He gave each girl a quick kiss on the cheek and held out a hand to Quent.

"How did you like it?" he asked confidently, as if only one answer were possible.

Cora didn't fail him. "You were wonderful, Tony," she said loyally.

He turned to the others questioningly, particularly to Melora.

Quent said, "Sorry, old fellow, but this isn't my type of show. I only came because I was bullied into it. I like dancing girls and more jokes."

Quent was clowning again, but Tony didn't care what Quent thought. He was still waiting for Melora's answer. She couldn't lie, however much he might want her praise.

"I—I'm afraid I didn't care too much for the play," she faltered. "But the company is very good. And you were good too, Tony. Though I couldn't agree with your portrayal of the part."

He looked both hurt and reproachful and she wished guiltily that she could have given him the unqualified praise he so plainly wanted. But before she could say more there was a "May I come in?" from the doorway and Mae Wentworth swept prettily into the room, still in costume. Her arms were full of yellow roses and she ran directly to Tony and kissed him.

"Thank you for the flowers!" she cried. "They're lovely. Tony, your performance was fine tonight. I was so proud of you."

She seemed to note the others in the room for the first time. She still wore her stage make-up and at close hand it was too bright.

"I know," she prattled on, "—you're the friends Tony has told me about. The ones he stayed with during the fire. How nice that you could be here tonight. Wasn't he splendid?"

It was fortunate that Cora filled in with generous agreement what might have been an uncomfortable gap. Mae swept gayly out of the room, leaving a trail of perfume that dimmed the scent of roses.

"Quite a girl," Tony said. "And she's taught me a great deal about acting. She'll go places, that one."

"I've no doubt," said Quent dryly. He'd taken Cora by the arm and was moving her firmly toward the door. "We'll wait on the sidewalk outside, Melora. I need some fresh air. See you later, Tony."

Cora made no objection to being pulled away, though Melora almost regretted seeing them go. Nothing had turned out as she had expected tonight, and she could only feel self-conscious over being left alone with Tony. He seemed uncomfortable too and she realized that he was no more anxious to be alone with her than she was with him.

"You—you've changed, Melora," he said doubtfully.

Was that because she could no longer flutter in admiration of him? she wondered. Was it because, for the first time, she had openly criticized him? But one didn't change as suddenly as that, or for so small a reason. This was something that had been taking place in both of them during these months apart. Perhaps it was even something that had been deep in them all the time, hidden by surface emotions.

"Perhaps we've both changed," she told him.

"Perhaps we don't know each other very well after all."

He did not contradict that. From the make-up shelf before the mirror he picked up an eyebrow pencil and tossed it in his hand. He seemed to have nothing more to say, almost to be waiting for her to go.

It was possible, she thought a little sadly, that he could be quite ruthless if he chose. All the thoughtful little things he had done for her—that rose in the garden, his quick gift of the charred Treasure Island —had these been to please his own notion of himself in the role of a sensitive lover, as much as they had been to please her?

"You'll be with us on New Year's Eve, won't you?" she asked. That invitation had been made. It still lay between them.

He dropped the eyebrow pencil among the litter and turned back to her. "About that, Melora—I hope you'll let me off. Something terribly important has come up. Miss Wentworth has managed to get me an invitation to a pretty exclusive party given by the people who are going to make those nickelodeon pictures I told you about. This is an opportunity for me to meet them informally and—well, it's just too bad it had to fall on New Year's Eve."

Melora was silent for just a moment. "Of course you must do anything that will help you in your work. It's quite all right, Tony. We'll be glad to see you whenever you're free. Well—I'd better not keep the others waiting " She moved toward the door.

He made no effort to stop her. "Thanks for understanding. And of course I'll see you—soon. I— I'm so glad you could come tonight. Good night, Melora"

"Good night," she said and went out the door.

Out front the theater had emptied and stage hands were pulling up the curtain on empty seats. It was as if she had somehow stepped into a new dimension where none of the old rules held. It was a dimension to which she did not belong. She had the feeling that she would not see Tony again except as strangers meeting.

She walked quickly to the stage door and down the steps that led to the street.

Quent and Cora were waiting for her on the sidewalk and she tried to smile at them, but in spite of herself her hps quivered.

Quent said, "We'll take a hack home tonight and travel in style."

All the way home he kept up a running stream of nonsense that reduced Cora to giggles. Melora sat in the dimness of the cab and said nothing. She was grateful to Quent. How had she ever thought of him as clumsy and insensitive? He was clumsy only when he chose to put on that old manner of his—something he adopted less and less these days. He kept Cora from asking any questions until they were home and ready to go upstairs to their rooms. Then Cora would not be stopped.

"What happened at the theater?" she asked Melora. "Tony seemed so odd. What did he say? Is he going to be able to get away in time on New Year's Eve?"

Melora answered only the final question. "I'm afraid Tony has to do something else New Year's Eve."

Quent stemmed any further outburst from Cora by flinging his hat in the air. "Hooray! Then you'll be my girl on New Year's Eve and nobody else's! Now you hush, Cora, and leave your sister alone."

Cora asked no more questions for the moment. The three tiptoed upstairs and separated to their rooms.

Melora was slow about undressing because she kept getting lost in long, puzzling thoughts. She sat with a stocking in her hand, trying to understand how she felt, trying to understand what had happened tonight.

Cora tapped on the door, and tapped again before Melora roused herself to a reluctant "Come in."

"Heavens, aren't you ready for bed yet?" her sister asked. "You'll catch your death sitting there mooning." She came in and threw back the bed covers. "Hurry into your nightie and I'll tuck you in the way you used to do me sometimes. Melora, has something gone wrong between you and Tony? Are you sad tonight, Mellie darling?"

Melora shook her head, though her denial wasn't quite true. She did feel wistful and a little sad over the loss of something that had promised to be lasting and lovely. Yet at the same time there was a sense of relief too because she would no longer be torn two ways.

"Some day, years ahead," she mused as she got into her nightgown, "you and I will sit in a theater watching the famous matinee idol, Tony Ellis. And we'll remember that once upon a time during the days after the fire we were both a little silly over him."

"I was certainly silly over him," Cora agreed. "But when that Mae Wentworth came in the dressing room tonight—well!" She turned off the light and her tone changed, brightened. "Mellie, do you think it would be all right if I asked Harry Norman to come to our party on New Year's Eve? Of course it's terribly late for an invitation and I suppose he'll already have an engagement, but—"

"I saw how he looked at you," Melora said. "I think he'll come if you ask him."

Something had happened for Cora too tonight. How strange a thing was this matter of "love." How easily you could be mistaken and how dreadful if you acted too quickly so that you discovered the truth when it was too late.

Cora tucked the covers up around her and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. "Don't be sad, Mellie dear."

She hurried to the door and slipped out. When she'd gone, Melora lay against her pillow. A stream of moonlight came through one window, touching the figure of Kwan Yin almost as the stage spotlight had touched Tony and Mae. The blue coils of hair showed darkly, their color barely visible. The gold face gleamed like a smaller moon.

Blue hair, Melora thought drowsily. Quent liked blue hair. Quent was trying to help her. She was fonder of him that she'd thought....

Suddenly she knew exactly what she would do as the final touch for her New Year's Eve costume.

It was a good thing that Gran was knitting sweaters for the men of the household these days and there were those hanks of yam in her work basket. She granted cheerful permission for use of the royal blue. Early New Year's Eve, so they'd have plenty of time, Melora went to work, with Cora's help, coiling and pinning and coiling again. When the task was finished Cora stood back to look her over.