The Mechanical Theater (8 page)

Her eyes shined with tears, and she inhaled a shaky breath, shaking her head. “You don’t understand,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut. “I can’t—­” Her lips trembling, she dropped to her knees in the middle of the street and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t leave him,” she said, shaking with heavy sobs. “I just can’t.”

A pang of guilt gripped Solomon’s chest and he knelt beside her. “Dahlia—­”

She leaned into him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice quaking. “I just—­”

He shushed her and gently wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “You don’t have to apologize to me,” he whispered. “It’ll be all right.” He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and helped her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

They walked up Medlock, and she leaned into his shoulder with a weary sigh, resting her head against his coat. The faint scent of flowers and lemons floated to him from her hair. He led her down the narrow street to the Tuesenberry, the doorstop lined with snow. When they approached the faded green door, Dahlia stopped.

He glanced down at her. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do.” She squeezed his arm. “I don’t want to be with him anymore, but I—­I don’t know how to leave him.”

He withdrew his arm from hers and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “Listen to me, Dahlia. All you have to do is say no. Tell him you don’t want to be with him anymore, and then just walk away.”

She searched his eyes. “But what if he—­”

“If nothing.” He pressed his lips together and lowered his brows. “Tell him it’s over, and be done with it.”

“I—­” Dahlia searched his eyes. “I don’t know if I can do it alone. He’ll—­” She swallowed. “He’ll manipulate me somehow. He’ll—­” Her eyes widened, and she inhaled a sharp breath. “What if he—­”

“If you’re scared of what he’ll do, then tell him at the theater when you’re
not
alone, better even if Mr. Niles is with you. He wouldn’t let Mr. Creighton hurt you.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Dahlia, please. Do this for yourself. You deserve so much more than this life you’ve condemned yourself to.” His voice softened. “Please.”

“All right,” she said quietly. She sniffled and rubbed her nose. “I’ll try, but—­” Her eyes locked onto his and she tightened her jaw, imprisoning the rest of her words. “I’ll try.”

Solomon released her shoulders. “Good luck.”

She opened the door to the lobby and paused in the doorway, glancing back with a thin smile on her lips. “Don’t you know?” Her chin quivered, and fresh tears slid down her cheeks. “It’s bad fortune to wish an actress good luck.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

S
olomon pushed through the theater entrance and into the foyer, crossing the plush carpet to the theater hall. Marion’s lilting voice echoed throughout the chamber, accompanied by the hum of violins and cellos. The automated orchestra filled the trench beneath the stage, mechanical arms holding their instruments with the poise and posture of living musicians as they drew their bows across the strings in time to Marion’s movements across the stage. Dahlia moved with her, wearing the lesser gown of a servant girl and a blackened wig to hide her blonde curls, but standing onstage, eyes bright and cheeks flushed, she stood out even against Marion’s golden ornaments and silken robes.

Then Damien took the stage and strode across the floor of the ornate Alexandrian palace, and the war drums rolled like thunder, the sound of violins dwindling in favor of the deeper sound of the cello, until all the instruments fell silent.

“
I am sick and sullen
,” cried Marion, costumed in the rich, flowing robes of Queen Cleopatra. She swooned into Dahlia’s arms.

Damien drew near them both, dressed as the Roman general Mark Antony, wearing the historic woolen tunic and polished bronze plates across his chest and shoulders. “
I am sorry to give breathing to my purpose
—­”

Marion, as Cleopatra, cried:

“Help me away, dear Charmian; I shall fall:

It cannot be thus long, the sides of nature

Will not sustain it.”

Damien rushed to her side.

“
Now my dearest queen—­
”

Marion threw out her hand. “
Pray you stand further from me
.”

Solomon crept down the darkened aisle and took a seat in the leftmost section, his attention still on the stage. Great columns stood at the back of the platform, the stone rail of a balcony stretching from one side of the stage to the other. The shifting panels on the wall showed the city of Alexandria, and beyond, the glittering blue of the Mediterranean. The actors stood near an elegant chaise and gold-­edged tables topped with vibrant fruit in silver bowls.

Cleopatra inhaled deeply and gathered to her full height, the asp on her golden crown glowering down at Mark Antony. For Solomon, seeing them onstage was like watching something from another world, another time. Their words and costumes transported him back to the ancient days of the Romans, the characters giving that era such life that it was easy to forget they were actors and not Antony and Cleopatra arguing in a room in the Egyptian palace of Alexandria.

When, finally, the two of them left the stage, the palace was dismantled, the columns taken beneath the stage. The former scenery was replaced by statues of warriors, and the view beyond the balcony changed from the golden shores of Egypt to the red tiled roofs of Rome. Then Octavius Caesar strode across the stage, reading a letter. Another man followed—­and then several others—­and the rehearsal continued.

Solomon relaxed in his seat and watched the entirety of the play, through battle and tragedy. The panels onstage shifted from Roman trireme to army encampment, and the background from a raging ocean to the sands of Egypt, the mechanical orchestra playing a symphony as the set changed from Alexandria to Rome and back again. Mechanical props raced across the stage as Roman and Egyptian soldiers, and the richly dressed actors delivered their lines with dramatic gusto until Cleopatra lay dead with the asp at her breast and Caesar wept as the curtains fell to a mournful tune.

Frantic, solitary applause sounded from the front of the theater seats, and the director stood from his seat as the overhead lights came on, still clapping. “Bravo, everyone. Bravo!”

The curtain parted then and all the actors gathered onstage, many still in costume. Finally, Mr. Niles stopped his applause.

“Well done, all of you,” he said, climbing the stairs to the stage. “Truly excellent.” He glanced at the faces of his acting company. “You all will bring Le Theatre Mecanique to a new height with a performance like that.”

The actors grinned and congratulated themselves, a dull murmur growing into laughter and excited conversation.

“I think we’re ready for opening night.” Mr. Niles straightened and stuck his hands in his pockets. “So get changed and go home. Rest. You’ve earned it. We’ll reconvene dress rehearsals next week.”

The actors disappeared backstage, and Solomon stood, stretching his arms overhead. Mr. Niles turned his back to the fading image of the Alexandrian palace and descended the stairs into the mechanical orchestra. He grabbed a telephone from a panel on the stage wall, spoke quickly into the transmitter before returning the receiver to its holster, then strolled up the aisle, a smile on his face. When he saw Solomon, his smile broadened.

“Mr. Wade!” He stopped. “I did not expect to see you here. How are you, my boy?”

“Very well, sir.”

“Good. Very good,” he said. “I hope you’re here to stay this time.”

“Afraid not, sir. I just came to see Miss Appleton on my night off.”

“I see. Well, I look forward to the day you come back for good. The job is still yours when you do,” he said with a buoyant smile. “But for now, I’m afraid I must bid you adieu, Mr. Wade. Much to do tonight. I have a show to prepare for.”

“Of course.”

The director walked up the aisle and out of the hall, heading to his office. Solomon stayed in the aisle. He leaned against the armrest of one of the theater seats, arms crossed, watching the actors depart and searching for Dahlia. Finally, he spotted her fair blonde curls bobbing around her face as she descended the stage steps. She was with Miss Lachance, laughing and gesturing animatedly.

Solomon intercepted her as she walked up the carpeted aisle. “Hello, Miss Appleton.”

She stopped and clasped her folded coat in front of her. “Mr. Wade.”

The dark-­haired girl giggled. “I’ll see you later, Dahlia.”

Dahlia waved goodbye and then turned her attention back to Solomon, a smile on her face. “How long have you been here?”

“Since the middle of the first act. I didn’t know you’d be doing dress rehearsals already.”

She nodded. “Opening night isn’t far away now. We need to be familiar with the costumes and the props and work out any problems before then.” She brushed a loose curl away from her eyes and glanced at the stage. “So what did you think?”

He grinned. “I thought you were excellent.”

Her cheeks flushed pink and she bowed her head. “There are a few scenes where I think I could have done better. I don’t know if you noticed, but there was a scene in the third act—­I nearly forgot my lines—­”

“I didn’t notice.”

The flush in her cheeks deepened, and she searched his eyes. “Really?”

“I thought you were perfect,” he said quietly.

She smiled. “Thank you.”

He cleared his throat. “So, have you any plans for the rest of the night, anywhere to be? I thought I could walk you home, if that’s all right.”

Dahlia bit her lip to stop the smile from spreading across her face. “That sounds lovely.” Then the smile spread, revealing the narrow gap between her teeth. “Shall we go now?”

They walked to the foyer and Solomon waited as she slipped into her coat. Several other actors passed them on their way out of the theater, and as Dahlia pulled her gloves over her hands, Solomon saw Damien come into the foyer, trailing behind a group of gaggling actresses. The muscles in his arms stiffened, and he gritted his teeth.

“Dahlia,” he said quietly. “We should go.”

“Hm?” She looked up and spotted Damien, the color in her cheeks paling. “Oh.” Her voice left her in a breathless whisper.

Damien scanned the foyer, saw Solomon and Dahlia, and frowned. He strode toward them, eyes narrowed and his hands clenched into fists. “What are you doing with him?”

Dahlia stuttered. “I—­”

“I’m walking her home,” said Solomon firmly, stepping between her and Damien. His heart hammered in his chest—­like the deep sound of the Roman war drums. He glanced toward the director’s office. The door was cracked open and the light on. “You best keep going.”

Damien smirked. “Oh, should I?” He stepped forward and shoved past Solomon. “Come on, Dahlia. I’ll take you home.”

Solomon whipped around and gripped him above the elbow. “You will not.”

Damien turned and glared at him. “Unless you want a black eye to match the soot under your nails, you’ll release me.”

“Try it, then.”

“Let him go, Solomon,” whispered Dahlia.

Solomon narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. “Dahlia, I’m not going to let him—­”

“Please,” she said.

He exhaled sharply and shoved Damien away.

Damien stumbled backward. Catching his balance, he straightened and dusted his jacket. “Coming, then?” he asked, his eyes on Dahlia.

Her chin trembled. “No,” she whispered.

“No?”

She sucked in a deep breath and raised her chin. “No,” she said more firmly. “I’m not coming with you.”

Damien narrowed his eyes and took a step closer. “Dahlia . . .”

Solomon leaned forward on his toes, every muscle in his body tense.

She cleared her throat and fixed Damien with a steely gaze. “It’s over, Damien. I’ll not be going anywhere with you, not anymore.”

He pressed his lips together and scowled at her, cold hatred in his eyes. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice dangerously low. “And what makes you think that?”

Dahlia trembled under his gaze. “I don’t belong to you, Damien. I’m not—­”

Damien reared back and slapped her, the back of his hand striking her across the cheek. Dahlia staggered back and fell to the carpet, her hand to her face. Tears filled her eyes. Already, the skin had turned red.

Damien strode forward. “That ought to teach you to—­”

Solomon stepped forward and grabbed Damien by the forearm, digging his fingers into the muscle. The pressed coat sleeve crumpled beneath his fingers, and he felt the bones in Damien’s arm slowly give in to the pressure of his grip.

“You will
not
hit her again,” he said slowly.

“This is not your business,” growled Damien, trying to wrench free of his grasp.

Solomon glared at him, his blood pulsing with fire. “If you touch her . . .” He tightened his grip on Damien’s arm until he winced. “I will break a single bone for every bruise you ever laid on her.”

Solomon heard footsteps behind him as Damien’s mouth broke into a pained smile.

“Mr. Wade,” said Mr. Niles. “Let Mr. Creighton go.”

Tightening his jaw, Solomon obeyed. He flung Damien’s arm away and stepped back.

Again Damien straightened and brushed the front of his jacket, an easy grin plastered on his face. “I hope you’ll throw this fourth quadrant garbage to the street, Mr. Niles. As a matter of fact, I—­”

“I’ll do no such thing,” said the theater director evenly, staring down his nose at him. “I thought better of you, Damien. This behavior is unacceptable, and I will not tolerate . . .”

Solomon left Damien to Mr. Niles and went to Dahlia’s side. He knelt beside her and hesitantly reached toward her face, her cheek bright red. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t think he would . . .” He trailed off and pressed his lips together with a sigh, an ache in his chest. “I’m sorry. I never should have let him near you.”

“It’s over now,” she said shakily. “That’s all that matters.”

He helped her to her feet and turned his attention back to Damien and Mr. Niles.

“And after what you’ve done tonight, I can no longer allow you to work here,” Mr. Niles was saying. “You’re fired, Mr. Creighton.”

“What?” Damien scoffed. “You can’t fire me. My father will—­”

“Your father will do nothing”

“He
owns
this theater.”

The director drew himself to his full height. “Yes.
He
does. Not you. And if it wasn’t for him, you wouldn’t even work at this theater. I’ve put up with your petty insolence and superior attitude for far too long, and I won’t have you in my theater another moment. Your father gave you a chance, and I went along with it, but obviously it was a chance you didn’t deserve.”

Damien narrowed his eyes. “You fire me and you will be responsible for the failure of this theater. You cannot expect to open the play next week without your lead actor. Fire me, and all the mockery will be your fault, and yours alone.”

“I would rather the play fail a hundred times and let the theater fall to ruin than let you remain.”

Damien’s jaw twitched. “Fine.” He glared at Mr. Niles and then Solomon. “You’ll hear from my father. This isn’t over.” He turned on his heel and shoved through the entrance, slamming the door against the wall. The glass shattered and fell in glittering shards, but he continued down the street without glancing back.

The foyer had by now emptied, leaving only Solomon, Dahlia, and the director.

Mr. Niles removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Are you both all right?”

Solomon glanced at Dahlia. She touched her cheek and nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said.

“Good.” The theater director sighed and replaced his glasses on his nose. “When I heard the commotion, I came to see what was going on and then saw him strike you, Miss Appleton. I’m sorry for what happened to you, but I am grateful that Mr. Wade was here to stop Mr. Creighton before he did worse.”

“A sorry job I did of it,” muttered Solomon. “I never should have let him lay a hand on her in the first place.”

“You couldn’t have known he would strike her,” said Mr. Niles. “If I had known that Mr. Creighton was capable of it, I never would have hired him, regardless of who his father is.” He shook his head, a deep frown on his face. “Damn him for being such a fool! Now we are without a lead for the play.”

“I believe Mr. Davis will be ready to take Mr. Creighton’s place,” said Dahlia.

“Of course.” Mr. Niles nodded. “I’ll send word to him first thing in the morning and let him know he’ll be playing Antony opening night. At least we have another week of dress rehearsals before the play opens.” He adjusted his glasses and pulled his watch from his trouser pocket. “It’s late. You both should go home. I’ll see you again soon. Good night.” He turned and crossed the foyer to his office, closing the door behind him.