They call her Dana (53 page)

"Plenty of times. Rather face a whole band of 'em than our Carmelita when she's riled. You were terrific, sugar. I'd have knocked her flat myself if I weren't such a gentleman."

Dulcie gave me a hug, too, and told me the oysters were wonderful and said she had never dressed a lovelier Cora and planned to swathe me in honey-gold velvet and golden-brown fox fiir for Lena Marlow, and Jason would cough up the money for the costume or lose himself the best wardrobe woman in the South. She intended to spring the news on him this very night.

"If he ever gets his ass down here to the party," she added, spearing another oyster. "He's still upstairs, nursing our leading lady. I hear you gave her a good clobbering—I 'd have paid good money to see that."

"It was something to see," Michael assured her.

"I was busy hanging up costumes—as usual. Try some of the shrimp, Dana. They're marvelously tasty."

"You mean you've left some?" Michael inquired.

"Get out of here, cowboy. I'm taking none of your lip."

Michael filled a plate for me and led me toward Bartholomew's table.

"Your girlfriend's still giving me the cold shoulder," he said with mock sadness. "Tell me the truth, sugar—what is it about me she detests so much?''

"You're an actor," I replied.

"I'm an actor'} That's it?"

"Laura swears she'll never get involved with another actor. One broke her heart a long time ago."

"Hmmm," he mused. "Looks like I'm going to have to work on that prejudice she has against actors. We're not all heart-breakers."

"No?"

"Some of us are pretty nice guys.''

"Convince Laura of that.''

"I'm trying," he said. "I'm trying."

Bartholomew stood up and executed an elegant bow and then wrapped his arms around me and informed me that I had made them all proud. Theodore barked and wagged his tail. I said I was pleased to see Theodore was feeling better now. Bartholomew beamed. So did Theodore. Ollie joined us, waving another glass of champagne, and Billy came over, followed by his three giggling admirers. Laura sat down beside me, ignoring Michael, who was leaning over my chair. A scowling Jackson sauntered over and grumbled that this bash was costing a mint, then looked at me and brushed the lapels of his yellow and brown checked jacket, his scowl deepening. Dulcie, a heavily laden plate in her hand, gave him a friendly nudge.

"Cheer up, Jackson. We were a smash. They loved the costumes."

"They loved our ingenue," he growled. "Never heard such applause. For a minute there I thought the rafters were gonna cave in."

Billy grabbed a bottle and jauntily filled every glass that wasn't already full, then lifted his own. "To Dana!" he cried. "To Dana!" they echoed, and I felt a great rush of emotion sweep over me. Laura squeezed my hand. Theodore licked my cheek. Michael curled his arm around my shoulders again. I was one of them. I was accepted. I was part of the family. Tears glistened in my eyes as Jackson twisted his ugly mouth into a grin and Dulcie and Ollie applauded and Billy looped an arm around the neck of one of his belles and gave a rousing cheer. I felt wanted. I felt loved. For the first time in my life I felt I truly belonged. Iliad been an outsider in Clem's home, was there on sufferance because of Ma, and I had been an outsider in New Orleans, too, would never have been accepted, as Charles had so clearly pointed out. Tears brimmed over my lashes and trailed down my cheeks.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Champagne continued to flow profusely, and Andy and Joe and Frank, three of the stage crew, brought out banjo, accordion and drums, respectively, and began to play loud and lively music, and tables were pushed back to make a dance floor. Ollie doing a tipsy polka with Billy was a sight indeed, but no more

remarkable than Dulcie waltzing with a stiif and dignified Bartholomew. I danced with all the men except those playing and had another glass of champagne and smiled when Michael pulled a protesting Laura onto the floor. Finally, well after midnight, I slipped out through the French windows and strolled along the verandah, pausing after a while to savor the beauty of the night.

Pine trees surrounded the yard in back of the hotel, and I could smell the sharp tang of pine needles. A creek rushed along behind the trees, and I heard the gurgle of water and the deep croak of frogs and smelled mud and moss. Thin scraps of ash-gray cloud drifted across the surface of the moon and made shifting patterns of moonlight and shadow below. A cricket rasped nearby, and fireflies floated in the shrubbery, pale gold lights glimmering on and ofl". Wispy tendrils of night mist were beginning to rise from the ground and swirl like benign ghosts. Although my tears had long since ceased, my heart was still swollen with emotion. I felt warm elation still, but there was sadness as well. I stood at the railing, watching the shifting shadows and slowly curling mist and hearing the throaty croak of frogs and the muted sound of music coming from the dining room on the other side of the hotel.

I thought of New Orleans and Delia and Julian . . . and Charles. Almost a month had passed since I slipped away from the house in the middle of the night and made my way to the docks. There would have been a grand funeral for Raoul, everyone in mourning, and I doubted seriously that the rest of the family would ever know the true story behind his death. Charles would keep that to himself, even as he blamed me for it. He would be working night and day rebuilding Etienne's, borrowing money against the cotton crop to finance it, robbing the east wing of its treasures to replace those destroyed in the fire. The family would survive. Charles would see to that. There might be hard times, but he would take all responsibility on his capable shoulders and see them through. I wondered if he ever thought of me. Somehow I doubted it.

Julian would be crushed by my desertion, my ingratitude, but he would finish his book and that would help and one day, perhaps one day soon, he would be able to see that I had done him a favor by leaving. He would see that he could never have married me ... I would always be touched that he had wanted to

do just that. He would see the folly of it and be grateful I had gone, and perhaps he would eventually meet someone who would bring him the happiness he deserved. I missed him. I would always love him in a special way. I missed Delia, too, perhaps most of all. She would have been distressed by my disappearance and my letter, but Delia was very wise, very perceptive, too. She had sensed undercurrents, and in her heart of hearts she would have realized that my going was the best thing for all concerned.

"Why so sad?" Jason asked.

I turned around. He was standing a few feet away, watching me. Lost in thought, I hadn't heard him approaching. I didn't answer at once, and he moved closer, a tall, shadowy figure all sculpted in silver and black. I could tell that he was wearing a neat suit and a flowered waistcoat, but there was no color. His lean face was all sharp planes and angles, the dark eyes looking at me intently.

"I was—thinking about other times," I said quietly.

"New Orleans?"

I nodded, and he continued to look at me. Perhaps it was the silvery semidarkness or perhaps it was the circumstances, but he seemed different, far more relaxed, neither snappish nor indifferent.

"I suppose there was a man," he said.

"There was a man," I told him.

"I figured as much. With a woman as beautiful as you are, there'd have to be a man. He broke your heart, I suppose."

"That—that really isn't any of your business, Mr. Donovan."

"Right. I was out of line. You are very, very, beautiful, you know."

He spoke matter-of-factly in that light, scratchy voice that still managed to be guttural. Such an unusual voice, I thought. Not at all unpleasant. The frogs were still croaking, and the floorboard creaked as Jason moved even nearer. I realized that I had never had a private conversation with him. He had paid very little attention to me since my arrival in Memphis. I wondered why. I had been convinced he didn't like me.

"I finally made it down to the party," he said. "I didn't see you. Billy told me he'd seen you slip out onto the verandah. Thought I'd come looking for you."

"And you have found me," I replied. "I suppose you're going to fire me now.''

He shook his head. "Carmelita had it coming. High time someone put her in her place. I've been altogether too lenient with her.''

"How is she?" I asked coolly.

"Still ranting and raving when I left her. I had to call in a doctor. He put an ice pack on her jaw and gave her some medicine—hoping it would put her out. I slipped her an extra dose before I came down. I imagine she's sleeping by now."

"I—I don't usually act like that," I said. "I don't usually use words like that, either. She—"

"I saw the whole thing, Dana. You needn't apologize. I didn't come out here to jump you or fire you or dress you down. I came to compliment you on a superlative performance. You were tremendous. Those lessons OUie and Laura gave you really paid off."

'' You—knew about that?''

"From the beginning. I'm always distracted, always in an uproar before we begin a season, but I'm not blind. I peeked into the back parlor one afternoon and watched for a few minutes. I'd already spoken to a friend of mine from New Orleans. He assured me no new theater named the Court had been built, no play called A Rose for Angelina had been produced, and no actress named Dana O'Malley had ever appeared on the boards."

I could feel a blush coloring my cheeks. So he had been on to me from the first. That explained why he had been so distant and snappish. But why hadn't he fired me then? I took a deep breath, then asked him. A wry smile curled on his lips.

"I needed an ingenue," he told me, "and I figured you couldn't be much worse than Maisie. Too, there was your remarkable beauty. I figured audiences would forgive you almost anything just for the pleasure of looking at you. You don't need to rely on your beauty, though. You've got a gift. You're the best Cora we've ever had."

"I was terrified."

"You got over it. You recovered yourself quite nicely when you had—uh—when the accident occurred. You won them over completely. Nice bit, that. If I thought we could get by with it, I'd keep it in every night."

"That's very cynical of you, Mr. Donovan. I can promise you I wouldn't go along with such a scandalous plan."

"As it is, we're going to have standing room only tomorrow night. Everyone in the whole county is going to come piling into the theater, hoping to see it happen again."

' 'It won't,'' I assured him.

"But they don't know that."

The mist was thickening rapidly now, a whole parade of ghosts swirling all around, and it had grown cooler. Jason suggested we rejoin the party. I told him I preferred to go directly to my room, and he said he would escort me. We started walking along the verandah, the floorboards creaking. The cricket had stopped rasping, but the frogs were croaking louder than ever.

"You studied the other parts yet?" he asked.

"I've read all the plays we're to perform. I've already learned my lines. Laura calls me a 'quick study,' whatever that means. You needn't worry, Mr. Donovan. I'll hold up my end."

"What do you think of 'em? The plays, I mean."

"They're—I suppose they're exactly what the public wants," I said.

"Which means you think they're rotten."

"I—I didn't say that, Mr. Donovan, and—why should what I think matter to you? I know nothing whatsoever about drama. I've only read Moliere and a little Shakespeare and—"

"Bloody bluestocking," he grumbled.

"Hardly that. I found Moliere stilted, and, I might as well confess it, I didn't really understand Shakespeare all that well. I prefer novels."

"An actress who reads books. Just what I need. So tell me, what do you really think of my plays?"

"I think you're a very talented man, Mr. Donovan."

"Jason. I'm your boss, but I don't mind a little familiarity. So I'm a very talented man?"

"Some of the lines are very clever, and some of the scenes— on occasion, they're genuinely touching, but most of the situations are—well, wildly contrived. I have the feeling you could write a real play if you really tried."

"Thanks!" he snapped.

"Now are you going to fire me?"

"I'm thinking about it!"

He gripped my elbow and led me into the lobby with its warm

golden glow of lamplights. After the stark black and gray and silver of the night, we seemed to be flooded with color. I saw that his breeches and frock coat were tan, his flowered waistcoat gold, pink and brown. His hair seemed an even richer black, and his eyes were undeniably green, faintly touched with gray. I wondered why it was that that long, slightly twisted nose should make him seem even more attractive. He did indeed look like a pirate with those quirky eyebrows and that wide slash of mouth, yet there was a certain sensitivity as well. For all the bravado and posturing, I sensed a boyish vulnerability about him. Perhaps that was why he maintained such a thorny facade—to protect what was behind it.

The party was still going on, although it was much more subdued now. The trio of musical crewmen were playing a quiet waltz, and through the open dining room doors I could see Laura and Michael waltzing together. Laura looked quite contented, I thought. Ollie was asleep in her chair, tilting precariously, and Theodore was curled up under the table.

"Want to dance?" Jason asked.

"I want to go to my room."

"At least have some champagne with me."

"I'm very tired."

"Spoilsport. Jesus, you're gorgeous in that dress."

I started toward the staircase. He followed me, taking my elbow again as we started up the steps.

"I agree with you," he said.

"About what?"

"I agree that I could write a real play if I really tried. I've been toying with an idea for a long time. At first I saw it as just another melodrama, but then I realized the subject deserved serious treatment."

"Why haven't you written it?"

"There's never been a play about miscegenation performed in the South," he replied, "and I could hardly visualize Car-melita playing a beautiful quadroon passing herself ofl"as white.''