They call her Dana (54 page)

"Miscegenation is a touchy subject, I'll agree, but if handled delicately, I see no reason why it wouldn't be acceptable. And Carmelita's not the only actress in the world."

"I'm beginning to realize that more and more."

We reached the upper corridor and turned. He released my elbow. My flesh seemed to tingle where his fingers had gripped

it. I felt strangely stimulated, but then Jason Donovan was a very interesting and stimulating man. We came to the door of my room and stopped. He looked into my eyes, and his own were full of interest now, full, too, of that familiar male hunger.

"I'm glad we've finally gotten to know each other," he said.

' 'I enjoyed our talk.''

"If—uh—if I seemed a bit cool and distant and—well, snappish before, it's because I'm always under pressure when I'm getting the company on the road again. And—I wasn't sure about you." I

' 'You're sure about me now?''

"You're a namral-bom actress. I'm proud to have you with us."

"Thank you, Mr. Don—"

"Jason."

"Thank you. I hope to be much better than I was tonight."

"You will be. You've got the magic already."

I made no reply. There was a long silence. He seemed very reluctant to leave me, seemed hesitant, too, as though he wanted to say something and couldn't decide quite how to go about it.

"Uh—about that man in New Orleans," he began.

"What about him?"

"I—uh—I'd like to help you forget him."

There it came. Inevitable, I supposed. Jason Donovan was an intriguing and attractive man, but he was just like all the others.

"That's very kind of you, I'm sure," I said, "but—I think not. I've heard all about you and your women, Mr. Donovan, and I'm not at all interested in becoming another of your many, many conquests."

"Damn that Laura! She's been blabbing, hasn't she?"

"She filled me in on things."

"I'm going to strangle the slut!"

"Good night, Mr. Donovan."

"Dana—"

I opened the door and stepped inside, and Jason looked star-ded as I closed the door in his face. I turned the lock and sighed. I wasn't in the least upset, nor was I offended. At least he knows I'm alive now, I thought. My experience with Charles stood me in good stead. I had been hurt once, badly, and I still hadn't

recovered from it. I wasn't about to let it happen again. But Jason Donovan was indeed an intriguing and devilishly attractive man, and I was only human. I had been tempted. Oh yes ... I had been tempted.

Chapter Eighteen

How LUXURIOUS TO WAKE UP in a decent hotel room, to see late morning sunlight streaming through the windows and making warm, silvery pools on a lovely dusty rose and gray rug. This hotel in Savannah was by far the nicest we had been in, as gracious and mellow and elegant as the town itself. Summer was almost upon us now, and Savannah was our last engagement of the season. We had been playing here two weeks, with one week left to go, presenting our entire repertory. How nice it was to remain in one place for such a long time. How nice not having to pack in a rush after the performance, hurry to the train station and spend the rest of the night trying to sleep on lumpy, miserably uncomfortable seats while the train chugged shakily through the darkness. I stretched, savoring the crackle of clean linen sheets and the rustle of a rose satin counterpane. Remembering some of the wretched dumps we had stayed in during past months made my pleasure all the greater.

There was a discreet knock on the door. I glanced at the clock. Was it already ten-thirty? It certainly was. I hurried out of bed and pulled on the ruffled daffodil-yellow silk robe Dulcie had given me, tying the sash securely, and then I opened the door for Freddie. He grinned shyly and wheeled in a cart and began to arrange things on the small round table near the window. He was a charming lad in his late teens, as friendly and efficient as the rest of the staff here. He was a great admirer of mine, I had discovered, and considered me a sophisticated woman of the world, although, in truth, he was actually a few months older than I.

' 'Are you coming to the theater tonight, Freddie?'' I inquired. "We're doing Sweetheart of the West again. I wear flowered pink

calico and flirt with all the officers in the regiment and prove my real merit when bloodthirsty Indians attack the fort."

"I'd love to see it," the lad replied, "but there are no tickets available. I already checked."

"There will be two tickets waiting for you at the box office tonight," I told him. "You can bring a girlfriend, but only if you promise to come backstage after the show and tell me what you thought of it."

"I—gee. Miss O'Malley. Thank you."

"Thank you, Freddie, for taking such good care of me."

A blush colored the lad's cheeks as he left the room. I smiled to myself as I sat down at the table. A pot of coffee, a rack of toast, strawberry preserves, butter, several crisp curls of bacon and a single pink rose in a slender crystal vase. Freddie always brought a rose. I unfolded the crisp linen napkin, feeling wonderfully spoiled. Jason could well afford to put us up in a hotel like this after the season we'd had, rarely an empty seat in any house we played. He and Laura both claimed our success was largely due to the great notices I had received and the wide circulation of my picture, but I knew they were just being kind. Laura because she was kind, Jason because he was still trying to coax me into his bed.

Poor dear, he was having a very hard time of it. I had permitted him to take me to lunch quite frequently and to an occasional midnight supper, and he had been amusing and charming and, invariably, sulky when he failed to get any further. I liked him a great deal and found him wonderfully attractive, but I wasn't about to become romantically involved with so mercurial and temperamental a man as Jason Donovan. Laura claimed I was being terribly unfair to him, assured me he was genuinely smitten. She had never seen him like this before, she declared, he was actually ^M^^ring. Be that as it may, common sense told me to keep him at arm's length, and that was exactly what I had been doing.

Not that I wasn't still tempted.

It would be nice to feel those strong arms around me, to hear that light, scratchy voice murmuring sweet endearments, to have that lean, lanky body warming mine in the middle of the night. It would be very nice indeed. I wasn't immune to his charm and incredible physical magnetism. Far from it. He was a very exciting man. I couldn't deny that I was strongly drawn to him,

nor that I wanted the same thing he did, but after being so badly burned I was extremely cautious. Too cautious, perhaps. There had been many sleepless nights and nights of disturbing dreams, but I wasn't ready to risk being hurt again. Our frustrated manager and play wright-in-residence would simply have to find other amusement, and I would continue to go to bed with a good book.

Leisurely finishing my breakfast, I performed my ablutions and brushed my hair and, opening the wardrobe, took out a white muslin frock with narrow yellow and gold stripes. It was certainly warm enough for muslin now in mid-May. It had been an unusually cold winter—I remembered freezing dressing rooms in Columbia, South Carolina, and huddling under blankets on dozens of chilly night trains—but spring had been lush and verdant, and summer promised to be sultry indeed. I had no idea how I was going to spend those summer months. The company would be disbanded after we finished our engagement here, to reassemble in September. I had managed to save quite a lot of my salary, so I had no financial worries. I could do as I pleased. I was smoothing the muslin skirt over my full white petticoats when there was a knock on the door. Laura walked in, looking radiant and windblown in a dark blue frock whose skirt, I noticed, was definitely streaked with grass stains.

"Lovely morning, isn't it?" she said.

"Lovely," I replied. "Your hair's all mmbled. Your cheeks are flushed. You're usually still in bed at this hour."

"I've been riding," she informed me.

I arched a brow. "On a horse?''

She nodded. "Michael pulled me out of bed at the crack of dawn and took me to the stables. I protested vehemently, of course, but there was no reasoning with him. Next thing I knew, I found myself mounted atop this gigantic beast and we were galloping through the park. I'd never been on a horse before, and I was r^rnfied, love."

' 'Judging from your skirt, it looks as though you took a spill.''

"I was just getting the hang of it when the beast suddenly bolted. Michael yelled and tried to catch up and suddenly I was flying in the air. I landed behind a clump of bushes. The ground was soft and grassy and I wasn't hurt, but I was shaken up, love, I promise you. Any coffee left?"

"I think there's still some in the pot."

Laura poured herself a cup of coffee and stood there with a thoughtful look in her eyes.

"Michael was ever so concerned," she told me. "He pulled me into his arms and checked all over for broken bones and murmured soothing words and stroked my hair. He was very thorough when he checked for broken bones," she added. "We w^ere behind the bushes, and—well—"

"Laura, you're outrageous!"

"It was divine, love. Michael is a remarkable lover—quite the best I've ever had."

"I thought you vowed you'd never get involved with another actor," I said.

"Oh, I'm not emotionally involved," she protested, "but-well, when the bonbon is right there beside your plate, why pass it up?"

"Michael is a bonbon?"

"Absolutely, love. I'm not ready for the main course—I've made that perfectly clear—but I see no reason to forgo the delight."

Laura sipped her coffee and smiled, looking gloriously content. I wished I could be as carefree and cavalier as she was about such matters. Life would be much easier—and Jason would be happier, too. I stepped over to the mirror for a final inspection of my hair, brushing a heavy honey-blond wave from my temple and sighing, thinking of Jason again. He had been in Atlanta on "company business" for the past ten days. I missed him far more than I cared to admit. Laura set her coffee cup down.

"You might take a leaf from my book, love," she said.

"Oh?"

"Charles Etienne hurt you very badly, Dana. You've been nursing that hurt all these months—don't try to deny it, love. That lost, pained look has been in your eyes all along, even at your brightest, even when you smile."

"I was hurt, yes, but—"

"The best way to get over a man is to get another man," she told me, "and a perfectly marvelous man is waiting in the wings."

"Oh?"

"Don't be coy, love. Jason's mad for you, and you're attracted to him, too. He's a rogue—I won't deny that—but he's handsome and intelligent and amusing and, I hear, superb in the sack. I'm

not saying you should marry him, love. I'm just saying you should—well, treat yourself to a bonbon."

I gave her a look. Laura smiled.

"I'm just thinking of your welfare, love," she said pleasantly. "All that reading can't be good for you. Jason's been pining for you ever since you joined the company. He hasn't even looked at another woman, and Lord knows they've been throwing themselves at him."

"I—I wonder when he'll be back from Atlanta." I said casually.

"No one knows. No one knows why he went in the first place. It's a mystery to Jackson—probably something to do with that play he's been writing. He's always writing a new play, hoping the National in Atlanta will mount it. No disrespect to my dear cousin, but I seriously doubt we'll ever play Atlanta. The National has very high standards, and thundering melodrama is not their cup of tea. We're doomed to tour the sticks, I fear."

"Savannah is hardly the sticks," I pointed out.

"It's not Atlanta, love. It's not New Orleans, either. I'm not complaining, mind you. We've done wonderfully well this season. No thanks to our leading lady, I might add."

Poor Carmelita. She had done her best to have Jason fire me, and when he refused, she grew more and more frustrated and discontent. Instead of hitting the bottle, our leading lady began hitting the chocolates, adding a steadily mounting poundage to a figure hardly sylphlike to begin with. Dulcie had been forced to make constant alterations, complaining vociferously all the while. "I no longer dress her," she claimed. "Now I upholster her!'' On more than one occasion there had been loud "Moos!'' in die audience when Carmelita stepped onstage, and only last week here in Savannah one journalist had written an article declaring it was high time Donovan's leading lady be put out to pasture.

"She's undoubtedly in her room right now, stufling more chocolates," Laura continued. "She's going back to Biloxi as soon as we close here, and Jason isn't about to sign her up for next season."

"I wonder what she'll do."

"She can always get a job as a roadblock."

"That's very unkind, Laura. I feel sorry for her."

"You shouldn't, love. It all started that first night when you decked her—she blames you for everything."

"I—I never wanted to supplant her. I never tried."

"No, but you did, love. This is the first time in the history of the company that the ingenue has received twice the attention— and three times the adulation—as the leading lady.'' ,

"I can't help it if they like me."

"True. You can't help being absolutely gorgeous and mar-velously gifted. If I had a competitive bone in my body, I'd hate you myself, you hussy. Like it or not, love, you're the star of the company."

"Nonsense. I'm still billed below Michael and Carmelita and Billy."

"And above me," she pointed out. "Jason doesn't want you to get a swollen head. That's the only reason you haven't received top billing. You've certainly received the lion's share of attention from the gendemen of the press—and that bloody picture keeps right on selling."

I had to smile. Several months ago, when we were performing Lena Marlow in Montgomery, Alabama, a very gifted young artist had drawn sketches of everyone in the company. Jason had bought reproduction rights from the artist, and the picmre of me in the sumptuous and low-cut fox-trimmed gold satin had been immensely popular. Newspapers used it frequendy, and copies of it were hawked in theater lobbies during intermission along with pictures of the rest of the company. Laura was forever teasing me because my picture sold twice as many as all the others put together. Over the months, I must have signed hundreds of them for the gushing teenage girls and would-be swains who, after every performance, were invariably waiting at the stage door.