City of Ash

by Megan Chance

  “Mr. DeWitt will never stand for this.”

  “DeWitt will do what I tell him,” Lucius said wearily. “Just as you will. Go home, Bea. Learn Marjory’s lines. If you see Susan, send her to me.”

  “Lucius …” I was pleading now. “Lucius, you can’t. This was to be my debut. I’ve waited for this so long.…”

  “It’s only a few weeks, and then you’ll have your debut.”

  A few weeks. Anything could happen in a few weeks, and given Lucius’s nature and Nathan’s damned inconsistency, it no doubt would.

  Lucius waved his hand at me in dismissal. “I am sorry, my dear. But I’ve no doubt you’ll recover. If you’re angry, have it out with your lover and not with me.”

  I went, but only because I was afraid of what I would say if I stayed. I hated Nathan for paying off Lucius to bring his wife here. I hated the silly wife whose whim had cost me the part I meant to be brilliant in. I hated Lucius for his grasping disloyalty.

  And I hated how helpless I was. There was not one thing I could do other than leave the troupe, which was no choice at all. If I had my own company … but you don’t, do you? And it’s only a few weeks. Only a few weeks.

  It was small consolation. When Susan came into the dressing room later, she was as downcast as I. “We’ll make her life a misery, Bea. She won’t want to stay beyond a first rehearsal.”

  I smiled wanly at her and let her chatter away about Mrs. Langley and Lucius’s perfidity and the unfairness of it all, and though it helped that she was miserable too, it didn’t help enough. When I heard my cue at the beginning of the second act and went onstage, I saw Nathan sitting in the box, and my anger erupted so quickly and fiercely it was all I could do to stay in character.

  When the play was over, I nearly ripped off my gown. I scrubbed the powder and rouge and kohl from my face so hard I reddened my skin. I dressed quickly. I had no intention of waiting for Nathan. I stepped out the door, slamming it behind me, and nearly barreled into Sebastian DeWitt, who was waiting on the other side.

  He caught my arm. “Mrs. Wilkes, if I might have a word.…”

  I said, “Did Lucius tell you?”

  “Yes.” He looked miserable. “I’m sorry.”

  “I take that to mean you didn’t fight for me,” I said bitterly.

  “It wouldn’t have mattered if I had. Langley bought the play. I can’t just take it back.”

  “Yes, of course.” I jerked from his hold. “It would have cost you fifty dollars.”

  “Yes, there is that,” he said.

  “To stand by one’s principles is often costly.”

  “A pretty thought, coming from you.” He glanced down the hall and then leaned close to whisper, “Here comes our benefactor now. How much were your principles worth, Mrs. Wilkes? What did Langley pay for them?”

  I nearly snapped at him again. I remembered just in time that he wasn’t the one I was angry with. It wasn’t DeWitt’s fault that Nathan had kowtowed to his wife, just as it wasn’t his fault that Lucius would have sold his own mother for ready cash. Then I saw Nathan, striding down the hallway with all that aplomb, just so composed and rich, and I wanted to throw something. Instead I spun on my heel and pushed past the other backdoor Johnnies lingering in the hall, hurrying in the other direction, toward the stairs on the opposite side of the stage.

  Nathan was on me in moments. He jerked me around to face him. “Come,” he said, his voice smooth, brooking no argument. “My driver’s waiting.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you tonight.”

  He smiled, but I saw the force behind it. “I can either take you down that hallway kicking and screaming, or you’ll come with me as if you want to. Your choice.”

  He grabbed my arm and led me back down the hallway. I could not make myself look at DeWitt as we passed; I pretended he didn’t exist. I went with Nathan up the stairs to the back door. The carriage was waiting.

  When we started off, I said, “I only came with you to keep from embarrassing my friends. You can leave me at my door. I don’t want you to come up.”

  “Don’t be unreasonable.”

  “We had an agreement,” I said angrily. “You told me the part was mine.”

  “I’ll buy you another play.”

  “This one was written for me.”

  Nathan shrugged. “I’ll ask DeWitt to write another one for you. A better one. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  My eyes went blurry with disappointment and frustration. I thought of running lines in my room with Sebastian DeWitt, the way he’d spoken of passion. “You don’t understand. I waited so long for this. And I was going to be … I was going to be brilliant.”

  “Geneva won’t stand in the way of that. It’s only a few weeks. After that, believe me, we won’t have to worry about her again.” Nathan reached for a box. I knew before he handed it to me what it would be. He smiled. “There now, my dear. Forgive me?”

  And my anger burst over me again. Before I knew what I was doing or could tell myself I was the worst of idiots for doing it, I shoved the box back at him. “I don’t want your damned candy.”

  Just then the carriage stopped before my building. I opened the door without waiting for the driver, and I was out before Nathan had a chance to stop me. I was inside the door of the hotel and halfway up the first flight of stairs before I heard him cursing behind me, before I realized he’d followed me, and then, suddenly, I was frightened. I picked up my skirts and began to run up the stairs, thinking I could make it to my door and inside before he got to me, but he was so damn fast, and he didn’t have a corset or skirts to hold him back either.

  He reached me before I was halfway up the second flight. He didn’t say anything; just wrapped his hand around my arm to slow me, and then he propelled me up those steps. I didn’t struggle—there was no point. When we got to my door, he nearly threw me inside and locked the door behind us.

  The last few days had been hot, and my room was sweltering, in spite of the fact that I’d left the window open. I was sweating already as I stumbled against the bed and turned to face him. I was breathing hard, and the damned tears were back. “Leave me alone! Go home to your wife. She’s the one who has something to thank you for.” Stupid, very stupid, but I was so angry. “When she’s gone, you can come back.”

  I knew before the words were out of my mouth that I’d made a mistake—not that I hadn’t known what was coming for me the second he’d followed me up those stairs, and you’d think I would have been smart enough to keep my mouth shut.

  Nathan was on me in two steps, gripping my wrist, twisting it back so I couldn’t fight, so I had to fall on the bed, where he wanted me.

  I heard myself pleading, “Nathan, please,” but he pulled up my skirts and tore off my drawers, shoving his knee between my legs. The look in his eyes frightened me. When I fought him, he slapped me, not hard, but it stunned me, and in that moment he jammed himself into me.

  His breath was hot on my face. I tried to buck him off, but he said, “That’s right, you little whore, fight me,” and I saw it excited him and that was when I went still. I lay there and my face stung and he just kept pounding away, rougher than he’d ever been, almost as if he hated me as much as I hated him just then.

  When he collapsed on me, I didn’t even give him a second. I pushed at him. “Get off me, you son of a bitch.”

  But, you know, he was so much bigger. I couldn’t budge him. It was as if he didn’t feel me or hear me, and I had the sense that he meant to show me he would have his own will or none. He lay there for a moment more, guising his control over me in lovemaking. He kissed my jaw and stroked my hair. His hand ran over my bare hip.

  I was not going to give in. But he just kept touching me, kissing me, urging me, murmuring, “Come, little puss, don’t be angry,” and really all I wanted was for him to be gone, and so I sighed and turned my face so he could kiss me properly, and it was only then, after he’d ravaged my mouth and I thought with dismay that h
e meant to fuck me again, that he got off me.

  He fastened the trousers he had not even taken off, and I lay there and turned my face so I didn’t have to look at him.

  “It won’t be for long, you know. A few weeks—maybe less. No one will even see the damn thing. Ginny’s stupid whim, but it won’t get her where she expects.” He laughed meanly. “You’ll have it back soon enough.”

  “Go to hell,” I said.

  His voice went tight. “I’ll commission a new play from DeWitt. One even better than this one.”

  I heard him reach for something, the box of candy I’d left on the bureau. He laid it on the bed so my fingers brushed it. “Here, take an apricot. I know how much you love them. I’ll have my driver bring up the other box. I’ll see you never lack for them. I’ll fill this room with them, if that’s what you wish.”

  “Go away, Nathan,” I managed. “Please just go away.”

  “As you wish. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  I was stunned—and relieved—when he said nothing more, when it seemed he would do what I asked. I heard him open the door and go out. I waited until his footsteps were gone.

  Then I pulled myself up and pushed my skirt back down over my legs, and sat against the headboard and ran my fingers over my face. If he’d left a bruise, I would kill him. It was too damn hard to cover with makeup. I glanced at the box of glacéed fruit, and its pretty pink cover mocked me as if to say: this is what you traded for, apricots plumped in syrup, and along with that I heard Sebastian DeWitt’s words: “How much were your principles worth, Mrs. Wilkes? What did Langley pay for them?” and I grabbed the box, meaning to throw it against the wall.

  But I didn’t. Instead, I pulled out one of those gleaming, glistening apricots and shoved the whole damn thing into my mouth.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Geneva

  I dressed to go to the Regal Theater with a thrill of excitement. I had awakened early that morning, still not believing I was truly to take my place upon that stage, to speak Sebastian DeWitt’s sublime words. I’d half expected Nathan to come to my room this morning and laugh it all away as some joke. But as I’d watched the sun come up, my mind presented vision after vision of what might await me there, how the other actors would greet me, how I would end the day with new friends. I wrote a letter to my father about the play and my hopes for Sebastian DeWitt, sprinkling in a few comments about Nathan’s kindness, but even that did not take long. By the time I put the finishing touches to my toilette, my nerves were prickling with agitation. The minutes were moving too slowly; I was afraid to be too early, afraid to be late.

  There was a soft knock on my door. Bonnie called from the hallway, “Ma’am, Mr. DeWitt’s come calling.”

  The sound of his name was a pleasant little shock. I had not expected him. I glanced at the clock—it was a little before nine. Early for any sort of visit, but he must know by now about my acting experiment. No doubt he was as excited as I.

  I glanced about for the butterfly hairpins—they would go well with the watered bronze silk of my gown, and I wanted the extra sparkle to reflect my joy, but I could find them nowhere, and finally I substituted pins with diamond and citron and went downstairs to meet Mr. DeWitt.

  He turned from the window when I said, “Mr. DeWitt, what a pleasure to see you this morning.”

  He did not smile, which took me aback a bit, but then I decided he must be restraining his own excitement, and I went to him, holding out my hands. He took my fingers in his, and a smile did touch his lips then, and I was reassured.

  “Would you like some tea?” I asked. “Although I am rather in a rush. I’m to be at the theater at nine-thirty.”

  “Yes, I know. I understand you’re to act in Penelope.”

  I laughed. “Indeed yes. I hope you are as thrilled as I.”

  “Have you discussed this with your husband?”

  “Of course. Nathan can’t help but see the advantage.”

  “What advantage is that?”

  “Why, we both think it will bring society out in force to see your play.”

  “They won’t be coming to see my play,” he said. “They’ll be coming to see you.”

  “Yes,” I agreed. “But what does it matter what brings them there? They won’t be able to deny your genius. What better way to introduce you to the world?”

  He seemed uncertain. In fact, his whole manner was a bit odd, not at all what I’d hoped.

  I went on, “I’ve always wanted to try my hand at acting. Do you remember the other night?”

  “You wanted to act in a play,” he said. “Eat fish and speak of socialism.”

  “You do remember!” I said with delight.

  He looked away, obviously uncomfortable, and that was what finally stabbed through my happiness and made me pause.

  “Is something wrong, Mr. DeWitt?”

  His gaze was direct. “I’m surprised your husband arranged for this, Mrs. Langley, and I can’t believe he’s thought it through completely. In fact, I’ve come today to ask you to reconsider.”

  It took a moment for his words to fully register, and when they did I frowned at him. “You’re concerned for my reputation, no doubt. Please let me reassure you that I have little reputation to lose.”

  He shook his head impatiently. “The other actors—”

  “Oh, I know I haven’t their experience, and I don’t wonder that you might think I haven’t the skill to play Penelope. But I understand her so well, Mr. DeWitt. Truly. And you could help me, couldn’t you, if you think I’m going in a wrong direction? I know I could do it.”

  “You may be right. That’s not the reason I ask you to withdraw.”

  I was confused. “Then what is your reason? I would have thought you would be happy at such an opportunity—”

  “I appreciate your intention. I do. But …” He paused. “I thought you said your talent was in bringing artists to light.”

  “Yes, of course. But I suppose it’s possible to have more than one talent, isn’t it? I mean to find out if acting might be another.”

  Again the quick glance away. “The play is already in production, and has been so for a week at least. You won’t endear yourself to the other actors by coming in this way.”

  “Ah,” I said quietly. “Now I see. You think it would offend them.”

  “Perhaps … some of them.”

  “You mean the blonde already holds the part. But how can she possibly do your words justice?”

  “Fortunately, Stella Bernardi has left the Regal.”

  “Oh good. Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there? As far as the others go, I believe you underestimate me. I’ve charmed Sarah Bernhardt. Edwin Booth was a guest at my home each time he was in Chicago. I don’t think a Seattle company … well, I suspect we will all be friends quite quickly. We’ll be drinking wine together by the end of the week, I promise you.”

  “Mrs. Langley, this play isn’t just an opportunity for you—”

  “I realize that. I’ve already told you; it’s not for my benefit that I do this, but yours. And I vow I’ll be on my best behavior, if that’s what worries you. I will win them over, you know.”

  “I’ve no doubt of that, but—”

  “I won’t embarrass you, Mr. DeWitt. I value your friendship. I would never do anything to harm it.”

  That made him pause. He considered me with those strange eyes for a moment, and then he sighed and smiled—not so broad as he could, or had, but enough that I suddenly realized how tight was my stomach, how much his approval meant to me already. “I value your friendship as well, Mrs. Langley.”

  His words warmed me. “Do you think … might I ask you a favor, Mr. DeWitt, in the true spirit of friendship? Will you come with me to meet Mr. Greene this morning, if you’ve no other obligations? I confess I’m a bit nervous. It would comfort me to have you there.”

  “As it happens, I was on my way there myself. For rehearsal. I’m making revisions.”

 
; “Revisions? But it’s quite brilliant as it is. Surely Mr. Greene can’t want to change too much.”

  He made a face. “I imagine that remains to be seen.”

  “I cannot think how discouraging that must be, to have your words be at the mercy of lesser men. I’ve always thought criticism to be the bane of artists.”

  “I should say it was reality instead. And necessity.”

  “In any case, the play is perfect as it is.”

  “Perfection too is in the eye of the beholder.” He held out his arm. “Shall we go then? You don’t want to be late.”

  I placed my hand in the crook of his arm, and together we went to the waiting carriage. With him beside me, my nerves quieted. We spoke of small things on the journey to the theater. I think he saw how strung tight I was and thought to put me at ease. But when the carriage finally pulled up in front of the theater, my nerves flared again. I was almost giddy. “Oh, I can hardly believe I mean to do this!”

  He said, “I can hardly believe it myself.”

  We went in through the parquet door, which led to the back of the theater, into rows of empty seats, cast into darkness. But on the stage, the footlights were lit, and men shouted back and forth to one another as they painstakingly painted a canvas backdrop suspended from hooks. A backdrop for my play, I realized, and felt that stabbing little thrill of excitement again that caught my breath and made me cough a little—the lingering residue of my cold—and Sebastian DeWitt stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Greene will be waiting for you,” he said. “This way.”

  He led me down the aisle between the seats, and up the few steps to the stage, and then ducked behind the curtains flanking it. I followed. The backstage was in near darkness, barely held within the periphery of the lamps onstage, and the heavy curtains did their part to keep out the light as well. Dim shapes of props and sets loomed before me as Mr. DeWitt took my arm and led me to the stairs, narrow and falling into shadow, with a light glowing at the bottom.

  They ended in a hall, musty, dim, dusty, and narrow, with doors lining either side and scenery and props leaning against the walls and creating a confusion of obstacles. I could not imagine there was an office down here, but Mr. DeWitt was not the least hesitant, and finally we came to it. There was a key box on one side and a row of narrow boxes with names scratched beneath each on the other, and on the door was painted in black: LUCIUS GREENE, MANAGER.