They Call Her Dana

by Jennifer Wilde

  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 Ollie 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 Molière and a little Shakespeare and—”

  “Bloody bluestocking,” he grumbled.

  “Hardly that. I found Molière 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 Carmelita playing a beautiful quadroon passing herself off as white.”

  “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.”

  “You’re sure about me now?”

  “You’re a natural-born 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 startled 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 suffering. 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 playwright-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 s
ultry 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 tumbled. 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 terrified, 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.