Prima Donna

by Megan Chance

  CHAPTER 5

  Seattle, Washington Territory—February 1881

  That night, the Palace was full, the way it always was when word got around that we had new girls. Even when the girls weren’t yet ready to perform, the novelty lured the men in, and that was good, that was what I liked, because it kept me busy and made it easy to ignore the agitation that lurked just below the surface, ready to leap up whenever Sally challenged me with too bold eyes or when Emma faltered over the words of her song and then broke into laughter onstage and I saw her pupils were tiny as pinpricks from the laudanum she’d been drinking. The new girls helped too; I had to show them around and introduce them to the customers and make certain they were holding their own. Sarah Wilcox would do fine; she was an adept flirt, and Duncan was nearly falling over himself to help her. The three I thought of as Girl one, Girl two, and Girl three were adequate enough. Girl two spilled four drinks out of nervousness, and Girl three had a braying laugh that seemed to echo through the saloon and set my teeth on edge whenever I heard it. And as for Charlotte Rainey …

  I’d been aware of her the moment she stepped into the Palace, and that awareness hadn’t eased since. It was because she was so tall, taller than the others, and easy to spot in the crowd. And too, she walked with a kind of proud dignity that drew the eye, though she wasn’t cold—she smiled readily and I saw her laugh with real gusto more than once. She went to the boxes three times that night, and each time the men were grinning when they returned. And she was good at selling the drinks too.

  I was leaning on the bar, watching her, when Johnny came out of his office. He came up to me, leaning close to say, “How’re the new girls tonight?”

  “Some better than others. Sarah should do well.”

  “I see Duncan’s kept a close eye on her.”

  “She’ll be in his bed before the week is out,” I agreed.

  “What about the others? What about that one?”

  I followed his gaze. “You mean Charlotte.”

  “She seem a bit long in the tooth to you?”

  “I believe she’s about my age,” I said dryly.

  He smiled. “Well, you ain’t a whore.”

  My discomfort pricked. Deliberately, I said, “No one seems to mind it. She’s doing very well. Her drink totals are as good as Annie’s.”

  “Good,” he said. I heard the intake of his breath, slow and wary. “How you doing tonight, honey? You seem good.”

  “Oh, but I’ve been warned I’d better be. And you know how well I follow direction.”

  “Margie,” he said quietly.

  I shrugged away from his hand where it rested on my hip. “I’m fine, Johnny. You can fuck Sally tonight without worrying that I’ll be pining for you.”

  “I don’t mind you pining for me.”

  “You seemed to mind it last night.”

  “Not the pining,” he said. “What I mind is the fact that you don’t.”

  He stepped away then, moving to Duncan, whom he spoke to for a moment before he poured himself a glass of whiskey and went back into his office. I felt the urge for a drink myself, but I remembered his warning and left it. As always, Johnny left me feeling somehow less than, as if he expected more from me, as if I failed him in ways I didn’t understand. I disliked the feeling, but more than that I disliked the loneliness it left in its wake. He wouldn’t be coming with me to the boardinghouse tonight, and I would be alone, and the rest of the night seemed to race pell-mell toward that conclusion, the hours spinning by in a blur of color and sound until suddenly it was nearly 4 A.M. The girls and the orchestra had gone home, and the newest scrubwoman was cheerlessly cleaning up, and it was time to make my weary way back to the boardinghouse and my cold and empty bed.

  Johnny was nowhere to be found, and it occurred to me as I grabbed my cloak from his office that I hadn’t seen Sally leave either. They must have gone off to his room when I wasn’t looking. It wasn’t that I was jealous—Johnny had had his favorites before, and the truth was that I was mostly relieved at it, because I knew he loved me, and I didn’t want the responsibility of having to love him back. But not having the guarantee of him frightened me. Johnny at least was easy; he understood me, he knew his place in my life and the role I meant him to play. If he’d really meant what he said about not obliging me any longer, what was I to do without him?

  Duncan was shrugging into his coat as I came out of the office. “You ready to go, Marguerite?”

  I nodded and put on my cloak and together we went out. The light from the nearby streetlamp seemed to shiver and shift in the rain. It was a moment before I saw the shadow within it, the person lurking in the corner where the lean-to butted up against the saloon, and I went still in sudden fear. So this was to be the night….

  Duncan stopped, one hand on my arm, the other sneaking to the gun he kept in his pocket. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s only me,” a voice said, and then the shadow lengthened and grew as the person stood and stepped from the corner.

  It was Charlotte. She was wearing a threadbare coat, too big, obviously once a man’s, and no hat. Her hair was plastered to her head, dripping into her face. Her eyes were enormous, her lips colorless with cold. I swallowed my relief. Not tonight, after all. Thank God.

  “I got no money yet,” she said. “There’s no place else to go.”

  Duncan said, “You can’t stay out here. Johnny won’t have it.”

  “Look, I only need tonight—”

  “Sorry, but you got to move on.” Duncan was adamant.

  “Where the hell should I go?”

  “That ain’t my problem.”

  She nodded and began to move off, and suddenly I remembered my first night in Seattle, the cold wet and the despair that had led me to sell myself for a bowl of chowder. I thought of her today in Johnny’s room, that evasion, that understanding, and all of it tangled with my fear of going to my empty room, of being alone, and I found myself saying, “You can come with me.”

  Duncan jerked to look at me. “What?”

  “She can come home with me,” I said again, and then, at his disbelieving expression, “I didn’t put all this time into training her today just to have her murdered in the street.”

  Duncan shrugged. “Whatever you want. Come along then.”

  Charlotte fell into step beside me. “Thank you,” she said quietly. That was all, just thank you, but it was sincere and she didn’t grovel and I didn’t regret that I’d made the offer. Instead I felt comforted. I didn’t ask myself why that was; all I cared about was that I wouldn’t be alone.

  None of us said much on the walk to the boardinghouse. We sloshed quickly through the mud because the night was cold and wet and still full of other, less benign shadows. Charlotte was shivering so I could feel it. When we reached McGraw’s, Duncan let us go with a “Good night, ladies,” and then, as I stepped back to let Charlotte go first up the ramp, he touched my arm and asked, “You sure? You never done this before.”

  “I’m sure,” I told him. Then I patted the pocket where I kept the derringer. “I’ve got a gun if she gets too hard to handle.”

  His white teeth flashed in the darkness as he laughed. “I won’t worry then. Good night, Marguerite.”

  I hurried after Charlotte to the door. “This way,” I told her as we went inside and I led her up the stairs to my room. I unlocked the door and she was still shivering as she went inside. The room was cold as it always was, not even the breath of the furnace to heat it now; it had been banked for hours. At least Tessa was quiet in the room next door.

  Quickly I hurried to the bedside table and lit the candle. “You’d best get those wet clothes off so you can get warm. Though I guess it might take a while in this place.”

  She nodded and slipped out of her coat before she sat on the edge of the bed to take off her boots. She cursed softly as she fumbled with the laces. I knelt on the floor beside her and batted aside her dead cold hands and made short work of it, though the laces h
ad been broken and knotted many times. I eased them off her feet. Her stockings were soaking as well.

  “How long were you out there?” I asked.

  “Only a few hours,” she said. “Johnny told me to go around two, I think, when things started to die down.”

  “Your drink sales were good tonight. Better than some of the girls who’ve been there a while.”

  “The work ain’t hard.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve done worse.”

  I got to my feet, and she rose as well, reaching back to try the buttons on the gown. I gestured impatiently for her to turn. She still wore the dress I’d given her at the Palace. Even as cheap as the satin was, the rough skin of my fingers caught on its smoothness as I undid the buttons one after another. It was as wet as her coat had been; I peeled it from her shoulders to reveal her corset, the pale skin of her back, which the candlelight burnished to a smooth gold, seemingly unblemished by the gooseflesh I felt there. She bent her head forward, her muscles flexing beneath the soft down of fine, light hair at the nape of her neck that trailed down her spine to disappear beneath the grayed muslin of her chemise, as old and cheap as mine. When I loosened the laces of her corset I heard her sigh at the release the way I always did.

  I stepped back. “Take off your stockings and get into bed. You’ll find it’s best only to wear them at the Palace. They’ll just stay wet otherwise.”

  “I know,” she said, pulling up the skirt of her chemise to loosen her garters, rolling the rough dark stockings down her legs. “I was just trying to keep warm. I used to live in Portland.”

  “It rains there too?”

  She tilted her chin to look at me, obviously amused. “More than here, I think.”

  “I didn’t know that was possible.”

  She draped her stockings over the dresser, and then she took down her hair, plaiting it into a thick, fat braid with clumsy fingers. She motioned to the bed. “Which side?”

  “What?”

  “Which side is yours?”

  “Oh. I don’t care. Just climb in before you turn to ice.”

  Obediently, she crawled beneath the blankets which were old and thin but for the thicker wool of the Hudson’s Bay blanket, which Johnny had given me the first night he’d brought me here and for which I’d been grateful ever since. She burrowed in, shuddering, the sound of her breathing a steady and comforting sound in the silence.

  I took off my own boots and undressed, hanging my cloak and dress on the peg beside the door, and took down my hair, not bothering to brush it, twisting it into a rough braid, and by the time I was done her shuddering had stopped and her breathing had become soft and heavy. She was already asleep, but when I lifted the blankets, she shifted and muttered, making room for me, as if she were used to doing that too, and I crawled into bed beside her, careful not to disturb her.

  Her body had warmed the bed even in that short a time; she was a soft presence beside me, perfumed with rain and dirt and the soft musk of her sweat. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine that it was another time, another place.

  Almost.

  THE NEXT MORNING I woke to the sound of splashing. I jerked up, startled at the unfamiliar noise until I saw her at the basin, her shoulder blades jutting sharply beneath the straps of her chemise as she bent to wash her face. My sleep had been deep and even, untroubled as it was whenever someone else was here. I felt rested for the first time in days. I lay back upon the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, waiting.

  She said, “Sorry. I tried to be quiet.”

  “What time is it?” I asked.

  “Nearly noon, I think.”

  “This is later than I’ve slept in some time.” I stretched and got out of bed, going to the window, easing the curtain back to look outside at another gray and misty day.

  “You were good to let me stay here,” Charlotte said. “I’ll be gone as soon as I get dressed.”

  “To go where?”

  “I don’t know. It don’t matter. Someplace cheap.”

  “Perhaps here,” I heard myself say, letting the curtain drop back into place. “I’ll ask Mrs. McGraw.”

  “How much is it?”

  “Four dollars a week, extra for meals. But I wouldn’t pay the extra. There’s better food to be had at almost any other place in the Lava Beds.”

  “D’you think I can make enough at the Palace to pay that?”

  “From what I saw last night, you should do so easily.”

  She nodded. She undid her braid and brushed her hair with her fingers, and then twisted it up again with the pins she’d taken out last night.

  “Don’t you have a brush?” I asked.

  “No,” she said quietly. “I left Portland … quickly.”

  I had gone to the basin to wash, and now I paused at the words that were, like so many other things about her, too familiar. I told myself not to ask. It was none of my business; it was easier if I didn’t know. But I heard myself saying, “Will trouble be following you up here?” Her expression hardened. “No.”

  Suddenly the scar on her arm seemed very red and even more obvious than it had before. I wondered if it had anything to do with her leaving Portland. It looked to be old, older than mine, though how could I know that really?

  I turned to the basin, tamping down my curiosity, remembering how much I’d hated the questions, how much I still hated them. I washed and left her to dress in quiet, back in the Palace satin. I wondered what had happened to the dress she’d had on when she arrived.

  When I dried my face, she said, “Would you mind?” and turned so I could do up the final buttons, which I did quickly. Then she said, “Thanks again. I won’t forget I owe you.”

  “Why don’t we see if Mrs. McGraw has an empty room?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

  “It’s no burden,” I said. “Just let me get dressed.”

  She waited, and I dressed quickly, and led her out of my room and downstairs. Mrs. McGraw was in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for what was certain to be a heavy and greasy supper. When we came through the door, she paused, setting aside the paring knife, wiping her hands on her already filthy apron.

  “Why, Miss Olson, good afternoon to you.”

  “I was hoping you might have an empty room for a friend of mine. This is Charlotte Rainey, who’s just started work at the Palace.”

  She peered at Charlotte with sharp and rather beady eyes. “The Palace, eh?”

  “I hired her yesterday. She’s new to Seattle.”

  “Well, you know I’d always take someone you’re vouching for, Miss Olson, because I don’t take no one who don’t got a personal recommendation, but there’s no room just now. That nice Mr. Clemmons down the hall says he’s going as soon as he sells his silks, but who knows when that’ll be? Maybe a week, maybe more.”

  Charlotte said, “Thanks just the same, Mrs. McGraw.”

  Mrs. McGraw frowned. “I’d be happy to have you, Miss Rainey, if you can wait a bit. God knows I hate to lose a good renter.”

  “But I need a place now. I can’t be sleeping on the streets.”

  “Maybe Miss Olson could put you up for a few days,” Mrs. McGraw said, looking at me pointedly. “That way you’d be ready to move in just as soon as Mr. Clemmons moves out. Why, I’d even charge you only fifty cents more instead of my usual dollar for sharing.”

  I had been surprised at my disappointment when there had been no room, and now I found myself surprised once more at Mrs. McGraw’s suggestion. Not because she’d made it, but because I considered it. Usually I spent as little time in my room as possible, because I hated the quiet of being alone, the sound of my own breath, of my body moving about the space. To have Charlotte there, even for a short time … Hadn’t I slept last night? Had I felt even a single moment of that disquiet that had lately been my most constant companion?

  I said, “How generous of you, Mrs. McGraw,” at the same moment Charlott
e said “No.”

  I turned to her. “Why not? It’s only for a time. This place is better than most. At least Mrs. McGraw washes the sheets.”

  “Of course I do!” Mrs. McGraw said in outrage.

  Charlotte shook her head. “You already done enough.”

  “We’ll accept your offer, Mrs. McGraw,” I said quickly.

  Mrs. McGraw smiled. “Well then, that’s just fine. I’ll keep Mr. Clemmons’s room for you, Miss Rainey. I’m sure you’ll find it to your satisfaction.”

  “Thank you,” I said to my landlady, and then I went out, Charlotte following more slowly.

  It wasn’t until we were back on the stairs that she said, “I don’t understand.”

  “What is there to understand? I’ve just managed to keep Mr. Clemmons’s room for you and give you a place to stay in the meantime.”

  “But that’s what I mean. Why’d you do it?”

  I turned on the stair. “Because I wanted to.”

  She met my gaze. “What d’you want?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “There ain’t no such thing as kindness without purpose,” she said. “And the other girls warned us about you. They said you never did anything without a reason. They said sometimes you could be cruel.”

  I tried not to feel pain at her words. “Yes. That’s true.”

  “Then what’s your reason now?”

  I was disconcerted, confused, a little angry. I told myself to take it all back, to send her on her way. I’d changed my mind; I didn’t like her at all. But I heard myself meeting her honesty with my own. “I sleep better when someone’s there.”

  She stared at me for a moment, and then nodded as if my answer satisfied her. “Well, all right then. But just so we’re clear … you can do what you want with me at the Palace, but here … I won’t play your games. I ain’t afraid of you.”

  I grabbed hold of the railing to steady myself. “Good. I don’t want you to be.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The other girls were waiting at the Palace when we arrived, holding their music tight in their grimy hands as I led them upstairs into the orchestra loge.