by Megan Chance
I was horribly aware of Robert Marsdon’s ashamed curiosity, and Gideon’s stillness, and Charlotte’s accusing stare.
“Could we talk about this somewhere else, Johnny?” I said weakly. “Somewhere … private.”
“Don’t you want him to know? Ain’t he your manager? Or maybe … I guess he might be more than that. You only been practicing with him, honey? Or you been fucking him too?”
I shook my head desperately. In panic, I said, “No. We were only practicing. And he was my manager. He’s not anymore.” I heard Gideon’s quick expulsion of breath. So did Johnny.
He looked at Gideon. “Is that so?”
For a moment, Gideon said nothing, and I remembered what he’d said to me, about not wanting secrets any longer, about showing the world what we were to each other, and I knew what I’d said hurt him. But I had no choice. I turned to him, hoping he would understand, but he didn’t look at me, and I felt this break within myself, this fracturing, a barrier between us that had never been there before.
Gideon said, “I don’t want anything to do with her.” His voice was harsh and blunt and dismissive; I felt as if he’d struck me. He moved away from me as if he couldn’t stand to be near, crossing to the stairs, and for a moment Johnny stood there, blocking the way as if he might not let him pass, and Gideon said, “I’m done wasting my time. Good luck with her. You’ll need it.”
Johnny moved aside, and Gideon went up the stairs.
“Gideon,” I said, starting after him. “Gideon, no—”
Gideon didn’t look back, and Johnny stepped to block me. I tried to push past him, but he grabbed my arm to keep me there and said, “You and me got some things to talk about, honey.”
I heard Gideon’s footsteps recede, and then he was gone, and it seemed that whatever had been holding me up had folded; it was only Johnny keeping me upright.
“I knew you were a liar,” Charlotte said in an angry whisper. “I knew you never told me a true thing. How you must have laughed at me. All your damn secrets—”
“Perhaps it would be best if we went, my dear.” Robert Marsdon took Charlotte’s arm, nudging gently.
“What about your own secrets, Charlotte?” I asked nastily. Charlotte froze. I told myself to stop. I told myself not to say it. Still, I heard my own voice, hurt and bitter and angry. “Has Charlotte told you about those, Dr. Marsdon? Has she told you she works the stage and the boxes down at the Palace? Did she tell you she’s a whore?”
Robert dropped his hand from her arm. He was ashen. He said, “Charlotte, is that true?”
Charlotte made a sound like a yelp; the look she gave me was horrible. She turned and ran up the stairs. When Marsdon followed, going after her like a dead man, I felt a kind of painful satisfaction, as if I’d bitten down hard on an aching tooth and then released it, the numb relief of after.
Johnny said, “You’re a piece of work, Miss Conrad, ain’t you?”
In that moment I felt a terrible horror at what I’d done, and I tried to jerk away from Johnny to go after her, to go after Gideon, I hardly knew which. Only that both were gone and I had forced them away, and I did not know how to live without them. But Johnny held me tight, his fingers pinching.
“Let me go,” I said.
He said, “How you do wound me, honey.”
And then I heard the pain in his voice, and I knew with dismay that I’d hurt him too. I’d wanted so to save him from it—no, a little voice whispered honestly, you wanted to save yourself. Gideon had been right when he’d said I’d always done just what I wanted. It would have been better to tell Johnny outright. I had owed him that, if nothing else.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m so sorry.”
“It don’t help,” he said curtly.
But I knew what would. I knew it with a sick apprehension, and a realization that the decision I’d been denying for weeks was made—that, in fact, it had been made long ago and I had been too selfish to heed it.
I met Johnny’s gaze. “Call Thomas Prosch. Tell him you found Sabine Conrad.”
He frowned, and then I saw the moment he understood. I saw the quick light of ambition in his eyes, the thing that had always been stronger than his love for me. “You sure, honey?”
That he even asked was humbling and completely undeserved. I swallowed hard the lump that rose in my throat and nodded. “I’m sure.”
AFTER THAT, EVERYTHING happened so quickly I could not keep it straight. Johnny sent Duncan for Thomas Prosch, and he was at the Palace within minutes. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it,” he said, seating himself at the table where Johnny and I waited. “Why, it’s clear as day now that I know!” His gaze seemed to consume me—my hair, where the roots shone oddly golden, the scar, the cheapness of my dress. He pulled a carte de visite from his pocket and held it out to me with a hand visibly trembling with excitement. “It looks just like you.”
“Because it is me,” I said wryly.
“The scar is different, of course, and the hair, but did no one ever suspect?”
“In the first months, yes,” I told him, remembering. Too-watchful Pinkerton agents hired by private interests who’d chased me from Boston to Philadelphia before I lost them. A re porter in Columbus, Ohio, who followed me from my hotel room. Overzealous, anxious, clever. He’d cornered me and threatened and I’d sold a ruby ring and fled on the next train. Then, in Texas, some little town, and a storekeep with a picture of me on his wall who’d begged an autograph and a hundred dollars to keep quiet, but only if I would sing. The way they all looked at me, with admiration and with something else too, knowing smiles that said, We know what you are. A whore who can sing. Nothing more. My pedestal had crumbled. I was still afraid to face that.
But I tried not to think of it. “I didn’t want to be found. I wanted to disappear.”
Johnny leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. “God knows this is the place to do it.”
Prosch took out his notebook and pencil. “You’ve been in Seattle all this time?”
“Four years,” I said softly, and then, resolutely, “but now I’m out of hiding, Mr. Prosch. No more Marguerite Olson. And I’ll be singing at the Palace next Monday.”
Johnny nearly fell off his chair.
I smiled with satisfaction. “A command performance. We’ll be selling tickets at five dollars each.”
“Ten dollars,” Johnny said quickly.
“Ten dollars,” I agreed. “Please write that down, Mr. Prosch.”
He did. “Well, there’s the quality act you wished for, Langford. The return of Sabine Conrad—and to a Seattle stage, no less. You’ll be the envy of theaters across the country.”
Johnny smiled warmly at me. “It looks like Miss Conrad knows something about loyalty after all, don’t she?”
Prosch said, “I have a hundred questions. What happened that night at the Fifth Avenue Hotel? How did you get that scar?”
I struggled to remember what Gideon had said. “Tell him how difficult your life has been….” “We want you performing, not in prison….” “If you would embrace the scandal, no one could use it against you.” Dear God, I wished he were here. I needed his expertise. More than that, I wanted him beside me.
Johnny said, “I confess I’m dying to hear the story myself.”
I saw Duncan lift his head from where he stood at the bar; I knew he was listening. I saw the light in Mr. Prosch’s eyes. I felt Johnny’s still and avaricious quiet. Their attention was so focused I thought nothing short of an earthquake could distract them.
And I remembered who I was, the things I’d sacrificed to get here, and the last of Marguerite Olson fell away. I was Sabine Conrad again.
I looked calmly at Thomas Prosch. “We were to meet M. DeRosier at seven….”
WHEN THE INTERVIEW was over, and Mr. Prosch was gone, I knew I had only a few hours at the most. Gideon had said the notoriety would bring them in droves, and if the past were any indication, I knew already the crowds I could expe
ct.
I said to Johnny, “I have to find Gideon.”
He gave me a thoughtful look, but he jerked his head at Duncan. “Go on down to the New Brunswick. Fetch back Price. I don’t give a damn if he’s sleeping or not.”
“No,” I said. “I’ll go myself.”
Johnny poured two drinks and handed one to me. “I wouldn’t advise it. Crowds’ll be all over this place within the hour.”
“I have to take the risk.”
“Yeah.” He laughed a little. “That don’t surprise me, honey. But to go down there now is just plain stupid.”
“I’ve done a lot of stupid things.”
“No doubt. So what did happen that night, anyway?”
“It was a mistake.”
“Most things like that are.” He downed his drink. “You know, when you first came through that door four years ago, I suspected something, but never that. Either I’m the biggest fool in Seattle, or you got a rare talent for deceit.”
There was a bitterness in his voice that I knew I’d put there. I didn’t know what to say.
He poured another drink. “So did you know Price would come for you? All this time … were you waiting for him?”
“Johnny, please—”
“Why the hell didn’t the two of you take the first steamer out of here?”
“He wanted to,” I said. “I didn’t.”
“You wanted to stay in this hellhole.”
“I … it’s complicated.”
“Too hard for me to grasp, hmmm?” Johnny took up the drink he’d poured me and came around the bar, pushing it into my hand. “Tell me: did any of … this”—a broad gesture, himself, the Palace—”mean shit to you? No, don’t answer that.”
“I wanted it to mean something,” I said quietly. “I meant to stay.”
My words fell into silence. I couldn’t look at him.
Johnny laughed. “Now you’re lying to yourself, honey. You don’t belong here, and we both know it. Go on, drink up. You’ll feel better.”
“Nothing can make me feel better. After the things I said …”
“We all get nasty when we’re cornered. It don’t matter. By the end of tomorrow you’ll have the whole world at your feet.”
“I don’t want the whole world anymore,” I said, drinking the whiskey.
Johnny looked at me. “No one believes that, honey.”
“But I’ll do what I can to help you make this place what you want. I owe you that.”
“You sure as hell do,” he said. “You make sure Price knows it too.” To Duncan, he said, “Take her with you down to the New Brunswick. And get her back in one piece.”
I was grateful, and anxious. When Duncan handed me my cloak, I drew the hood up close about my face and hurried out with him into the mistlike rain. I’d always liked Duncan’s ability to be quiet when he had nothing to say; just now I needed the silence to rehearse what I would tell Gideon. When we finally got to the New Brunswick, I was rigid with nerves and desperation. I nearly ran up the stairs, Duncan close behind, and crossed the lobby.
“He’s gone, miss.”
The desk clerk’s words reached me before I’d turned the corner. I looked back at him—of course he’d recognized me; he’d seen me come here nearly every day for weeks. “What?” I asked.
“Mr. Price, miss. He’s checked out. About an hour ago.”
“But … he can’t have!”
“Paid his bill and left,” the man said.
I was too stunned to speak. Duncan stepped up beside me. “Where’s he gone?” he asked the desk clerk.
“He didn’t tell me,” the man said.
Duncan said to me in a low voice, “Maybe’s he’s off to catch a steamer.”
He didn’t have to say anything else. I was down those stairs and running Commercial Street to the wharf, Duncan following as I pushed through the people on the boardwalk in my haste. My only hope was to find Gideon before he boarded. There were too many steamers; the Mosquito Fleet was made up of hundreds of boats. Who knew which one he would have taken?
But he was not at the ticket office of the Eliza Jane, nor at that of the Arrow or the General Lee, and no one remembered seeing him, and after an hour of checking every ticket office I knew, I had no choice but to admit the truth: Gideon was gone.
CHAPTER 25
I should not have been surprised. I’d told him I didn’t trust him. I’d known when he had gone up those stairs in the church without turning back that he was leaving. I’d known I’d lost him.
Hadn’t that been what I wanted?
With him gone, I had no reason to be afraid. The concert planned for Monday night, the return to my old life … Those things were mine again without the fear that Gideon would manipulate me. He could not use my love for him against me when he wasn’t here. I could go on that stage and sing as I loved and welcome the world I’d left behind, the world that still wanted me; it looked increasingly as if every soul within it might crowd onto my doorstep. After all, I’d never meant to leave the singing behind. All those years ago, I’d intended only to leave Gideon, not my career.
Now it was done.
I sent Duncan to the boardinghouse for my things. I could no longer stay there; I did not even try to leave the Palace—the crowds were too large—and Johnny told me I could remain un til things were settled. So I stood on his balcony and watched them gather. It seemed each held a copy of the newspaper, which had hit the streets that morning with its lurid headline:
NOTORIOUS PRIMA DONNA COMES
OUT OF HIDING!
Seattle Saloon Owner Discovers Scandalous Soprano
The TRUE Story of the SORDID MURDER that Shocked America
“Four telegrams already,” Johnny informed me as he brought up my possessions later that afternoon. Everything I owned was contained in a single crate. “I told you Portland would be first. The reporter will be here tonight.”
“And the others?”
“Newspapers from San Francisco, New York City, and Chicago.”
None from Gideon.
“It’s a crush downstairs. Stay up here for a while, until I send for you.”
I looked again out the window. “All right.”
“How the hell did you get about before? You couldn’t’ve gone anywhere without a mob on your heels.”
“Gideon took care of all that,” I said softly. “He was always there.”
“Well, I don’t got time to be your bulldog. I got a boxhouse to run.” Johnny reached into the crate and drew out my journal, throwing it to me where I sat on the bed. “Here’s a book. Why don’t you read?”
I caught the book and clutched it. “Have you seen Charlotte?”
Johnny shook his head. “If I do, I’ll send her up.”
After he left, I sat on the bed, cradling the journal, listening to the chanting from the street outside. “SA-BI-NA, SA-BI-NA, SA-BI-NA …”
The attention I had always loved. That I had craved. I should be glad of it now. I glanced down at the journal. I heard Gideon’s voice in my head. “Have you read your journal yet?” What had he meant me to find here?
I sat there, dreading it, caressing the cover with my thumb.
“SA-BI-NA, SA-BI-NA, SA-BI-NA …”
Carefully, I opened it, turning to the first page, the first words: Gideon is back from the tour at last!!!
I took a deep breath and began to read.
WHEN I FINALLY emerged from my memories, the day was far advanced. I’d been reading for hours in the near dark, too involved with my life to think of stopping to light a lamp, and now there was a steady pulsing behind my eyes, though I didn’t know if it was from the strain or tears.
I stretched and got to my feet, going to the window. There was still the crowd outside, and someone caught sight of my movement, and began to shout, and the chanting that had quieted started up again. “SA-BI-NA, SA-BI-NA, SA-BI-NA.” Downstairs the music was loud and someone was singing.
I went away from the window and
paused for a moment at the mirror Johnny used to shave with. My hair was loose and falling, and I shoved it back into place and fastened it with pins and then I went to the door and out, into the hallway, which was seething with girls and men and the heavy smell of smoke. I hesitated, but the men were bent on sex, and the two or three that noticed me backed against the wall reverently and politely to let me pass, blushing furiously when I favored them with a smile.
The words I’d read left me shaken. I wanted to be around people, I didn’t care if they adored me or left me alone. Just to hear their voices, just to shut off the ones chiming in my own head, was all I wanted. So I went down the stairs slowly, hanging in the shadows, and the place was so full that I was hardly noticed, at least not at first. But by the time I reached the bar, I heard the murmur slithering through the crowd—”She’s here. She’s here”—and I was being touched, grabbed. “Miss Conrad, sing for us.” “How’d you get that scar?” “Sabine, were you fucking that Frenchie? Is that how he got killed?”
“Run away,” Gideon had said. “Keep running.”
But I was tired of hiding, and I no longer wanted to run away.
A man grabbed my arm, and I said, “Please, let me pass,” and smiled back at him with my practiced prima donna smile, and he stammered and released me, and then I pushed through the others until I was behind the bar. Duncan looked up from a keg and frowned at me. “Johnny bring you down?”
I shook my head. “I don’t need a keeper.”
He didn’t look convinced, but the place was too busy for him to do much more than shove a beer to the customer who’d ordered it and tell Sarah, who was just leaving with a new tray, to fetch Johnny.
“You needn’t have done that,” I told him.
“Someone’s gotta protect you from this mob.”