“Cat got your tongue, soldier?” Her dulcet, contralto voice stirred something in his memory bank as well as his groin. What was it about her?
He could swear he had seen her before, but where? Probably a movie marquee. He continued to stare wordlessly. She blinked her eyes, snapping the spell he was under.
“Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am,” he drawled in his best “oh-shucks” voice, meanwhile sticking out his hand. “I’m Private First Class Mark Nelson. Thanks for the lift, ma’am.”
“Charmed, Mark,” she said, languidly extending her long, white fingers. “Nevada Carson.”
“Where to, Mark?” said the cabbie.
“Wherever Miss Carson is going,” said the soldier.
“Then take us to the corner of Pine and California, driver. The Vitascope Royale.”
So this is how, in a brightly lit staging area of San Francisco on the eve of World War I, Cassandra Vye and her faithful boy-knight met up again after a lapse of many years, without either realizing it.
In the back row of the theater, Horatio watched with fascination as Miss Carson swept across the stage floor and greeted the film production manager with a long curtsy and a short kiss on both cheeks. He then watched as the assembled cast rehearsed several scenes from Miss Carson's new chapter play, entitled “The Bounder.”
There was a script lying on an empty seat. He read it through, grasping the essentials of the plot but reading slowly, so he could watch Miss Carson.
Act I, French boy meets pretty girl; pretty girl falls for bad guy; nice boy saves her from a fate worse than death and marries girl. In an interesting twist away from the usual romantic plot, the hero saves the girl but fails to capture her heart. She runs away and starts a career on the Left Bank as a Parisian watercolorist.
Act II, the young woman is mistaken for a rich man's daughter and made captive in a countryside shack. The leader of the kidnappers is her old flame, who instantly realizes the brigands' mistake and after a complicated love affair, he vows to help her escape.
Act III, in the climactic scene, at midnight, the bandit lover arrives with purloined bags of silver coins for their daring escape from both the bad guys and the law. There is a rumble of drums meant to sound like thunder, and then a clash of cymbals. The gang leader is hit by a lightning strike at the cabin door. The girl kisses her dead lover and rides off with the money, which she gives away to young orphaned twins in a French village at the conclusion of the play.
The rehearsal for “The Bounder” was coming to an end. Actors jumped down from the stage and the staff came forward. Kisses on both cheeks were exchanged. The production manager and Miss Carson sat down on the stage and began a conversation.
There was a train of experiences from his life Horatio was trying to recall. There had been something in the grasp of Miss Carson’s hand as she departed from the cab that had started a bread crumb trail leading back into the past. But he had no more idea than Hans traipsing through the enchanted forest as to where the path led. Where would he have met such an actress?
He had not once been out of his hometown until he joined the army. It was laughable to think he had known Miss Carson before. After a bit more puzzlement, he put the thought entirely out of his mind. He was content to sit and watch her, basking in the light of the occasional glances she threw his way, as if to say, “Are you still here, soldier? How bloody odd!”
Five o'clock, then five thirty went by. The soldier was anxiously mindful of his obligation at six to meet the fellows at the pier, with a beautiful girl on his arm. When he saw Miss Carson walking down the stage steps and heading his way, he saw his actual situation illuminated with great clarity. Before, he seemed to be existing in a dream. It was now or never. He simply could not prove to his buddies Mark Nelson was the pathetic fool they thought him, not on the brink of going to war.
“I see you’re still with us, Mark,” said Cassandra, in a friendly rather than dismissive way. “I’m afraid you must have found our little play boring.”
Not at all,” he said. “I enjoy watching you perform, ma’am. You’re very talented.”
She was smiling at him in a familiar way that made him feel so very many things and so intensely, including an erection bulging under his military-issue underwear.
“We are finished here. Is there anywhere I can take you, Mark?”
“As a matter of fact, ma’am, there is. I wonder—that is, it would be a great favor—I'm wondering, well, dang it, I just gotta say it straight. Will you accompany me somewhere? It will only be for a short time. I know you’re very busy, but I would be most obliged.”
“Well, perhaps I could do that, if it is not too far. Where do you have in mind?”
“Not far at all, ma'am. Pier Nine, at Jim’s. I'm meeting the fellas there at six.”
“I have not heard of it, this Jim's. What kind of a place is it?”
“Only a soda fountain, ma’am.”
“A soda fountain.” Cassandra pursed her lips in an amused way. “You want to take me to a soda fountain, down at the Embarcadero? Is that it, soldier?”
“Yes, ma’am. The fellas often meet there in the afternoon, you know, just before goin’ back out again with their girls.”
“And do you have a girl to bring to Jim’s, Mark?”
“No, ma'am, I can’t say as I do. There is no girl I even know of that I can take there with me. And that’s where the problem lies, ma’am.”
“Your problem, you mean?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“So, perhaps your friends are expecting you to bring a girl. A very pretty one, who happens to be your girl.” Cassandra paused, and her eyes were kind when they looked into his, which were bright, round, and eager as a child's. “To meet them, I mean.”
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, that is it exactly. I'm sorry to say, ma'am, there is no such girl who wants to be there with me, not one in all the world.”
“Mark, I am in the mood to be obliging. I think perhaps I can help you.”
“Why, that would be wonderful, ma’am! You can’t imagine what that would mean to me. Why, you would make my whole entire life so much happier.”
“How nice,” she murmured. “I would like to do that for a soldier.”
His face, which in becoming animated had revealed just how handsome he really was, now drooped. “But I’m afraid you don’t realize what you’re getting yourself into, ma’am. I really shouldn’t ask you to do this. It might expose you to all sorts of…well, you know how soldiers are, ma'am, when they are in high spirits.”
“Well, why don’t you let me worry about that part. Ready, Mark?”
“Miss Carson, I am ready to go anywhere you are gonna take me.”
Cassandra laughed and hooked her arm onto his. “In that case, I say let’s go to the soda fountain and meet your friends. I am absolutely dying for a chocolate malted.”
On the way down Market Street in the cab, the young man noticed Miss Carson had a pensive look.
“Penny for your thoughts,” he ventured to say.
“Often when driving down Market Street, I think about a travelogue I have seen many times, showing this area before the earthquake. San Francisco took a terrible blow, but it rebounded in grand style. I am never more proud of my fellow citizens than when I’m watching it.”
“Where were you during the earthquake, ma’am?”
“I? Fortunately for me, I was in Los Angeles shooting a picture,” she said.
“Did you lose anyone?”
There was a pause. “Yes,” she said finally. “I lost my sainted husband.”
“I am sorry. That’s a terrible loss.”
“More so for the world. He was a great man.”
“Must have been, to have the privilege of marrying you, Miss Carson. He was certainly the luckiest man alive, until he died, that is.”
She gave his hand a pat. “Here we are at the pier, Mark. Is that your soda fountain?”
“It is,” he said, then exclaimed, “Them’s the
fellas over there!”
“Lovely. Now Mark,” Cassandra said, looking so intently into his eyes that he feared he might drown in hers, “please don’t contradict anything I say, no matter what nonsense I come up with. You are to leave everything to me. Will you do that, soldier?”
“Oh yes, ma’am. I will keep my big clap shut. You can count on me.”
“Good boy. Curtain’s up. We’re on.”
He vaulted from the cab, then handed her out as gently as though she were made of porcelain.
“Give me your arm, Mark. That is fine. Now hold up your chin and smile.”
They made their entrance into Jim’s, the beautiful actress on the arm of the soldier, who was grinning from ear to ear. Soon the soldier's buddies were scrambling closer and crowding around, gawking and golly-geeing to beat the band. As he made introductions, the Wyoming native had never felt so proud and happy in his life—perhaps with the sole exception of the day he had helped his beloved mistress flee Alta to remove herself from danger. He wished with all his heart she could see him now.
As for Cassandra, when she was around a man going to war, she wished with all her heart he would make it safely through and then she would send him on his way. She neglected to do so in the case of Mark Nelson, however. She had other plans for him.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The Agent
May 26, 1917
Nob Hill, San Francisco
Tony Barone, my agent, was surprised to find me still lolling in bed at ten o'clock the following morning.
My mind was fully awake, however. I was considering whether or not to fess up about my wonderful adventure of the night before. In good conscience, I could tell Tony I had done a favor for a soldier. Great publicity, that story. Of course what had happened next was no one's business but my own.
On a compelling whim, I had taken the delectable innocent home to my bed and enjoyed passion such as I had not experienced in many a year. Mark Nelson and I made love dozens of times, each session ending in mutual orgasm. The bed springs groaned and squeaked like a ship in a hurricane. When I finally rolled him off the bed, fearing we would break the porcelain frame, he told me from the floor he adored me and forever would.
Not wanting my soldier to get into trouble, I told him to return to his regiment, but I literally had to put him under a spell to do so. As he crept away, he was still gazing at me starry-eyed. Jeepers! My only regret was that, in a weak moment, I had agreed to see Mark again this morning, on his last day stateside.
I decided against telling Tony anything. Depending on what mood I was in, he was a necessary evil or my best friend. But he would be sure to spill the beans to our dear friend and my companion, Jayne Anne. She was rolling bandages at the hospital last night and would take a dim view of my unprecedented sexual activities. Finally, in case the daft soldier showed up again, hoping for more of the same, the last person I wanted on the premises was nosy Tony.
The thought of a lecture on how I should have posed for photographs in a dozen night clubs instead of indulging myself with a single soldier was nauseating. In fact, I felt half sick.
“You don’t look glad to see me, Cassie,” said Tony, throwing his cape onto a chair.
“My dear, you have read my mind.” I pretended to be suffering from my usual ennui, to throw him off the scent. “Won't you go home, Tony? Seven days a week, the same message. 'Get your ass out of bed, Cassandra, and get to work.' No work-ee today, massa. Even God rested on Sunday.”
“I have become an annoying habit to you. How devastating. I used to be the apple of your eye.”
“More like the worm. Now please go home.”
“I love you, too.” Tony picked up a copy of the Examiner and leafed through it, looking for stories about me. I sighed. It appeared there was no getting rid of him.
“So, what did you do last night?”
I shrugged. “Not much.”
“Cassie, what have you been up to? You don't look like yourself at all. You look, well, all dewy-eyed. Is such a thing possible?”
I laughed, pressing my fingertips to the jagged ridge on my breastbone. What did it mean, that my siren birthmark was throbbing and aching?
“Do I?”
“Indeed. So cough up your fur ball, kitten.”
“I didn’t do anything that would make headlines. I ate pie in a drugstore with a nice country boy who says his mother makes the best apple pie in the whole world. A soldier on his way out to the war. Any complaints?”
“Sounds dull. Anyone take photos?”
“I don't think so, darling. Sorry.”
“Where is Jayne Anne?”
“Oh, around here somewhere. She came in cranky this morning from her volunteer shift. The phone has been ringing off the wall, but the poor thing is too tired to answer. How tiresome, there it goes again. I’m too hungover to answer it myself. Will you be a darling and get that for me, Tony?”
“It is not the phone, dear. That’s the doorbell. You are hungover.”
Jayne Anne now appeared, wearing Chinese slippers, long pants, and a checkered shirt over a long-sleeved knit blouse. She looked alarmed; even her long gray pigtails were bouncing with the jitters.
“There is a soldier here to see you, Cassie. Says his name is Mark Nelson. I told him it was too early, but he won't go away. Do I tell him to get lost?”
Tony was looking curiously at me, his eyes narrowed.
“Why, I've never seen you look simultaneously green and pink before, my darling. Do be a sport, Jaynie, and let him in. I’ve always been curious to see a man Cassie likes.”
“You are a beast. And I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.”
Mark was ushered in. He immediately kneeled beside my canopied bed, causing sharp intakes of breath from my two friends. Tony added a whistle. Indeed, Mark Nelson was a handsome chap.
“I came as soon as I could when I heard you were sick,” Mark said breathlessly. “I ran the whole way.”
“I must have been talking my sleep,” grumbled Jayne Anne. “I don't even remember answering the phone, much less saying such a thing.”
“Sick?” said Tony skeptically, rolling his eyes at me.
“Which part of you is ailing?” asked Mark, holding my hand and looking earnestly into my eyes.
I thought of faking a cough, but I was too afraid of laughing.
Tony piped up. “She says she has a problem with her stomach. But I believe it is all in her head.”
Mark looked over at Tony. I could read his mind—my trussed manager, in his velvet smoking jacket, thin dyed mustache, and fat bejeweled fingers, looked exactly like a pimp.
“What is he doing here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“Pay him no attention, my darling.” As I turned back to Mark, I feigned a spasm of abdominal pain. “He is only the hired help.”
“I hope it wasn’t the chocolate malted!” exclaimed Mark. He was sitting on the bed now and stroking my forehead. I loved the touch of his fingers.
“Darling, you didn’t!” snapped Tony. “You should know better!”
“She didn’t eat all of it. Is she allergic?” asked Mark, looking from me to Tony.
“Only to me,” said Tony with a resigned shrug.
But Mark was paying him no attention. He looked earnestly at me. I blushed red. “I have a surprise for you, Miss Carson. I hope you like cherry crèmes with nuts.”
He pulled a large box of candy strung with pink ribbon from his coat pocket. I smiled my thanks, meanwhile enjoying myself at the expense of my two friends, who were both green with jealousy. Tony even got out of his chair to crowd in on the action.
“Do help yourself,” I said to Tony, handing him the box.
“Thank you,” he said to Mark, taking a handful.
“You’re welcome,” said Mark, whisking the box back inside his coat pocket.
Once again, he bent over me. His eyes were pools of loving concern, like a St. Bernard's. Jayne Anne stomped her foot and left the
room.
“I can see you're feelin' terrible bad, ma’am. I am just going to take your pulse. I used to take care of a horse when it was ailing, back in Wyoming. How does your head feel? Would you like me to rub it for you?”
“Did you say Wyoming?” I suddenly sat up in bed. Mark looked at me wonderingly.
“Yes, that’s where I come from. See there,” he said to Tony, “she sat up just now and spoke. She must be feelin' better.”
I could no longer hold back. I started giggling like a schoolgirl.
“Why, what's so funny? Did I miss something?”
“Nothing at all. My apologies, Mark. Where are my manners? You haven't been properly introduced. Tony, please meet Private First Class Mark Nelson. Mark, please meet Antonio Barone, the devil's helper and my gamekeeper.”
“Your what?”
“She means that I'm her theatrical agent, manager, and father confessor, Mark. She can’t do a thing without me. And you are part of the outfit, I presume, that is based at the Presidio?”
“Yes, sir. I’m shipping out tomorrow. I met Miss Carson only yesterday. She was kind enough to give me a lift.”
“I dare say,” Tony said, gazing meaningfully at the bulge in the young man's fatigues. I coughed sharply as a warning to Tony that I wouldn't stand for his embarrassing my soldier. But Tony's dirty joke was lost on him as he stared dreamily into my eyes. Despite my better judgment, I found I was staring right back.
“It might be a good idea for us to put on a show for the camp, after all,” mused Tony.
“But you said last week you didn’t want to,” I said, still sharing smoldering looks with my soldier.
Mark had the bluest eyes I had ever seen, and they were telling me things about our lovemaking which I myself remembered, in exquisite detail. The icy lump that existed in my heart seemed smaller; I was melting.
“Things can change,” said Tony.
I knew what my manager was thinking. He was wondering what he could tell the soldier about me that would turn him off. “Indeed,” I said.
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