A Song Across the Sea

by Shana McGuinn

  The mystery of what an equilibriust did was also resolved by her backstage viewing. Jaimie Parrier rode a bicycle around the stage while doing handstands on it. In the months ahead, she was to see Jaimie vary his act immensely, adding newer and more unusual props and increasingly imaginative stunts. Like her other fellow vaudevillians, he was a true showman.

  The grueling schedule of twenty four performances a week was only the visible portion of the artistry involved in vaudeville—the part the audience saw. Backstage, or in the tiny dressing rooms, or in the alley behind the theater, the troupers were constantly working to improve their acts. A joke that had failed to rouse the audience the previous evening would be dropped and a new one added, with every nuance of timing and facial expression calculated to get the biggest laugh, the loudest applause. A stunt that went over well would be enlarged, a costume that hampered dance steps would be altered.

  Compared to the others, Tara felt that her own talents were rather simple. She didn’t do magic tricks or play an instrument, tumble acrobatically around the stage or twirl a flaming rope into fiery configurations. She just sang. Yet each time she did, the audience reacted in the same way that those listening on audition night had. There was always a long moment of silence, followed by an outburst of wild applause and cheers.

  Between learning new songs and adapting a few of the dance steps of the reels and jigs she’d known since childhood to her act, in simple form, Tara had little time to think about Reece.

  She was in her dressing room one day writing a letter to Aunt Bridey and Uncle Kevin when Roxanne and Sally, two young vaudeville veterans who did a sister song-and-dance act, came in. Roxanne, as usual, was doing most of the talking.

  “… I don’t care what Mama says. I should be singing the lead on ‘The Streetcar Serenade.’ If she doesn’t realize by now that I’m the headliner of this act, then maybe we need a new manager.” She sat down poutily next to Tara and looked at herself in the lighted mirror, pushing a stray lock of hair back into place. “I’m sure tired of this dump. When do you suppose was the last time they cleaned this dressing room? I don’t see why Mama can’t get us booked into a decent house.”

  Sally sat down and flipped up her skirt to examine a seam that was loose. “You always gotta find something to complain about, Roxanne.”

  “And I’m sick and tired of working with…amateurs.” The emphasis on the last word was unmistakable. Tara put down her writing pad and stared at the girl. “Like the little songbird here. What she doesn’t know about stage makeup would fill a book. Look at her! It’s an embarrassment, I tell ya, to be on the same bill with her.”

  Tara, her cheeks burning with anger and humiliation, considered her possible responses. The attack from Roxanne should not have come as a surprise to her. Since Tara had gotten hired, Roxanne had alternated between haughty sneers and subtle jibes about Tara’s accent. Tara stifled an unladylike impulse to sock the statuesque, arrogantly confident Roxanne in the jaw. She’d never done such a thing and she wouldn’t start now. Besides, she had to work with these girls, at least share the same bill and dressing room with them. Giving way to her temper might well lead to her dismissal from the theater, and Tara would do nothing to endanger her beloved vaudeville career. She’d dealt with difficult people before.

  “Ah, Roxanne,” Tara cooed sweetly. “I’m so glad you mentioned it. I’ve always admired the way you girls look on stage. Even prettier than in person. Perhaps you’d be kind enough to give me some instruction in how to put on me makeup.”

  Roxanne narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Like I got time to nursemaid some foreigner? Why don’t you go back to where you came from? You think you got such a great voice? I’ve heard better. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you started showing up late and forgetting your lyrics because you’ve taken up drinking, like all Irish do.”

  She stood up and strode toward the door, but Tara got there first.

  “It’s fine with me if you don’t want to be friends, but being enemies is a whole other matter,” Tara hissed, her voice menacingly quiet. “If it’s trouble you’re after, I’ll be glad to accommodate you. If not, stay out of me way.” The only other time she’d felt this angry was during that terrible encounter with Muldoon.

  Roxanne got the message. The larger girl drew back and Tara was gratified by the fear and uncertainty that flitted across her face. Without another word, Roxanne left the dressing room.

  Tara had forgotten about Sally. Would the sister cause trouble for her as well? Tara swung around to Sally, bristling, ready for another unpleasant confrontation.

  Sally looked as if she were about to cry. “I’m… I’m sorry, Tara. She’s a little…difficult, at times. My mother says it’s the artistic temperament. I say she’s just spoiled and headstrong.”

  Tara sat back down on her stool. “What is it she has against me, exactly? That I’m new at this?”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s that you’re better than she is. You have an extraordinary voice, Tara. And you’re so pretty. Ever since you joined the bill, you’ve gotten more attention than Roxanne. She wants to go on to Broadway, you see. She fancies herself too good for vaudeville. To have someone with no experience come along and outdo her…well, I’m afraid it’s brought out the worst in Roxanne.”

  “There’s nothin’ to envy. I’ve seen your act. Roxanne is a talented singer. You both are.”

  Sally blushed at the compliment. “Oh, she’s always been the real talent in the family. I know that. But it’s kind of you to say.”

  “So you don’t share your sister’s ill will toward me?”

  “Oh, not at all!” Sally was indignant at the very idea.

  “Perhaps, then, you’ll help me. Roxanne was right about one thing. I don’t know much about doin’ meself up for the stage. There’s a lot I need to learn. I’d be truly grateful if you could teach me a little of what you know.”

  So Sally took Tara under her wing from that day forward.

  Sally had been in show business since she was a child, and had developed an uncanny knack for knowing what worked and what didn’t. She showed Tara how to exaggerate her features with cosmetics so that they weren’t “washed out” by the strong stage lights. She helped Tara with her choice of songs, even to suggesting doing a well known ballad in an unlooked-for, uptempo style, with a coy dance that turned the number into an amusing farce. The familiar song, done in a fresh, unfamiliar way, turned out to be a big hit!

  Under Sally’s tutelage, Tara learned to construct garments that accentuated her figure and corresponded with the mood of the songs she sang.

  On Tara’s 18th birthday, she was surprised when she was prevented from leaving the stage after her last song of the evening. Mr. Glass himself came onstage and stopped her, signaling for a drum roll. The orchestra played a zestful version of “Happy Birthday” and the audience sang along. Sang to her! Someone even passed up a bouquet of roses. She couldn’t help remembering her last birthday, when she’d been homeless and hungry, reduced to stealing food from a street vendor. What a difference a year made!

  Tara saw to it that her hectic new life still allowed her time with her old friends. She squeezed in visits with Lotte on Sundays, listening with sympathy when Lotte complained about the barely tolerable work in the dress factory. She sometimes had dinner with the Schoeners.

  The new salary did make a difference in her life, although the financial demands of a stage wardrobe and regular purchases of sheet music took up more if it than she’d expected. However, she was able to take Lotte for treats at the neighborhood soda fountain. She bought a new set of cooking pots for Mrs. Schoener, a handsome briar pipe for Mr. Schoener and hard candy for the children, which she brought to one of Mrs. Schoener’s succulent dinners. Tara noticed how quickly the young ones were growing, how Conrad’s lanky frame was filling out and his face was losing its childish romance and developing a masculine, strong-jawed quality. Fortunately, he’d recovered from his earlier infatuation with her. Conra
d was a nice enough lad, and he’d make some girl a fine husband, but she was not that girl. Besides, it was difficult to enjoy one’s dinner while some lad was mooning over you!

  In the back of her mind, she compared Conrad and most other young men she met with Reece, and they all came up short. It wasn’t a fair comparison, she knew. Nor was it realistic for her to continue to harbor hope that Reece might someday be a part of her life. She knew she was being foolish. If she kept nurturing her Reece fantasy, she might well end up an old maid!

  Kathleen she surprised with a new straw hat and matching parasol in the latest fashion, and just in time for spring. After a great deal of thought, she bought a silver sugar cube server for Delores, with a set of tiny tongs for picking up the lumps of sugar and dropping them into cups of tea or coffee. It was a small enough thing, but it would add a dash of extravagance to Delores’s table. Hap, the lover of gadgets, was terribly pleased with the folding pocket Kodak camera she got him, although he chided her for buying them presents. “Save your money, Tara,” he cautioned. “You’re not exactly a Vanderbilt, you know. Besides, you never know what’s going to happen in the future.”

  Perhaps Hap had a point. After four months in vaudeville, she’d saved almost no money. She vowed to start putting a little away, bit by bit. It was easy to lose one’s head when a bigger salary came on so suddenly. Wasn’t she earning more than she’d ever dreamed of earning? What was money for, if not to spend on the people you cared about? She’d been sending money to Aunt Bridey and Uncle Kevin ever since Mr. Glass had hired her, and she knew how much it meant to them. And surely her job was secure. Hadn’t Mr. Glass himself complimented her the previous week on her progress? “You’re givin’ ’em their money’s worth, kid. Keep this up, and I’ll introduce you to some people who can book you into big time theaters.”

  Hap’s concern was sweet, but unnecessary. Her future, after all, was guaranteed. She’d never be poor again.

  • • •

  Tara heard the boisterous singing while she was still a half block away from the boarding house. It was a mild night in early June, adrift with soft breezes and drenched in pale light from a ghostly orb of a moon that was ringed with a transparent haze. It was almost too warm for the frilly, high-necked blouse she wore with a long skirt and her most recent purchase, a bolero jacket. The sleeveless, waist-length topper was all the rage in fashion, and had set her back more money than she cared to think about, but it was worth it, to feel this stylish.

  She stepped briskly, curious about the source of the clamor up ahead.

  “…and she pinched me and poked me and rolled me in hay—”

  The singer was interrupted by a quieter voice that tried to shush him. “Shhhhh!” she heard. “Quiet, Hap. You’ll wake the whole neighborhood.” It was a familiar voice.

  She came upon the two of them. Reece, with his arm around Hap’s shoulders, was trying to haul his friend from his prized Stanley Steamer.

  “Tara!” Hap roared when he saw her. “We’ve been celebratin’.”

  She tried not to laugh. “I can see that, Hap.”

  Hap stumbled out of the automobile and Reece caught him before he fell flat on his face. He propped Hap up and tried to steer him toward the boarding house.

  “Must have missed a step. Don’t know why everything looks so fuzzy.”

  Reece chuckled. “Maybe it has something to do with all those pints of beer, Hap.”

  “You shouldn’t walk home alone this late, Tara.” Hap was doing his best to look stern.

  “I take the streetcar most of the way. After that, it’s just a short step home. And what were you two gentlemen after celebratin’ tonight?”

  “Don’t you know? My good friend Reece is gettin’ married. They’ve set the date, he and Miss Priss. I mean, Miss Miriam. They’re walkin’ the gangplank—I mean, down the aisle, October 19th.”

  Tara was unprepared for how desolate this information made her feel. With vaudeville, and all the new friends and clothes and trinkets to distract her, she thought Mr. Reece Waldron’s impending wedding could hold no importance for her. However, hearing the actual date was like the reopening of an old wound. It tore at her, made her feel raw and vulnerable.

  “Congratulations,” she said stiffly.

  “We thought we’d start the festivities a little early, seein’ as how Reece is back in town.” Hap leaned close to Tara and whispered confidentially, his potent breath in her face, “I don’t usually drink much.”

  “That’s your problem, Hap,” Reece said. “You’re out of practice. Can you make it all right now?”

  “Course I can, course I can. Delores is over at her brother’s, though.” Hap turned to Tara and murmured conspiratorially: “He has the GOUT.”

  Reece laughed loudly, then remembered the lateness of the hour and collected himself. “We’d better get him all the way inside, or we’ll find him sleeping out here tomorrow morning.”

  Tara wedged herself under one of Hap’s arms, Reece took hold of the other. Together, they half-carried, half-walked the big man into his apartment, with Reece shouldering most of the burden. Reece dropped Hap on his bed like a sack of potatoes, but Hap didn’t appear to mind or notice.

  “Listen to this, Tara.” Hap nudged her as she unlaced his shoes and slipped them off his feet. “Maybe I should be in vaudeville, too.

  Out in the barn, I met Rita May

  She pinched me and poked me and rolled me in hay

  She started to kiss me—”

  “That’s enough, Hap. That’s no song to sing in front of a lady. You’d realize that if you were sober.”

  Hap tried to look ashamed, but his eyelids drooped and closed before he could formulate a response. Earsplitting snores rocked the room as Reece led Tara out of room and closed the door behind them.

  Reece turned toward her in the darkened parlor. “Tara, I really appreciate your help. Hap was…”

  He broke off abruptly, as if he’d forgotten what he was about to say. Had he just become aware that he was still holding her hand, which he’d taken so casually? In the faint moonlight, framed by the window, his face was close to hers. Being this near to him was agony. She ached for him, but tried to remind herself that he belonged to someone else.

  “Tara, I…”

  The force with which he suddenly pulled her toward him and kissed her frightened her at first, but only for a moment. It answered the question that had troubled her for so long. This was no momentary impulse, no mere mix of circumstances: a girl in a dark room after an evening of drinking. There was nothing tentative or impersonal about the passion in his touch. His feelings for her ran as strong as those she held for him.

  Lightheaded with long-dormant desire, her arms went around him and she pressed herself into his body, reveling in the rock-like hardness of his chest and the strength of the arms that held her so tightly, but so tenderly. She responded heatedly to his lips, to the hands that stroked her body, ignoring the small, strident voice in the back of her head that said this was wrong, that she was an unmarried girl and what she was doing was immoral. It felt like they were all alone in the world, the last two people left on the planet, with no others and no rules. She pressed against him hungrily, wanting only to fill the excruciating, exhilarating need that he had awakened in her. Nothing else mattered.

  “I tried to stay away,” he murmured. She thrilled to his words. “I knew what was between us, although I tried to tell myself you didn’t feel the same. Don’t you see how I tried to stay away?” He swung her around and up against a wall, covering her body with his own. She arched her neck and leaned upward, blindly seeking out his lips. Her hands traveled over his broad back, drawing him ever closer to her. She felt him trembling with desire and sensed that he was trying to control himself, to pull away from her even as—

  The door swung open. On the threshold stood Delores, just returned from her brother’s house. Shocked, she looked from Reece to Tara and then back again at Reece. Her tone, when she fina
lly spoke, was low and furious.

  “I understand congratulations are in order, Reece. You’ve set your wedding date. I’m sure you and Miriam Sedgewell will be very happy together.”

  Reece leaned heavily against the wall, looking miserable.

  Delores wasn’t finished. “What were you thinking? That you would ruin Tara’s reputation before your wedding? I’m surprised at you, Reece. I thought you were a better man than this. Now, if you’re finished trying to destroy Tara’s life, I think you’d better leave.” Despite her anger, she looked on the verge of tears.

  Reece straightened and walked to the door, unable to look at either of the two women. He had his hand on the doorknob when Delores delivered her parting shot.

  “I never thought I’d be ashamed to say I knew you, Reece.”

  He didn’t even glance back, only paused for a moment, nodded in agreement and continued out the door.

  Tara’s knees buckled. She slid down the wall and sat in a heap on the floor, not bothering to stem the flood of tears that coursed down her cheeks. She felt overwhelmed, unprepared for any of this. She’d yearned for Reece for so long. Had dreamt about him, fantasized… When the unexpected opportunity came, she’d recklessly tried to give herself over to him, only to have him torn from her grasp. It was a cruel twist. She sobbed uncontrollably. She’d been a fool to think that a man like Reece Waldron could have more than a casual interest in her. He hadn’t argued with Delores, hadn’t told her that he’d made a bad mistake getting engaged to Miriam, that it was Tara he’d loved all along. A sharp rebuke from Delores had sent him out into the street, to find his way back to his own kind of people. High-class, wealthy people.

  Delores knelt down next to her and took her in her arms, rocking her gently.

  “There now, Tara. It’ll be all right.”

  “No! It’ll never be all right.” Tara’s protestations brought on a new surge of tears. “I love him, Delores. I love him so badly it hurts.”

  “It’s not meant to be, dear,” Delores said soothingly. “I know it seems like the end of the world at this moment, but you’re young. You’ll get over it. Reece had no right to use you in that way, when he had no intention of…”