Fragile Wings

by Rebecca S. Buck

  Jos was still pondering this as she escorted Evelyn up the steep stairs at the side of the stage and into the galleries above. This was where ropes attached to pulleys to control the curtains and scenery, where the spotlights lurked in the darkness, their light projecting downward. Planks and platforms showed where stagehands risked everything to cross the void above the stage, or where they stood to guide the spotlight, all so the audience could be enthralled and delighted. So much technical effort, such a place of grubby industry, to create the myth of the magical world onstage.

  The climb was several flights of very steep metal stairs, almost ladders. Jos had expected Evelyn to balk at the idea of climbing them, but she made her way up with remarkable ease. She was clearly physically stronger than her slender form suggested. Jos ascended the steps behind Evelyn, finding her eyes on a level with Evelyn’s calves, watching the muscles flex as she climbed. Even though it was only her lower legs, it seemed a very intimate stolen view of a woman, and her body lurched with arousal she struggled to contain. She imagined running a hand over those legs, sliding it higher.

  Drawing a deep breath, she looked down at her own booted feet, trying not to raise her eyes to Evelyn’s form so close in front of her. However appealing it was to watch Evelyn, it was not the done thing to gawk at the woman when she had no way of knowing how Evelyn felt in return.

  At the top of the stairs, Evelyn was slightly breathless, her cheeks pink through exertion now. Forced to stand close to her on the small platform that formed the initial landing, Jos caught the slight scent of sweat from her, such a human, earthly smell that it made it almost impossible to contain herself. Damn it, but she wanted to see Evelyn with sweat slick on her skin and the breath coming hard from between those rosy lips, lost in pleasure she was sure she could give her.

  Jos bit her lip and concentrated on describing what the various pieces of equipment in the gallery above the stage did, hoping the raspy edge to her voice did not betray her.

  Evelyn listened to Jos, fascinated to see the secrets of the stage revealed to her. She knew now that she agreed with her entirely and not at all with Lilian. She almost cared nothing for the illusion of the show that would be perfomed on the stage below; it was here, in the dust and the dim lights of backstage that the magic really took place. Or perhaps, ultimately, it wasn’t about the theatre at all. Perhaps it was Jos. To be here, in this enclosed and secret space with her felt like nothing she’d ever experienced before. Every time Jos looked at her, she felt as though those blue eyes saw right into her. She’d felt Jos’s eyes on her as they’d climbed the steep stairs. And now she stood so close she could feel the heat of Jos’s body close to her, and all she wanted to do was reach out and touch her. To know what it was to kiss her.

  How did she let Jos know? She was certain the tension between them meant something, that she was not alone in feeling it. She was sure that, if nothing else, Jos wanted to know her more. The look in Jos’s eyes was almost hungry, and yet the way she bit her lip suggested she was trying to hide something, to suppress something. Did Jos feel the same way? And if she did, then what happened next?

  Jos did not suggest they balance on any of the walkways above the stage, and Evelyn was glad. She could see the stage below and the drop was substantial. Evelyn did not feel as though she was concentrating well enough for balancing at such a dangerous height. She would rather be back on the ground and able to enjoy talking with Jos, doing what she could to tell Jos how she felt. She was pleased when Jos said they could climb back down and she would show her the dressing rooms and orchestra pit.

  The climb down felt more precarious than the ascent had done, and Evelyn put her tumultuous feelings on hold while she made sure she reached the level of the stage safely. Jos went down the steps before her, and Evelyn felt safer knowing she was there. Once they were back in the wings, Jos led her away from the stage and into a rather institutional corridor, where the brick walls were painted cream and the heating pipes ran along the ceiling, with no attempt to hide them or make the area more pleasing. It was a marked contrast to the auditorium of the theatre but, in some ways, a more comforable place to be. They went down some stairs and turned to the left, where Jos opened a door into a dark space with a low ceiling.

  “This is the orchestra pit,” Jos said. She flicked a switch near the door and electic light filled the space. Evelyn saw a circle of chairs and music stands, empty and expectant. “We say pit but only the front part is actually a pit in front of the stage. We have this bigger area under the stage in case we need a bigger orchestra, you see. We don’t fill it for the pantomime, but if we were staging an opera or suchlike, we’d need the full area.”

  “Of course. I never knew there was a space under the stage at all,” Evelyn said.

  “Not all theatres have one.” Jos turned off the light. “Now, come and see the dressing rooms. None of the actors or actresses are here at the moment, so I can show you whichever ones I want. Shall we see the one we give to the leading lady?”

  “Yes, that would be lovely.” Evelyn realised she didn’t really care any longer. Interesting though the theatre was to her, made more so by it being Jos’s world, where she was comfortable, all Evelyn really wanted now was to spend time with Jos. To perhaps share a cup of tea with her and talk. Perhaps to risk a hint about her feelings.

  A short way along the corridor, Jos turned into a doorway and twisted the handle. “This is Alexandra’s dressing room. She’s Dick Whittington himself.”

  Evelyn followed Jos through the door and into the room beyond. Where she had been expecting glamour, what she found was actually rather functional. The room was quite small with a ceiling that showed patches of damp in the plasterwork. The room did not benefit from any natural light at all, though the electric lights were quite bright, including the bulbs that surrounded the large mirror, clearly for the easier application of stage make-up. The dressing table in front of the mirror was a chaos of pots and bottles, tissues and sponges. Towards the back of the room was a metal clothing rail on which hung several stage costumes. Evelyn lingered on these for a moment, as the most tangible evidence of the colour and splendour of the stage itself. They were the typical costumes of the principal boy in any pantomime, long fitted waistcoats, tight breeches, frilly neckerchiefs. One outfit, clearly what Dick wore before he found his fortune, had brightly coloured patches sewn into it, clearly to suggest his poverty and need to mend his clothes. At one end of the rail was a much more ornate costume, in rich red and trimmed with gold thread. A matching tricorn hat hung over the end of the rail, plumes of ostrich feathers cascading from one corner. This was clearly Dick’s costume for the finale, when he would marry the beautiful Alice Fitzwarren as a rich man, at the beginning of a happy ever after, and then take a final bow. Although she was sure the costume looked very rich and expensive in the stage lighting, here on the rail it hung limp and rather dull. The quality of the fabric was not high and the fastenings allowing the actress to make a quick change were all too apparent. Sometimes, Evelyn thought, it was better not to see behind the illusion.

  “What do you think?” Jos said, watching Evelyn.

  “It’s really interesting to see all of this,” Evelyn said. But she felt compelled to honesty with Jos. “I have to admit though, I almost don’t like to see it. I love knowing the secrets of this place, but somehow, seeing the costume here, away from the lights, is almost sad.”

  “I think it’s more like that in pantomime season. Everything on stage is so glorious, that everything behind the scenes seems so very drab,” Jos said, looking around. “I prefer it here, away from the glare. But I do understand.”

  “I think it reminds me that it’s all artifical, in a way,” Evelyn said, relieved that she’d not disappointed Jos with her response to the dressing room. “More so than seeing all the scenery. You know the stage set isn’t real, but I think I like to pretend the characters are, the fairy-tale world isn’t just an illusion. Which is awfully silly when you think
about it!”

  Jos smiled. “I don’t think so. There’s enough artifice in the world, you have to suspend the cynicism and just believe in magic occasionally. Even when you know it’s not really magic.”

  “Yes, that’s it.” Evelyn smiled. “There is rather a lot of artifice in the world, isn’t there? I mean, I notice it more here than I did in West Coombe. No one really bothered so much there.”

  “Not everyone here bothers either, you know. Although there’s nothing wrong with making your life a performance, if you’re happy. I don’t mind people worrying about their clothes or painting their faces or performing any role they like, as long as they’re true to who they want to be. It’s when the performance takes over the life, that’s when it makes me uncomfortable.”

  Evelyn hesistated before she responded, happy that Jos was expanding more on her personal outlook on the world and reluctant to ruin their new level of intimacy. “I have to agree with you,” she said, thoughtfully. “I don’t know many people here, but, well, if I take Lilian as my example, she seems to be awfully focussed on living her life to the full, but then doesn’t seem at all happy. When no one’s looking, that is. She’d never let on, of course.”

  “You’re a perceptive woman, Evelyn Hopkins,” Jos said.

  Evelyn warmed at the admiration in her tone. To be appreciated for her insights into the world was not something she was very used to. She enjoyed the way she felt comfortable talking with Jos, and even more, she enjoyed the idea that Jos understood her, valued her thoughts.

  “I don’t know if I am,” Evelyn said. “I’m really just saying what I see.”

  “But not everyone would see it.” Jos held her gaze.

  Evelyn was aware of Jos’s mind working behind the piercing eyes. What was she thinking? She ached to know more of Jos’s thoughts.

  “It’s refreshing to talk to someone like you, Evie. And I don’t mean that I see you as some sort of novelty. It’s not just that you’re not from London and you don’t live the fashionable high life. Those are part of it, but it’s also something about you that I can’t quite put my finger on. You remind me that there are people in the world who see things the way I do.” As soon as she finished, a tension came into Jos’s expression, as though she was scared she had said too much.

  Evelyn searched her mind for the appropriate words to both reassure her and let her know how touched she was by what Jos had said, how much she was beginning to feel the same connection between them.

  “I’m really happy to have met you too,” she said in the end. “I feel more comfortable talking with you than anyone I’ve met so far. I mean, Lilian and James have been kind, and I’m getting on well with Dorothy. But I feel like I can talk to you, without pretending anything.” She smiled, her heart beating heavily, as though she had just confessed something of great importance.

  Jos smiled and Evelyn felt sure her words had had the effect she had hoped. Then a shadow came over her expression and she looked away, back towards the door, as if trying to work out if she should bring their encounter to an end.

  “I appreciate it,” Jos said. “Really. Though you don’t really know me.”

  “Not yet,” Evelyn said, and saw a flicker of intrigue in Jos’s eyes. “I hope to know you more.”

  Jos appeared to reflect for a moment, then make a decision. “What are you doing this evening?”

  A little startled, Evelyn paused. “Nothing,” she replied, “why?”

  “Will Lilian mind if you’re not home for dinner?”

  Evelyn felt a flash of irritation at the notion she had to ask Lilian’s opinion but also a growing sense of anticipation. What was Jos going to propose? “It’s not really any of her concern. Besides, I think she said she might be out this evening and I’d sooner not have dinner with James, alone.” The prospect remained uncomfortable in the extreme.

  “Then have dinner with me,” Jos said quickly. “And then come to a house party with me. It’s at Clara and Courtney’s flat.”

  Evelyn was briefly taken aback, though delighted. Suddenly she was aware that it was a rather large step from a day trip behind the scenes at the theatre to spending an evening with Jos and her friends. Still, it was an indication that Jos wanted to know Evelyn further and Evelyn could not deny that the temptation of a whole evening with Jos was too much to resist. She did not know where it would lead, but it was a chance she had to take. Besides, she was intrigued to see what a house party hosted by Clara and Courtney would be like. She’d heard several references to infamous house parties of all kinds since she’d been in Mayfair and to be invited to one was rather exciting.

  Jos was still looking at her, her expectant smile starting to fade. “Of course, if you don’t want to…” The disappointment was clear in her tone.

  “No, sorry, I was just surprised.” Evelyn smiled broadly, to reassure Jos. “I’d love to, thank you.”

  Evelyn watched the pleasure spread over Jos’s face and was fairly sure she shared that happy expression. It felt as though they’d made another step forward in an unspoken understanding which could surely only have one destination.

  Chapter Thirteen

  As she walked by Evelyn’s side along Shaftesbury Avenue, Jos felt a sense of pride to be seen with this bright, beautiful woman. It was not something she’d felt in any of her relationships, she realised. It was less a judgement of the women she’d been with and more a reflection on her own sense of being disconnected from them, even when walking arm in arm. Although she’d known Evelyn such a short time, she felt a sense of togetherness with her, a sense of being in the same place in the world. Of course, that was rather ludicrous, since she could not really have been much more different from Evelyn. But something like that wasn’t really about where you came from or what was happening in your life. It was about understanding on a certain level, a feeling of connection and oneness of outlook. She felt this with Evelyn, and the sense only grew stronger with every conversation they had, every opinion that was shared.

  Evelyn seemed relaxed as they headed for the restaurant she’d suggested for their evening meal. Jos wondered what was going through her mind. Was she relaxed, her naiveté preventing the suggestion of what could happen as the result of this evening? Or did she know full well what she was doing? Jos did not dare make assumptions. Whatever Evelyn’s intentions and awareness, she had to be careful. Evelyn must not be rushed because that could end in tears, for both of them.

  It had been on impulse that she’d invited Evelyn to Clara and Courtney’s party. She would have been in attendance anyway, usually with the intention of locating and charming her next lover. Clara and Courtney’s guests were almost exclusively the lesbians of fashionable London, their hangers-on, and those who were intrigued by them. Women who loved women. The rest of the world might call them inverts and attest that they were mentally ill, but they knew otherwise and these gatherings were a celebration of that. Much though she was not a fan of being put into a neatly labelled group, it was pleasant to be in a place where she was not only accepted, but seen as one of the more interesting and desirable people in the room. It was also one of the only reliable ways to meet women who would not potentially be offended by her attentions.

  Jos was nervous that Evelyn would be overwhelmed by such a Sapphic gathering. However, if she could cope with the decadence of the Yellow Orchid, a house party with a group of women was hardly something to fear. She was also very curious as to how Evelyn would respond. If she was right and there really was the spark of something like desire in Evelyn, how would being confronted with the reality of it make her feel? In some ways, Jos reflected, it was a kill or cure situation. Either Evelyn’s eyes would be opened to the possibilities, or she would be horrified and overwhelmed and Jos’s chance would be lost. She dared to hope that it would be the former. Evelyn was a strong woman with a real curiosity for the world so far beyond her experience. She had already met Clara and Courtney and would be under no illusions, surely, about the nature of the gues
ts at the party. Besides, Evelyn had looked flattered and excited to be invited. Jos had really enjoyed the look of delight that had crossed her face.

  As they walked, Evelyn looked lost in thought too. It was as though the walk from theatre to restaurant was the pause they needed, in company with each other but not talking, judging the other’s responses. The quiet between them was companionable enough but spoke of their active minds. Jos wished she could read Evelyn’s mind and know how welcome her advances would be. She knew she would have to take the initiative here, and that was not a role she was familiar with. The idea of rejection was actually quite terrifying to her.

  She broke out of her reverie when, having turned onto the broad sweep of Regent Street, they arrived at the restaurant. “Here we are, this is the place I was thinking of. What do you think?” she asked Evelyn, before they went inside.

  Evelyn took a step back on the pavement to look up at the sign above the door. The restaurant was named for its owner, Adalfieri de Pasqua, who had moved from Rome with his parents at the turn of the century. Jos considered him a friend and he could always find space for her in his restaurant. Jos watched as Evelyn read the name, in gold writing on a black background, and then glanced down at the windows, where there were fresh white lace curtains.

  “It looks lovely,” Evelyn said. Jos was pleased. She opened the door and ushered Evelyn through in front of her.

  “Jos Singleton!” The exclamation went up as soon as she passed over the threshold. Adalfieri, a tall, wiry man with thinning hair but a certain handsome quality, was beaming at her from the centre of the room. He hurried towards her. “It’s been too long, mio caro!”

  “It’s only been about a fortnight, Adalfi. But it’s good to see you.” Jos submitted to a warm embrace. Once he let her go, she was aware that his attention had fallen on Evelyn, who was looking rather awkward. “Mr. Adalfieri de Pasqua, allow me to introduce Miss Evelyn Hopkins. Evie, this is Adalfi, he’s a very good friend and employs a very good chef.”