by Megan Chance
The tailoring of his suit was perfect. His boots were so darkly shined a person could lose themselves looking into them. All I had to do was tap him on the shoulder, bump into him, flirt with him a little. But before I could, Brody spun up to the bar, nearly falling against it. “Another whiskey for me, and one for my good friend, Aloys!” He thumped his hand down hard enough on the notched, stained wood that I felt it shudder against my back. He turned to me. “Come and join us, Bea. There’s an extra chair now Lucius is gone.”
I glanced at the table where he sat with Aloysius and two loud girls and a man who looked at Aloys as if he might gulp him for dinner and said, “I don’t think I’m drunk enough for your table.”
He laughed. “Then order another beer.”
“I think I will,” I said, drinking the rest of the mug and turning to order another, but before I could say anything, the man beside me called, “Another beer for the lady.” I heard him quite clearly, and when I turned to look at him, I realized his friend was gone—whether for good or just to visit the privy in the back, I had no idea.
He smiled at me, and it made his cheeks dimple. His eyes were dark blue.
“Thank you,” I said as the bartender put the beer in front of me.
“My pleasure,” he said, and then, “You’re Mrs. Wilkes. I saw you in Black Jack.”
Now it was my turn to smile. “You have the advantage of me, I’m afraid.”
“Nathan Langley,” he told me. He paused to sip his whiskey. “You’re very good, you know. I’m surprised you’re not the lead.”
He was heaven sent. Just dropped into my lap like a present. I saw the way he looked at me, his eyes lingering at my breasts, my mouth. His tie was the finest silk, the buttons on his vest were horn. His cologne was something fresh and citrusy—whatever it was, it smelled expensive. His nails were trimmed and his hands clean and smooth. “You’re very kind,” I said.
“Just telling the truth. You can act rings around the little blonde. Why aren’t you?”
“Those decisions are made by the manager, I’m afraid.”
“Well, he has no eye at all, then.”
He was discerning too, which was even better. I leaned back against the bar again, thrusting out my breasts, and saw how his gaze followed my motion. “I shall tell him that, sir, but he tends not to listen to me.”
He smiled and took another sip of whiskey. “Does your husband not lobby on your behalf?”
“Oh, I’ve no husband, sir. The Mrs. is only a courtesy. It’s meant to keep people from confusing actresses with whores.” Which seemed a stupid point to make just then.
His smile widened. “That’s good to know.”
Just then the bearded man returned, and Nathan Langley turned back to him as if we hadn’t been talking, and I felt a swift disappointment and desperation too that made me drink too heavily of my beer.
But Mama had always said I was too hasty, and I tempered that impatience in me now. Rich men like to think they’re doing the chasing, I’d heard, and I was reassured when I looked up into the boxes the following night and saw him there, this time without any woman seated next to him. I felt a little flutter of triumph.
Backstage that night was crowded. A New Way to Pay Old Debts was always popular, and it was a Saturday night besides, so the house tended to be sold out in any case. Lucius was swelling like a cock of the walk, almost preening, slapping Jack on the shoulder and kissing Stella, so receipts were good. I had to fight to get through the crowd waiting at Stella’s dressing room, and the whole time I was looking for Nathan Langley. Outside the dressing room I shared with Susan, there were a few young miners waiting for her, and one or two admirers for me, wanting to hand me a single rose or a daisy, but none of them was Nathan Langley, and I was so anxious for the sight of him that when I saw someone lurking in the shadows near the dressing room door, my heart jumped; I thought it might be him, but when I got closer I saw it was only a man wearing a frock coat about twenty years out of date, with dark hair that was unfashionably long and eyes pale enough to be strange in the half-light. He was attractive; perhaps another time I might have looked at him again, but he was not Nathan Langley, and I knew by his dress that he was too poor to take Langley’s place, and when he stepped forward to say, “Mrs. Wilkes,” I pretended not to hear him and went into my dressing room, closing the door hard behind me.
I plunked the flowers into a vase and unbuttoned my gown so fiercely one of the buttons came loose. I told myself not to hope for Langley, but now that I’d decided I would take him, I couldn’t help it, and when there was a knock on the door, I nearly tripped over myself to answer it. And there was Nathan Langley, holding a posy of carnations and a pink box with a ribbon.
I smiled like he was the Second Coming. “Mr. Langley! How lovely to see you.”
“I brought these for you,” he said, handing me the flowers, holding out the box. “Candied fruit. It’s French. I thought you might enjoy it.”
“You are so sweet,” I said. I took the box and put it on the dressing table, and then lifted out the flowers I’d put in the vase, laying them aside, not wanting them to spoil the look of the artfully arranged bouquet he’d brought me, wanting him to see how I favored it. I turned to face him. My costume was still unbuttoned halfway down the bodice; his gaze went to what could be seen of my corset, my breasts, half exposed now.
“I’m gratified you came to the Regal again, Mr. Langley,” I said. “Did you enjoy the play?”
“I’ve never liked Old Debts much. I came to see you.”
How boldly he said it, as if there could be no doubt that I would find such a statement flattering, and in fact, I did. “You make me blush, sir.”
He smiled; he looked up at me from beneath his lashes, bedroom eyes, and I thought how easy it would be to fuck him. He was nothing like Stella’s Richard Welling, jowly and given to fat.
He said, “Let me take you to supper.”
Very bold indeed—not the words, but the way he said them. Low and heavy, as if what he meant to say was, “Let me take you to bed,” and, again, had no doubt of the outcome of such a question. I was sure Nathan Langley was a man who got what he wanted, and just now there was no confusion: what he wanted was me. Why, I had no idea. But I was an actress, and, like all my fellows, superstitious, and when fate threw something at me, I knew better than to refuse it. Luck had finally decided it was my turn, and it was about time.
He waited outside while I dressed and took off my makeup. I put on a cloak and took up the candy—if I left it, Susan would eat it all—and then Nathan Langley helped me into his carriage, which waited brazenly out front: a big, shiny black brougham with gold scrolling on the door and a fancy coat of arms. I’d never been inside a carriage so fine. Leather seats so padded one sank into them, and a curtain with fringe over the window—which he didn’t lower—and a brazier at our feet that sent out a steady warmth. He was a gentleman; he attempted nothing for the few blocks to our destination, a café just below Mill Street, not yet into the worst part of town. I was impressed by that, by the fact that he didn’t seem to care if we were seen. The café was full with after-theater patrons, mostly men. He ordered something in French that turned out to be salmon baked in a pie, with a rich sauce, delicious, and he didn’t eat but only watched me, and I had a moment where I thought he was like that witch in Hansel and Gretel, fattening me up to gobble me down.
And the truth was that I did my own fattening. When he asked me about the theater, I told him Stella had stolen the lead from me months ago, and that Lucius was prone to choose money over talent—all little hints, and he listened and I saw the calculation in his eyes and thought that we both knew what we wanted from each other. All this talk was nothing but negotiation.
After supper, he had the driver take us to my hotel. When the carriage stopped before it, Nathan said, “You know, I’ve always had a wish to invest in the theater.”
I answered, “I can arrange for you to speak to Lucius if you like.�
��
He glanced out the window at my door, darkened now, and said lightly, “I do hope your landlady keeps a respectable house.”
“Respectable enough. But she’s willing to overlook some things as long as the rent is paid.”
“Shall I walk you to the door?”
“I would feel much safer if you did. In fact, if you wouldn’t mind it, I would be most grateful for an escort to my room.”
How politely he nodded his assent. How easily we played out the fiction, our own melodrama with a standard act two seduction.
The front door was unlocked as always; Nathan Langley followed quietly behind as I led him up the stairs, open on one side as an atrium with skylights in the roof and relights all along the wall that let in the faint glow from the streetlights to slant across the floor. One landing, one cross to the next set of stairs. Now that I was actually doing what I’d never thought I’d do, I was nervous, second-guessing myself. You don’t need this, Bea. But I thought of Stella and what I wanted, and it was too late to refuse in any case.
He was very close behind me, his hand nearly touching mine along the railing as I led him up the third flight of stairs, to the top floor, where my room was. He wasn’t shy; as I slipped my key in the lock, he settled his hands upon my hips, pulling me back, pressing hard up against me, so I could feel him against my bustleless backside. His mouth was at my ear, sliding to the joining of my neck and shoulder. When I opened the door, he pushed me inside so hard I nearly fell. I looked at him over my shoulder; my room was dim, not dark—the curtains were open to let in the light from the street, and he was almost white in their glow. He had the box of candy beneath his arm and he threw it onto the dresser, where it landed and slid, and then he said hoarsely, “For God’s sake, take off your clothes.”
Not even the semblance of a seduction now. In a way it was a relief. No prettiness, only the raw transaction. I did as he asked. He watched as I unbuttoned my bodice, as I slid my dress off, and then the one petticoat I wore, and in the dim light I knew he couldn’t see how patched and gray it was, nor the roughness of my corset and chemise. I took them off and let them fall, one thing after another, drawers last, and when I bent to take off my stockings and my boots he told me in a rough voice to leave them on.
He jerked off his coat and laid it aside, and then his vest. He bade me come to him with a quick motion of his hand, and when I did, he shoved his hand into my hair to anchor me and kissed me, and then he had me against the wall and unfastened his trousers and fucked me that way. I moaned and cried out as if I liked it, and when he pulled out to spend himself against me I was relieved it was over.
Except it wasn’t. He was breathing heavily still, and he pulled me to the bed, and told me to make him hard again, and then we did it once more, and when he finally left with a “I shall see you again tomorrow night,” I was exhausted; I could hardly bring myself to take off my boots and my stockings before I crawled into bed.
I heard his carriage below, the shout to the driver, the close of the door, and then the wheels and horses’ hooves. It must have been near to 2:00 A.M. And as I drifted into sleep, I wondered when he would speak to Lucius about investing in the Regal and hoped it would be soon.
The next afternoon, when I arrived at the theater to get ready for the performance, Lucius stopped me in the hallway on the way to my dressing room. “Ah, here she is now, my beauteous Helen. ‘Twas this the face that launched a thousand ships?’ ”
“Please don’t speak in riddles, Lucius, I’m late already.”
“We have a new investor, thanks to your charm, my dear,” he said with a smile. “A most lucrative admirer.”
I was relieved; I had not realized how tight was my stomach, nor how afraid I was that I had judged wrongly, until he said the words.
I saw Nathan in the box that night, and after the performance he came to my dressing room. As I stepped out, I saw that the man in the old frock coat was there again. He took a step forward as if he meant to say something to me, but Nathan Langley took my arm to propel me to his carriage, and the man stepped back again. I meant to smile at him—I was not such a fool as to disparage the few admirers I had, no matter how poverty-stricken, but just then Nathan whispered some obscenity in my ear, and I forgot all about him.
There was no pretense this time, no supper, no pretty seduction. Nathan drove me directly to my room and came up, and he barely said two words to me, but at least this time he took off his clothes. Afterward I lay in bed and watched him as he finished dressing.
“I’ve spoken to your manager and taken up a third share in the costs this season. He seemed happy enough. I shall be happy to invest in your future, Mrs. Wilkes, as long as we continue this … understanding. Is that acceptable to you?”
I hadn’t expected it to be so boldly stated, but you know, it was best just to look at it head-on so there would be no misunderstandings. “Yes. It’s acceptable.”
“Good. I won’t be here tomorrow night; I’ve other obligations.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. I settled on “I’ll miss you.”
He laughed shortly, reaching to the dresser, to the box of candied fruit I hadn’t yet had time to open. He threw it to the bed; it landed just to the right of my hip. “Appease yourself with comfits, Mrs. Wilkes. These are very fine.”
Then he left. I lay back with a sigh and was relieved that I would have a break from him tomorrow. The sex was as tiresome as sex had ever been, though he seemed to like it, and I supposed that was the point.
I stretched, my hand came into contact with the box of sweets, and I took it up and untied the ribbon, lifting the lid to find glacéed fruit, luscious figs, and dense and glistening cherries and apricots. I picked up one of the apricots, and it was plump and sleek, sticky with syrup, sheering smooth as butter when I bit into it. I nearly swooned at the taste of it; I’d never eaten anything so good, not ever. God, those apricots alone were almost a good enough reason to spread my legs for Nathan Langley.
Almost. I thought of Stella Bernardi, stirring the louche of her absinthe with a languidly elegant hand. She would be gone within months, or I missed my guess completely. And then it would be my turn at last. All I must do was continue to keep Nathan Langley happy. And perhaps it would not be so very long either. Perhaps … I tried to remember if I had told Stella what I’d done to Arabella before her, how I’d fed Bella’s vanity with dissatisfaction, and then I realized that even if I had, Stella had enough vanity of her own not to remember it. After all, she’d been manipulating me even then. How clever she thought herself! She would never suspect that she could be prey to any one of my tricks. Which, of course, made her especially vulnerable.
I lifted my arm, appraising the small bruise upon my wrist where Nathan had held me too hard. It was not so bad, and it would fade quickly. And it was worth it. It was all worth it now. My dreams were coming true at last.
Chapter Six
Geneva
Frye’s Opera House was the most opulent theater in town, with its great domed roof, green plush seats, and gas-flame chandeliers. It was not as elegant as McVicker’s Theater in Chicago, but even I was impressed by its grandeur. Nathan and I were there to watch East Lynne, a play I’d already seen a dozen times or more, but which I loved—as did everyone else. Even Mrs. Wilcox attended. The famous Mrs. Ethel Brown played the Lady Isabel Severn Mount, and Seattle was like every city in its need to be recognized for having the taste to appreciate such a lauded talent.
At the intermission, Nathan and I went into the salon for refreshments. I saw Mrs. Wilcox across the room, but I had learned my lesson, and I did not venture near. When Nathan returned with lemonade, he brought also another couple trailing in his wake.
“Darling, may I introduce Robert Stebbing and his wife,” my husband said as he handed me a cup of rather warm lemonade. He gave me the look that meant these people were important to him. “Mr. Stebbing is on the city council.”
“How pleased I am to meet you both,” I sa
id.
Robert Stebbing nodded stiffly; he was rather an officious little man with dark and receding hair and a receding chin as well. His wife, however, was slim and lovely, and she wore a gown with a mulberry stripe that immediately marked her as one of the more fashionable in the city. I was ready to like her, but as she stepped forward I saw the look in her eyes that said she had been trapped into this introduction, and I was disappointed once again, swept through by loneliness. Four months in Seattle, and I had not yet found a single woman I could call a friend, and it looked as if Catherine Stebbing would not be changing that.
We exchanged boring small talk until Nathan said, “Tell me, Stebbing, what role is the city council playing in this push to statehood?”
Stebbing turned to him. “Have you an interest in politics, Langley?”
“I dabble,” Nathan said humbly. “I find I’m fascinated by a city where such things are not hopelessly corrupt.”
How easily he spoke, how well he managed them, while I felt uncharacteristically ill at ease.
Stebbing said, “I welcome it. Too many don’t find it at all interesting, you know. But a fledgling government always has need of men with certain … resources.”
Nathan said, “If there’s any way I could be of service …”
Mr. Stebbing looked thoughtful. He turned to his wife and said, “My dear, we really must invite the Langleys to our ball.”
“A ball?” Nathan asked politely.
Reluctantly, Mrs. Stebbing nodded. “Next week. It’s a small thing, really, in celebration of spring. Of course I’ll send an invitation ’round. I do hope you can make time in your schedule on such short notice.”
Her tone said that she wished no such thing, but I was willing to take any tidbit, no matter how small. “Oh, I’m certain we can fit it in.”
