The Star of Versailles

by Catherine Curzon

“Not in front of the boy,” Claudine chided, though she softened somewhat when she added, “You saved us today, sir. Let us hope my brother has chosen well.”

  “In the name of Vincent Tessier,” a weak voice called over the creaking of the now unmoored ship, “drop anchor.”

  On the dock, Tessier stumbled on buckling legs toward the edge, a slick slug trail of blood following along with those whose interest was piqued by the name. “You will return to the dock.” Words failed him, blood gurgling somewhere deep beneath his voice. He crumpled to his knees on the edge of the land. “Turn back.”

  A cry went up of something between fear and disbelief, someone calling with disgust, “The bloody butcher?”

  William had, he realized, dropped his gun in the chase. Without a thought, he put himself between the child and the widening patch of water between them and the dock, gesturing for Gaudet to get back as he did so.

  “It’s all right,” Gaudet told William gently, whispering, “I love you so much.”

  The cries of discovery had given rise to shouts now, Tessier faced with a barrage of obscenities from the mob who seemed determined not to return him to Paris, but to lynch him where he lay. As the crowd advanced, spitting fury and fire, he gave one final movement, his black-clad figure plunging into the pitch waters of the dock, where it sank like a stone.

  William heard himself returning the sentiment, reflecting that it was considerably easier than he had worried it might be, adding as an afterthought, “I don’t think I’m going to be able to walk for a week.”

  “That’s all right.” Gaudet turned to him, their gazes meeting as he said, “I have a very nice bed, after all.”

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  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  “Nick. Give me five cents. I need a cuppa joe before we head to the theatre.”

  “Who am I? Rockefella?”

  Jack smiled and elbowed Nick in the ribs. They were at the far end of the counter on the swivelling stools Jack loved so much. Every time they had a few extra cents in their pockets—which wasn’t often—they would head on over to Huyler’s Diner in midtown. It was close enough to the vaudeville theatre where they worked, just off Broadway.

  “Would ya quit spinnin’ around on those things? You’re acting like a kid.”

  Jack frowned at him. Nick was four or five years older than Jack, but he acted like he was really something. All worldly and such. At the same time, Jack really admired him. He knew about things and always watched out for him. Nick had been there for him after he’d been kicked out of the boys’ orphanage in Buffalo. He’d only been sixteen and hadn’t known what to do or how to take care of himself. Nick was the best friend he’d ever had. And since he had no family, he guessed Nick qualified as that too.

  “I ain’t no kid. I just turned nineteen. I’m a man.”

  Nick snorted and took another drag of his cigarette. “A man. Sure ya are, kid. Here’s a nickel, get yourself some coffee. It’ll be a late night. We have to tear down all of the sets, and put up the new ones. The next show starts tomorrow.”

  “Aw, shucks. I was hopin’ we could go out tonight to the Red Head. I know someone who’ll let us in. Plus, Mr Pearson swore he’d pay what he owes us from the last show.”

  “Shee-it. The last time we went to a speakeasy, the place got busted. You wanna end up in the black mariah again? We’re supposed to be savin’ every penny to make it out west. I know it’s hard when everyone else seems to be living the easy life, but we have a chance to make it really big out where they make movin’ pictures—just like we’ve been dreamin’ about.”

  “Geez, Nick, I don’t know. I still think we got a good enough job here. We make all right money. And I don’t know nobody out there.”

  “You’ll know me, won’t you?”

  “Yeah, but what about that gal you’ve got back in Philly? What if you decide to marry her and leave me behind?” Jack’s voice got softer. “You always said you’d have to do that someday.”

  Nick didn’t answer. He looked straight ahead at the mirror behind the diner’s counter, worry etched on his brow, a cigarette held to his lips. Finally, he seemed to snap out of it.

  “Yeah, well, I don’t wanna talk about it. I’ve put her and my folks off this long. They can all wait a little bit longer.”

  Jack motioned to the waitress and asked for some coffee. He didn’t want to bug Nick about it, but it bothered him a lot. One time Nick had said that he would send for her when they got out west, but then he’d never brought it up again. Jack worried that once Penelope got in the picture, Jack would be out of it.

  But it’s only right, ain’t it? Every guy has to get his own family one day. We can still be friends.

  If only friendship was all that Jack wanted from Nick. He had been in love with him for a while, but didn’t dare say or do anything about it. That was the kind of stuff that had got him pushed out the doors of the orphanage. If it hadn’t been for Father O’Malley intervening, he might have been beaten to death by the other kids. He’d been half-beaten as it was.

  He and Stanley had been playing with each other since they were both fourteen. That was what Jack had called it, and Stanley had said he thought it was okay because they weren’t going after girls. Stanley wasn’t super smart, so one day he’d told the other boys about his and Jack’s playtime when they were complaining that there weren’t any gals around. It had got Jack a one-way ticket out the front door. But not before he’d received a good beating too.

  Father O’Malley had told Jack to head to New York City.

  “You go out to the big city, Jack Stone. Things’ll be much better for you there.”

  He’d said that there were places like pansy clubs that accepted guys like him. These were modern times, he’d explained. 1924—people would be more open and liberal from now on.

  So far, Jack agreed that it was much better in New York City, but only if you hung out with the right crowds and went to the right places. But that was only from what he’d heard. He knew Nick didn’t go in for that sort of thing, and he wouldn’t dare do anything that Nick didn’t like.

  He’d met Nick at the bus station when he’d first arrived. Father O’Malley had given him just enough money to get to the city and to buy a couple of meals. Jack hadn’t had a clue how he was going to survive beyond that. Having just arrived from Philadelphia to work over the summer with his uncle who ran a vaudeville theatre, Nick had quickly taken Jack under his wing. Jack still thought of it as the luckiest day of his life. Within a few short days, he’d had a job as a set-builder and painter at the Atlantic theatre run by Nick’s uncle, Fred Milton. As it turned out, after the summer ended, Nick suddenly didn’t want to go back to Philly, although he never really had a reason why.

  But more than anything, it seemed Jack had Nick’s support no matter what. Tall, lean and with muscles born of hard work, Nick also had brown wavy hair that parted at the side and swooped down over his hazel eyes. Jack thought he was very handsome. Sometimes he fantasised about what it would be like if there was no Penelope, and Nick wanted to be with him like a woman. Sometimes he even thought that he could see it in Nick’s eyes, the way he stared at Jack, then quickly looked away.

  “Here you go, honey.”

  “Thank you, miss.”

  The young brunette waitress placed a cup of salvation down in front of him and winked. He’d had plenty of days where he’d lived off just coffee and cigarettes. He’d stir in cream—not because he liked the taste—but so he could convince himself he was getting something more, like real food. Besides, it was free. The worst had been when Nick’s uncle had died. The theatre had been shut down, and he and Nick had ended up on the streets for a couple of weeks. It had been a very frightening time. Besides not having jobs and running out of money, Nick had started hinting around that it might be time for him to head back to Philly and take up with his betrothed
. That had been over a year ago, but Jack still shivered when he thought about it.

  Luckily, Mr Pearson had bought the closed theatre and rehired most of the people who had worked there before. In addition to set-building, they were also stage hands during the shows. It was terribly exciting, but more recently, he and Nick had become obsessed with silent films. They’d spent more of their money than they should have to go and see such wonders as Sherlock, Jr. and The Love Nest with Buster Keaton, and Jack’s favourites, The Thief of Baghdad and Robin Hood. That was where the seeds of the idea to head west had been planted.

  Jack took a sip of his coffee, and looked at Nick’s reflection in the mirror. He was still brooding a little and taking drags of his cigarette.

  “So you really think we can make it big in Hollywood?”

  Jack hoped that talk of Nick’s brightest hope would lighten the mood a little.

  Nick gave Jack a half-smile back from his mirror image.

  “Yeah, kid. I do.” He turned to look directly at Jack. “You don’t think they call it Dreamland for nothing, do ya?”

  He jostled Jack a little with his elbow and Jack playfully poked him back.

  “Okay Nick. Whatever you say, I’ll go along with it.”

  “That’s right, kid. Ya stick by me, and we’ll do just fine.”

  Jack smiled at Nick and wished. A wish that he could be by Nick Gerard’s side forever and ever.

  * * * *

  “You two are crazy.”

  It was after midnight, and they were still putting up the new set pieces for the next day’s new vaudeville revue. Their only other helper, Oscar, was continuously perplexed as to why anyone would ever want to leave the theatre for any reason.

  “This whole moving picture thing is a fad—pure and simple. Why go see some blurry black and white pictures when you can go to the theatre—which, by the way, has been around hundreds, maybe even thousands of years—and see real, in-colour people who can actually talk so’s you can hear them. I mean where else can you see Fanny Brice, Billie Burke, Fred Astaire and all the other greats? These lunks out in Hollywood ain’t nobody.”

  Nick held up a piece of wood frame scaffolding, whilst Jack stood on a ladder, attaching a large piece of canvas with a park scene painted on it. He had to be careful. It had been painted over so many times that if he bent it too much, large chunks of layered paint would fall right off it.

  Jack called down. “How can you say that, Oscar? No one can hold a candle to Douglas Fairbanks or Buster Keaton!”

  Jack was fascinated with Douglas Fairbanks—so suave and brave.

  “Okay you two, I ain’t got all night. I wanna get outta here and get some shut-eye.”

  The ever-present cigarette hung from Nick’s mouth even as he held up the heavy piece of scenery for Jack to work on. Jack tried not to stare at the way Nick’s upper arms looked, his muscles bunching just underneath his blue work shirt. He focused on what he was doing, not wanting to get distracted.

  Once, when Nick had bent over to retrieve a hammer that had fallen off the work bench, Jack had lost his balance, almost tumbling off the ladder. Nick’s backside had been too wonderful a sight for him, his jeans pulled snug over his rounded ass. As had been the case many times for other reasons, Nick was there for him, grabbing him around the waist and lowering him to safety. It was a memory Jack had played over and over in his mind. The feel of Nick’s strong arms wrapped tightly around him. The way he had held him so close. And how it had been just a moment longer than necessary before Nick let him go.

  “Okay, Nick,” Jack yelled down to him. “Have Oscar check and see if this is the correct length. I think I’ve got it.”

  “Oscar! Now where the hell did he get to? Oscar, dammit! You were just here a second ago blabbin’ on about how glorious live theatre is!”

  “I’m comin’. I’m comin’. Can’t a man take a piss?”

  “Never mind that. Is the canvas hittin’ the ground?”

  “Oh yeah. But a bit too much. It’s draggin’.”

  Jack could hear Nick muttering under his breath.

  “Fine. Oscar, measure the bottom. When he’s finished with that, Jack, get down offa there. Let’s get this done boys, they ain’t payin’ us by the hour.”

  The theatre owner had struck a hard bargain with them. If they’d got regular jobs as painters or handymen, they could have made as much as a buck and a half an hour. But theatres were different. They were only paid when there was a show, and Mr Pearson could only afford a flat twenty dollars a week for Jack, and twenty-five dollars for Nick—since he had more experience and oversaw all of the backstage crew. As the small apartment they stayed in was twenty dollars a week all by itself, that meant that all of Nick’s money had to buy their food, clothes, cigarettes and other necessities. Also, Mr Pearson wasn’t always as timely as he should’ve been with their wages.

  Even though it was a few dollars more a week for their pad than other places, they were right near the Tenderloin—also known as Broadway and the Times Square area. That way, they saved money on trolleys and the El. Truthfully, they also wanted to be in the thick of it, amidst all the glamour and excitement that was Broadway. Sometimes referred to as Satan’s Circus, there was an energy to the theatre district like none other Jack had ever experienced. There were the blinking lights of Times Square and the various theatres, the brothels, the underground speakeasies and every manner of entertainment that could be had—for a price. Elegant society dames and refined gentlemen mixed with the jazz babies and hucksters. The stars of stage dallied with gangsters running the underground gin joints. Uptown white folk mixed with downtown black entertainers. It was a far cry from the orphanage in Buffalo. Which was why Jack couldn’t imagine Hollywood being even more thrilling. But if Nick went, that was the only place Jack ever wanted to be.

  Nick wiped the sweat off his brow for what felt like the hundredth time. It was after midnight, and they’d been working under the hot stage lights for several hours. They had to get everything just right before they could leave, otherwise their boss Pearson would have a fit and use that as yet another excuse not to give them their past due wages. He was down to his last Chesterfield. They weren’t his favourite brand of cigarette, but at five cents for ten sticks, he couldn’t complain. When they got to Hollywood and were making the big bucks, he would only smoke Luckys from then on.

  He checked his pocket. Thirty cents left. They were going to be in real trouble if Pearson didn’t come through the next day. He had to wash his and Jack’s shirts, and he’d have to feed the kid tomorrow. He’d only had coffee and a cheese sandwich all day. Nick still felt guilty about getting the hamburger. That had been another fifteen cents they could have saved, but Jack had insisted.

  “You have to do all of the heavy stuff at the theatre. You need to eat something good.”

  I could always dip into the Hollywood money. There’s close to fifty dollars in there.

  Nick winced. It was so tempting when his belly was grumbling and their clothes smelt like an old hobo in Central Park, but they had to stay strong. Once they got to Hollywood they would be okay. Things would be different.

  “Hey, Nicky, whaddya think?” Oscar yelled from the front of the stage. “I think it looks great and that we should get the fuck outta here.”

  Nick went around the curtains that were pulled open to the side of the stage and hopped off the front into the orchestra pit. He surveyed the backdrop and the other sliding set pieces that had been arranged for Act One. Jack came down the aisle and stopped next to him.

  “I think it’s okay. Whaddya say, Nick?”

  Nick looked down at Jack’s innocent smiling face. Nick was about a half a foot taller than the blond-haired, blue-eyed kid, and sometimes he felt so protective of him that he thought it would crush his heart. No one should ever be abused the way Jack had been. He was such a sweet guy, and he didn’t even have any family. No one to care for him. No one except Nick.

  At times it felt like a bur
den—like Nick had taken on a responsibility that wasn’t his. But they had always looked out for each other, and it was great not to have to be alone in the city, to have someone he could rely on.

  And there was the other thing. At first, Nick had thought it was just sympathy that made him feel so soft about Jack. Like the same way he might feel if a little puppy was lost and left in the cold. He’d want to take it in and feed it and hold it close. But lately he’d been wrestling with the idea that it might be something more than that.

  I ain’t no queer. I’m engaged and everything.

  He and Penelope had only ever kissed and done a little petting. It hadn’t particularly excited him, so he thought maybe he was just one of those guys who wasn’t that much into sex. Or maybe when he was a little older he’d like it more.

  So maybe it’s just that I’m older now and Penelope’s not here, but Jack is. Maybe that’s all it is.

  He wasn’t so sure that was it either. Because when he thought about Penelope he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that seemed more like feeling trapped that he had to marry her. But when he thought about Jack, his dick got hard.

  I ain’t no queer. That’s all I have to remind myself of.

  But it was getting more and more difficult every single day.

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  About the Authors

  Catherine Curzon is a royal historian who writes on all matters of 18th century. Her work has been featured on many platforms and Catherine has also spoken at various venues including the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, and Dr Johnson’s House.

  Catherine holds a Master’s degree in Film and when not dodging the furies of the guillotine, writes fiction set deep in the underbelly of Georgian London.

  She lives in Yorkshire atop a ludicrously steep hill.

  Email: madamegilflurt@gmail.com