Prima Donna: A Novel

by Megan Chance

  MAY 10, 1877--Alain has gone to Boston, and Gideon and I are in Chicago, as I am performing for two weeks in concert. The crowds have been large and wonderful. Each night has been full of suppers and cotillions held in my honor, and Gideon and I are feted wherever we go.

  But he is not happy and I am desperate, because since that night in April, Alain has not mentioned Paris, and has been rather cold. I fear I may have lost his interest, and Gideon frets that Alain will find some new soprano in Boston. He has heard of two who are very much loved there, both younger than me and rumored to be quite pretty.

  I am not sleeping well. I only lie there and listen to Gideon breathe, and deep into the night I find myself crying. I think of those two women gossiping at the theater and everything I've done so that Gideon and I might have what we want. The question torments me: if I were to leave him, could I return to myself? Or have I already given too much away to retrieve it? I remember how Barret told me there were other ways to have what I wanted, but I don't know what those ways could be, or if I could find them alone.

  JUNE 3, 1877--Gideon and I returned to New York City yesterday, and Alain has not yet returned from Boston. This morning Gideon went to the theater to rehearse the new tenor. I have felt very unsettled and restless, and so I went to the Ladies' Sitting Room for tea, and Mrs. Burbage, who also stays at the hotel, said she had heard my "dear Friend M. DeRosier" was in the city last week squiring about some "lovely little nightingale he said he brought from Boston." I pretended I knew all about it. I told her Alain was auditioning for the troupe he intended to take to Paris. But I drank my tea very quickly and came back here to my room.

  When Gideon returned I told him all about it. He was very quiet, and I did not miss how he looked at me, with such speculative eyes. And so I said that when Alain returned, I thought I would invite him to a private supper in my room.

  When I said it Gideon slammed a desk drawer shut so hard my penknife rolled off and the ink bottle rocked, and he said I must do what I would, that he couldn't get me to Paris without Alain, and then he stalked out, and I do not know where he has gone.

  So it is decided. When Alain comes back, I will make him my lover. It has been inevitable from the start, and I was a fool to tell myself otherwise. Gideon expects it. Even I have known all along it was coming to this.

  And now I wonder: how many more times will I be so obliged? After France, there will be England, and then Germany and Italy. There will be new impresarios for every one.

  No, I will not. Alain will be the last. I promise myself: Alain will be the last.

  JUNE 28, 1877--Alain has sent a telegram saying he will be back next week in time to celebrate my birthday, and I have decided: when he returns, I will ask him to take me to Paris alone. I am going to leave Gideon--the thought makes me miserable, but I can see no other way. It will only go on like this forever and forever if I do not. After Alain, there will only be someone else I must seduce, and someone after that, and someone after that.... There will only be a long line of things I must do, and of course I will do them. All Gideon has to do is look at me, and I will do whatever he wants, and I am frightened. Thank God we never married. I no longer believe I have the will to deny him anything.

  I cannot stay. It will destroy me to stay.

  JULY 15, 1877--It is very late. Alain is delayed. He now says he won't return to the city until August.

  Gideon and I celebrated my birthday very soberly. There was no performance tonight, and so we went to dinner in the hotel, and I ordered my favorite things and we had champagne. He had another diamond star added to my brooch, which made me cry--he thought it was for joy, I'm sure, but it was out of guilt and misery for what I mean to do. He gave me too some sapphire and diamond earrings to match. Then we went back to our rooms. Gideon kissed me and said Happy Birthday and that he could not stay because he must pay some bills and write some letters, and I am so weak and despairing at the thought that I must leave him soon that I pulled him to me and kissed him like a wanton in the hallway, and I had unbuttoned his vest and had my hands on his shirt before he stopped me and said, "Not tonight, Sabine."

  I am such a fool! I started to cry, and that of course made him feel guilty, and so he came into my room and took me to bed, though he was impatient and did not seem to notice how sad I was, and he left just after.

  Now I am thinking of Barret, and the drinking and opium eating he could not give up. Gideon is like that for me. I think I shall have to go very far away to cut him from my heart. At least I still have singing. If I had to give them both up, I think I would shrivel up and die.

  AUGUST 16, 1877--Tonight is the night.

  Alain returned last week, and he has been very flirtatious and on his best behavior. He is now talking about returning to Paris very soon, but he still will not say when, and by the way he looks at me, I know I am the one who will make up his mind. At dinner last night, when Gideon went to speak to someone across the room, Alain leaned very close and took my hand, and beneath the table he ran his thumb along the inside of my bare arm until he raised shivers on my skin. His eyes grew very dark, and he said he dreamed of my breasts and when would he have the chance to see them again, because it was the only reason he had returned to New York. "You do not mean to disappoint me, do you, cherie?" he asked, and I told him that I had planned a special supper in my room for us alone whenever he wished, and he said, "Tomorrow."

  So it is done, and my stomach is upset thinking of it.

  I told Gideon that the dinner is tonight, and he has been short with me all day, which is what I want. I think if he were kind I would lose my courage. There is a part of me that cannot bear the thought of never seeing him again. But there is another part--a bigger part--that tells me I must save myself. And he no longer needs me. He is a brilliant impresario and everyone knows it. There are singers who would do anything to work with him. The rest of the company love him. He will be a success even without me.

  He is gone to the theater now. He told me he will take the others to supper and not return until very late, though neither of us will admit the reason for him to stay away.

  I mean to ask Alain to hide me at another hotel until he can arrange for passage out of the city, because I know Gideon will not let me go so easily, and I do not trust myself to hold to my purpose if he were to try to dissuade me.

  So much depends on tonight that I have taken special care. I am wearing my dressing gown of pink silk, which is Gideon's favorite, and the corset that matches it and very fine silk stockings with ribboned garters and slippers with little jeweled bows. I brushed my hair until it gleamed so golden in the light it did not look real. I am wearing four strands of pearls, and I spent a great deal of time arranging them so that they emphasize my breasts and let one of the strands fall inside the lace of my corset so that Alain will feel compelled to follow it there.

  The dinner I've ordered up is oysters and strawberries and grapes and capon stuffed with sweetbreads and a silken custard and wine--there is a great deal of wine.

  I am nervous, though I think I have no reason to be. Alain wants me desperately; I think he would do anything for me. I know he will be happy to take me from Gideon--how could he not? I am Sabine Conrad, after all, and I mean tonight to satisfy his every desire, and perhaps some he doesn't realize he has.

  Now all that remains is the waiting. He will be here soon.

  After tonight, my new life will begin.

  CHAPTER 18

  Seattle, Washington Territory--January 1882

  I drank three shots of whiskey in quick succession, nearly choking as the last one burned its way down my throat. Duncan frowned at me. "You all right, Marguerite?"

  "No," I snapped, pouring another.

  I glanced at the stage. Annie and Lil were up there now, dressed in trousers and shirts as they sang their ribald song, grinning knowingly at the audience while the men hooted and laughed in reply. For the years that the Palace had been a box-house, I'd watched these girls and listened to
the music and managed to inure myself to it all. But that was impossible to-night. I felt the lure of that stage, as simple as it was--new now, and larger, but still plain, with holes drilled in the apron for foot lights that had not yet been installed and no curtain or drop or single bit of scenery. I saw the sweat glow upon Annie's skin and the way Lil's eyes shone when she bowed, and I remembered how it felt to be up there. The stage in the Volksstadt had been simpler than this, and I had loved every moment upon it, and the memory of that came so hard and fast I was unprepared. Gideon's words had done that. For more than four years, I'd managed to hold the barrier between the world I lived in now and the one I'd left behind, and it had taken only a single sentence to collapse it. "You could have it all back.... You could be what you were before. More than that."

  Sarah bounced up to the bar, her sleeve slipping from her shoulder, her hair prettily disarrayed. "Mr. Ryan says he needs you at his table, Miss Olson."

  "Tell him to solve his problems himself." I drank the fourth shot in a single gulp. Still, the numbness I'd hoped for didn't come. I looked at the bottle, wondering if I would have to finish the entire thing. "Better yet, you go over there. Suck whoever you must to calm them down."

  Sarah looked startled, but she left again quickly, and I saw her whisper something to one of the other girls heading toward the bar. The girl glanced at me and turned around again.

  Duncan said, "Ain't many drinks getting sold."

  I knew what he meant; that I was the reason for it, standing there as I was, glowering at everyone who came near. I grabbed the bottle of whiskey and the glass and said, "I'll be in Johnny's office."

  Once I was inside, I shut the door with my hip and slammed the glass onto Johnny's desk. Then I took the bottle and went to stand at the window, leaning against the weathered wooden Indian with his handful of cigars that Johnny kept there. The scent of tobacco wafted up to me; in a sudden fit of pique I grabbed two cigars and snapped them in half, dropping them to the floor and grinding them beneath my foot. The smell was even stronger then. I saw him before me, smoking his cigarette as if the very fact of it wasn't a change, watching me with those long blue eyes....

  "You could have it all again. You could have everything."

  I closed my eyes, and the memories rose through the haze of alcohol, soft and blurry and alluring. The feel of a stage floor beneath my feet, the glare of the footlights, that growing nervousness as I waited in the wings, as I raised my forehead for his kiss and his words, "In boca al lupo." The feel of my voice, full strength, not held back, not blending with nine others, my own distinct sound. The straining of my lungs, the push of air from my diaphragm, the sense that a single note might sear everything away--

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  The door thudded against the wall hard enough to slam shut again. I turned slowly from the window.

  Johnny strode to me, jerking the whiskey bottle from my hands, throwing it to the floor. The neck broke off, and the bottle rolled crazily into the corner, spilling whiskey all the way, and all I could do was watch it in dismay.

  "I wasn't done with that," I said.

  He trapped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "You got a meeting tonight. Or have you forgotten?"

  Portland. "You can have it without me."

  "What the hell has got into you?"

  "Whiskey," I said with a nasty smile. "And there would have been more of it if you hadn't spilled it."

  He let me go so quickly I stumbled. "Lyman Kerwin is sitting out there at a table right now, waiting for the both of us. He ain't going to be disappointed."

  "I'm not going out there."

  "The hell you ain't." Johnny's expression was grim. He grabbed my arm, hard, and I thought, there will be bruises there tomorrow, and then what will Gideon say? and then I was angry with myself for thinking of him at all.

  "I'm in no mood to seduce a man tonight."

  "You don't got to seduce him. You only got to be your charming self."

  "I can't do that either."

  "Well, ain't it a pity you got no choice. You knew he was coming tonight. If he has to wait 'til tomorrow, my bet is the whole thing's off. So put on a smile, honey, and get ready to charm the fuck out of him. Oh, and Prosch is here as well."

  "The newspaper editor?"

  "Kerwin's idea. He wants an 'objective viewpoint' on whether Seattle can 'support culture.' "Johnny's voice was mocking. His fingers tightened; he opened the door and escorted me out, whispering, "Smile."

  The whiskey was roiling through my veins; my feet were unsteady. But I did what he asked--even drunk as I was, I knew how stupid it would be to challenge him. He led me through the bar, a riot of noise and motion I could hardly focus on. Johnny took me to the farthest table and said, "Mr. Kerwin, meet my partner, Miss Olson. And I believe the two of you are already acquainted, Prosch."

  "Delightful to see you again, Miss Olson."

  I blinked, trying to focus. Mr. Prosch's large forehead, prominent ears, larger than I remembered. Something warned me to be careful; I was too addled to remember why. I looked at the other man. Lyman Kerwin. He had a long face, thinning hair, full lips beneath a mustache that was scarcely there, and a straggling Van Dyke beard. He rose--his eyes seemed very close together, too close ... had he one or two?--and bowed slightly. "Miss Olson. How pleased I am to make your acquaintance."

  Johnny pulled out a chair, nearly pushing me into it before he took one of his own. Sally was at my shoulder as if she'd suddenly appeared out of vapor, and I jumped a little. "How about a drink?" she asked.

  "Bring a bottle," Johnny said shortly. "And three glasses. Miss Olson ain't drinking."

  "Like hell I'm not," I said. "Four glasses, Sally," and when she left and Johnny glared at me, I broadened my smile and ignored him and scooted my chair around the table until I was sitting next to Mr. Kerwin, and then I said, "What can I do to convince you to join our circuit?"

  Johnny looked thunderous. "Now, Margie--"

  Kerwin waved his protest away. "No, no, Langford, it's all right. It's a fair question, and I appreciate Miss Olson's frankness. My concern is whether we can get the acts we need, even with San Francisco involved."

  "The city is growing day by day," Prosch said. "Faust made an impressive showing, better than I imagined."

  "A one-time treat will always draw, of course. What about a regular diet?"

  "We're ready for it," Johnny said. "I'm thinking something big to start, something that shows we ain't playing around."

  "A combination act," Prosch suggested. "Or perhaps, if I might make a suggestion, something like Uncle Tom's Cabin."

  Johnny snorted. "Christ, if I have to see another production of Uncle Tom. ..."

  "An opera singer, then. In concert," the newspaper editor suggested.

  The warning buzzed again in my head. I wanted another drink. I glanced around for Sally, wondering where the hell the bottle was.

  "You might be able to get Ellen Siebert," Prosch said.

  "Who the hell is Ellen Siebert? That ain't the kind of big I'm talking about," Johnny said.

  Kerwin smiled. "She's good enough. Who else do you expect to get in this city? Pauline Lucca? Sabine Conrad?"

  Sally brought the bottle. I nearly tore it from her hands. I poured myself a shot, ignoring Johnny's warning glance, and drank it, then poured another. Johnny took the bottle and poured for the others.

  Prosch leaned forward. "That maybe isn't so far-fetched, you know. I've got a friend in New York. A fellow newspaperman. He says Conrad's manager got out of prison several weeks ago."

  I could not even breathe. I clutched my glass and thought of Gideon, only a few blocks away, if they could have known it.

  "So what?" Johnny asked.

  "So ... there are some of us who think he'll go to wherever she is."

  "You think he knows where she is?"

  "Who better?"

  "So where is he now?"

  Prosch shrugged. "No one's seen him. Not yet. But s
omeone will. Men like that don't stay hidden. He'll turn up again."

  I wanted to leave, but even as drunk as I was I knew that would only raise Johnny's suspicions, so I stayed. The talk went on, but I did not hear anything they said. All I could see was Gideon's face before me, all I could think of was more whiskey. I drank another, and another. And then, I couldn't think of anything. I hardly knew what I was doing, or what I was saying. At one point, I found myself draped over Kerwin's shoulder while he and Prosch laughed and he told me some obscene limerick, and the lights and sound in the Palace were nothing but a big kaleidoscope swirling around me, and I think that was when I slipped my hand between the lapels of Kerwin's vest and looked brazenly at Johnny, wanting to see jealousy in his eyes, daring him to stop me. His careful expression pricked at me--not what I wanted. No banked passion, no promise of something darker, no hidden games, and I leaned closer to Kerwin, brushing my lips against his cheek.