Prima Donna: A Novel

by Megan Chance

  He frowned warily. "Yes."

  "Guiding me. Managing me."

  "Yes. Yes, of course."

  "Telling me what to do--"

  "Christ. What do you think you are, some biddable child?"

  I turned away from him with a cry of frustration. "Dear God, why did I even think to come here?"

  "Because you know what you want, even if you won't admit it to yourself. You know what I can give you."

  "Oh yes. The reputation for being a whore. The return of a scandal I've spent years running from."

  "If you would embrace it, Sabine, no one could use it against you."

  "I don't want it! Don't you understand? I loved you and you used that to manipulate me."

  "You did some manipulating yourself, as I recall. You weren't the only one who suffered. D'you think I enjoyed it? Watching Barret destroy himself? Seeing you go everywhere on Jerome's arm instead of mine? Letting all those men fawn over you because I was supposed to be your manager and nothing more? Christ, if just telling you no would have ended the torment, I'd have done so in a moment."

  "You never even tried," I accused.

  "You weren't listening." He was breathing hard, as angry as I was. "You never did."

  I spun on my heel, heading for the door. "There's no point in this. I'm leaving."

  "Go then," he snapped. "Run away. Keep running."

  I had my hand on the knob. But I paused; I could not make myself turn it. As angry as I was, I did not want to go. Instead I turned back to him, uncertain.

  He was there in a moment, as if he'd known better than I what we were moving toward, what we were waiting for. He pinned me to the door, shoving his hand into my hair so roughly it fell loose, and there was no subtlety in our kiss. It was open-mouthed and starving and still it was not enough. I had missed him. I could not satisfy my craving for him; there was no way to bring him close enough.

  He lifted me onto the edge of the desk, and then his hands were beneath my skirt, pulling it up, running over my bare skin. The desk was too small, the music was in the way, and I pushed it, too far; the folio slipped to the floor and the pages scattered everywhere, and I didn't care. I cared about nothing but having him. And when he was deep inside me, one hand grasping my hip and the other entwining with mine as together we braced ourselves against a desk that rocked and jarred beneath our weight, I heard the music of him, vibrating into my body like a struck chord, a note held and blooming into fullness, harmonizing, and I burst and was gone, cast into a net of my own making, tangled irrevocably once more.

  HE TRAPPED ME as I made to leave. He kissed me, his lips against mine as he murmured, "Meet me here in the morning. We'll begin practice."

  "I'm not coming back," I said.

  CHAPTER 20

  E verything had turned upside down, my entire life upended. I could no longer keep the past and the present separate--or, more accurately, the past would not stay the past. I was angry with myself for falling so spectacularly into the trap he'd laid for me, for failing to send him away, for not saving the life I'd worked so hard to make.

  But mostly, I was furious with myself for wanting.

  The past was there now, in my head, at every turn. I could not look at the Palace stage without yearning for it myself. I could not watch those girls singing without wanting to show them how it was done. I could not be Marguerite because Sabine was so much stronger, and the efforts I'd made to quiet her were unraveling, leaving me scrambling to catch the threads before they came completely apart.

  The only thing I knew for certain was that I could not trust myself around Gideon, and therefore I would stay away from him. He could not tempt me if I did not see him. I would not go back to the hotel. I would not meet him tomorrow. And I would not--no matter the temptation--let him practice me.

  I could go back to the way things were if I stopped now. It hadn't gone too far, not yet. I could still hold this life together if I tried. I had to. Today had shown me just how weak I was. I wanted to be Sabine Conrad. But being her had nearly destroyed me.

  I glanced across the saloon to where Charlotte hovered at Lee Blotsky's table. She was laughing with some burly lumberman, and I remembered last night, how she'd come to me in the orchestra loge, how I'd disappointed her. I thought of how she'd brought me to the choir--had it only been six months ago? It seemed a hundred years--and how much she'd sensed of me even through my dishonesty. "What makes you happier than singing?"

  I turned away, taking up the skirts the seamstress had mended and dropped off that afternoon, hurrying down the darkened hall behind the stairs toward the dressing room.

  "You in another world tonight, honey?"

  I jumped and dropped the skirts at the sound of Johnny's voice. I felt the blood rush hot into my face at the thought of where I'd been that morning, of what I'd done.

  "Why, it seems you are," he said with a laugh. He kicked the skirts aside and pushed me into a darkened corner, kissing my ear. "Now I wonder, could it have anything to do with this morning?"

  "This morning?"

  His lips were at my throat. "You were gone before I woke. Not even a good-bye. Why, honey, I was worried."

  I put my hand to his chest. "I went to breakfast. I was hungry and you looked as if you meant to sleep the day away."

  "Hmmm." Johnny pressed close. "Where'd you go?"

  "Only a few blocks away."

  "By yourself?"

  "Why, yes, as it happens."

  He drew back, studying me.

  "What is it?" I asked. "Why do you look at me that way?"

  "Where was your tall friend?"

  "Charlotte. In bed, I suppose. It was early."

  "Now, ain't that odd," he said. "She said she was with you. That you went to Miller's."

  Charlotte had lied for me. I was uncertain whether to be angry that she'd put me in this position, so neatly caught, or to feel relieved that, after last night, she still felt enough affection for me to protect me. Desperately I tried to stall. "She told you?"

  Johnny's gaze was dark. "Where were you this morning, Margie?"

  "I ... I thought she meant for it to be a secret, that's all."

  "Why should it be secret?"

  I scrambled for a lie he would believe. "Why ... because she'd arranged to meet with a man at Miller's, but she was afraid to go alone. So I went with her."

  "Why's that a secret?"

  "She'd met him here. I thought she didn't want you to know. I'm surprised she told you."

  "She didn't tell me. She said she went to Miller's with you."

  "She was afraid you would be angry that she was bedding him for free."

  He was quiet for a moment, assessing. "Damn whores. I can hardly wait to be rid of them."

  "Are we still to meet with Mr. Kerwin?" I struggled to keep my voice even.

  "Not tonight. I'm going to show him around town. Show him Seattle potential." He laughed a little. "Such as it is."

  "You don't need me?"

  "Not yet." He paused. "You lying to me about all this, honey?"

  "Why would you think that?"

  "Because you did earlier."

  "I'm not lying now." I put my arm around his neck, drawing him down, kissing him, appeasing him, reassuring myself.

  When he was gone I knelt to gather the skirts I'd dropped. I pressed them to my face, inhaling the odors of musty satin and sweat and sex, and in my head I heard that desk rocking against the wall. Rocking and rocking, my breath a staccato accompaniment, his offer to practice me a haunting song.

  WHEN I HAD composed myself enough to return to the floor, Charlotte was behind the bar. I went up to her with trepidation, afraid she was still angry with me--though how angry could she be, really, if she'd lied to Johnny on my behalf?

  "I'm sorry about last night," I told her in a low voice.

  She shrugged.

  I glanced around. Johnny was up near the ticket booth. "Thank you for ... for what you told Johnny. Though I wish you'd said something to me. I
nearly ruined everything."

  "I didn't get a chance to tell you," she said in a clipped tone.

  "It was all right. I just had to manage him a bit. I didn't know what you said, and ... I ended up telling him you were seeing someone in secret. Someone you'd met here, and I'd gone with you because you were nervous. Just remember that if he asks you." I pulled up a glass and poured.

  "Walking by yourself again?"

  I grabbed onto the excuse, too exhausted by my efforts with Johnny to come up with anything else. "Yes."

  "Robert said he saw you down by the New Brunswick."

  "Robert?" I looked at her in surprise. "Robert Marsdon? When did you see him?"

  "I told you already. I went walking with him yesterday. Now why don't you fucking tell me the truth about something for once?"

  "There's nothing to tell."

  With careful precision, she arranged the glasses on her tray. Her voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear it above the orchestra and the singing and the noise. "You and me got to talk, Marguerite. You going home tonight? I'll come to your room. I'll henna your hair."

  "I miss your yellow hair."

  I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. "I can't. Johnny won't be here. I need to stay around."

  She gave me a quick look. "That the only reason?"

  "Yes. Of course."

  I focused on pouring the whiskey, on making certain not to spill a drop. I felt her waiting. Tentatively, unable to help myself, I said, "Charlotte--have you ever wanted something ... have you ever wanted something so badly you thought it would kill you not to have it?"

  She frowned. "Ain't nothing worth having that much."

  I looked away, filled with a disappointment I could not measure or quite explain. "Yes," I said quietly. "I suppose you're right."

  I SPENT A restless night, tossing and turning, dreaming I was in San Francisco, walking down the street with Gideon and Barret while the crowds hindered our passing, and then suddenly the people were gone, and I was worried, and Gideon reassured me, "They'll return when they see your scar." Then Barret went running off, and when Gideon started after him, I stopped him, saying, "Let him go. There's an hour before rehearsal. Come back to the hotel with me." And then we were tangled together beneath the sheets, yet it wasn't Gideon at all, but Johnny saying, "Only fifteen minutes. We can't be late. There's five hundred people waiting for a piece of you."

  I woke with a start to find Johnny shaking me. "Shut up! You woke me twice."

  I mumbled an apology, still blurry from the dream, and got out of bed, slipping on my chemise and drawing a blanket around me, leaving him to turn over and go back to sleep. I left the room and went down the hall to one of the boxes, pulling aside the curtain. The only furniture was a chaise lounge, and I lay upon it, pulling the blanket up to my chin, trying not to smell the smoke and musk of the little room lingering in the upholstery and the heavy curtains, the pervasive scent of sex.

  But my dream returned as I lay there--my worry when the crowds dissipated, Gideon's promise, the way I'd dismissed Barret so easily, Johnny's comment. "There's five hundred people waiting for a piece of you." And through it all, the lure: "You could have it all back." "There was so much more to be had."

  I closed my eyes and tried to ignore those haunting little voices. I made myself remember other things: Leonard Jerome smiling up at me and Barret's despairing protests, Alain covered with blood.

  Alain covered with blood.

  All that morning and into the afternoon, I focused on resistance. On staying here. On being Marguerite. And every single thing I did seemed to erode it just a little more. It was as if the past had been waiting for a door, and now that one had cracked open, it was slipping through, insidious, attacking when I least expected it. Going through the girls' costumes to find rips and stains, I thought of taffetas and silks, of wools so fine they were a pleasure to touch, of silk corsets in many colors and jewels that seemed to draw life and depth from one's skin. As I set up glasses, I saw crystal goblets, champagne bubbles. When the music started, I heard instead a sublime piano; keeping silent was so painful it was hard to breathe. When Charlotte arrived, it was all I could do to smile back at her greeting, because the yearning to go out the door she'd just come in had me moving halfway toward it before I caught myself.

  The saloon was crowded. I looked for Johnny and saw him at Jim Ryan's table, talking with Lyman Kerwin, who was playing poker. I reached beneath the bar for the bottle of good whiskey and poured a drink, swallowing it quickly, closing my eyes, shutting it all away.

  "I'll have one of those too."

  My eyes flew open. Gideon stood before me as if I'd somehow conjured him. His gaze was bold and knowing as he took a drag on his cigarette.

  "What are you doing here?"

  He glanced down the bar to where Duncan stood laughing as he poured drinks for one of the girls, too far away to hear, even if the music and singing on the stage had allowed it.

  "I came for a drink," he said.

  "There are fifty saloons between here and the hotel."

  "But none so well regarded as this." He exhaled smoke and reached into his pocket, pulling out two coins, shoving them across the bar. "And I know someone who works here. A whiskey. Please."

  I poured. The neck clanked against the glass, betraying my nervousness, which I saw he noticed. "Drink it and go."

  He took a sip. "I thought I'd stay for a while. Maybe play some poker."

  "You don't gamble," I said.

  "Oh, I gamble all the time. That's why I'm here now, in fact. Gambling."

  "On what?"

  "On the fact that you don't want me here. That you're afraid I might figure out who wants to know who you are badly enough to send a letter to San Francisco."

  I refused to look for Johnny, though the temptation to do so was terrible. "What do you want?"

  "You know what I want."

  "Gideon--"

  "I waited all day for you," he whispered.

  "I told you I wasn't coming back."

  "Don't be a fool. Why are you punishing us both this way?"

  "You could leave if it troubles you so much."

  He said softly, "Bina, don't do this. Practice with me. What can it hurt just to practice? Once you're back in voice, you can decide what to do. If you still don't want to perform then, I'll believe you. I'll leave you alone."

  I thought of his fingers on the piano, my voice stretching, warming....

  "I promise." He anchored his elbow on the bar and leaned forward. "I'll swear to it, if that's what you want. I'll swear by ... by that mole above your breast. I assume it's still there. I regret I didn't get a chance to see it yesterday."

  Despite every single thing I knew, I went hot. "Stop it. Don't say those things. Not here."

  "Who's listening?" he asked. "The half-breed's flirting with that pretty blonde. Everyone else is attending that singer--who's excruciating, by the way. I thought you had a better ear than that."

  "She'll spread her legs for two dollars. And her breasts are large enough that no one's listening to her sing."

  "How it must torment you to listen to them. How do you do it? How do you watch them up there getting all the admiration and not go up yourself, knowing how much better you are?"

  "Because I don't want to."

  He smiled and took another drag of his cigarette before he threw the stub into the spittoon below. "You never saw a stage you didn't want to be upon."

  "I want you to leave."

  He picked up his drink and turned to survey the house. "Not without you."

  Desperately, I said, "I don't want you."

  He looked back at me. "That's not what I saw yesterday morning."

  There was a movement across the floor. I glanced up to see Johnny rising from Jim Ryan's table.

  "I want you to go," I said evenly.

  He downed his drink and set the empty glass on the bar, flicking it so it skidded toward me. "Maybe you could try begging. Perhaps you could
unbutton your bodice. Or, better yet, go down on your knees." His eyes darkened. "Isn't that always how you get your way, Bina? God knows it's how you managed me. Perhaps I'm just as easily commanded as I always was. Would you care to find out?"

  I felt myself flush. "How you twist everything!"