by Megan Chance
"I'm not the one doing the twisting."
The girl onstage finished her song. There was dutiful applause. I saw Johnny look up and glance toward me. Whatever he saw in my face gave him pause. I saw the way he took in Gideon, who was leaning too familiarly in my direction. I saw Johnny frown.
I felt almost sick with fear. "Please, Gideon. Just go."
Gideon's expression went wary and perplexed. "What is it?"
Johnny began to cross the room. A customer called to him, stopping him.
"What must I do to get you to leave?" I asked.
"Say you'll let me bring you into voice again."
"And if I don't?"
"I'll come back tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Nothing you do will keep me away. Now that I've seen you, I know it's what you want."
"It's what you want," I said bitterly.
He inclined his head. "That too."
Johnny was coming toward us. I said, "Yes. Yes. Very well. Now go. Please."
"Meet me tomorrow."
"Not in your room. At ... at Gold's. It's a restaurant."
"I'll find it," he said.
He turned away, and I could not keep from saying, "How lucky you are. You've won your gamble after all."
He stopped. "You hold all the cards, Sabine. You always did."
He left then, melting into the crowd just as Johnny emerged from it. When Johnny reached the bar he glanced about, looking for the man I'd been talking to, I knew, though I pretended not to see it. Instead I smiled at him, taming my nerves, summoning every bit of my charm. "How's Mr. Kerwin doing tonight?"
Johnny's frown grew. "Where'd he go?"
"Who?"
"The man you were talking to."
I feigned bewilderment. "Which one?"
"He was right here," he said.
"I've been serving drinks to men all night, Johnny. Most of them talk to me."
"You looked ... close."
I made a sound of impatience. "That's what I'm supposed to do, isn't it? You've said so yourself. If you're going to be jealous every time I smile at someone--"
"It wasn't that," he said, looking puzzled, glancing about, still searching. "Duncan!" When Duncan looked up, Johnny gestured for him to come over. "Did you notice that man Margie was talking to?"
Duncan shrugged. "Should I have?"
"You see?" I said to Johnny. I reached across the bar to put my hand on his arm. "Are you jealous, Johnny? Come here and let me show you you've no cause to be."
He looked down at my hand as if it confused him, and then at me as if I were a stranger.
My smile wavered. "Johnny?"
He grabbed me by my wrist, pulling me toward him, across the bar, holding me there while he kissed me, ravaging my mouth before he let me go. A group of men at a nearby table hooted and whistled, and I felt the blood rush into my face in embarrassment.
But it made Johnny smile. "Come on over to the table and talk to Kerwin," he said to me, squeezing my arm reassuringly, and then he strode off again, back into the crowd.
I tilted my head back, breathing deeply to calm myself, and as I did so, I glanced up at the boxes. One of the curtains was open--someone was watching the show--and that was surprising enough that I looked more closely, and saw it was Charlotte. Charlotte, leaning on the railing as she looked out, except that she wasn't looking at the stage, or at the crowd. She was looking at me, and though I could not see her expression, something about her posture troubled me, and I found myself wondering how long she had been watching. I wondered what she had seen.
I LEFT THAT night before Johnny came out of his office, though I knew I should stay. I thought the hour I'd spent at the table with him and Lyman Kerwin had smoothed away his suspicions, but I should be sure of it. I was stupid to do otherwise.
But then I heard Gideon's voice in my head. "Isn't that always how you get your way, Bina?" and I felt a sick dismay, and instead of staying I hurried to Duncan as he made ready to walk Charlotte home.
"I'm going to McGraw's."
Duncan looked surprised, but he nodded. "Let's go then. It's been a long night."
I felt Charlotte's thoughtful gaze and did my best to ignore it as I went out into the darkness with them, hugging myself against the cold.
"Feels like it might snow," Duncan said, clapping his hands together and glancing up at the sky, which was starless.
"It's cold enough." Charlotte's breath was a little cloud of fog.
When Duncan said good night and left us at the door, I hurried inside, racing up the stairs before her, but she was as quick as I was, and while I stood there, fumbling with my key, she stepped over to me.
"You want me to come in?" she asked softly.
I shook my head. The key slipped annoyingly through my fingers, falling to the floor. She bent to pick it up before I could.
"I don't understand you. What the hell is going on? What happened with Johnny? Who was that man?"
"What man?"
"The one you were talking to at the bar."
My vision blurred. I wiped angrily at my eyes. "You and Johnny and your suspicions. I've grown tired of the both of you."
"I ain't mistaking the way you talked to him. Is he the man Robert left you with the other day at the church?"
She was relentless. I grabbed my key from her hand and shoved it into the keyhole, twisting it. "Leave me alone!" I said viciously. "Why can't you both just leave me alone?"
She stepped back; I felt her surprise and her dismay and I didn't care. I went into my room and nearly slammed the door shut in her face, and then I leaned back against it, regretting already what I'd done, nearly turning again to open it, to apologize, to call her back--
And say what?
Do what?
I waited until I heard her footsteps recede, until I heard the open and close of her own door, and then I undressed quickly, leaving the candle unlit, and stood there in the freezing cold because as long as I was cold I could think of nothing else. Not the dismay I felt over Charlotte and Johnny. Not my secrets. Not how quickly I'd promised him that I would practice with him tomorrow, despite my resolution to stay away, despite everything--as if I'd only been waiting for him to force me to do what my own heart longed for.
CHAPTER 21
I t had snowed during the night, as Duncan had predicted, enough to cover the rooftops and dust the trees like sugar, and the clouds were gone, the sun shining without heat, the sky a pale, thin blue.
The mud was frozen and hard, the puddles turned to ice, and ramps and boardwalks were slick and slippery as I made my way to Gold's. It was beautiful in a stark and harshly bright way, and the sun sent such a brilliant glare upon the ice and the street and the harbor that the world before me seemed a sheet of fire.
The moment I saw the restaurant, with its hanging sign and its glassed front windows, the apprehension I'd been burying all morning rose again. Determinedly, I opened the door, hearing the tinkle of the bell above my head. It was late enough that the place was not full, but I would have spotted him immediately in any case. He was sitting at a table, a cup of coffee before him, smoking as he read the eight pages that served as Seattle's newspaper.
He glanced up as I came inside. When I sat across from him, he gestured with the paper. "They mention your box-house in here."
I was hardly in the mood for idle conversation, but I made the vain attempt. "What do they say about it?"
"Why, that it's a nest of sin, just like all the others. They want to shut it all down."
"That will work until they need to pay for street repairs."
He closed the paper and stubbed out his cigarette on the table. "What a cynic you are."
"I've learned from the best."
The cook, Tommy, came out from the kitchen. He wiped his hands on his grease-stained apron as he approached. "Klahowya, Miss Olson."
"Klahowya. A cup of coffee, please, Tommy."
"Nothing else?" Gideon asked.
I shook my head. "I'm not hungry."
"I don't want you swooning." To Tommy, he said, "Bring her a ham steak and some potatoes. I'll have the same."
Tommy glanced at me in question. I waved my hand dismissively. "Whatever he says." When Tommy left, I muttered, "Always whatever he says."
Gideon smiled.
I said, "We shouldn't have come here."
"Why? Is the food so bad?" He took a sip of coffee.
"People know me here."
"What of it?"
"They'll see me with you."
"What does it matter if we don't give them something to note? As long as you can keep from ravishing me on the table--"
"You're not amusing," I said. "We should have gone somewhere else."
"I offered my room."
"Not there."
"Afraid I'll seduce you again?"
"Keep your voice down. You're provoking. I'm nearly ready to change my mind about all this."
"You're the one who's provoking," he said, leaning across the table, his eyes flashing. "It's waiting for what you want that you can hardly bear. You wanted to sing that music so badly you were shaking. You wanted me just as much. You still do."
I jerked back, rising from my chair so quickly it fell over. The crack of it on the floor was like a shot in the small room. I felt the sudden silence, the curious glances.
Gideon gave me a smug look. Beneath his breath, he said, "If they didn't notice us before, they do now."
Tommy stepped from the kitchen. "You all right, Miss Olson?"
I glanced around, smiling weakly. "Yes. My ... my skirt caught--"
Gideon rose and came around the table, righting the chair. "Sit down," he said quietly.
I did, though I was trembling now. Gideon went back to his seat. Tommy brought out our breakfast and my coffee, and I looked down at the ham, swimming in grease, and the potatoes which were shining with it, and thought I might be sick.
"Eat." Gideon pointed to my plate with his knife. "You've lost all your color."
I pushed the plate away. "I can't."
"A few bites, Bina. Please. I won't provoke you any more."
"Don't make promises you can't keep."
He sliced into his ham. "What I can promise is that you'll be more impossible than you already are if you don't eat something. I remember that well enough."
"I think I would vomit if I ate just now."
"You will if you don't," he pointed out. Then he looked at me and sighed. "Some potatoes. Please."
Obediently, I picked up my fork. I took one bite. Despite their greasy coating, the potatoes were good, crispy and salty, and the moment I ate one my hunger returned. I felt him watching me for a moment, solicitous as a mother hen, and grimly I kept eating, and finally he looked to his own meal, and I relaxed. I was halfway through the ham when he spoke again.
"We'll need a piano."
I looked up, a forkful of ham poised at my mouth. "Oh. Yes, of course."
"There's one at your boxhouse."
"No," I said quickly. "Not there."
"Why not?"
"If we're to do this, I want it kept secret."
"Afraid Langford will discover how you've been lying to him?"
I looked at him in stunned surprise.
He put down his fork and pushed away his empty plate. "What does he know? Anything?"
Mutely, I shook my head.
"You want it to stay that way?"
"Gideon, please. You can't--"
"Then find me another piano," he said.
"There--there's one at the church."
"Could you persuade them to let us use it?"
"Persuade them?" I asked sharply. "How do you mean?"
"I meant only that you should ask them, Sabine. Just ask them."
I felt foolish then, too sensitive, and I bent my head to cover my embarrassment and picked up my coffee. "I will."
WHEN I LEFT him, I went not to the Palace, but to Trinity Church. Mr. Anderson was kind and understanding when I asked if I could use the piano for a few hours each day, and when I requested that he keep it secret, he assumed I was planning a surprise for Charlotte, and I didn't disabuse him. The piano had been moved to a storage room to keep it safe from the construction in the nave, but I assured Mr. Anderson I would not be inconvenienced, and his pleasure over my desire to use it rang in my ears as I left the church and made my way back to the Lava Beds. The lie I'd told him was equally loud. But through it all was the anticipation I'd been afraid of, that fierce, unrelenting joy.
CHAPTER 22
T hat night, I saw each time Charlotte meant to search me out, and I deliberately disappeared. I kissed Johnny when he told me that Kerwin had decided to join the circuit, and pretended nothing had changed. I felt guilty for both those things, but all I could think of was the next morning, and when it finally came, as cold and bright as the day before, I forgot everything in my rush to the New Brunswick.
The reflection of the sun glowed through the lobby windows, bouncing off the spittoons and catching upon the floorboards. I hurried past the man at the desk before he had time to ask if he could help me. When I was at number ten, I rapped impatiently at the door.
It opened almost immediately, as if he'd been waiting. The sun was too bright behind him where it came in through the window, turning the smoke rising from his abandoned cigarette into a glowing fog so it looked as if he stood in a hazy box of light. He wore only an undervest of wool flannel and trousers that hung low upon his hips--too large now, with how thin he was. His feet were bare, and there was the shine of sweat on his skin.
Too sharply, I said, "Get dressed. We've the piano now if we want it, and I only have a few hours before I'll be missed."
"Come in. I need only a moment."
I stepped inside, and he closed the door, and deliberately I stayed there beside it, not allowing myself to look at him as he caught up a shirt from the chair and shrugged into it. The bed was unmade--best not to look there--and there was music spread on the desk--definitely not there either, and finally I looked down at the floor and tapped my foot impatiently.
True to his word, he was ready quickly. He gathered up the music and tied the folio shut, shoving it beneath his arm, taking up his cigarette. When we were outside again, I breathed deeply in relief.
He didn't miss it. His glance was amused. "Almost too enticing for you, Bina?"
"I don't know what you mean," I said stiffly.
"Who knows what would have happened if I'd taken another five minutes? I confess I was tempted to find out."
"I'll practice with you, but that's all."
He gave me a sideways glance as he drew on his cigarette. "Is that so?"
I was flustered, ill at ease. "I can't leave everything just because you've found me."
"Ah, that's right. You have a new life now."
"Yes."
He threw his cigarette to the ground. "Sabine Conrad, singing in a church choir. Christ, it staggers the imagination. Your brother would never believe you've chosen to throw it all away."
We crossed the throat. A wagon was overturned, feathers everywhere, chickens squawking about, pecking disorientedly at the mud while other drovers, stopped completely by the mess, hurled obscenities at the driver.
I stepped around a tottering chicken. "Barret would be glad. He hated the life we lived."
"No," Gideon said. "He loved the life we lived. It was me he hated."
"I always wondered what you did to him. You were the closest of friends once."
"Hmmm." The folio of music slipped a little beneath his arm, and he shoved it back. "How old were you when we first went on tour?"
"Sixteen. As if you didn't know quite well."
"Sixteen, and sent off with two young men to watch over you--one of whom wasn't even a relative--with hardly a backward glance."
"You were family. You were my sister's fiance."
"I'd never made her an offer."
"Everyone assumed you would. It had been two years."
"S
he perhaps made more of it than it was. I was hardly faithful to her, and she knew it."
"But it served your purposes well enough to make the rest of us think you were," I said acidly. "You're not so honest as you pretend."
