Lawless (87 page)

The moment the townspeople left, Miss Ruthven again collared Bascom and yelled her complaint. In the first tavern scene, Eleanor had been sitting upstage near a cutout window. She’d done her best to pantomime the part of a lively, convivial rustic. Too convivial! Miss Ruthven screamed to the manager. Eleanor had deliberately upstaged her—and then done miserably in her own part.

Eleanor tried to apologize and tell Miss Ruthven the first crime was unintentional. The actress turned her back. She threatened to quit the company and return to New York to accept an ingénue role unless Bascom discharged Eleanor, who by then was ready to burst into tears.

Abruptly, Dan Prince came lurching onstage, his neck still stained by his blackface makeup. Rings of it surrounded his red-rimmed eyes as well. He could barely stand upright as he passed Leo Goldman. He gave the young man an affectionate pat, then moved on to Eleanor and put his arm around her. He acted drunk but he sounded sober.

“Addie, shut your mouth. We all know—that is, those of us who are experienced in this troupe know—that you insist on initiating all newcomers. Very well, you’ve done it. Miss Kent was brilliant in rehearsal and rotten onstage. You’ve had the same experience a hundred times, I’ll wager. So let her alone and stop those silly threats. You know full well that no New York manager is going to hire you to play an ingénue any more than he’s going to hire me to play a romantic lead.”

He glowered. So did she. Then Miss Ruthven whirled and stamped offstage. Prince squeezed Eleanor again, belched softly, and staggered away. That ended the battle, but she suspected the war would continue.

There on the swaying platform, Eleanor asked herself whether it was worth staying in the company and struggling against Miss Ruthven’s obvious enmity. She just didn’t know. In one evening, she’d lost her enthusiasm for trouping. The applause from the audience seemed ludicrous in view of the production’s excesses, miscastings, and mistakes. The scenery showed its age. So did the costumes. Altogether, Bascom’s was a third-rate troupe. No, tenth-rate—or worse.

She gazed at the starry arch of sky in a forlorn way, letting the night wind spread her hair like a dark flag again. She felt small. Frightened. She wanted to go home—

The door of her car crashed open. In terror, she pressed against the rail. For a moment she saw no one in the dark rectangle. But she was certain it was the troupe’s proprietor, come to find and discharge her.

A cloud of whiskey fumes floated out, followed by Daniel Prince in a quilted dressing gown with a large hole in one elbow.

He shut the door behind him. A sudden sway of the train hurled him sideways. Eleanor shrieked softly, grabbed the dressing gown and kept Prince from tumbling down the steps and over the chain to the rocky embankment.

“Mmm,” Prince muttered. “Damn rough roadbed. Guess I’d better hang on.”

He reached for the rail and missed. On the next attempt, Eleanor guided his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, using the words as the cue for sliding his left arm around her shoulders. He felt her stiffen. “Martha woke me. She heard you leave the car and thought I should see whether you were all right.” He was sounding surprisingly sober all at once. “Care to tell me your troubles?”

“I was awful in the play, Mr. Prince.”

He thought a moment. “I couldn’t agree more. But as I told Addie, it’s happened to every actor. As you gain experience, you’ll learn to save yourself in rehearsal so there’ll be energy left for the performance. You shouldn’t worry too much. The audience didn’t go so far as to throw things. Only your colleagues knew how really bad you were,” he finished with a chuckle that took the sting from the remark.

“Well,” Eleanor replied, “I don’t know whether I’ll be around long enough to learn from my mistakes.”

“Mmm,” he said again. “Are you homesick?”

“Very.”

“So Martha and I suspected. I hope that will pass. After a night or two, you’ll be splendid as Little Eva, take my word. Even Goldman won’t be half bad once he learns how to use makeup to age himself. Handsome boy, Goldman.”

“Mr. Prince, I don’t mean to offend you, but except for the scenes when you or your wife were onstage, the whole show was terrible. The audience knew it, too.”

He digested that. “Of course they did. But they still enjoyed themselves. They helped create the illusion that they were witnessing a passable performance. We created the illusion that we were presenting one—and more important, we sustained it afterward. You’ll find that actors are superb at convincing themselves they were grand when they weren’t at all. You have a candor that’s refreshing, Eleanor”—he squeezed her shoulder—“and you do have talent. I, by contrast, shall never be a performer of the first magnitude. I might have had some chance at one time, before certain—appetites of mine got the better—well, never mind that. Merely let it be said that I do have an eye for spotting talent in others. Even more of an eye than old Horace.”

“Who?”

“Horace. Bascom. That’s his real name.”

It struck her as funny, somehow. She laughed, and Prince went on. “When Horace auditions females, he tends to be mesmerized by bustlines and speculations about who might be willing to warm his bed.” There was an odd undertone of disgust in the actor’s voice. His eyes drifted to the passing hills. “This time Horace chose wisely—as regards ability, I mean to say. I was genuinely impressed by your reading at the rehearsal. I do believe that with the proper guidance and a few strokes of good fortune, within ten or twelve years you can be an actress who is respected and sought after by the leading producers and managers. I’d even go so far as to say you might well be one of the reigning ladies of the American stage.”

For several moments she couldn’t speak. And then she could only think of something hopelessly inane. “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Prince.”

“Kindness has nothing to do with it, my dear. I told you the truth. If you do achieve what I think you can achieve, limitless possibilities will be open to you. The most important, I suppose, would be in connection with a marriage partner.”

She wanted to tell him she had no interest in that sort of thing. But she didn’t want to interrupt and perhaps hurt his feelings.

“You’ll be able to do much more than select from one or two gentlemen of promising but unrealized potential. You’ll have a flock of ’em after you. Men who’ve already made their marks. Piled up fortunes, or gotten hold of the reins of political power. It won’t be a case of too narrow a choice, but too wide a one. And it all comes from making the stage your conquered province. You can do it. You have the beauty. I am now satisfied that you have the talent. The only thing lacking—indeed, the ingredient even more essential than natural ability—is ambition. Without it, you’ll never reach the pinnacle. With it, you’ll be there while you’re still young and vigorous enough to enjoy it.”

It was a dazzling prospect, and his sincerity almost convinced her it was a realistic one. But she didn’t want a husband, ever. She especially didn’t want a husband who was a Congressman or a stockbroker. She only cared about one person, and she hardly dared admit that to herself—

Prince took her silence for suspicion.

“Believe me, there’s no ulterior motive behind all I’ve said. Indeed, I shall be happy to look after you in a most fatherly fashion, and see that Bascom doesn’t drive you wild with his pawings and slaverings. Has he started?”

“Oh, just a bit. I fended him off, though.”

“Good. It isn’t hard.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Horace is really quite a decent fellow. God-awful actor, but a decent fellow. As soon as you’ve discouraged him once or twice, he’ll be off chasing some skirt he’s spied in the audience. How he keeps it up at his age is beyond me. Just be assured, my dear—I have no interest in you as a bed warmer.”

“I’ve never worried about that,” she told him truthfully. “You and Mrs. Prince seem very happily married.”

His laugh was touched with cynicism. “We are. In our profession, marriage is a great convenience. Two can eat more cheaply than one. Martha and I constantly help one another with lines, and with interpretations—we fix each other’s costumes—it’s an ideal arrangement. As for romantic inclinations”—he shrugged—“mine do not lie in the direction of the female sex.”

The statement had an aggressive ring to it, as if he were deliberately defying her conventional notions of morality. And in truth, she was shocked. She’d heard of men who felt as he did. His thoroughly masculine manner had deceived her—though come to think of it, she’d noticed him being almost excessively cordial to Leo ever since the troupe left New York. She hid her feelings. The tension went out of the moment.

Musing, he went on. “But if I have any suspense passion, it’s for the applause. I see the same worn, shabby backdrops that you do. I stand in the wings and watch Nicolai misbehave in front of several hundred people and I think, my God, this is a profession for madmen, and the people are equally mad to pay fifty cents to view such a debacle. But then the final curtain approaches, and I ride to heaven in my gold car, and the sound that comes swelling up from the house makes me quite willing to deceive myself for the rest of my life. Deceive myself into believing this tawdry existence is beautiful. That it’s art. That it matters. You, though—”

Another squeeze. This time she managed to stay relaxed.

“You won’t have to practice that kind of deception when you’re my age. Before long, you’ll leave Horace and Addie and the rest of us far behind.”

Suddenly the door opened. Prince quickly lowered his arm. “Oh, Goldman. Good evening,” he said rather stiffly.

Eleanor was embarrassed. So was Leo. “Good evening—ah—I was only looking for Eleanor—excuse me—”

Prince waved. “No, come out, come out. I’m just leaving.”

Leo hesitated, then moved past him to stand near Eleanor. The older man added, “Make sure she doesn’t stay out here too long, my boy. We don’t want her coming down with a sore throat or chilblains.”

Eleanor leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He blinked and reached for the handle of the door. The train swayed on its way around a long curve. Prince lost his balance. Leo grabbed his arm.

“Don’t fall, sir.”

With a look so intense, it made Leo glance away, Prince patted his hand and then disengaged. “Oh, no, my dear boy,” he said with a little smile. “That happened many years ago.”

He touched two fingers to his brow—a salute that somehow had great panache despite the hour and the setting. Then he turned, opened the door, and stumbled as he went inside. “Goddamn it,” they heard him mutter as he disappeared, “I hate spoiling an exit.”

“Are you all right, Eleanor?”

“My,” she said, “I seem to have my share of guardians this evening.”

“It’s very late. Almost dawn, I’ll bet. Prince wasn’t—bothering you, was he?”

“I think he’s the last person who’d ever try that.”

“I’m not so sure.” Leo rubbed his upper arms slowly; he’d donned an old, faded overcoat on top of his nightshirt. His feet were bare, like hers. “I was worried when you came out here by yourself. Then Prince trailed you and I got even more worried.”

“Were you lying in your berth listening?”

A nod, a rueful smile. “I couldn’t sleep either. I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“You.”

She tingled, hearing that word—and suddenly she realized her fear of affection had weakened ever since her reconciliation with her father. It was as if that moment had shattered some invisible chain. Just a moment ago, she’d kissed Dan Prince and not even thought twice.

Still, she remembered how the men who’d come to the house had hurt her. A tightness spread through her loins and up into her breasts. She sensed that a crisis had come—one that Leo could know nothing about.

Nor did she dare tell him. Instead, she said, “I was doing some thinking too. I played my part so badly in Albany, I was actually thinking of resigning from the troupe and going home. Mr. Prince encouraged me to stay—”

“Good!”

“—and I decided I had to because it’s wrong to be a quitter. People in our family just don’t do it.” All at once she felt incredibly tired. “We’d better get some rest, Leo. We have to play Syracuse tomorrow nigh—no, tonight. It’s already Tuesday, isn’t it?”

She started to move by him to the door. She didn’t trust herself out here alone with Leo. She knew how he felt, and if she broke down, it would only lead to—

His hand closed gently on her forearm. She started to protest, then saw by starlight that his mouth had set in that determined way.

He said softly, “Before you go, I want to tell you one thing. I thought you were wonderful tonight.”

“Oh, Leo, I wasn’t.”

“Then we disagree.”

“I was so afraid—”

“Of what?”

“Everything.”

His face was suddenly very close. And there were delicious feelings in her arm where he held her. The tightness was melting, and no matter how she warned herself about the danger, she didn’t seem to care about it. The starlight, Prince’s reassuring words, Leo standing so close and touching her so tenderly—all conspired to allay her fears and leave her open to a flood of wondrously new emotions.

“You mustn’t be afraid of anything, Eleanor,” he said. “Not of yourself, and not of me. I know things have hurt you in the past. I don’t know what they are, I just see it in your eyes sometimes. But you mustn’t be afraid of me, because I love you, and I have since that day I saw you at the Academy. I’d die before I’d hurt you intentionally—I’d die if I hurt you accidentally, too. I’m going to make you love me. I never thought we’d be together on this tour, but now that we are, I swear I’m going to make you love me as much as I love you.”

Then his head blocked the stars as he bent to kiss her.

For the first few seconds she was terrified. She tasted the warmth of his lips, and felt their gentleness; felt how lightly, almost respectfully he held her with just one arm resting over her shoulder. The fear faded.

She slid her arm around him, drew away just a little and said in a hushed voice, “Do you know, I think you might.”