Chapter Eleven #2
Blayne Darling was always aware of up-and-coming directors; it was his business to be.
One never knew how the wheel would turn, he always said.
Just as he was always aware of who had money, since he believed that fine feathers made for fine friends in the audience.
And, as he also always said, an actor’s best friends, aside from his prompter and his makeup man, were his acquaintances with investors.
“Your young man is well-known to me,” he’d said, shrugging a shoulder toward Gray when he’d made his only personal aside to her before they’d parted last night.
“He’s not my young man,” she’d answered.
“The more fool you are if he’s not,” he’d laughed.
“He looks as if he wishes to be, and the Dylan family is as rich as Rockefeller—or their friends, the Vanderbilts. And with no foolish prejudices against people in the theater—why, his brother married into it, or rather, took his wife from out of it. Harper’s very well, but Dylan could buy and sell him before breakfast,” he’d added.
“You know I’ll never marry again,” she’d started to say, until the look in his eyes, half-pitying, half-embarrassed for her, reminded her that he hadn’t been necessarily only speaking of marriage.
He was of the theater, after all. He’d never understood her prudishness in such matters, since she’d been born and bred to the life backstage.
He never guessed it was just because of that life, that she’d such a yearning for everything that wasn’t backstage—everything that was deemed good and proper in that world she longed to be part of, that imperfectly seen real world that lay beyond the footlights.
Now, sensitive questions forsaken, if not forgotten, Blayne Darling set himself to entertain them, and so they finished their Thanksgiving dinner with laughter.
He told story after story, acting them out wonderfully, and when they’d done and were trying to stand and waddle from the table, it was difficult to tell who was more pleased—the host or his audience, which by now included all the diners in the room.
It was as they were standing, saying good night to the lesser guests at the table, that the moment came when Hannah realized her father wouldn’t be making many more farewells to her for a while.
“How do, Dylan,” a ruddy-faced, middle-aged gentleman said as he came up to Gray.
“Saw you from ‘cross the room, but didn’t want to interrupt. We’ve got to do some talking about the Erie, son, and maybe the Oregon-Pacific lines as well.
And how-de-do, Blayne. Haven’t seen you since I was last in New York.
But I didn’t see you with such a little sweetheart on your arm then.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her all night, thought she was Gray’s handful though…
just his style. But too young for you, old man, and far too pretty. ”
“Pretty? Why, where are your eyes, John?” the ruddy gentleman’s friend asked, eyeing Hannah avidly. “A peach is what she is.”
“Gentlemen,” Blayne Darling said, “I present my daughter, Hannah, to you. I won’t give you their names, my dear,” he said to her, “they’re too crafty, by far.”
“Your daughter? Good heavens,” the first gentleman exclaimed. “Hard to believe, you always spoke of a child. Ho. Some child. Hand him down more than his walking cane, spectacles are in order, old man.”
“Just so, time flies,” Blayne said lightly, for he was never at a loss for words, even when he was, as he gazed at Hannah with something smoldering in his expressive eyes, something less than pride and more than embarrassment.
Whatever it was was gone in a moment, covered over with an expression of great affection.
And then, of course, immediately after, it turned out that there was that appointment he had that he’d almost entirely forgotten.
He apologized to one and all, held Hannah’s hand, and gave her a kiss on the forehead, very much in the style of Lear with Cordelia, but feeling, to Hannah, more like the bishop sending Joan to the stake with his blessing. Then he left them.
Kyle was quick, but he’d an entire, if diminished, theatrical company to say good night to, and so it was the work of a moment for Gray to steer Hannah out the door, around a corner, and into a darkened niche in the almost deserted lobby, behind a potted palm and near the stair.
But whatever he was planning was changed by what he saw in her face, and then trembling on her eyelashes.
“No, don’t,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and holding her close. “Ah, please don’t. It isn’t worth it. It mightn’t even be the way it seems.”
She let him gather her up close, and she laid her cheek against his chest, all sense of propriety forgotten in the comforting cradle of his arms. Because she knew it was just the way it seemed, and nothing would ever change that or her father, and so it was beyond good to be held so closely by someone who cared.
She stayed silent, content just to stand so, breathing in the good clean soap and spice scent of him, feeling the safety of his embrace, comforted even beyond what her hurt had been.
She stayed so for a long while, until the sudden sound of his voice reminded her to wonder just what it was that her comforter cared about.
“Lord,” Gray breathed into her ear, “what a mass of bones you are! It’s like holding a mackerel.
No one girl could have so many…why,” he exclaimed as he ran his hand slowly down her side, “it’s all whalebones!
How many whales have died in order to hold you together, I wonder, and why?
when you seem so nicely put together without them, or so I’d think, from what I’ve seen…
Oh,” he said as she pulled away, “am I not supposed to see what I feel? or feel what I see?” he asked innocently, delighted to see the flush of anger he’d provoked replace the sick look of shock she’d worn when he’d first taken her into his arms. She glared at him.
And then relaxed, and smiled a wan smile.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “It was good of you. I needed a shoulder to lean on just then.”
“You can have more, just now,” he said, and took her back into his arms.
She didn’t move so much as a fraction away, but a second before his lips met hers, she spoke again.
“No,” she said, “I can’t. Please, no.”
It took a heartbeat more, but he did raise his head. Only so far as to look her directly in the eye.
“You could have more than that, too,” he said quietly, as she tried to look away from his keen blue stare, and failed.
“Now and later. Because I don’t just mean for an hour, or a day, or even a year.
I’m not at all sure what I mean yet, except that I mean you no harm, believe me.
I’ve never said as much before to any girl and… ”
“No,” she said again, closing her eyes this time. “I can’t and won’t…please, believe me, for all that I’ve led you on, I haven’t meant to. I simply couldn’t help it, but I must now, because I can be nothing more to you.”
“It’s not what you think,” he said. “I…”
Whatever he was going to say was ended by Royal’s loud, imperative call, “Gray? Where are you at? Hey. Gray. Gray?”
Gray stepped out of the shadows and stared at where Royal stood in the center of the lobby, with Peggy at his side.
“Cattle have been called home with sweeter voices,” Gray answered with some annoyance.
“Yeah,” Royal said, his long face alight with excitement as he went on, “but you was nowhere in sight. Got news. Peggy here has done me the honor of consenting to be my wife. Soon as can be. You going to be my best man?”
“I’m not going to let anyone else be,” Gray said, coming forward to shake his friend’s hand, before he placed a light kiss on Peggy’s cheek.
“He’s a good man. Miss Peggy. But I’m not altogether sure he’s good enough for you.
You sure about this? He’s mighty big, but I can out-wrassel him if you want to get away. ”
“Well, of course I know I’m not good enough for her,” Royal said at once, as Peggy began to blushingly protest how sure she was, until she saw Hannah, and then she left off in order to throw herself into Hannah’s outstretched arms, and they hugged hard.
“Lord,” Gray said softly to Royal, as the two women embraced. “That was fast enough. What did you do? Drag her aside, say, ‘Will you?’ and then start hollering for me?”
“Hell, no,” Royal said indignantly. “I told her my mind, and made her my offer. And I kissed her for a spell,” he admitted in low tones, before he picked up his voice and his eyes and stared at Gray, “because I’d a right to, at last. But we ain’t married yet, so I thought it would be better to get her out in the open before much more went on.
She trusts me more than I do. And I got to protect her, that’s the whole idea of it, y’ see. ”
Gray’s expression grew still and thoughtful as he studied his friend’s face.
“Yes. I’ll be your best man,” he finally said, “but I don’t think you need one. Because I don’t think you could do better than yourself, my friend.”
Endings are all important in the theater; finales are considered all the better for being spectacular.
But even they aren’t necessarily the last word, because of the tradition of encores.
And so the Harper troupe’s farewells to each other were long and various and began long before their actual departure did.