Chapter Eighteen #2
She looked up from her plate and met his eyes at last. They were as blue and clear as she feared she’d remembered, but filled with sadness now.
“Why did you go back then?” she blurted, staring at him.
“I went to see the wisest man I know—in medicine. An old doctor who put me back together many times. I needed him to do it again. He did.”
She half rose from her seat, because her first impulse was to flee. Embarrassment made her cheeks grow pink, shame brought tears to her eyes, but her training made her sit again, and her talent made her voice calm.
“I see. Do you think he’d like a photograph?
” she asked quietly. “For his records, that is, if not for his curiosity’s sake?
Although I doubt you’d find a photographer willing to take such pictures, even if I’d pose for them.
I’m sorry, he’ll have to wait until I’m dead and have willed my body to science.
I think I’ve done now. Gray, I’d like to leave. ”
“It wasn’t just your problem,” he said as quietly. “It was mine, too.”
She cocked her head to the side, “ ‘Was’? Yes, perhaps it was. But it is no more. I’ve given that up, Gray.
No matter what your wise doctor told you, it is no longer your problem.
Now it’s just mine. Or rather, it isn’t.
No more doctors, no more books—I’m like a child that’s been let out of school, aren’t I?
” she said on a charming laugh. “I’ve chosen the theater.
I’ll make my life there. I want nothing else, ever again.
It doesn’t matter if I do well or not tomorrow night,” she said quickly, cutting him off as he began to speak, “there are other careers in the theater than acting for me. But I’ve decided my future will be in my work, I’ve done with foolish fancies and futile games. ”
“You’ve decided?” he asked softly. “And what about me? I love you, Hannah,” he said. “I’ll never be done with that. Was I…am I simply a futile, foolish fancy to you?”
Her smile faded as he went on, “…By the way, my learned doctor had no answers for me. But talking to him, and only him—and he’s kept secrets deeper than a well could—made me see there was only one answer, one I’d always known.”
She licked her lips and gazed at him, unable to speak another word—if only because a squadron of busboys came to clear the table so that another contingent of them could put a sixth course before them.
“Yes, I think we’ve finished,” Gray said, reaching for his billfold, “at least, here.”
He eyed the platters of fowl and vegetables with such distaste, the restaurant’s host sprang forward to their table.
“We have to talk,” Gray said, ignoring the commotion he’d caused, and the look in his eyes was such that the host relaxed.
It was not the food, after all, that was making the gentleman leave so suddenly; it was only that he was after different delicacies tonight.
It was only that he was clearly in love. And who could blame him?
They got only so far as the curb in front of the chophouse.
“Don’t call a hackney,” Hannah said quickly, as she saw him raise his hand, “I live so close by—we can talk as we walk. I can’t invite you in.
My landlady’s respectable,” she hurried to explain as she saw his arm fall to his side.
“It’s bad enough that I let you in the other nights—she’s been looking at me oddly ever since.
I know you only stayed a few minutes, but I’m in the theater, and she’s not a theatrical landlady…
I promised I’d only give lessons in my rooms during the day, and those with the doors open, but now that I’ve actually taken to the stage,” she said sadly, realizing what she said was truth, “I expect I’ll have to move.
The public may be more accepting of us these days,” she added, shrugging, “but only so long as we don’t live in their houses. ”
They walked down the street as a light snow fell over them. Gray shortened his stride to match the small steps Hannah had to take because of her tightly fitted, bell-shaped skirt. But she walked rapidly because she was cold, and soon was short of breath.
“Of course, when I’m rich and famous I can let far better rooms—anywhere, except in a respectable land-lady’s house,” she puffed, as she clutched her hands together in her muff and tried to ignore the cold of the snow and his eyes, “and at the Player’s Club, that is.
Father belongs there, but even though he’d vouch for me, I belong to one of the only two groups that can never join or stay there: critics and females. But still…”
“This is damned foolish,” he said, interrupting, turning and facing her, making her glad they weren’t under a gaslight, because she couldn’t see his expression clearly.
“It’s cold. Lord, it’s snowing,” he exclaimed.
“Kyle would be right to have my head if I got you pneumonia from this. We’re only a few streets from your house, and we’ve got no place to talk.
I’ve got an apartment, too, one with a fireplace I could roast an ox in, but you can’t go there because I’m a man; I can’t go to your place because you’re a woman—where are we supposed to talk?
In the street, until the snow covers us over?
In your hallway so we can entertain your respectable landlady?
Hannah,” he said in a softer voice, “I need an hour to talk to you. Just that. You don’t have to agree with me, either.
But you’ve got to listen. I’ll claim that much, at least, as my due. ”
When she didn’t answer at once, he watched the flakes settling on her hair and said on a sigh, “Lord, Hannah—at least tell me why you’ve changed toward me.
What did I do this time? Last time it turned out all I did was be a man, and you canceled dinner on me.
This time you seem to be canceling everything.
I thought,” he said, looking down at her and trying to read her expression, “you trusted me. Have I done anything to change that lately? Have I ever?”
She shook her head.
They stood facing each other on a dark downtown street, with only the falling snow to give them illumination.
“I’ll come with you to your place,” she said at last, because he did deserve that much.
If she could give him nothing else, she decided, she’d give him her trust. “I’m freezing,” she admitted on a shaky laugh, as he stood and stared down at her, “and you’re right.
Forget pneumonia—Kyle would kill you if I got the sniffles just before opening night.
I can hide a cough as a sob,” she explained, because he still hadn’t moved, “but there’s no way to hide sniffle or a stuffy nose.
Can you hear me? ‘I lub you, darlinguh, I do,’ ” she mimicked, doing a bit of dialogue with a head cold, and then grew still, hearing the unfortunate line she’d used, fearing he’d take her jest for truth, even if it was.
“Let’s get a cab,” he said.
The lights of the city died behind them the farther they rode uptown.
And the farther they drove, the less they spoke.
She was wondering at her rash offer to come to his rooms. She might think he knew her very well, but the fact was that she was an actress now, and she was going, alone, to a man’s rooms at night.
The idea of what she was doing—the words to describe it, made her forget who she was doing it with and why—and wonder if he would, too.
He knew what she was thinking, but couldn’t think of a thing to say that wouldn’t make it worse, no matter how many times he opened his lips to try.
If he said he wouldn’t try anything, he’d only make her think about what he might try; and then, too, he was no longer sure of what he could promise her, not tonight.
She’d heard about “The Dakota,” and had been as amused by the name as she was impressed by what had been said of it. And so it was awe that kept her silent as they entered the main lobby. Then it was fear and awe that kept her still until they came to his door.
When he rose from his knees after igniting a fire in his fireplace, she went straight to the hearth, drawn by the cheery flames. And then at last she spoke.
“I don’t know if it’s big enough to roast an ox, Gray,” she said, “but it will do for me.”
He let her stay and warm herself. When he returned from hanging up her coat, muff and hat, he watched the firelight play over her. She sensed his presence and turned so the fire could warm her back.
“What a lovely place!” she said. “The ceilings are so high. And the rooms so spacious. Just as everyone says. It’s too bad it’s dark, I hear there’s a splendid view of the park. Does this side face it?”
“No, my bedroom does, do you want to see?” he said.
Then watching her face, relented, and smiled wearily as he added, “If you try to say only the most innocent things you can think of, you’ll find yourself in trouble, Hannah.
Better off talking the truth. I’m sorry you’re so scared to be here.
Tell the truth—I am, too. Does that make you feel any better?
Come on. I’ll light a lot of lamps so you know I can’t sneak up on you, and we’ll sit and talk it out.
Then, if you want, we’ll talk about my apartment and its furnishings, all right? ”
“All right,” she said and sat on a couch close to the fire, smiling back at him, thinking of how well he knew her, and how good he made her feel—before she grew frightened again, just exactly because of it.
She looked anywhere but at him when he sat next to her, because he was so very good to look at, too.
She wasn’t used to seeing men so tanned or scarred, yet on the other hand, all the other men she saw literally paled in comparison to him.
She sat up straight and put her heels and toes together on the floor in front of her, and clasped her hands in her lap.