A Song Across the Sea (22 page)

Her manner toward Tara changed too, much to Tara’s sorrow. At first Kathleen came often to her friend’s room, to cry and talk about James. Or, she’d join Tara and Lotte for shopping expeditions and streetcar rides. But by early September, Kathleen started to avoid Tara, and Tara could easily guess why. She was the one who’d brought Sheila here, introducing a disruptive element into the calm and convivial atmosphere that had previously reigned over the boarding house. She couldn’t blame her friend for turning against her.

Perhaps she and Sheila should move to other lodgings. One thing Tara could not do was to quit her job at the theater, although more and more frequently it gave Sheila a convenient excuse to hover around James, on the pretext that she’d come to see Tara.

The unpleasant and protracted episode did serve one purpose. It distracted Tara, keeping her from dwelling on the fact that Reece’s wedding date was drawing ever closer.

•  •  •

The two dozen blood-red roses that arrived backstage bore a card with a cryptic message on it: “See you after the show.” It was signed: An Old Friend.

Tara was mystified. She often received flowers and bouquets from gentlemen admirers in the audience, but the note seemed to be from someone she knew. Who could possibly have sent these?

“They’re lovely,” Sally commented. “Have you been holding out on us? Secretly seeing some man?”

Even Roxanne was impressed. “They’re a lot classier than the cheap nosegays I usually get from these jokers. I’ll bet they cost a bundle. Whoever this guy is, you’d better keep him.”

There was only one man she wanted flowers from, and they were not from him. They couldn’t be. But what if…? She rubbed rouge onto her cheeks, trying to stop her mind from exploring the fantasy. What if Reece’s approaching wedding—only two weeks away now—had jolted him to the realization that it was Tara he loved? He’d broken off his engagement with Miriam and sought Tara out to make amends and declare is love. Right now, he was sitting out front, waiting for her to go on.

“You’re daft,” she muttered sternly to herself.

“What?” asked Sally, sitting next to her. In the lighted mirror, Sally transformed her rather small, nut-brown eyes into dramatic pools of glamour with the ebony outlines she painted on, as skilled as any artist.

“Just thinkin’ out loud.” It would never happen that way, anyway. Would never happen at all. Tara had best put Reece out of her mind and get on with her life. She finished applying a dusting of translucent powder to her face and went out to wait in the wings for her turn on stage.

Much later, spent from her performance, Tara sat again in front of the dressing room mirror. She dipped a cotton ball into a jar of cold cream and used it to remove the stage makeup from her face. With her hair tied back out of the way with a crimson ribbon and her skin pink and tingly from its recent cleansing, she looked even younger than her eighteen years. And yet…as she examined her face in the mirror, she could see changes.

Bold cheekbones highlighted naturally by subtle shadows drew one’s eye downward toward full lips curved in an ironic smile. Her eyes—fringed with lacy lashes the same chestnut color as her hair—were elegantly framed by dark, well-defined brows. Beneath the untroubled, sapphire surface of her eyes she kept her secrets. One could discern, in their depths, the disappointments and triumphs of the last few years, if one looked long enough. People lost to her forever. New friends found. The terror in the cold waters around the Titanic, hunger and uncertainty on the streets of New York, and finally, vaudeville—her home, her salvation. Whatever adversity or disillusionment she faced in the future, she’d survive it all as long as she could perform.

The reflection of an adult stared back at her from the mirror, but she felt like a child, further away than ever from fathoming what went on between men and women. She untied the crimson ribbon and shook her hair free, so that it rippled in burnished curls down her back.

A face appeared above hers in the mirror.

“You! What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been in New York for some time. I’m doing quite well, as it were.”

She turned around on her stool to face Muldoon directly. He presented a prosperous façade. He wore a brown tweed button-down suit and fashionable derby. The hand resting on the carved eagle’s head topping a knotty cane was studded with beaten gold rings, and gold-plated cuff links winked on the starched white cuffs protruding from his jacket sleeves.

“You’re the last person I expected to see,” she said icily. She might have added: “Or
wanted
to see.”

“Really? I knew we’d renew our acquaintance sometime.” He settled into a wicker chair, looking as if he meant to stay for awhile. He gestured toward her costumes, hanging in a nearby closet. “You’re doing rather well yourself, I’d say. A vaudeville star. Who could have predicted that little Tara McLaughlin would someday be singin’ on the stages of New York City?”

“I think you should leave now, Mr. Muldoon. I can’t imagine why you took the trouble to find me. I’ve nothin’ to say to you.”

“You’ve a curious way of thankin’ me for the flowers.”

“You should have saved your money. Now please leave.”

Tara faced the mirror again. She seized the tortoise-shell brush from the dressing-table and began to brush her hair with jerky, vigorous strokes.

He leaned toward her, unpleasantly close. “Now that’s not very grateful. I’ll give you a chance to do better when you have dinner with me tonight.”

“You cheeky sot! Go, before I have you thrown out! There was nothin’ between us in Ireland, and there’ll be nothin’ between us here. Your spankin’ new clothes don’t fool me for an instant. I’ll wager you’re still the same law-breakin’ scoundrel you were when I last saw you, and I’ll have nothin’ to do with you!”

He stood up suddenly, tore the brush from her grasp and hurled it against the wall, then grabbed her roughly by her upper arms and hauled her to her feet.

“D’ya think you can dismiss me, as if I were no more than a lowly servant and you some fine lady? Now that you’re so high and mighty, you think you’re too good for me? I’m a man of substance in America, you ignorant girl. I have many connections in high places. You’d be smart not to make an enemy of me.”

She tried not to show how much his quicksilver turn of temper frightened her.

“If you don’t leave, I’ll have you thrown out.”

He brought his face close to hers. “You’re just as beautiful as I remembered. And as cold-hearted. But I know how to change that, I do.”

He pulled her toward him in a clumsy embrace. She put her hands on his chest and tried to shove him away, but the arm wrapped around her was like iron. He grabbed her chin and tilted it upwards, pressing his lips against hers. She wanted to gag at the sensation.

“Oh, dear. Are we…interrupting?”

Muldoon released her suddenly and Tara looked toward the open doorway in consternation. The cloyingly sweet voice that had made the inquiry belonged to, of all people, Miriam Sedgewell. Miriam’s knowing smile made Tara’s discomfiture even more acute. The other girl obviously felt that she’d interrupted a tender little love scene.

Miriam was adorned in the latest fashion sensation from Paris, whose designers, this season, were mad for all things Oriental. Miriam’s close-fitting jade gown artfully hugged the curves of her perfectly proportioned figure.

Reece cleared his throat awkwardly. Had he seen the near-kiss? Of course he must have.

“We just wanted to tell you…how much we enjoyed the show.” His expression was hard to read. “You really were wonderful, Tara. I had no idea you sang so beautifully.”

Miriam laughed gaily. “I’m glad to see that you’re fully recovered from our little automobile mishap.” She looked conspiratorially at Muldoon. “I suppose she told you all about that?”

Muldoon didn’t answer.

Miriam turned toward Tara. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your young man?”

“He was just—”

Muldoon quickly extended his hand toward Miriam. “Seamus Muldoon.” He bent over and kissed Miriam’s hand, a strangely courtly gesture. “It’s a pleasure, Miss.”

“I’m Miriam Sedgewell. And this is my fiancé, Reece Waldron. You’re very charming, Mr. Muldoon. I can see why Tara is so taken with you. From your accent, I can tell that you’re a countryman of hers. I suppose you knew each other back in Ireland?”

Muldoon shot a significant glance Tara’s way. “We were very close.”

The impudence of the man! Letting Miriam and Reece think that he and Tara were a couple! But Tara had no intention of enlightening Miriam as to the true state of affairs. This unwelcome visitor from the past was a problem she’d deal with herself. She wouldn’t humiliate herself by explaining things to Miriam and Reece.

Besides, she unexpectedly liked the way Reece was studying Muldoon, as if sizing up a competitor.

Miriam focused her attention again on Tara. “Ever since we met that day, Miss McLaughlin—collided, I should say—I’ve pestered Reece with all sorts of questions about you. When he told me you were in vaudeville, why, I just had to come and see for myself.”

“I hope you enjoyed the show,” Tara said woodenly.

“Oh, I did. It was so…refreshing. Those darling French poodles that did all those clever tricks! And the singers dressed like giant vegetables were marvelous. Especially the radish. Broadway is really so…staid…compared to vaudeville. Oh, I’d almost forgotten. We also wanted to invite you to our wedding.”

Reece wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Tara realized that the wedding invitation was Miriam’s idea, not his. She’d almost rather sail on the Titanic again than watch him exchange vows with Miriam. The very thought of attending the nuptials gave her a queasy chill, but she continued to act out her part. She was, after all, a performer.

“That’s very kind of you.”

“You’ll get a formal invitation, of course. But I wanted to tell you in person.”

So that you could drive the knife deeper into my back, thought Tara. And make sure I got your point.
Reece belongs to you. Hands off.

Had Miriam sensed something—some force of attraction—between Tara and her fiancée?

Before she was aware of his intentions, Muldoon moved closer to Tara and took her by the arm possessively, in a gesture of feigned intimacy. “I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse us now,” he said. “We have a dinner engagement, and we’ll lose our reservations if we’re late.” Muldoon was obviously counting on her reluctance to make a scene in front of Reece and Miriam. How could she deny that they were together, when they’d just been seen nearly kissing?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Reece’s mouth tighten, an angry muscle ripple in his jaw. He was jealous. This charade with Muldoon might be worth it, just to enable her to see that Reece had some feeling for her. Of course she’d end it before she had to go to dinner with Muldoon, in spite of his clever maneuverings.

“A late dinner!” Miriam trilled. “Perhaps we could join you.”

No! Tara hadn’t anticipated this. She scrambled to think of a reply that would effectively quash the idea. Fortunately, Reece himself voted it down.

“I’ve got to be at the airfield early tomorrow morning, Miriam. Maybe some other time.” Did Miriam notice how edgy his tone sounded? It gave Tara some small satisfaction to know that this man was not indifferent to her.

Miriam and Reece departed then, leaving her alone with Muldoon. She removed his hand from her arm as if he were infected with the plague and pointed toward the door.

“Now go!”

He didn’t move. “And you were after bein’ so friendly with me just a wee moment ago.”

“Were you hopin’ to embarrass me in front of me friends? Well, you can see that didn’t happen. Now leave. I want nothin’ more to do with you. Leave before I call for the stagehands. They’re big, burly fellows who love to throw unruly rascals out on their ears.”

His voice, low and guttural, shook with menace. “You think you’re too good for me. I see what kind of rich, fancy friends you prefer. But you belong with me, Tara me girl. We’re from the same place, and we belong together.”

“Out!”

He smirked, turned and was gone.

•  •  •

Tara left the theater by the stage door, which opened onto an alley. She would have preferred to use the main doors at the front of the building, but they’d be locked by now, and she didn’t want to go to the trouble of rounding someone up to unlock them for her. It was only a short stretch of alley, anyway, leading directly to a busy avenue where she could catch a streetcar home.

Her footsteps sounded unnaturally loud to her ears. The weather still held, even though October’s amber early days had already hurried to take their place among the past. The breeze that rustled through the darkness carried no chill breath of approaching winter on it. Dry leaves scudded over the ground, ghostly and weightless.

Somewhere in the distance, a dreadful screeching—eerily like the sound of a newborn baby’s wailing—arose from two tomcats battling over territory. The sound gave her a start, at first, but she quickly identified it and laughed nervously at her own reaction. It wasn’t like her to be so skittery.

She was hit from behind and slammed to the ground so suddenly that the breath was torn from her lungs. Desperately she gasped for air, but her nostrils drew in the dirt into which her face was being violently pressed. Her attacker struggled to turn her over. Stunned, she was able to offer little resistance until she felt the breath return to her.

When she did, she found herself face to face with Muldoon.

“You swine! Let go of me!”

Her angry words were cut off by a bruising, savage kiss. She turned her face away and tried to scream but he clamped his hand over her mouth, pushing down so hard she tasted blood.

“You cold bitch,” he ground out. “Thinkin’ I’m too lowly for the likes of you.” He grabbed her coat and tore it open, popping the buttons off and revealing the russet muslin dress she wore underneath. “You’ll see how quickly I can bring you down to my level. Women are all alike. You’re only good for what’s between your legs.”