Dare to Love (64 page)

“You made theatrical history tonight, Elena. I mean it. San Francisco will never forget this night. You've always been good, always knew how to please your audiences, but tonight you were inspired! I've never seen you dance like that.”

He smiled again and gave me a hug that almost broke my ribs. “I've never been so proud in all my life.” He cocked his head, still grinning. “I've been a beast these past few days, luv.” He lifted his hand and held it out in protest. “No, no, don't contradict me.”

“I wasn't going to.”

“I've been beastly, I know, but I—uh—I've had things on my mind. A couple of problems. That's all been solved now.”

“Indeed.”

He nodded. “I had a talk with Clark a few minutes ago. He wants to extend your engagement. We signed for two weeks. He wants us for another six, and, luv, he's willing to pay a fortune!”

“Is he?”

“Twenty-five thousand a week, and—this is the best part—he'll pay half of it in advance! All we have to do is sign. He's going to draw up the contracts tonight. Six more weeks, luv, and after that he'll probably want us to extend again. We could play San Francisco indefinitely! They love you here. You're not just a dancer, you're a bloody heroine! Before it's all over with they'll probably erect a
statue
of you!”

I sat back down at the dressing table and finished removing my stage make-up, deliberately stalling, listening to that rich, exuberant voice and dreading what I had to do. Anthony had grown eloquent by this time, making sweeping gestures with his arms, his face aglow. I knew further stalling would only make things worse. I put down my hair brush and turned around.

“Hurry up and dress, luv,” he told me. “We're going to celebrate. I reserved a table at Delmonico's. It's the best restaurant in San Francisco, lobster you won't believe. A few chaps from the papers will be there, too. I told them I'd buy 'em some champagne, let 'em ask a few questions.”

“They're going to be very disappointed.”

“Hunh?”

“I'm not going, Anthony.”

He had been so immersed in his own elation that he hadn't noticed my manner. But he noticed now and it worried him. He looked at me apprehensively. I stood up and reached for my reticule.

“Something wrong, luv? You've just had the greatest triumph of your career, and—”

“Something's wrong, yes. I think you might like to have these.”

Reaching into the reticule, I pulled out the notes and the receipt Wayne had given me and handed them to him. Anthony studied them for a moment, and his cheeks turned pale. He looked up at me, shaken, not knowing what to say.

“Your debts have been cleared, Anthony. You don't have to worry any longer. You won't have to press Clark for an advance. Everything's been taken care of.”

“Christ, Elena, I—”

“You don't have to explain anything,” I said coldly.

“Elena, I—Christ, I never meant for you to know. I don't know what came over me. The first night I won a little and I thought—I thought I could keep on winning. I thought I could win enough to pay you back for what I lost in London on those phony stocks. I wanted to make it up to you. I wanted to—”

“It's over, Anthony.”

“You—how did you get the money? How did you—”

“I sold my jewelry,” I said. “A man named Sykes was happy to give me enough for them to pay off your debts.”

“Your jewelry—”

His cheeks were ashen now. His blue eyes were dark with pain, and he shook his head.

“I'm not going to sign a new contract, Anthony. I'll finish this engagement under the terms agreed upon, and then—I don't know what I'll do then, but—”

“Elena—”

“I'm through, Anthony. After this engagement is over I'll never dance again. I'm tired of lonely nights in lonely hotel rooms, tired of playing a role I was never meant to play—”

“You don't mean that. You—you're upset now. Rightfully so. You've got every reason to be upset, but—”

“I've never been calmer in my life.”

“Luv—”

“I mean every word, Anthony.”

He shook his head, unable to believe what he had heard. His eyes were full of silent pleading, and he looked utterly lost, utterly bereft. His splendid attire somehow made him all the more pathetic—the dark suit with gleaming black lapels, the white satin waistcoat and silk neckcloth, so festive, his expression so lost. I thought my heart would break and, for a moment, I longed to take him in my arms and comfort him. There was a long, painful silence, and then he sighed and made an effort to pull himself together.

“I guess that's that,” he said.

“I'm sorry, Anthony.”

“I understand, luv. I don't blame you. You should have dumped me a long time ago. You don't need me. It—it's just that you're all I have.”

He lifted his shoulders in a helpless shrug. A wry, resigned smile appeared on his face as he made a valiant attempt at the old jauntiness.

“Guess the chaps'll have to pay for their own champagne tonight after all. No point in me showing up by myself. Only make matters worse. I'll be seeing you, luv.”

“Where—where will you go?”

“Might as well go back to The Golden Nugget,” he said. “One thing's certain, my luck sure can't get any worse.”

He sighed and left quickly, before I could reply. I stood very still, staring at the door he had closed behind him, and it was one of the worst moments of my life. Several minutes passed. I could hear sounds backstage, hearty voices, laughter, a faint rumbling as the gypsy caravan was moved offstage. Feeling numb, I turned and took down my clothes.

Slowly, I slipped into my petticoat, pulled on my dusty rose silk gown. I sat down at the dressing table and applied a touch of pink to my lips, rubbed a suggestion of rouge onto my pale cheeks. My eyes were dark with grief, so dark they seemed more black than blue, the lids etched with natural mauve-gray shadows.

But now as I stared at myself in the glass, I no longer saw my own reflection. I saw a merry young man lounging in a theater seat, saw his engaging grin and mischievous blue eyes. I saw a fierce bully, prowling a large studio, casting thunderous glances and promising to throttle me if I didn't get the dance right. I saw a handsome rogue with a playful smile as he came naked to my bed and pulled me roughly into his- arms. I tried to shut the images out of my mind, but they continued to haunt me, making the pain all the sharper.

I kept telling myself that I'd done the only thing I could do under the circumstances. But it didn't help. He had looked so forsaken, so lost, and then he had smiled that cocky smile, even as his world collapsed around him. “You're all I have,” he had said. What had I done? What in God's name had I done? I was all he had, he claimed, and it was true. It was true. Anthony was all I had, too, and I had flung him away.

The dressing room door flew open and Millie whirled in, resplendent in a gold silk gown; her golden hair pulled back and worn in dangling ringlets in back. Bradford was right behind her, looking uncomfortable in formal attire. Millie's cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes sparkling. The long gold ringlets bounced as she pulled Bradford into the room.

“I thought we'd
never
make it!” she exclaimed. “Everyone in the immediate area is trying to force their way backstage, matrons in velvet and men with silver hair! Men with more flowers, young men with lovesick eyes! You've never seen such a crush! James had to knock a dozen people down before we could reach the door!”

“Only one or two,” he drawled.

“They're still out there!” Millie continued. “Your carriage is waiting in front of the theater and the horses have already been unharnessed—a dozen men ready to pull you through the streets. There must be at least four hundred people waiting for you to appear.”

“I went and got my buggy,” Bradford said calmly. “I brought it around to the stage entrance in back, just as a precaution. I thought you might not want all that fuss tonight.”

“Thank God.”

“I've never seen anything like it!” Millie vowed. “The whole city's gone mad over you, Elena, and no wonder! You were electrifying! Marvelous! That final number—I still can't get over it!”

She shook her head and glanced around the dressing room.

“Where's Anthony?” she asked.

“He—he left.”

“I'm not at all surprised! Just like him. One of the biggest nights of your life and he disappears! You'd think he could at least take you out to dinner! Not our Anthony! It might cost him a dollar or—”

Millie saw my expression. She cut herself short, changing her manner abruptly. “Is—is something wrong?”

“I'm all right.”

Millie didn't believe me. “You're exhausted,” she said quickly, trying to hide her concern. “Of course you are. It's only to be expected after all that tension and strain. We—James and I will take you back to the hotel.”

“Thank you.”

She took my hand and squeezed it. “Don't just stand there, James! Open the door. Thank goodness the buggy's waiting in back of the theater. You're in no condition to face that mob.”

We left the dressing room, Bradford in front of us, Millie holding my hand firmly. She kept glancing at me with concern as we moved down the hall toward the stage door. Did I look so bad? Was it so obvious? The doorman saw us coming and leaped up to open the door for us. The night air was cool and damp as we stepped outside. I hesitated on the metal step, suddenly unable to move. I gripped Millie's hand so tightly she winced in pain.

“Millie—”

“Elena! My God—”

A premonition swept over me like a dark cloud, engulfing me, and for a moment I thought I might actually faint. Something was going to happen. I felt it in my bones. I felt it in my blood. Through a swirling haze of blackness I saw something dreadful, something bright and blurry and terrible. The sensation was like a physical blow, jolting me, leaving me stunned, and I began to tremble. Millie gathered me in her arms, terrified.

“James!” she cried. And he was suddenly at my side, his arm around my waist.

“I'm all right now,” I said.

“You're sure?”

“I—I just—felt a little weak.”

“Good lord, you gave me a turn!” Millie exclaimed. “I thought you were going to pass out. Your face was white as a sheet, and your eyes—the look in your eyes was absolutely frightening!”

“Shut up,” Bradford said curtly.

He handed her up into the buggy and then helped me up beside her. Millie moved over a bit to give me more room, while Bradford stepped around the back of the buggy and took his place on the other side of her. We could hear the noisy crowd in front of the theater. They were cheering, calling my name.

“We'd better go on down the alley and take the side street,” Bradford said.

As the dappled gray started slowly down the alley, the buggy shook gently from side to side, creaking with each turn of the wheels. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I leaned forward to speak directly to Bradford.

“Do you know how to get to The Golden Nugget?”

“Reckon I do,” he said.

“The Golden Nugget!” Millie cried. “Have you lost your mind? You're going straight back to the hotel!”

I ignored her. “Will you take me there?” I asked.

“If that's where you want to go.”

Millie opened her mouth to protest further, but Bradford silenced her with a stern look. As we pulled out into the street, he reached under the seat and took his gun from its hiding place. He placed it on the seat beside his thigh. Millie recoiled. Though she was very upset, she kept silent. She took my hand and sat back, her gold silk skirt rustling.

Everything would be all right once I found him. I would ask him to forgive me. He would sulk a while, but eventually he would condescend to accept my apology and then he would grin, and put his arm around my shoulder and say ‘We're a team, luv,' and everything would be all right. Later, at the hotel, we would make love and I would hold him to me, hold him fast. He was all I had. Millie was going to marry Bradford, and she would leave. Anthony was all I had.

I loved him. I didn't love him the way I loved Brence—I would never be able to love anyone else that way, but what I felt for Anthony was just as real. He was a thorough rogue, exasperating and mercurial and impossible most of the time, but I loved him just the same. I remembered the premonition, and I squeezed Millie's hand, consumed with fear.

“Please—please hurry,” I begged.

“Can't go any faster down these muddy streets,” Bradford said.

“Are we almost there?”

“It's not much further.”

The sidewalks were crowded as we passed restaurants and saloons, more respectable-looking than they had seemed in the afternoon. Several carriages moved along the street, men on horseback as well. The thick, treacherous mud made our progress agonizingly slow, and it seemed to take us forever to reach the area lined with plush, expensive gambling casinos. Torches in stanchions burned in front of each establishment, illuminating the gaudy façades.

Music spilled out into the street, accompanied by the sounds of revelry. Several men in evening clothes paraded up and down the sidewalks, peering into the windows, trying to select the right place to lose their money. I looked anxiously at the signs and finally spotted The Golden Nugget half a block ahead of us. As the horse trudged forward, I saw the white doors swing open. A tall, slender man in formal attire stepped out, pausing under the portico. He shook his head and reached up to shove a brown wave from his brow, and then he moved over to the edge of the sidewalk, peering up the street.

“There's Anthony,” Millie said.

“Thank God,” I whispered. “Thank God—”

“He's probably lost his last cent,” she remarked. “Honestly, luv, the things you put up with. I'll never understand it if I live to be a hun—”