Authors: Chanse Lowell
She loved the way he always looked at her like he was beyond famished for her.
“How do I even put this contraption on? And won’t I look too heavy for the stage without a corset on? I kept thinking maybe that was why I was never making it on stage. Maybe they thought me too thick around the midsection?”
He laughed. “You, my dear, are nothing short of a visual revelation. I have never seen a curvier woman than you.”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “Please do not flatter for my sake. Lenora is more voluptuous with a much tinier waist than I’ll ever possess.”
His laughter continued on. “Yes, but those breasts.” He tsked. “She shoves cloths in her corset to make them more pronounced. You are never artificially enhanced.”
Her stomach dropped. “You did have her, then?”
“No. I never got that far, but didn’t you see when you were helping her change? It was fairly obvious.”
“I don’t make it a habit of staring at the stage woman’s breasts when I’m helping her change costumes in a whirlwind.”
“That is a polite way of saying you mind your own business.” He chuckled. “Yes—you knew. I can see it in your burning gaze. You knew she was phony in every way possible. That is not even her real hair color.”
Now
she
was laughing. “All right—I did know much of her appearance was put on.”
“See? You have little to fear.” He stroked her cheek, and she leaned into it. “Now, let me help you put this on. Do not think of how you look, only how you feel. I want you to sing on that stage like you’re singing for me, and me alone. I will stand at the back. Project your voice out to me. Playact that we are alone as we are much of the time and that you sing to me of your feelings.”
She nodded, swallowed and leaned into him.
He swept her up in a gentle, all-consuming hug. As he held her and cooed softly about how wonderful she was, her mind raced.
What if she did succeed today? My Lord—that thought was almost as frightening as failing.
She took a shuddering, deep breath, and he released her, then helped her put it on.
His hands were on her chest, adjusting her into this brassiere thing. It was oddly comfortable.
“I expect you to do your vocal warm ups while I proceed to dress you.” He put her tiny knickers on her he had no doubt made specifically for her.
She grinned at him and began her exercises, letting her voice fill the room.
He put on her garter next, and with a seamless transition he had on her stockings, attached them to the garters, and he was setting her dress out.
She brushed her hair while he gathered her boots.
“You will have to adjust to knowing you won’t have the S-bend shape either like the other ladies, but hold your head proud. These fashions are fleeting.” He approached her.
She never stopped singing, even when he was instructing and beaming at her like a madman.
He kept his eyes and smile directed at her. She nodded to acknowledge his words and kept going—working her way up the octave.
His deft fingers slipped her bright yellow dress on with the equally bright blue ribbons.
“No chemise. You don’t need one with these underthings, so this is the dress for you today. Its soft inner lining won’t scratch your skin,” he told her.
Her eyes went wide. No chemise? But that was unheard of, unless she went without a corset, which most days she had since no one wore them in the lower east side except for when there was a special occasion.
When she was all dressed, he scowled at her.
She stopped singing, but only to ask, “What is it? Did I hurt your head with my voice?”
“Hair down, Cherry.”
She frowned and ran her hands over her crown and down the length of it. “Why is that? Are you trying to sabotage me? I must look the part of a starlet, and I already take a risk by not wearing a corset.”
“Hair down, because you are marked all over the back of your neck again. I rather doubt you want Tyrone to see that.” He chuckled. “Or better yet—I would love for him to see you are mine, and the evidence of our lovemaking.”
Her stomach tightened. She was unsure if it was because she was perturbed with William’s constant need to leave proof on her body she was with him, or if it was because she was excited he wanted her to show it off. What kind of woman was she that she reveled in being wanton with him and wanted others to know?
Perhaps she was in need of remediation because each day he spoke to her of Paris and making love out in public, she grew warmer to the thought and now almost craved it.
Just having him take her in the garden opened her eyes to what it could truly be like with him.
She sighed, and for once, her entire chest filled with air and so did her lower gut even though she was fully dressed.
“I can breathe,” she squeaked with delight.
“Yes—ma chérie. You certainly can. Now, sing once more as I take you to that scoundrel and playact myself that I am not jealous and unhappy that he is even near you.” He swept into a grand bow, making her chest heat even more.
She practiced the beginning of the song she planned to perform today.
He took her hand and stared at it like it was something he had never seen before.
“Now how have I misstepped?” she asked, halting her song once more.
“Gloves.”
“I told you before—I lack them.”
He grinned. “I’ll accept that for now, but I’m uncertain this is wise. Power will find some reason to touch you, and I’ll be damned if I’ll allow it.”
She patted the back of his hand. “’Twill be fine.”
“Will it?”
“Certainly.” She blinked and settled in place, bending at the knees.
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.”
He led her out to the motorcar, helped her in and she felt freer than ever with her hair down and able to swallow great amounts of air while her ribs were moving.
Once they got to Powers music hall, William took her in hand and moved her inside, always keeping in front of her so he was an imposing force all others must deal with before they could attend to her.
“Power, I bring you the marvelous Clarissa Stone, soon to be Mrs. William Ferrismore III.” William clacked his heels together, stood straighter than ever and gave Tyrone an impassive, yet slightly challenging gaze.
“Well, this creature belongs here—don’t you, dove? Come in and feel how well you suit this place.” Tyrone tried to work his way around William, but her guardian made sure Tyrone kept his distance.
“No touching for now. She’s here to sing, audition and nothing more. You have other playthings you can manhandle, don’t you, Tyrone?” William’s eyes hardened.
She sighed. “Please—do not fuss over me. It closes off my windpipe, and I rather need this air if I’m going to sing.” She stepped past William, but avoided Tyrone as well.
She headed straight for the stairs to get to the stage.
“I hope you’ve come prepared.” Tyrone’s steady gaze followed after her.
“I’m very much ready for this,” she replied, moving with ease up the stairs.
It wasn’t until she was halfway up that she felt it—William’s palm on her lower back, guiding her.
“Good God, man—I think she can handle a few measly steps alone. I do not send her into a perilous place.” Tyrone snorted.
“Compose yourself. It is my pleasure to see to it she is comforted before you cast your scrutiny her way.” William’s proximity suggested of a possessiveness that could not be denied.
Tyrone laughed with an ease that sounded arrogant. “Fine, fine.”
“And to make certain he can’t watch my favorite attribute of yours as I ascend these steps,” she whispered to William.
He chuckled low and deep. “How astute you are—as always.” He propelled her toward the center of the stage. “Best of luck, sweetheart. I will be watching with my heart in my throat for you.”
He clamored off the stage, headed toward the back and then found his spot.
She smiled at him and waited for Tyrone to give her the go ahead.
“If you please, Miss Stone—turn around.”
“Pardon me?” She held her head a little higher.
“I said—turn around. I need to see all angles of you, and I want to start your song facing away. There are times on stage you will have to sing away from the crowd, and I must make certain your voice carries even when facing away.” Tyrone pointed and twirled his finger in the direction he wanted her to go.
She swallowed down the lump in her throat, cast a glance at William and he was clearly displeased, scowling from the back of the theater.
With a deep breath, she pulled her shoulders back, did as Tyrone wanted her to and faced the back curtains.
“Thick fabric like that is notorious for sucking up the sound—you bring her here to waste her time? Your games are ridiculous,” William started to protest.
She cut him off and went ahead and sang. Tyrone could make this as difficult as he pleased. She’d find a way to triumph without either one of these men helping or hindering.
“In the garden of sin and light, lies a woman without the night. Oh, yes, she dances, and sings—that is true. But fly away she must, for she is a lady true.” She turned on the word true, and her voice absolutely exploded out of her, filling the grand hall so fully, that Tyrone actually jumped in his seat and flinched at the great magnitude of the sound.
His eyes went wide, and his grin spread as she kept going.
“With her lover’s embrace, she will be not the fool. Look the part, say the words, and act the doting girl, but inside, oh, inside, she is all he is and more. She can only be possessed if she allows it so. Will she succumb, give him all he requires, or will she fly away, and find the night again?” She tipped her head back as the note went higher. Her throat opened wide, her diaphragm squeezed the air out and gave it even more power. The way the vibrato naturally flowed had her toes gripping into her shoes, trying to curl.
Her arms broke out in goose bumps as she scattered the note up and down the scale and added more words that flooded her mind.
“Is it a game, is it hide and seek? How will she know if this is a game for keeps? With her heart in her hand and her body in the throes, she knows, she knows, and he is a fire in the cold. He brings life, he brings breath, but most of all—he brings what she cannot guess—love. All-encompassing bruising love.” The note lowered, died down and when she looked at William, his eyes glistened.
Was he crying?
His shoulders were moving a little.
God, she upset him that badly? Was he angry she was sharing their story this way?
She swallowed, gripped the sides of her dress and ignored the swishing sound of her skirt around her feet.
“Jeeeesus,” Tyrone hissed. “That was . . .”
“I apologize for the lewd content—I’m not sure what came over me.” She wanted to place the back of her hand on her forehead to check for fever, but William was bounding down the aisle straight for her.
She backed up a step. “I can act, too. Did you want me to read a few lines?” she quickly asked Tyrone as William bore down on her.
“Sweetheart,” William whispered and took her into his chest, hugging her.
She collapsed in his arms and hugged him back, giggling.
He wasn’t upset. He was pleased with her. His voice was soft, his eyes warm and he curled around her like she was a treat.
Her breathing went deep and slightly ragged—all because he accepted her. She had made him proud.
There was nothing better than this feeling right here, right now.
All except when he was touching her intimately and telling her she was everything to him.
A moment later, she was tugged out of William’s arms, and Tyrone had her left hand at his lips, and he was laughing. “I don’t even care at this point if you can act. That was the most stirring performance I’ve ever seen.” He ogled her freely.
Her eyes dropped, but not without seeing his very prominent bulge in his pants.
“Oh,” she gasped.
William interceded, pulling her behind him. “Yes, well, you can tell me if she’s been accepted for the part or not. You know how to contact me.”
“Overbearing so soon?” Tyrone’s jaw tensed, and he set his hands on his hips as he scowled. “Do you plan to be at every rehearsal? What will you do when the other actors must breathe on her as they enact their parts?”
“As her manager”—William cleared his throat and stepped closer, his voice menacing—“yes, I will be at every rehearsal, and I will approve what she can and cannot do, and who she will be on stage with. It’s her career I guide, but her life I protect. That is what a man in love does when he cares about a woman.”
Tyrone rolled his eyes, dropped his head back and barked an incredulous laugh. “That is what a controlling little man does when he has far too much time at his disposal. Aren’t there more important matters you need to attend to? Or do you plan to let the empire you’ve built crumble down around your ears because you see only her? Not that I blame you, but be reasonable.”