Chapter Six
IN FORTY-FIVE MINUTES, THIS month’s Spectacular would commence.
Alice snapped her watch shut and, rubbing her temple, contemplated all the thousands of small tasks to be completed. The final list of props remained unchecked, the musicians had yet to set up, and Violet and Gertie were running around in their unmentionables rather than their costumes.
Lacing her hands before her, she exhaled. Before every performance, she fretted and fussed. She needed to calm herself. For nigh on four years she’d done this to herself, as if making herself all anxious would result in the Spectacular being a success. And after each was over and done—and all her worrying was for nothing—she promised herself she would remain calm with the next.
But she never did.
It could go so wrong, so quickly. They were only as ever good as their last show, and if the folk out there hated it, word would spread like wildfire. In little more than a couple of days, all that had taken years to build could be destroyed. So she fretted and she fussed, and she made sure nothing would go wrong.
“Miz Reynolds!”
Billy’s shrill voice bounced around her brain. Wincing, she raised her hand to her head to combat the pounding. It didn’t work.
The boy didn’t seem to notice the effect he had on her, shifting from foot to foot as if he needed to partake of the outhouse “Miz Reynolds, Miz Polly says her dress is ripped and Mr Steddler reckons the second act ain’t been structured right, and Matilda says the whole backdrop has been messed with, and—”
The rest of the boy’s words dissolved into a mad rush, so fast she couldn’t make head or tail of his speech.
“Billy!” Grabbing his shoulders, she forced him to stillness.
Eyes wide, Billy fell silent.
Taking a breath, she forced herself calm. She breathed. In. Out.
Finally, she looked Billy in the eyes. “Now, say it all again. Slower.” Everything in her—the jitters, the thoughts running round and round—disappeared. She focused only on Billy, and whatever it was he had to say.
His thin chest expanded before a steady stream of words erupted. “Miz Polly’s dress is ripped something awful, and Mr Steddler reckons the second act ain’t right, and Henry-who-works-in-the-pits says the gas lights ain’t lighting properly, but they did at practice today, and Miz Pearl was gonna fix it, but she’s occupied with the costuming of Miz Marie and Miz Flora, and she said for me to come and tell you, and she said also to tell you she’s sorry for directing this trouble your way.” Triumphant he’d imparted his message, he grinned.
Pinching the bridge of her nose did nothing to dispel the ache in her head. It took her a moment or more to decipher such a spiel. “Thanks, Billy. You go back to Miss Pearl and tell her I’ll take care of it.”
The boy nodded and dashed off.
If it weren’t one thing, it were a million more. Walking to the wings backstage, Alice dodged the stagehands who scurried to install the backdrops, sets, and props required for this evening’s show in order. The opening number’s set was already in place, the backdrop of a Parisian nightclub rippled at the rear of the stage.
A warm glow made her pause a while. It had been the first scene she’d imagined, way back at the first Spectacular, and now she used the scene to open each performance. One day, she would see such a scene in reality, when she made her way to Paris.
A crash and the curses of the stagehands returned her to reality. A scurry of men righted the set and continued on with their tasks as if the accident had never happened. The last four days had been consumed with like accidents and mild calamities, such that this morning she was certain nothing would need to be done once night fell. Well, more fool her. There was always work to be done, and minor disasters to fix. As she looked down, the schedule blurred under her regard. This month, she also had the dubious pleasure of being distracted by a dark-eyed Englishman, and his determination to bedevil her into the ground.
She scowled. Damn it, she’d promised herself she wouldn’t think of him. Couldn’t she keep one promise to herself? Clearing her throat, she forced her thoughts back to where they ought to be—only on the Spectacular, with none left over for him.
The Spectacular was her passion, the one thing in all the world she could claim as truly her own. Seth had never gone over for the idea, and she’d kept her passion to herself while he’d been alive. It had felt a betrayal of a sort when the first show had premiered a year after he’d been buried, but shehadtried to deny herself. She truly had. In the end, her passion was too strong, and the first Spectacular had limped onto the stage. A colossal failure that had been, and one more spectacular she couldn’t imagine. It was part of the reason why she’d incorporated the word into the name of her show—The Diamond Theatre’s Variety and Burlesque Spectacular, better now than the first spectacular disaster.
Arriving in the wings, she cast her gaze around the stalls. The audience would soon fill those tables and chairs set in ordered rows. The candles had just been lit, lending a warm glow to the area, and it seemed to her the glow extended, encompassing all surrounding her and lodging inside her chest.
She grinned, some of her worry lifted. For all her gripes and complaints, she wouldn’t trade this for the world.
Bringing her thoughts back to where they should beagain,she focused on the schedule held securely in her hands. The opening number incorporated all the girls, dancing and seducing the crowd in front of the Parisian backdrop. Pearl would enter, perform her song, and make all the men in the audience fall in love with her once more. The second song was a composition of Alice’s own, and while her talent was small in that area, it was enough to enthral the men of Ironwood.
The woman herself came hurrying toward her, an apron tied haphazardly over her costume. “Boss lady!”
Damn it, she wished Pearl didn’t find such a label so amusing. “What is it? Something else gone wrong?”
“’Course it has. I’ve just had words with Marie, and she’s still insisting she hasn’t been ably compensated for her contribution, such as it is.”
She scowled. “For chrissakes, and she’s got her timing down pat, don’t she?”
Marie and her snake dance were the third act up, and was enough of a crowd-pleaser as to make the woman think she was entitled to extra payment. It was the second thing on her list to address, and underlined besides. Marie had been caterwauling about such for too long, and would be made to understand the overly-generous payment she already received was compensation enough, or she could take her snake dance to another company.
