Death of a Showman by Mariah Fredericks

Author:Mariah Fredericks
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

* * *

Afterward, in need of distraction, I dawdled by a newsstand. The night was extremely warm, the air so humid, you could hardly call it air; every few seconds, it seemed, I had to tug at my collar or swipe my wrist across my brow. The papers were full of the divorce of the duchess of Westminster. Yet another leader was out of power in Mexico—although he, unlike his predecessor, was still living. A color illustration of daredevil Pearl White beamed on the cover of the latest edition of Photoplay, the new magazine devoted to movies—Blanche Arden’s favorite magazine, in fact. The murder of Lulu Bailey was still on the front page, as was the murder of Sidney Warburton. So far, there was no report of his liaison with Violet and I wondered how Fullerton had managed to keep the chatty waiters of Rector’s quiet. The police were still looking for others who may have taken part in the bombing; it was believed someone had helped Michael Murphy leave the country. The financiers were anxious about the difficulties between Austria and Serbia.

Taking in the miasma of headlines, I had the curious sense of approaching disaster. But when I searched inside myself for energy to resist, to say, No, we shall do this and not that, we shall change course, I felt numb exhaustion. It was late, probably later than I thought.

Really, it was clear where I should go. The Tyler home was not far. The elevated would take me. A streetcar would get me close. I could even walk, the streets were bustling enough for safety. And yet I found myself in front of the Sidney Theater. When I rang the bell at the stage door, I was not surprised when Leo opened it. It occurred to me to ask why he was there. But then he pushed the door wider and I simply went in.

The theater was dark and empty. Leo had set up a work lamp by the piano. On the stage, there was a phonograph; a record lay on top of the piano in a paper envelope. Leo sat on the edge of the stage, legs dangling. And sighed.

“What isn’t working?” I asked, leaning on the piano.

“What is working? I’m trying to decide what should happen at the end.”

“Who gets Claude?”

“I know it has to be Blanche. But I want Nedda to have…”

He shook his head.

“… want Vi to have a moment where the audience will think, No, he should have chosen her. It’s a song. She sings it, not him. But I can’t hear it.”

“Do you have anything?”

He came to the piano, played a melody. It was brief, melancholy, and uncertain.

“That’s how it begins?”

“That’s the whole thing. I know, it’s not much of a moment. More a … crawl off the stage and die.”

“Why don’t you go home? Maybe you’ll be inspired.”

Leo’s eyebrows had always been expressive. Their message now was that inspiration did not lie at home.

“I’m sorry about…” I knew of no tidy way to refer to Violet’s affair with Warburton.

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