Teri Brown - Born of Deception

He beams. “Perfect. We’ll practice it that way tomorrow. You can take off. Go have fun. It’s London, you’re young!”

He turns away, already engrossed in another of the myriad production problems that always plague a show. As both director and producer, Louie’s hands are full.

My assistant, Mollie, and I put away my things. I’m half tempted to ask if she wants to have supper with me, but I know she has a little girl she needs to get home to, so I say good-bye and head back to my hotel. I figure I’ll just grab something to eat at the café next door and call it an early night. I don’t like eating by myself, but Cole had said he would see me in the morning. He’s probably eating with his mother, and I can’t begrudge him time with his family. But still, after a day like today, I’d rather not be alone. Plus, I’d forgotten to tell him my good news about moving up on the bill. Of course, not being in show business, he probably wouldn’t understand, and I would have to explain it to him, which would take most of the fun out of it. Maybe it’s better that he can’t have dinner tonight.

I pick up a newspaper and read reviews of various shows while I dine on a simple meal of shepherd’s pie and tea. I spot Sal and Bronco Billy pass by the window in their street clothes and wonder what they’re doing. Probably going out to have fun.

Feeling sorry for myself, I pay my bill with unfamiliar notes, hoping I’ve tipped the waitress enough. The weather has turned, and a steady rain wets my face along with a few tears as I make my lonely way back to the hotel. I almost wish my mother was here. No. Scratch that. I wish Cynthia were here. Cynthia Gaylord came to one of my mother’s séances and we ended up best friends, even though she’s married and a few years older than I am. As a famous gangster’s niece, she carries a loaded gun on her at all times and I carry a balisong knife in my handbag. We united over our weaponry and have been best friends ever since.

She promised to come and see me as soon as the show runs in London, but we have about a week of rehearsals and then we leave to perform in Hungary, Poland, and Czechoslovakia. Though London is our home base, we won’t be formally playing here until March.

The cold, drizzly weather does little to lift my spirits and I pick up my pace, wanting to get back to the relative warmth of my room, even if all I’ll be doing is reading a book and heading to bed. Once there, I listen to the rain beating on my window and wonder why I feel so sorry for myself. All in all, it wasn’t a bad day. I’m just tired. Things will look better in the morning.

My night is restless and it seems only moments before I’m awakened by a knock on the door. “You have messages,” a sunny voice calls.

Disoriented, I sit up in bed and scrub my hand over my face. I must have lain awake for hours before sleep finally found me. I gather the envelopes the messenger left on the doorstep and go through them. One is from Louie with my call time today and another is from Cole.

Anna,

Something came up and I won’t be able to make it until this evening. If you aren’t at the hotel, I’ll come to the theater. Would you like to go to dinner at Frascati’s?

Cole

My shoulders slump. I notice that he didn’t tell me exactly what had come up and I could be his sister for all the affection the note contains.

After spending last evening alone, I definitely don’t feel like being by myself again. Frustrated, I open the third message and stare at the letterhead. Society for Psychical Research. Under the letterhead is the address and Mr. Gamel’s title in formal script.

Dear Miss Van Housen,

It was a pleasure meeting you yesterday. If you are interested in touring our facility and learning more about us, I will be in the office from two to five this afternoon. I hope to see you then. I think you would make a valuable contribution to our research and our knowledge of psychical phenomena.

Sincerely,

Darius Gamel

My pulse speeds up. He’s officially going to invite me to join the Society. Do I want to join? After a lifetime of feeling alone with my strangeness, the thought of a community of others like myself is both appealing and terrifying.

I snatch a deck of cards off the bedside table and shuffle them, a nervous habit I’ve had for years. On one hand, I’m skeptical of sharing my abilities with people who see me as a lab rat. On the other hand, I long to meet others like myself who have struggled with the same fears and doubts.

I set down the cards and plop down on the bed. What a time for Cole to be preoccupied. All my instincts tell me to politely reschedule the meeting for a time when Cole can join me, but perversely part of me wants to go anyway. He has his own life. Why should I have to wait for him to make time for me?

Undecided, I wash and dress and run to a little café down the street for breakfast. My call is at eleven today, so I don’t linger.

Bronco Billy is just leaving as I get to the theater. He gives me his slow, easy smile. My mouth goes dry and I blink.

“Be careful—Louie is in a foul mood today,” he says in passing.

I want to ask him what happened but instead just stare like an idiot.

Men shouldn’t be allowed to be that beautiful.

I can hear Louie yelling at Jeanne all the way to the side door. I tiptoe down the hallway, ignoring the stomach-turning stench of sweat, mildew, and greasepaint. The backstage of almost every theater I’ve ever been in smells the same way, though in the West, you can swap out the mildew for cow manure.

Poking my head around the frayed velvet curtain I see our lovely songbird, the soprano Jeanne Hart, calmly watching Louie work himself up into a swivet. His anger pulses out from him in waves and his mouth is practically foaming around his cigar.

“You can’t just do that, Jeanne! You can’t pick and choose what shows you will and won’t do!”

I can’t see Jeanne’s face from where I’m standing, but there’s no mistaking the amusement in her voice. “I can do whatever I like, darling. Check my contract. The one you signed. What do you think ‘theater approval’ means?”

Jeanne Hart is beautiful in a sultry, sensuous way. Her hair is a burnished red, her mouth is too wide, and her heavy-lidded green eyes are slightly tilted at the corners. No matter the weather, she dresses in a way that shows off her lovely polished arms and makes the most of her ample breasts. But you forget her seductive looks the moment she sings—the purity of her voice is heartbreaking.

“It doesn’t bloody well mean you get to pick and choose where you’ll sing and where you won’t,” Louie blusters.

“But it does. Check with your lawyer and next time be more careful what you sign. Now, do you want me to start from the top?”

“No, I don’t want you to start at the top!” he screams. “I want you to get your sneaking upper-class behind off the stage! You’re fired!”

Jeanne turns and saunters off the stage, her lovely well-shaped head held high. When she reaches me, she gives my arm a reassuring pat. “Don’t look so stricken. He can’t fire me, I’m his wife.”

My mouth falls open. The stunning Jeanne Hart is married to Louie the penguin? The clicking of her heels grows fainter as she walks down the hall to her dressing room. Pressing my lips together, I walk downstage. Louie had taken a seat in the front and is mopping his forehead with a red handkerchief.

“Do the escape-gone-wrong routine,” he snaps when he spots me. I nod at my assistant, who has just appeared upstage. We run through it several times and each time it’s easier. I want to ask Louie where the fake blood is going to be hidden, but don’t want to irritate him further. I’m not sure his heart can take any more vexation.