Part 4 (1/2)
The emptiness Ariel left behind took up more room than it should. Bertie stood and brushed the broken gla.s.s from her hair and clothing as the fairies complained in not quite undertones.
”What a diva!”
”Stupid, men can't be divas. . . .”
”Divo, then.”
”That just sounds weird. Call him a jerk and be done with it.”
Bertie rummaged in her pocket, locating her cigarettes but unable to find her lighter. Her knees wobbled, overcome with the fading vestiges of emotion and adrenaline, and she sat with a graceless thud.
”D'ye need a match?” Nate's voice was as soft as the linen s.h.i.+rtsleeve that brushed against Bertie's bare arm when he sat next to her.
”I need something, but a match will suffice for now.” She took comfort in his solid presence and the scent of seawater. ”This has been such a Monday! I wish I'd stayed in bed, and I wish yesterday had never happened.”
Nate lit the cigarette, omitting the stern looks and lectures anyone else would have given her. He could hardly warn her of the evils of the demon tobacco as he lit his own pipe. Once it was started, he put his arm about Bertie's waist and gave her a bone-cracking squeeze. ”It'll be all right, la.s.s.”
”Somehow I very much doubt that.” If I have to leave, I'll never see Nate again. Bertie's free hand sought out his, her skin pale against his rope-roughened paw. ”Do you think . . . do you think Ariel was right?”
”Most o' his words are naught but pretty lies an' truth twisted like ribbon candy, but which bit did ye mean?”
”That I could figure out a way to take someone with me?”
He shook his head. ”Ye heard the Theater Manager. Players can't leave th' theater.”
”But if they could?” Bertie tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry.
Nate's grip on her tightened, and the pa.s.sing seconds were knots tied in heartstrings. ”Would ye want me t' come with ye?”
”Yes. No! I mean, I don't want to go, so what good is asking that question anyway?” She started to get up, but Nate caught her by the back pocket of her jeans.
”Sit yer a.r.s.e down an' stop tryin' t' run away.”
Bertie twitched but didn't try to get up again. ”Ariel was right about something, though.”
Nate a.s.sessed how firmly affixed her rear was to the stage before he nodded. ”Th' bit about yer mother?”
”Yes.”
”Do the play for him, Bertie!” Peaseblossom said. ”He hasn't seen the new version.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. ”Ye've been stagin' it again?”
”I reworked the middle section,” Bertie said with a shrug. ”But I don't see how performing it now will help things.”
”Maybe this time you'll get it right and figure out where your mother is,” Peaseblossom said, her eyes dark and serious.
Bertie's argument died in her throat. ”Someone cue the lights. The rest of you take a seat.”
CHAPTER FOUR.
How Bertie Came
to the Theater,
a Play in One Act
The lights faded up on a stool far Stage Right. Bertie entered from the wings, carrying a large prop version of The Book embossed with the words: THE COMPLETE WORKS OF THE STAGE.
She settled on the stool, cleared her throat, opened to the first page, and pretended to read. ”My mother was an actress, and surely she was the star.”
The curtain opened. A tight spotlight came up on a lovely young woman dressed in a sequined costume. Silver stars decorated her dark curls, and smaller stars glimmered in her eyes.
”She was an ingenue on the rise, a society darling,” Bertie said. ”t.i.tled men filled her dressing room with roses and sent jewelry that sparkled like the night sky.”
The spotlight expanded to include dozens of flower arrangements and heaps of diamonds. Glitter drifted gently from the rafters until the very air s.h.i.+mmered.
Bertie's Mother sat at a dressing room table, powdering her nose and brus.h.i.+ng her hair. She addressed the audience. ”One of them must have captured my heart. Was it a young lord with a castle on the hill and a coach-and-four?”
A tight spotlight came up on an aristocrat in a black coat and ascot tie.
”Was it the powerful businessman with a keen eye for finance and a generous nature?”
A second spotlight on a heavyset gentleman consulting a gold pocket watch.
”Or was it another? Someone without name or coin, but who had instead a heart filled with love for me?”
The third spotlight illuminated a young man dressed in shades of brown and gray. He turned his pockets out to reveal they were empty, then unfurled his fingers like a magician to produce a single red rose.
Bertie nodded. ”I'd like to think so.”
Bertie's Mother accepted the flower from him as the lights faded on the other two suitors. She stood up to put a print Sunday dress, a silver hair comb, and the red rose into a small suitcase.
”I left the theater,” she said, ”and traveled to a small cottage by the sea.”
Scenery for a railway station replaced the dressing room. Smoke boiled across the stage, and sound effects hissed to imitate a train coming to rest. Bertie's Mother stepped onto a platform outfitted with a leather seat and a large, floating window. She placed her suitcase in the overhead luggage rack, sitting as the ”train” left the station.
The compartment heaved and rocked in place, accompanied by a chug-chug-chug that blared through the loudspeakers. Silhouettes of buildings and light posts flashed on the back wall, followed by fences, trees, and the occasional cow. With a final hiss and another blast of smoke, the ”train” came to rest.
The sign overhead proclaimed it AN ORDINARY STATION. Bertie's Mother alighted, and her young man greeted her with an embrace. They exited together as the lights cross-faded to an una.s.suming home in the countryside. Laundry danced on the line. A large tree provided shade. Bertie's Mother entered Stage Left. She collected the pasteboard clothes off the line and hung out stiff sheets and towels.