Household (47 page)

“Colin Veringer,” he supplied.

“Gee, that sounds English,” she commented with a touch of hauteur.

“Don’t you like the English?” he inquired.

“Well, I guess I do like some of them,” she allowed. “My grandfather came over to the U.S.A. because of the potato famine, but I guess you didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“No,” he said quickly. He himself had dark memories of that period—the Irish starving in their wasted fields. It had really reached him, and now he also remembered why. He said, “I’m half Irish, myself.”

“Hey, how’s about that!” She clapped her hands. “That’s really peachy-keen. Did your folks come here because of the potato famine, too?”

“Other reasons. Let’s go, shall we?”

“Sure thing. I really don’t like this joint. Can you imagine that big galoot told me he had all sorts of connections in the movies? Didn’t tell me he had another sort of connection in mind for me.” She flushed. “I’m sure glad you showed up when you did.”

“I’m glad I did, too.”

“Hey, I really like you, Mr. Veringer.”

“I like you, too, Miss Moran.”

They were playing another tango as Colin and the girl skirted the dance floor. He came to a stop as he saw Juliet. She was still in the arms of the Valentinoesque young man and arched in so deep a bend that her head nearly touched her partner’s pointed patent leather pumps, but in another second they were moving across the floor, their heads and shoulders immobile, their clasped hands thrust forward, their expressions seemingly frozen into passionate frowns, a pose that was quickly abandoned as Juliet sighted Colin. Still clutching her partner’s hand, she hurried toward her brother, saying breathlessly, “Colin, I want you to meet Gareth Garnet, who is, as you can see, a marvelous dancer.”

“It is you who are marvelous, my dear.” Garnet visited a glowing look on Juliet but produced a jealous glare for Colin. “You are both marvelous!” Morna exclaimed.

“I agree,” Colin said enthusiastically. “Juliet, dear, this is Morna Moran.”

“Delighted,” Juliet responded, looking at her questioningly.

“I’m taking Miss Moran home,” Colin amplified.

“Will you be coming back for me?” Juliet asked.

Gareth said hastily, “I’d like it if you’d let me see you home, Miss Veringer.”

“Oh, you’re related!” Moran blurted and blushed.

“Yes, we’re brother and sister,” Colin explained and was immediately surprised by his admission. Usually he and Juliet posed as husband and wife. He glanced at his sister, expecting to read surprise or possibly annoyance in her expressive eyes, but she wasn’t even looking at him. Her gaze was fastened on her partner’s face. “Come,” Colin said to Morna. “Let’s go.”

It was in keeping with her fantastic costume, he thought amusedly, that Morna should claim a long black cloak from the hatcheck girl.

Coming out of the club, she suddenly left him to run toward the cliffs edge, staring down at the glistening white swirl of surf. “Smell that air!” she said ecstatically as a rising breeze whisked her hair back from her face and sent her cloak billowing out behind her.

Colin stared at her, feeling as if he were seeing her for the first time. Her profile was faintly Grecian and definitely beautiful. Desire rose in him. He wanted to embrace her but did not dare. Now that she was no longer frightened, there was a joyous innocence about her that he wanted to preserve a little longer. This would not be the last time he would see her, he knew that, and an embrace would certainly open the door to other desires. He said, “Why do you wear black? You ought to be in colors or, better yet, white.”

She whirled around to face him. “Holy Gee, I’m supposed to be a vamp. You know... like Theda Bara? Haven’t you ever seen her?”

“I don’t think I have. Of course, I’ve heard of her.”

“I guess you don’t see many movies, huh?”

“Not many, but you have?”

“I’ll say.” She grinned at him. “I’ve even been in a couple, not so’s you’d notice me.”

“I’d always notice you.” He smiled down at her, finding that he really meant it.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said positively. “I was a Babylonian priestess in
Intolerance
four years ago. Not even my own mother, God rest her soul, could’ve picked me out.”

“Four years ago!” he exclaimed. “You must have been a mere child.”

“Oh, go on.” She giggled. “I was eighteen. I just turned twenty-two. I bet you aren’t much older than that yourself.”

It always startled Colin when anyone tried to guess his age and arrived at what would have been the correct amount of years—they had that is, if met in 1788, the year of his transition. Usually it did not carry with it the regret he suddenly experienced at this moment. It was hard for him to say casually, “That’s about it.”

“I knew it,” she said happily. “I’m sort of psychic, I guess, at least where ages are concerned, and maybe a couple of other things, too. The Irish are fey. Anyhow, as I was telling you, you really need a big break if you’re going to climb out of the extra ranks. I thought I’d done it when I was in
The Love Flower
for Mr. Griffith again, and I actually had a scene but it ended up on the cutting room floor. You can’t get anywhere unless you doll up fancy and maybe somebody sees you and thinks you’re the cat’s whiskers. That’s why I came here with Tony. He said he’d introduce me to a lot of people. He said I was star material. I guess I should’ve known he was the big kidder.”

There was so much wistfulness in her tone that Colin found himself saying, “It might be that I have a few connections, too.” At the same time, he resolved to get in touch with Richard or Septimus as soon as he could.

“You have connections?” she questioned excitedly. “You look just like a movie star yourself.”

He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t photograph well.”

“I can’t believe that,” she exclaimed, staring up at him. “Maybe you ought to look in your mirror more often.”

He wondered what she would say if she knew he hadn’t seen himself in a mirror for over a century. Thinking about that, he remembered that he was thirsty. He said quickly, “I’d better take you home. I’ll see if I can get a cab.”

❖

A short time before dawn, Juliet skipped down to the cellar. She was humming to herself as she sped toward that part of the labyrinth reserved for herself and Colin. Upon entering the wide room, she found her brother wrapped in the Chinese robe he donned for his “rests.”

“Oh, you’re here.
Did
you?”

“No,” he said shortly. “Did you?”

“I didn’t either, but I am going to see him again.”

“Same here.” he returned. “I had a rabbit tonight. What about you?”

“A squirrel,” she replied, and meeting her brother’s surprised stare, she added flippantly, “I wasn’t really thirsty.”

“I wasn’t either,” he lied, as he lifted the lid of his coffin. Juliet slipped out of her garments and hung them on a long steel costume rack provided by Septimus, who had filched it from the Empire Theater in Peoria. “He’s a good dancer.”

“I noticed.”

“And what does she do, that strange looking girl?”

Since he was too tired to either argue with Juliet or defend Morna, he said merely, “She wants to be a vamp in the movies.”

“Well, she’s certainly come to the right place for instruction,” Juliet drawled.

“Do you know? I’m not entirely sure of that—or maybe she has. It all depends on Richard.” With that enigmatic remark, he slid into his coffin.

Juliet started to ask him what he meant but thought better of it. Colin was in one of his moods tonight, that was obvious. She, too, was in a mood, she who had gotten out of the habit of wishing for anything was thinking of Gareth Garnet, as she pulled down the lid of her coffin, and wishing that she were allowed the luxury of dreaming.

❖

Ruth Fiske, seated on a canvas chair next to a similar chair which bore Matthew Vernon’s name in white letters on a tan background, watched as Richard and Kathie Grenfall rehearsed a scene from the screen play of
Cagliostro and the Queen.
That was the new title and, she was sure, one that probably would be changed again very soon, given Mr. Goldbaum’s mercurial decisions.

She was glad that the producer was busy in his office this afternoon rather than storming around the set. That would have been something he surely would be doing had he been privileged to view his new stars enacting the moment when Cagliostro persuades his timid wife to deliver the necklace to the queen.

Kathie, she noted with surprised approval, was even better than she had been the previous day. The girl was all shyness and distress as she mimed her fear of embarking upon
The Questionable Quest
, the title that would be flashed upon the screen between shots. Richard, on the other hand, stood stolidly, frowning only when sharply prompted by the increasingly, impatient director. Otherwise the expression came and went like the sun on a cloudy afternoon.

“Son,” Septimus yelled from his vantage point behind Ruth’s chair, “for God’s sake try and act!”

Of course he was totally out of line, and Matthew Vernon would probably give him a good strong lecture or perhaps not, given his obvious penchant for Kathie Grenfall. Ruth firmed her lips. It was a pity that Richard had to act. He had better talents. He had come up with some very canny clauses to the contracts he prepared prior to embarking upon rehearsals. Though Mr. Goldbaum had howled “foul,” he had signed. Later he had agreed with Ruth that Richard did have the makings of an excellent and, amazingly enough, fair agent—something the industry badly needed. But, as she had on the last two mornings, she wondered why their New York talent scout hadn’t fastened on Septimus rather than his son for the role of the magician. The Cagliostro dreamed up by Joe, Dave and Aaron Goldbaum, the producer’s nephews, had called for an older man. Almost immediately she recalled that Septimus had not been performing on the afternoon Richard and Kathie were spotted. Her thoughts were abruptly scattered as Matthew Vernon predictably called for a recess and came storming over to Septimus, his eyes alight with ire and his lower lip thrust out.

With a sinking heart, Ruth recognized the expression. The director had worn it on the day he had tossed Evangeline Goldbaum, her employer’s beautiful but interfering bride off the set. Evangeline had gone into strong hysterics and ordered her husband to fire Matthew. With the business acumen and common sense that had built the Goldbaum-Magnum enterprise, the producer had immediately made arrangements to divorce the lady. It would be a pity if he fired Septimus, who did seem to know as much about the period as was necessary for a picture of such doubtful authenticity. She wished she might say something that would throw oil upon Matthew’s boiling waters, but she knew from experience that it was no use.

“Mr. Grenfall,” the director began, “will you please change places with your son? I have decided that as an actor, he might very well be the best agent in Hollywood. I will not have him mucking up this production any more than it has been mucked up already by possibly the worse script that was ever invented by man—or rather men. It would take a magician to save it, and I understand from your daughter that you are a superb magician!”

“Sir, are you saying that you believe my son to be a bad actor?” Septimus inquired sternly.

“Mr. Grenfall, I am telling you that he is a rotten actor,” the director said clawing at his hair. “I can do nothing with him. Griffith could do nothing with him. By now Von Stroheim would have murdered him!” He clawed at his hair a second time. “If he stays, I will not be responsible for my actions!”

“Save your tresses, Mr. Vernon,” Septimus said soothingly. “I will be glad to stand in for my son if, of course, he agrees.” He glanced in the direction of Richard who was talking with Kathie. “If I may be allowed to broach the subject to him...”

“Please do,” Matthew said tensely.

As Septimus strolled casually across the platform, Ruth also tensed. Until this moment she had not thought of the effect that Matthew Vernon’s announcement must have on the man she was sure she loved, even given her innate prejudice against actors. They had been out together two more times, and each time she saw him, she found that parting from him was full of that “sweet sorrow” so admirably described by Shakespeare. However, actors, even those so monumentally inept as Richard, did have tender egos. She watched breathlessly as Septimus, facing his son, put a hand on his shoulder, speaking quietly and probably apologetically, she guessed, wishing that the back of Septimus’s head were as eloquent as his dark eyes.

She shuddered as a great yell erupted from Richard. The sound, replete with that resonance learned in a lifetime spent facing audiences who were not shy about chanting, “Louder!”, beat against Ruth’s eardrums. It seemed full of grief. Tears pricked her eyes, and she sank lower in her chair, “Ruth!” Richard was at her side in three bounds. “I don’t have to do the damned thing!” he cried triumphantly. He stared down at her, his expression of joy slowly fading. “My dear, why are you crying?”

She stared up at him, her poise irretrievably shaken, “I... I thought it would hurt you to be told that you were no longer needed,” she confessed.

“Hurt me? I’m ecstatic. I hate acting.”

“Oh,” she said joyfully, “I knew you couldn’t be an actor.”

“And that pleases you, doesn’t it? Why?”

“Because I really don’t respect actors and from the first I did respect you.”

“Oh, Ruth...” He paused, feeling rather than seeing his father’s eyes on him. More than his father’s eyes, he could feel the whole Household staring at him. Though that was clearly his imagination, he groaned, and moving away from Ruth he turned toward Matthew Vernon saying jerkily, “I guess I’ll go home if you don’t need me any more.” He could also feel Ruth’s beautiful eyes, puzzled and perhaps even sorrowful. He wished that she were in his arms.

“That’ll be okay, Mr. Grenfall. Sorry,” Matthew said gruffly.

“I’ll go, too.” Kathie joined them.

“But I’m not through with you, Miss Grenfall,” Matthew protested.

“I am through with you, Mr. Vernon. Don’t you have any heart—firing my brother right in front of everybody?” Kathie caught Richard’s arm. “Let’s go,” she muttered under her breath.