Coming Up Roses (8 page)

Or would she? Shoot, she didn’t know. She
hoped she’d have had enough moral courage, or been enough of a
proper lady, to resist the lure of an exciting time at the
fair.

“
Aw, it’s nothing,” H.L. said, waving
his hand in a dismissive gesture. “It’s more fun to see the fair
with a friend or two along.”

“
You have
friends
?” Rose could have bitten her tongue as
soon as the question popped out of her mouth.

H.L. gave her a sharp glance. “Yes, Miss
Gilhooley. I have lots of friends. What kind of man do you think I
am, anyway?”

She’d probably better not say. Instead, she
mumbled, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Lordy, now she’d
added lying to her list of defects.

“
I’ll just bet.”

A low, rumbling sound came from Little Elk.
Rose, who had heard that noise before, but only rarely, glanced at
her friend, vaguely peeved.

“
What are you laughing at?”

“
You and your man, Wind
Dancer.”

“
My man?” Just as Rose hadn’t meant to
ask H.L. May if he had any friends, she also hadn’t meant to shriek
at Little Elk.

Little Elk winked and offered her more
popcorn. She took some because she had to do something or die of
embarrassment.

H.L. May, as might have been expected,
laughed. He probably thought it was the funniest thing anybody had
said in a month of Sundays, since he obviously had no interest in
Rose except as a subject for examination and dissertation.

She found that notion so depressing, she
decided not to think about it, too, along with all the other things
she didn’t want to think about. Instead, she turned her attention
back to the fair, and hoped H.L. would forget Little Elk’s comment
and her own shriek. “I’ve never seen so many people in my life
outside of an arena.”

The manner of H.L.’s smile changed. To Rose,
he suddenly looked as if the topic of conversation had turned down
a path for which he harbored a degree of fascination most often
associated with religious zealotry or romantic love. “You know,
Miss Gilhooley, the Columbian Exposition is the most spectacular
world’s fair ever put on. I’ve heard it even tops the one they had
in Paris a few years back. And I’m going to make sure you see every
inch of it.”

Surprised, Rose shot him another look. “You
are?”

“
I am.” He nodded once, as if that
settled the matter.

“
Um . . . Why?”

He looked disgustingly self-satisfied, sort
of the way Rose imagined a man who’d just discovered a new
continent might look. “Because I’ve decided exactly how I want
these articles to run. The first one is going to be an
introduction. The series of articles is going to be a metaphor, you
see. At the moment, you’re becoming acquainted with the Columbian
Exposition, even as the Columbian Exposition is being introduced to
humanity. The first article will be an introduction to you.” His
glance was eager, as if H.L. really wanted Rose to understand his
intentions so she’d cooperate with him in achieving them.

She’d have liked to, maybe, if she knew what
he was talking about. She thought it over for a moment. Nope. In
order to understand, she’d have to know what a metaphor was, and
she didn’t. She’d sooner shoot herself than ask H.L. May, so she
wouldn’t get an answer until she talked to

Annie, and that would be far too late to do
her any good right now. “Um . . . Is that so?” Her often-present
feeling of inferiority reared its ugly head and sneered at her.

“
That’s so,” H.L. said complacently.
“As the fair is presented to you,

so
you
will be presented to the reading public. Do you see
now?”

No. She didn’t see at all. Deciding it would
be better for her own

self-esteem to shuffle a little, she said, “I
guess I understand that part. Sort of.”

H.L. heaved a sigh, but when Rose inspected
his face minutely to see if the sigh might have held disdain or
exasperation, she discerned not a trace of either. Actually, the
newspaperman appeared quite happy and pleased with himself. “It’s
simple, really. You’re a young woman who was thrown into a life of
glamour and showmanship at an age when most young women are only
getting ready to leave the schoolroom.”

Glamour? For that matter, schoolroom? Rose
couldn’t recall having had anything to do with either of those
things thus far in her life. There had been an Indian school not
far from Deadwood, but Rose wouldn’t have been eligible to attend
it even if she’d been able to take time away from feeding her
family to do so. “Um, the Wild West isn’t actually very glamorous,
Mr. May.” She pondered the Wild West as she chewed and swallowed
another handful of popcorn. “Maybe it is to the audience,” she
conceded.

“
Right. But that’s just it. People see
only the finished product. I want them to see it all from the
inside.”

Rose was so horrified, she stopped walking.
H.L. May and Little Elk, who were digging in their paper sacks for
the remains of their popcorn, didn’t notice she no longer
accompanied them until they’d walked about five paces. Then H.L.
turned around, a question in his gorgeous eyes.

“
What? What’s wrong?”

“
I don’t want anybody to see me from
the inside, Mr. May.” Blast, her voice was shaking. “I—I value my
privacy.” That was not exactly a lie. The truth of the matter was
that Rose’s life was so mind-numbingly boring and dull that she’d
suffer agonies of mortification if the public, who overtly adored
her during her act in the Wild West, learned about it.

Rose was sure his smile was meant to reassure
her. “Of course, you do. I’m not planning to invade your privacy,
Miss Gilhooley. But the public really craves to know more about its
icons. And you’re rapidly becoming an icon of American womanhood
and accomplishment.”

“
I am?” This was news to her. It might
even be flattering, if Rose weren’t so appalled by the notion of a
whole bunch of perfect strangers learning her deepest, darkest
secrets.

H.L.’s eyes opened wide in amazement. “What
do you mean, ‘I am?’ You’re one of the biggest female stars of our
day! Figuratively speaking, that is to say.” He grinned one of his
stunning grins. “You’re actually about as big as a minute. But you
and Annie Oakley are news everywhere.”

“
Oh.” That made it even worse. Rose had
come to have a faint understanding of the level of popularity
enjoyed by the Wild West and Annie Oakley and, by inclusion,
herself, but she sure hadn’t known
Rose
Gilhooley
was a household name.

Suddenly she expelled a whoosh of
relief. By gum, it
wasn’t
Rose Gilhooley whose name was splashed all over the
newspapers all the time. It was
Wind
Dancer
. Nobody knew Rose Gilhooley from a hole in the
ground.

Feeling much better about life, the fair, the
Wild West, and somewhat better about H.L. May, Rose began walking
again and caught up with her comrades in a moment. Little Elk
offered her the last of his popcorn, but Rose declined with thanks.
A few treats were fine, but she couldn’t afford to eat much between
meals.

Which reminded her that she hadn’t taken any
supper yet. She never ate before a performance because to do so
would have been most unwise if she valued her digestion. But the
few grains of popcorn she’d consumed had whetted her appetite. As
if she’d just reminded it, her stomach growled. Rose was completely
embarrassed.

“
Say, I didn’t think to ask,” H.L.
said. “But are you hungry, Miss Gilhooley? You probably can’t eat
before performances.” His tone was so natural that Rose was almost
not embarrassed any longer.

His perceptiveness made her soften toward him
for a second. She didn’t dare let the softness linger, because she
trusted him about as much as she’d trust a rattlesnake in her bed.
“I am a little hungry,” she equivocated. “I guess I could
use—something.”

“
I have an idea!” H.L.’s expressive
eyes suddenly expressed eagerness. “How about we get you a
carbonated drink and a hamburger!

I’ll bet you’ve never tasted either one of
those items.”

She blinked at him. “Er, no, I haven’t.”

“
Ha!” H.L. flung his arms wide. “I love
this fair!”

He was certainly an enthusiastic young man.
Rose found herself reluctantly fascinated by him. He was so free
with his emotions and gestures. Rose had tried to hide herself
behind her Wind Dancer persona for so many years, she couldn’t even
imagine being so open and spontaneous.

“
Before the Columbian Exposition
opened, nobody’d ever tasted a hamburger or a carbonated drink,
Miss Gilhooley! They’re being introduced here, at this fair!” He
stamped the ground beneath his feet as if confirming the solidity
of his statement.

“
Oh.” She glanced at Little Elk, who
seemed as interested as she in food. “Um, what’s a hamburger?” Rose
knew that Little Elk, like most of his Sioux kin, liked to eat meat
and resisted the so-called “vegetarian” foods that were being
touted as healthy these days. His preference made a lot of sense to
Rose, who knew how difficult it was to find meat on the plains, but
she didn’t even want to try to explain it to H.L. May.

“
It’s ground-up beef formed into a flat
patty, then fried, and served on a round roll they call a bun, with
condiments.”

What were condiments? As Rose contemplated
how stupid it would sound if she asked, H.L. made a question from
her unnecessary.

“
You can have pickles, prepared mustard
sauce, some sort of tomato sauce they call ketchup—I think it was
developed by a fellow named Heinz from a Chinese sauce—and onions
on the hamburger roll. They’re delicious.”

Again, Rose and Little Elk exchanged a
glance. Little Elk lifted one shoulder in his version of a shrug.
Interpreting this as compliance,

Rose said, “That sounds nice, Mr. May. We’d
both like to try a—what did you call it?”

“
A hamburger. I think there’s a vendor
here selling sausages on a bun, too. They’re pretty good,
especially when he dumps on a spoonful of sauerkraut. The fellow’s
German and calls them frankfurters.”

“
My goodness.” It hadn’t occurred to
Rose until this conversation that people invented different kinds
of foods. Or different ways to prepare, serve, and name foods, she
guessed was a more appropriate way of thinking about it. And what
was sauerkraut? Rose decided she’d probably never have to know and
decided not to remember the word, which made her feel slightly
better since her memory for words wasn’t infinite and there were
several rattling around in there already.

So H.L. Led the way to a food vendor, where
he bought hamburgers and carbonated drinks for the three of them.
They sat at one of the outdoor tables placed along the main
thoroughfare so that diners could watch fair visitors as they
munched.

“
This is quite tasty,” Rose said. In
truth, she was finding it difficult not to gobble her hamburger, it
tasted so good and she was so hungry.

“
Good,” agreed Little Elk, who looked
as if he wouldn’t mind eating another three or four of the
delectable meat sandwiches.

“
I like ‘em.” H.L. was clearly pleased
with himself as he, too, indulged in a hamburger. “How do you like
your soda?”

“
Soda? Is that what they call this?”
Rose held up her drinking glass, which fizzed amusingly. She took a
tentative sip and giggled. “It’s very good, but the bubbles
tickle.” When she glanced at H.L., she discovered him gazing at her
speculatively, his sea-green eyes gleaming. She wasn’t sure what to
make of his expression, but it worried her.

“
I don’t suppose you’ve ever tasted
champagne?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“
No.” Because the question and his
expression disconcerted her, Rose turned to Little Elk. “Do you
like your soda, Little Elk?”

The Indian nodded. “Good.”

“
Would you care for another hamburger?
I know how much you like to eat.”

Although she smiled at her friend to show she
didn’t mean anything unkind by her remark, it occurred to Rose that
it hadn’t been her money that had provided the first round of
hamburgers. She supposed it might be considered impolite for her to
offer H.L.’s guest more food.

But that didn’t really matter, she decided
instantly. Rose might send most of her money home to her family,
but she made a large-enough salary that she was able to keep a
supply of pin money on hand. And if buying Little Elk another
hamburger would make her feel less uneasy in H.L. May’s company,
the money would be well spent.

Little Elk nodded. “I like it.”

“
Wait right here,” H.L. said as he got
up from the elaborately molded ceramic bench, “I’ll get you another
one.” As he loped off toward the hamburger concessionaire, he shot
back over his shoulder, “Be right back.”

Rose watched him in dismay. She oughtn’t have
done that; she knew better. While she possessed no understanding at
all of the polite nuances of behavior required in sophisticated
society, her mother had drummed proper manners into her when she
was a child. She’d just made a big gaffe, and she was
mortified.

“
Wait here,” she told Little Elk,
leaping up from the bench and hurrying after H.L. “I’ll be right
back.” She had to run to catch up with the long-legged reporter.
“Mr. May! Mr. May, wait a minute.”