Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (25 page)

They cared for her.

They loved her.

There was an appealing vitality to her character which the audience only now realized they had missed during other per
formances of the play.

The curtain dropped. It was intermission.

'But she is fantastic!' the Princess whispered to her husband.
'Vaslav, wherever on earth did you find her?'

The tearjerking performance caused Countess Florinsky's eyes to water incessantly, and she was forever poking a hand
kerchief behind her new gold-rimmed glasses to dab at her
eyes.

During the short intermission, the curtain draping the
Czar's box was drawn shut so that the royal couple might be
afforded total privacy from prying eyes. Servants circulated
with massive trays of champagne. The only talk among the
glittering audience was of the performance.

'It is magic,' Princess Olga Alexandrovna was heard to
declare.

'She should be at the Théâtre Français,' said Princess Marie
Pavlovna.

'And to think it's in Russian,' Prince Golitsyn told Admiral
Makarov. 'Quite novel, that, don't you think? I've only seen
it in French before.'

Raves, raves.

Backstage in the wings, Senda dropped wearily into a chair
between hulking props and painted backdrops. Someone pushed a glass of water at her and she sipped it gratefully.
Schmarya solicitously sponged her sweating brow. 'I was
right!' he crowed. 'You're knocking them dead!'

'I'm knocking
myself
dead,' she gasped, her breasts
heaving. 'My throat's sore from all that coughing, and I'm
emotionally exhausted.' She shut her eyes and let her head
loll back. 'I hope I can continue like I've been doing.'

'Of course you can. You've gone through two acts. There
are only two more, and they're a lot shorter.'

'And a lot tougher,' she reminded him, letting out a long,
resonant sigh. She opened her eyes and stared up at the ceil
ing. 'You think I'm all right?'

'All right?' He grinned. 'You're a damned marvel!'

She rolled her head sideways to face him and smiled her
thanks.

'Mind you, I'm not sure whom I prefer, though,' he said
pensively.

'What do you mean?'

'You, or Marguerite.'

'Bastard.' Restrainedly amused, she punched him playfully.
Then she frowned and touched her throat in concern. 'My
voice is starting to go. It's all the coughing I've had to do.
Maybe I should ease up a little.'

They watched in silence as the set was rearranged for the
third act. Then from the other side of the red puff curtain, the
orchestra started up again. She tensed, her hands tightening
on the arms of the chair.

'Sit tight. You still have a few minutes. Rest.'

'I can't.' She got up and began pacing nervously, fidgeting
with her hands. Her face was screwed up in concentration. Schmarya stood silently back, letting her metamorphose into
Marguerite.

Marguerite's prolonged death from consumption caused
velvet-sheathed fingers to dab lace handkerchiefs at moist
eyes. An occasional sniffle could be heard.

Senda, caught in the beam of the spotlight, stood with her
arms at her sides. Slowly she lifted them and stared at her
hands. Her eyes gleamed with an almost beatific light, and her
voice held the hushed tones of a revelation. 'I'm not suffering anymore. It seems as though life were pouring into me.' She
floated, wraithlike, across the stage.
'I
am going to live!
Ohhhh, how well I feel!' She swayed, tottered unsteadily, and crumpled so suddenly that the audience let out a communal
gasp.

The actor on a chaise sprang up and ran to her, collapsing
atop her. 'Marguerite!' he cried with rising terror. 'Marguer
ite! Marguerite!' Then he let out a scream, and with an
immense effort tore his hands from her. He drew back, wild
terror blazing in his eyes. 'She's dead!' he sobbed. He jumped
up and ran over to the man and woman standing quietly off to
the side. He sank down to his knees in front of them. 'My
God, what's to become of me?' he cried.

The couple looked stoically down upon him. 'How she loved
you, Armand,' the man who was standing said softly, shaking
his head. 'Poor Marguerite.'

The tableau was frozen. Then the red puff curtain rippled
swiftly down over the stage.

For a long moment the audience sat in stunned silence.

The applause, when it finally came, was spontaneous and deafening. It shook the small theatre, reverberating from the
rococo walls. Slowly Senda lifted her garishly made-up face off the floor and looked up in wonderment as the first shout
of 'Brava!', muffled by the thick curtain, stirred something
deep within her drained emotions.

Dazed, she could only watch as the rest of the cast swiftly assembled in a row, hooking their arms together.

'Quick!' Schmarya hissed at her. He pulled her unceremoni
ously to her feet and shoved her into the centre of the row of performers. Arms to her left and right linked through hers.

She twisted her head around. 'What did you think?' she
asked Schmarya.

He grinned. 'Just listen to them!'

'I can hear what
they
think,' she said a little breathlessly,
her eyes bright with excitement. 'I asked for your—'

Swiftly Schmarya jumped back out of sight as the curtain
rose again. The row of performers faced the audience and
bowed together. The curtain began to descend again. Swiftly
lifting her eyes, Senda stole a brief upward glance at the box the Czar and Czarina had been occupying. She could see
nothing. The curtain was already tightly drawn across it. An odd disappointment came over her and she tightened the cor
ners of her mouth. She hadn't been watching the box, so she had no idea if they'd even stayed to the end. That realization
sobered her, tainted the triumph somewhat.

The applause remained steady.

In the wings, Schmarya quickly paired off the individual performers in couples, starting with the least important ones.
Holding hands, they hurried onstage for their curtain calls, their order of appearance determined by the importance of
the parts they had played. Senda and the actor playing
Armand were last, and received the heaviest applause.

Then, turning on her prettiest smile from a repertory of
dozens, Senda went out to take her solo curtain call. The
mighty and the powerful, the titled aristocrats of Russia, not
only applauded in a frenzy, but for once they dropped their
stiff-upper-lip veneers and went wild. Shouts of 'Brava! Bra
va!' echoed from all corners. Finally the men in formal dress or dress uniforms and the ladies in gowns and jewels rose to
their feet in unison to give her a standing ovation.

Standing there alone, bowing again and again, Senda felt
the waves of their adulation rushing over her. When she finally
danced back offstage and the curtain descended, the applause
was no quieter. She had to come out again and again.

Her nerves quivered like fine-tuned antennas, and she felt
more alive than she had ever felt. Her heart throbbed wildly,
as though it would burst out of her body. Exaltation surged
through her, more potent than any drug.

It was unbelievable. She had conquered them all. They were
no longer just her audience. One and all, they had become
her admirers.

They adored her; they worshipped her; in a period of two
hours, she had totally seduced them and had become the toast
of the town.

Finally the curtain rippled downward for the last time.
Dazed, she waltzed dizzily toward a chair, her arms extended,
and when she dropped into it she found little peace. The rest
of the cast rushed toward her, mobbing around in a tight circle.
Each of them heaped kudos upon her.

'You were marvellous!'

'If we'd only known you were so talented, we'd have given
you starring roles long ago!'

'We'll probably be able to stay in this city for the rest of the
season!'

Accolades and kisses, merriment and compliments abound
ed.

'Hey,' Schmarya finally said good-naturedly, 'I hate to have to break this up, but give the star some breathing space so she
can unwind. She's got a ball to attend.'

Reluctantly the other cast members began to drift away.

Senda was in euphoria. She felt invincible, capable of doing
everything she had never done before. Although the reception
she'd received from the audience had been electrifying, the
warm praise from her fellow actors meant even more. Much
more.

But the most important thing now was going to the ball—
with Schmarya. That, she knew in her heart, topped it all.
Made everything worthwhile.

'Well?' Schmarya asked her after she'd washed off the greasepaint and rested awhile. 'What are you waiting for?
Don't you want to go?'

They were alone in the dressing room. The others had long
since gone. The little theatre was like a tomb. 'Go?' she asked.
'Where?'

'Where do you think?'

'Say it,' Senda said gently.

'Why?'

She smiled tolerantly. 'So I'll always remember that you
asked me to the ball.'

Chapter 9

The gracious one-two-three, one-two-three strains of a waltz
grew progressively louder the nearer they got to the ballroom.
Despite the labyrinthrine succession of rooms and halls bran
ching off in all directions, Senda was certain she could have
found the ballroom without the liveried footman leading
them, by simply following her ears and nose, heading in the
direction of the music and the fragrant, flowery scents that
drifted like incense in the air. The strains of the waltz drew
her like a magnet.