PHANTOM IN TIME (17 page)

Helene
was touching up her coiffure. “I know. Jacques can be incorrigible. But he's
also great fun, isn't he?”

“Well,
I suppose . . .”

“I'm
glad my gentleman friend is not involved in the opera.”

“What
does Tommy do?”

Helene's
green eyes twinkled and she didn't reply.

“Helene?”

Leaning
toward Bella, Helene mischievously confided, “Oh, he's a piano player at a
whorehouse.”

Bella
laughed, not sure she even believed her friend. “My, that's a big improvement.”

“Actually,
Tommy works at Madame Julie's Dancing Emporium, and they have very strict rules
about him not fraternizing with the girls. At least we both keep similar
hours.”

Bella
rolled her eyes. “While he spends the night making music for beautiful women,
just like someone else I know. You're a hopeless optimist if I've ever seen
one.”

Laughing,
Helene set down her comb. “Bella, Tommy and I trust each other.”

Bella
offered her friend an apologetic smile. “Hey, I'm sure you do, and I don't mean
to criticize what you have.” She sighed. “It's just that I know a certain scamp
who will never be trustworthy.”

“Oh,
one never knows,” replied Helene enigmatically. “Sometimes the right woman can
work miracles.”

“If
I'm not too late,” Bella muttered.

Clearly
perturbed, Helene raised an eyebrow.

“Look,
I don't mean to talk in riddles,” Bella continued, “but I really am concerned
that Jacques may someday get himself killed through his reckless behavior.”

“Ah,”
murmured Helene. “You mean he'll be caught in the wrong woman's bed by her
irate husband?”

“Exactly.”
Turning sober, Bella inquired, “Do you know of anyone who might want to do him
in?”

“Why,
what an odd question.” Helene frowned. “But now that I think about it, he's
such a maddening devil, who
wouldn't
want to strangle him?”

Bella
groaned. “That's precisely what I'm afraid of.”

Helene
was pinching her cheeks and straightening the collar of her frock. “Come on,
Bella, stop being so morose. We'll be late for rehearsal.”

The
two women headed over to the stage, and took their places with the rest of the
troupe, all of them waiting for Etienne Ravel to appear. Watching Jacques
stride into view surrounded by his adoring female audience, Bella fumed. The
bonbons were evidently not exhausted, for both Maria Fortune and Teresa Obregón
rushed up to beg for a candy, and the rogue secured a kiss from each woman.
Bella and Helene exchanged meaningful glances. Observing Andre Delgado and
Claude Fortune glowering at Jacques, it was easy for Bella to see why he would
be murdered in a month—indeed, she might well throttle him herself.

Bella's
thoughts scattered as Etienne Ravel took the stage. Holding up a hand, he said,
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. Today we'll begin by concentrating on
'Dixie,' and 'Barcarolle,' followed by several more turns through the
kaleidoscope. Our wardrobe mistress is here, and those of you who are not
needed right away should go be measured for your costumes.” He consulted his
notes. “By the way, I'm ready to assign our three maids for the Gilbert and
Sullivan trio—I've chosen Helene, Tess, and Bella. Is that all right, ladies?”

At
the unexpected assignment, Bella felt a twinge of fear. She avoided performing
duets or trios, but knew better than to protest. She had hardly established
herself as a favorite with Etienne Ravel, and now was not the time to make
waves.

Helene
cast a speculative glance Bella's way, and she nodded bravely. Helene said,
“Yes, sir. Bella and I will be happy to participate.”

“And
Tess? What about you?”

“Yes,
sir,” replied Tess.

“Good.
Make sure all three of you meet with the wardrobe mistress this morning.”
Etienne scowled. “Speaking of costumes . . . I've also decided that you three
ladies, along with Cosette, will pose in our tableaux vivant for 'Ride of the
Valkyries.'“ He paused, his smile almost a sneer. “I believe you already have
an appropriate costume, don't you, Miss De La Rosa?”

As
the company roared with laughter at this reference to her gate-crashing
Jacques's solo, a red-faced Bella muttered, “Yes, sir.”

“Etienne,
how is the advance publicity proceeding for the premiere?” inquired Alfred
Strauss.

“Everything
is going splendidly,” Etienne replied with a grin. “We're already running ads
in the
Herald,
and Claude tells me ticket sales are brisk. We've also
signed up some local musical societies to perform during our intermissions—the
Zither Club, the Polyhymnia Circle, the Choral Symphony Society—and this should
increase community support.” A devilish glint danced in Etienne's dark eyes.
“Moreover, a rumor has been circulating that Maurice and Andrea Bloom may
include an impromptu stopover in New Orleans during their current American
tour. If so, perhaps we can lure them here for a special guest appearance.”

Delighted
smiles and awed murmurs greeted this announcement.

Etienne
clapped his hands. “All right, everyone, to your places. We've much to
accomplish today.”

The
company scattered. Since Bella wasn't needed for the first session of
rehearsal, she spent much of the morning waiting to be measured for her
costumes. At noon, Helene insisted on treating Bella to lunch at a nearby
Creole eatery. As she'd promised to do on the night they'd met, Bella told her
friend a little more about her background. Choosing her words carefully to
disguise the time change, she told of her upbringing in San Francisco, her
stage fright, and how she'd lost her parents in an accident.

“Oh,
you poor dear,” Helene sympathized afterward. “You know, I noticed you went
pale this morning when Etienne asked us to do the trio. How do you feel about
it?”

Stirring
her gumbo, Bella sighed. “I'm not thrilled, but at least it's not as bad as
having to sing a solo.”

Helene
patted her hand. “Indeed not. When we do our number, why don't you just pretend
you're still singing in the chorus? And I'll be there for moral support, won't
I?”

Bella
smiled brightly. “You're the greatest, taking me under your wing, providing me
with food and clothing and now moral support.” She sighed again. “I'm afraid
I'm becoming a burden.”

Helene
made a sound of outrage. “Nonsense. Bella, you're a delight, and I'm thrilled
to have you as a friend. And don't fret about the room and board. Mother is
convinced I'm starving on a showgirl's wages, and she sends me a
more-than-generous stipend each month.”

“I'm
still repaying every penny I owe you,” Bella vowed.

“Fine,”
replied Helene cheerfully, then insisted on treating them both to pralines for
dessert.

Later
that afternoon, Bella was heading for the stage when she heard Etienne Ravel
bellow her name. Grimacing, she rushed onto the stage, skidding to a halt as
she found herself alone with Andre Delgado. Andre grinned lecherously and
twirled his mustache, and Bella's stomach did a sudden somersault. Glancing
about, she wondered why the other members of the troupe had either retired to
the wings or were sitting out in the audience. She didn't see Jacques,
however—doubtless he was still doling out bonbons.

Bella's
gaze settled on a frowning Etienne, who stood just beyond the orchestra pit.
“Yes, Mr. Ravel? Did you need me?”

He
stepped forward. “Andre is going to sing a solo of 'She Is More to Be Pitied
Than Censured.' And he has come up with an ingenious suggestion—that he sing
his opus to a fallen lady. He has recommended you for that role. I think that
with a tawdry satin dress, some feathers, and a healthy amount of rouge, you
could affect a proper soiled dove,
n’est-ce pas
?”

While
Andre chuckled, Bella stared speechlessly from him to Etienne. At last she
found her voice and said archly, “Sir, there is no such thing as a
proper
trollop.”

Surprisingly,
Etienne chuckled. “Agreed, Miss De La Rosa.”

Suddenly
Jacques charged onstage, glaring magnificently at Etienne. “Mr. Ravel, I will
not hear you maligning Miss De La Rosa.”

While
others in the audience snickered, Etienne retorted, “I'm not maligning her,
Jacques—merely asking her to play a role.”

“Yes,
Jacques,” put in Andre, “this is being done for the sake of art.”

“Don't
talk art to me, you blackguard,” Jacques snapped to Andre. His angry gaze
flicked back to Etienne. “I shall not have the slightest aspersions cast on
Bella's character—even in a role. I shall not allow you to dress her up as a
hussy, nor will I run the risk of having
any
man assume she is a fallen
woman.”

Bella
narrowly resisted an urge to roll her eyes. How could Jacques self-righteously
defend her virtue when he clearly intended to compromise it himself? Angrily,
she said, “Oh, for heaven's sake! Look, Mr. LeFevre, I don't need you to
protect me.”

He
gave her a cajoling look. “But, Bella—”

“I
mean it. Besides, talk about the pot calling the kettle black.”

Jacques
scowled.

Etienne
was shaking his head. “You just don't like the idea of Andre serenading her, do
you, Jacques? If I know you, you want to woo her yourself.”

Jacques
clenched a fist. “That is beside the point—”

“This
is a theater production, for heaven's sake,” Etienne blustered on. “Andre's
suggestion is sound and we're going to employ it—unless Miss De La Rosa
objects.”

Jacques
glanced sharply at Bella. “Well, Bella?”

Staring
at him, so pompously indignant after playing the romeo to taunt her, Bella
suddenly loved the idea of watching him squirm for a change. Casting him a
sweet smile, she announced to Etienne, “I have no objection to playing a soiled
dove, Mr. Ravel.” Melodramatically she fluffed her hair. “Bring on the low-cut
satin gown and the feather boa.”

Etienne
chuckled, nodding decisively at Jacques. “There you have it: the lady has
spoken. Is there anything else, Jacques?”

Jacques
ground his jaw in fury, turned on his heel, and stormed off the stage. Bella
convulsed with giggles.

“Well,
Miss De La Rosa?” inquired Etienne. “Are you prepared to rehearse now?”

Glancing
at the all too eager Andre, Bella remembered her similar role in the twentieth
century production and almost laughed aloud at the irony. “Wouldn't you rather
make me a bird in a gilded cage?”

“A
what?” asked a puzzled Etienne.

Bella
snapped her fingers. “Oh, that's right, the tune hasn't been invented yet. Instead,
we'll do the maudlin ballad, right?”

“Miss
De La Rosa, whatever are you babbling about?” demanded Etienne.

“Never
mind, Mr. Ravel,” Bella replied agreeably. “Andre may serenade me—as long as I
don't have to sing a solo.”

“All
you have to do is to hold your rose and appear tragic,” said Etienne.

“Now,
at that I'm an expert,” quipped Bella.

“Toby!”
bellowed Etienne.

The
lad rushed out, handed Bella a rose—a real, lovely red bloom—and smiled at her
shyly. She mouthed a thank-you.

“All
right, Bella, stand close to Andre,” directed Etienne, “and look pitiful.”

Bella
moved close to Andre and affected a maudlin pose. She ground her teeth as he
touched her arm and wiggled his bushy eyebrows. Etienne cued Mr. Raspberry, who
played the intro to the William B. Gray’s sentimental Gay Nineties tune. Bella
tried her best to keep a straight face as Andre serenaded her, his face close
to hers, his dark eyes gleaming with lust.

She
is more to be pitied than censured,

She
is more to be helped than despised.

She
is only a lassie who ventured

On
life's stormy path, ill advised.

Do
not scorn her with words fierce and bitter;

Do
not laugh at her shame and downfall.

For
a moment just stop and consider

That
a man was the cause of it all.

When
Andre finished, he shocked Bella by leaning over and kissing her! She was
jarred by the brash kiss, the tickle of his mustache, and the unpleasant taste
of tobacco on his lips. As quickly as the kiss began, it was over, and Andre
pulled back to grin at her lustfully. She glowered back, struggling against a
desire to slap the cad as she heard catcalls coming from the wings and the
audience.

“Andre,
what was the meaning of that?” called an annoyed Etienne.

“I
thought it was a nice finishing touch, no?” said Andre innocently.

“I'll
finish you!” yelled an outraged male voice as again Jacques barged onstage.
“Andre, how dare you assault Miss De La Rosa!”

Bella
noted to her satisfaction that Jacques was actually trembling in his fury.
Andre turned angrily on his accuser. “I was not molesting the girl—it was
simply part of my art.”

Jacques
waved a fist. “I'm ready to take your art and shove it down your damned
throat!”

“Yes,
Andre, next time kindly refrain from improvising,” ordered Etienne.

Stepping
closer to Andre with deliberate menace, Jacques snarled, “Force yourself on
Bella again and I'll call you out, you miserable wretch.”

Bella
had had enough of Jacques's outlandish, high-handed behavior. Moving over to
him with hands balled on her hips, she snapped, “Mr. LeFevre, you needn't
defend my virtue nor challenge Mr. Delgado to duels.” She swung her furious
gaze to Andre. “You see, if Mr. Delgado pulls a stunt like that again,
I'll
kill
him.”

Turning
with dignity, Bella exited the stage, the men watching her proud retreat in
stunned silence.

Chapter Sixteen

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That
afternoon when the chorus was on break, Bella sat out in the audience with
several others, watching the rehearsal of various solos and duets. She
particularly enjoyed hearing Teresa Obregón sing
“Barcarolle,”
as well
as Jacques's powerful rendition of Wagner’s “Evening Star.” She felt so deeply
moved by his singing that her resentment toward him temporarily receded. His
voice, even more magnificent than her own father’s or grandfather's, sent
shivers up and down her spine. Both his song and his stage presence mesmerized
her, as he stood with hand pressed over his heart, his features alive with
emotion.