Lair of Dreams
“Terrific, Miss Knight. Simply terrific,” a smiling reporter said. “They’re going to love this story in Peoria. Why, you’ll be famous everywhere—from New York to Hollywood, Florida to Kansas.”
“Kansas?” Theta whispered.
“Yeah. Big state in the middle of the country. Fulla corn, Republicans, and Bible salesmen, and not much else?”
Herbie put his arm around Theta and gave her a squeeze. “Isn’t she terrific? Actually, I’m writing new songs for this little lady myself. A whole show’s worth. She’s my muse!”
“That so? Is this your beau, Miss Knight?” The gossip columnist winked.
“No,” Theta said, gently shaking Herbie’s hand free.
“Well, you must have somebody—beautiful girl like you.”
The skin of Theta’s palms crawled with heat like a mess of fire ants. Calm, she told herself. Keep calm.
“Come on, give us a little juice for the columns,” the columnist persisted.
“Uh… sure. I got a fella.”
The reporters’ pencils were ready to take it all down. “Well, who is he?”
The heat reached her wrists. “Uncle Sam,” Theta shot back. “I’m a real patriot. ’Scuse me, I gotta powder my nose.”
Quickly, Theta headed for the wings.
“She’s something,” a reporter said.
“She sure is,” Herbie said, looking at Theta as if she were a house he’d bought and was just waiting to move into.
Theta ran into the washroom and yanked off her gloves. Her hands were the color of hot coals. She shoved them under the cold tap, biting her lip as the curls of steam rose up and fogged the mirror. When they felt cool again, she dried her hands, examining them. They looked perfectly normal. But inside her gloves were faint scorch marks.
After the press filed out, Henry and Theta went out the stage door into the alley so Theta could get some air.
Henry gave her a big hug. “We did it!”
“Yeah, we sure did.”
“If I could only watch one movie for the rest of my life, it would be the look on Herbie Allen’s face when you started singing my song.”
“That was something, all right.”
“Hey, what’s the matter? They loved you in there, Czarina Thetakovich!”
“Did you hear that reporter, Hen? Kansas!” Theta said, breaking away and lighting up a cigarette. “What if somebody reads that story and they recognize me? What if they question me about the fire? About Roy?”
“They won’t. You’re Theta Knight, not Betty Sue Bowers. You don’t even look the same. You’re safe,” Henry said, kissing her forehead. “Okay?”
“Okay,” Theta said, feeling a temporary safety with her best friend.
“I’ve got some news of my own.” Henry grinned wide. “Louis is coming to New York. I sent him the train ticket in the mail today.”
“Gee. That’s great, Hen. So you got through to that noggin of his after all. How’d you do it? Did you tell him our telephone exchange over and over till he finally woke up and called it?”
Henry shoved his hands in his pockets and avoided Theta’s gaze. “Not exactly.”
“So how did you… oh, Hen.” Theta sagged against the side of the theater. “Making plans in a dream? That’s no more real than… than me being Russian royalty.”
“I thought you’d be happy for me,” Henry said, hurt.
“I am, Hen. But I’m worried about you. It’s like you live more inside that dream world than you do the regular world these days. You’re skinny and beat, and you’re miles away even when…” Theta stopped suddenly. Her eyes narrowed. “Hen, where’d you get the kale for the train ticket?”
Henry kept his eyes on the ground. “I’ll pay it back.”
“Son of a bitch, Henry!” Theta barked. A couple passing by on Forty-second Street gave her a disapproving glare. “Breeze, Mrs. Grundy! This ain’t your business,” she growled and they hurried on.
“You made that fund for me because you wanted me to be happy. Having Louis in New York will make me happy, Theta.” Henry had been excited to share the news with Theta. Now it felt like a mistake.
“Hen, that piano fund is our piano fund. It’s for our future. You and me. A team. At least I always figured it that way.”
“I thought you of all people would understand.”
“That ain’t fair, Hen. You know I’m on your side. Always.”