Rouge (#1 in the Cheveux Roux series) Read online

  ROUGE

  by Leigh Talbert Moore

  For JRM, my first reader, you make everything better.

  I love you.

  For CGM & LCM, who keep me going;

  for JJD, who understood my story and loved it from the first draft;

  for KCB, who always cheers me on;

  and for my south Louisiana friends and relatives, who gave my life color, fed my imagination, and started the wheels turning.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  A trumpet blast, followed by silence. We were all frozen on our marks. Center stage, my arms were raised in a V, and the insides of my eyelids turned from pink to black as the lights went out and the curtain fell, sending the odor of musty velvet swirling around us. Applause filled the house, but on our side was the swift click-clack of tap shoes, the whisper of tights against taffeta, fishnets and feathers. I dropped my arms and exited stage right.

  The glare of the spotlight had dazzled my eyes, but I’d done this so many times, I could find my way blind. I caught the small hand waiting for me in the wings as I passed. Not so small anymore, I thought as we navigated the maze of boxes and discarded scenery back to my dressing room.

  The odor of grease paint and cigar smoke drenched everything, and my throat was dry from singing and from the cornstarch used to absorb the damp. The rosin that kept us from slipping on the glossy stage floor crackled beneath my feet as we passed dancers speaking in low voices about what worked and what didn’t and whose fault it was.

  The dark passage we followed turned into a dimly lit hall lined with tiny dressing rooms where most of us lived. Secretly, of course, as this was not Storyville, and our New Orleans theater would be shut down if it were discovered so many single women lived here together. Prostitutes, they’d say, and they wouldn’t be entirely wrong. But I was born here, and the rest had no other options. So we all kept the secret.

  I lifted the handle on our tiny door, and we pushed inside, both speaking at once.

  “Oh, Hale!” Teeny’s voice was breathless. “You were like a dream—”

  “Help me get this thing off.” I interrupted, easing into the chair and trying to hold my head still as I pulled pins from my enormous headdress. “It must weigh fifty pounds.”

  She hurried over, her small fingers searching my scalp for the remaining pins.

  “Like a real queen of the stage,” she continued as she removed the last tiny instrument of torture and lifted the enormous mélange of cut glass and feathers from my head. “It’s so beautiful.”

  “Beautifully wicked.” I slid my fingers into my hair and rubbed my scalp. “I’m going to have a headache the rest of the night.”

  I straightened up and peeled off my fake eyelashes as Teeny’s hands smoothed my dark brown locks behind my shoulders and down my back.

  “I’ll never sing like that,” she said.

  “Let’s hope your dancing can cover for it.” My tone was sharper than I’d intended, and I glanced up at her bright blue eyes. Her blonde hair was streaked with auburn highlights that on some days shone bright red. Every day she grew more beautiful, and she was only twelve. My head hurt worse. I had to get us out of here.

  “We’ll get back to work on that tomorrow,” I said in a gentler tone.

  “I don’t know why you’re so worried about getting me in the show.” She turned and placed the headdress on its stand beside my mirror.

  “I know you don’t,” I muttered.

  In my dressing mirror, I watched as she lay across the small trundle we shared, wondering for the thousandth time if I’d made a mistake begging Rosa to let her stay that night, years ago, when she’d shown up starving at the back door. For six years she’d slept in my bed, shared my food, worn my outgrown clothes. She’d never cost the show a penny, but soon she’d be required to pull her own weight—one way or another.

  A gentle knock interrupted our conversation. “Miss Ferrer?” A tenor voice called through the door.

  “Freddie,” I whispered. “Hide!”

  Teeny jumped up and ran to the corner behind the dressing screen as I grabbed my red velvet robe. It was practically a dress with a broad collar and wide cuffs, and I pulled the button closed, tight in the center of my chest.

  “Mr. Lovel,” I smiled as I opened the door wide.

  Freddie Lovel was not the first of my male admirers, but he was the first Gavin, the theater owner, had sent to visit me. And as such, I gave him special attention. Not to mention he was closest to my age and quite rich.

  “You were incredible tonight,” he said, handing me a huge bouquet of red roses. “So beautiful.”

  “For me?” I took the bunch in my arms. “You shouldn’t have.”

  He caught my hand and pressed the tops of my fingers to his lips. “I could listen to you sing all night.”

  “Mr. Lovel, you’re too kind,” I said, gazing into his gray eyes.

  His cheeks colored and he looked down at the black top hat he clutched in his other hand. “Please call me Freddie,” he said.

  “Then you must call me Hale.” I searched for something large enough to hold the huge bouquet.

  “I’ll have to borrow a vase.”

  “I’ll buy you one.” Freddie jumped, suddenly inspired. “I’d buy you anything…”

  My heart rose at his words. It was obvious I was the first cabaret performer Freddie Lovel had ever courted, but that increased my hope. Freddie could be our ticket out of this place for good.

  I widened my eyes and filled my voice with amazement. “But you hardly know me! Surely you’re just overcome by art or the music—”

  “Oh, Hale,” he sighed, moving closer and taking my hand again. “If only you knew how I felt. I can never repay Gavin for introducing us.”

  “But you’re not saying you’d think of me, a cabaret singer, as worthy of your affections.”

  Freddie’s dark brow creased. “It’s not like you could help your circumstance. Reconstruction forced many gentle people to do what they had to for survival. And Gavin assured me he’s always shielded your virtue.”

  That was at least somewhat true. Thanks to Gavin’s promise to my dying mother, I’d been sheltered from what secretly went on here. The same was not true for others.

  My door opened, and Rosa bustled in, giving Freddie the eye. “Time for male admirers to be on their way,” she groused. Freddie released me and stepped back to let her pass. “The star needs her beauty rest.”

  “I’m so sorry, Freddie.” I said, looking down.

  “May I escort you home?”

  I froze. He’d never asked me this before, and I wasn’t prepared for him to do it tonight. Freddie had no idea I lived here or what went on after hours, and I wasn’t about to jeopardize our chance.

  “I… umm…” A tiny bead of perspiration slid down my back.

  “Out with a gentleman at this hour? Without a chaperone?” Rosa cried. “Gavin’d have a guard posted at the door if that happened
.”

  I could’ve kissed her round face.

  “It wouldn’t be a romantic outing necessarily,” Freddie said. “I just… why, I don’t even know where you live!”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re a gentleman, and you’ve been so faithful visiting me here.”

  “I’d happily visit you anywhere.” Freddie sighed and stepped back to the door, clutching his glossy hat. “But I’m sure you’re tired.”

  I nodded and made a sad face. He took my hand again and brightened. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  “You will?” I acted surprised by this announcement. “But it’s just the same thing all over again.”

  He leaned against the doorjamb and gazed at me. “I will never grow tired of hearing your lovely voice.”

  I moved to the door and smiled up at him. He lifted my hand to his lips and this time he held it a beat longer. His breath tickled the tops of my fingers.

  “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight,” I said softly, blinking up at him.

  He backed away and placed the hat on his head. As he walked down the hallway, I noticed a definite bounce in his step, and I closed the door satisfied as I unbuttoned my gown and slid it off my shoulders. Rosa stepped over to help me out of my costume.

  “That Freddie’s a romantic toff,” she groused, loosening my laces.

  Teeny came out from behind the screen and picked up one of my roses. She lay back on the bed holding it to her nose.

  “It must be wonderful to be in love,” she said. “I can’t wait for my first kiss.”

  My eyes met Rosa’s in the mirror. Hers rolled, but mine were worried as always. Released from my corset, I went to the bed where my little friend lay.

  “What makes you think I’m in love?” I asked, sliding back a strawberry curl.

  Her eyes flew to mine. “You’re not?” She cried. “But you sounded so… so—”

  “Freddie is one of the nicest gentlemen who’s ever visited me.” But this is no place for falling in love, I thought, going back to my dressing table. I dipped my fingers in the cold cream, and smoothed it over my face.

  “So how can you not love him?” Teeny insisted. Rosa pulled her up and turned her around, then she began untying her dress. “He’s far better looking than the last one. Count Arugula.”

  At that I laughed. “Octavia! And he wasn’t a count. Just some local politician.”

  He was also the first male visitor to make me realize these fellows were the key—a real chance at finding a new life outside of here. A safe life for both of us.

  “He was awful. A hundred years old and oily. And that moustache!” Teeny’s little nose wrinkled as she slid her gown over her head. “But Freddie’s not like that.”

  I picked up a tissue to wipe the cream away. “Because he isn’t so easily distracted by a dancer?”

  “Oh, Minette’s a terrible flirt. But aren’t you glad he stopped visiting you for her?” She hopped back on the bed and sighed.

  “Freddie’s so good-looking. And he’s only a little older than you.”

  “And Minette does more than flirt,” I softly added, tossing the tissue in the small wastebasket.

  I couldn’t lie, I was relieved when Octavia had been caught in Minette’s dressing room with his trousers around his ankles. It also helped that Gavin had somehow crossed paths with the young Mr. Lovel, who’d expressed an “undue admiration for my singing.”

  I’d heard versions of that line before, and they were always a veiled way of saying what the gentlemen really hoped to undo. But so far, Freddie really had been a gentleman, and he did seem as interested in getting to know me as he was my body. It was refreshing. And very promising.

  “Gentleman come and go in this line of work,” Rosa said. “Hale’s smart to keep her feelings in check.”

  “I think Freddie’s in love with you,” Teeny said, flipping onto her stomach to look at me. “He could hardly speak without turning all pink.”

  She giggled and I smiled. “Maybe,” I said.

  “I’d be in love with him,” she continued. “Falling in love is the greatest thing in the world.”

  “Spoken like someone who knows nothing of the world,” Rosa grumbled.

  I caught her shoulders and kissed her crabby old cheek. “Thanks for making me seem like a lady. That was perfect.”

  “You’ve no blood to be a lady, no matter what Gavin says,” Rosa said. “And you’re too young to be going out after hours.”

  “She’ll be eighteen in a month!” Teeny cried, but I cringed.

  A few more years, and I’d be in the same boat as Minette and most of the other dancers here—too old to hope for anything but propositions and expensive gifts from my male visitors. I’d be an old maid, and this place would be my home for good. My throat tightened. Freddie had to work.

  “I’m tired,” I said, climbing into the bed beside Teeny.

  Rosa pointed at her. “And you’ll get into trouble with all that kissing.” She carried my costume to the door. “Now go to sleep.”

  “I just wanted one kiss,” Teeny pouted.

  I turned off the light, and she snuggled down next to me like she’d done since that first night, years ago, when I found her, a dirty, half-starved orphan. I hadn’t been much better, a lonely orphan with a room and a promise of safety but no one to love. I wrapped my arm across her shoulders.

  “Tell me about how I came here again,” she said.

  It was our bedtime ritual, and even though I’d made the whole thing up and she was old enough to remember the streets, it didn’t matter. She loved her fictitious backstory. I smiled and petted her head.

  “Your mother was a gorgeous dancer. And when she met your dad, she couldn’t help but love him.” I smoothed a curl. “He played beautiful music on the guitar, and she danced for him.”

  “But he couldn’t marry her,” Teeny interrupted. “Because he had no money and she was promised to a rich man.”

  “So he went away to find his fortune, but before he could return, your mother was married off to another. Still, he came back, and she went to him—”

  “You’ve never explained why her going to him would mean I had to come here.”

  “I’ll explain it when you’re older.”

  My own eyelids were growing droopy, but I resisted reminding her it was all pretend.

  “Tell me about our future again,” she urged. She was unusually energetic tonight, and I needed her to go to sleep.

  I took a deep breath and shifted gears. This story was not pretend, it was a promise I’d made to both of us. “One day I’ll leave the show. Maybe Freddie will be the one to convince me.”

  “Freddie’s from Paris. Does he have a house there?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping to find out.” I kissed the top of her head. “And if he does, we’ll take a boat right out of New Orleans and live on the Avenue Montaigne.”

  “The richest street in Paris!” she added. “And we’ll ride in a carriage, and you’ll be a lady with diamonds and furs. And a little dog.”

  “And we’ll never think about this place.” I clutched my arm around her as my throat grew tight. “Ever again.”

  “Or what a terrible singer I am?” she yawned in the darkness.

  “Exactly.” My embrace relaxed, and I traced my fingers along her upper arm. “Now go to sleep,” I whispered.

  Outside our door were the sounds of shuffling feet and low, male voices mixed with female. Some were familiar, but others were not. They were the men who paid extra to visit the back rooms where the dancers did more than dance.

  We were all expected to keep the money coming in, and in return we got tiny rooms, stale food, and a pittance for personal items. But it was never enough. I was lucky to be the best singer and the star of the show. My voice might’ve kept me out of the back, but I had something extra. Gavin’s promise.

  The night my mother died, she made him promise he’d keep me safe, and a deathbed promise carried a lot of weight i
n our New Orleans subculture where superstition reigned.

  Teeny’s breathing smoothed, and I slid out from beside her. I found my dressing gown and fastened it at my chest again, pushing my feet into slippers and creeping to my door. I listened until it was quiet in the hall, safe to scurry down the dark passage.

  A small group of us were celebrating Evie’s birthday tonight on the roof of our building. She was nineteen, but we hoped Gavin had lost count. At seventeen she could’ve been sent to the back, but even though she was the weakest member of the chorus, it had never happened.

  I went up the narrow stairs and pushed open the heavy metal door leading to the roof. Roland, who composed all our songs, was the first to greet me. We’d known each other since we were children, playing together and teasing one another. He’d grown up here, too, and he was my oldest friend.

  “My gorgeous leading lady.” Roland took my hand and pulled me into the heavy night air that was still warm despite its being late fall. I tilted my head forward to meet his kiss. “No one could sing my songs the way you do.”

  “I’ve gotten to where I can read your mind.”

  I glanced up at his dark brown eyes. Roland was twenty-one, and he had classic French features, dark hair and eyes set off by fair skin and a broad, white smile. The scent of tobacco hung in his waistcoat from the fashionable, small cigarettes he smoked too often.

  He continued holding my hand as we approached Evie, perched among our friends. Mary was stocky and loud, but a good dancer; Frank and Carla were the only married couple in our troupe. Carla was somewhat plain with almost-black hair, small eyes, and a long nose. But she was tall and lean like her husband, who was hired to compliment me onstage. I drew the male patrons, and Frank drew the female. Light on his feet, with slim hips and luscious, black waves, Frank was a male-dancer fantasy. Occasionally, I could even hear the female swoons from the audience when he appeared.

  “Hale!” Evie jumped down and rushed to embrace me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  I hugged her tightly, remembering the day she arrived. She’d been the first girl my age in the show, and at fifteen-almost-sixteen, she was so proud of herself—a runaway from a Memphis farm turned New Orleans showgirl.