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

  Roland stood and moved toward Gavin. Mastiff appeared from behind a set and Fiona scampered with perfect poise from where she had been working with Frank and Carla.

  “Hale,” Gavin said, noticing me. “Is this little Teeny?”

  My mouth went dry, but she smiled at him all innocence. “I’m not so little!”

  “No?” he smiled back at her, amused. I couldn’t breathe. Shut up, Teeny. “Let’s hear that voice,” he said.

  Teeny opened her mouth, but I quickly clapped a hand over it. “She’s not ready. I’m still working with her.”

  Gavin glanced at me. “You’re doing good, cher,” he said, turning on his heel and walking away. “Really packing ’em in.”

  “Thanks,” I could barely respond.

  “Back to work,” he barked, and everyone began moving.

  From far away it seemed, I heard Frank and Carla do their stomp-stomp! I shook my head and turned to Teeny.

  “Don’t ever sing for Gavin. At least not til you’ve mastered some dance steps.”

  She wasn’t paying attention. Roland’s pencil was in her hand and she was sketching on a blank staff. “You’re always so panicky,” she said. “I think Gavin’s nice. And he treats you like his only daughter.”

  “I am not his daughter, and Gavin’s only interested in one thing—money.”

  “Just because he cares about us,” Teeny argued. “If the club goes down, we all go with it.”

  I rolled my eyes. Where she got her idealized views I couldn’t imagine. “We are very secondary to Gavin. Come on.”

  I took her hand and led her to where Frank and Carla were warming up. Carla wore a full-skirted dress and her shiny black hair was draped in large waves over her ears. Frank was in shirtsleeves and his equally dark hair was slicked into the smallest ponytail. They were of Spanish descent, and when I was younger, I liked to imagine Frank was a buccaneer, on the run and hiding out in our theater.

  “We should go over the pas de deux from the third act,” he said when he saw me, motioning for me to join him center stage. “It felt stiff, and you missed a step.”

  “I’m sure I missed more than one,” I answered, going to him.

  “You dance well enough,” he said, lifting my forearm. “I can cover for the rest.”

  “You always do.” Lucky for me, Fiona let my mistakes slide. I caught his black eyes. “But I was hoping you might teach Teeny some of the opening chorus first.”

  He frowned. “We don’t have time—”

  “It’s just… she’s getting older,” I said, hoping he would understand. Especially after last night. “And I know she’s still young, but people like watching kids dance.”

  He studied me for two beats, then he turned to her. “You want to learn?”

  Teeny’s cheeks flushed, but she nodded. He crossed the stage to where she stood, and I remembered how intimidated I was upon first meeting Frank.

  “How much do you know?” he asked.

  “My mother was a beautiful dancer…” she started.

  “She was?” His eyebrows went up in anticipation.

  “No.” A sad little smile crossed her face. “It’s just a game we play.”

  Frank didn’t skip a beat. “Well, dancing is easy… like falling in love.”

  He poked her in the side and smiled. She looked up at him, hopeful. Then he grasped her shoulders, moving them around. “Relax and feel the music. Be loose.”

  He used his feet to move hers into fourth position, one foot forward, one to the side. Then he lifted her arms to an open second position, as if she were preparing to hug someone.

  He winked at me. “Whatever happens, you couldn’t be as bad as Hale’s first time.”

  “Not fair!” I cried. “Gavin thinks I was born knowing how to do everything.” Because all Creoles can sing and dance.

  Teeny was amazed. “Hale was bad?”

  Frank chuckled. “She’s the best example I know that anyone can learn to dance.”

  I watched Frank’s graceful movements, his patient instruction of Teeny, and I thought about our first performance together. I was fourteen, and until that time Frank had only danced with Carla. Then out of the blue Gavin insisted Frank and I do a tango together. It was a disaster, and when the show ended, I ran to the roof humiliated. Roland found me.

  “You’re a wonderful singer,” Roland had said, pulling me into his arms. “Who says you have to dance as well?”

  He was only eighteen then, but already writing more than half the songs for the show.

  “Frank’s so good,” I hiccupped. “And I made him look like a buffalo.” I covered my face with my hands. “I can never face him again!”

  Roland laughed and gave me a squeeze. “Everyone messes up sometimes.”

  “I almost fell,” I cried. “And then I stepped on his foot—”

  “Your voice is lovely, and it gets better every year.”

  I sniffed and looked up. Evie was right, I was desperately in love with Roland, and that night when he smiled at me, I couldn’t help myself. I leaned into him and pressed my lips to his as firmly as I could.

  After two seconds, he exploded with laughter. I jumped up and ran to the other side of the roof humiliated.

  “Hale, wait,” he called after me.

  I had my back to him and my face pressed against a post, wishing I could die. “Leave me alone,” I mumbled.

  “Come here,” he reached for my arm and turned me to face him. “Look at me.”

  But I wouldn’t. I kept my eyes fixed on the buttons of his shirt. He slipped his fingers under my chin and lifted my face to the moonlight.

  “Look at me,” he said again. My eyes flickered to his, and in the dim blue light, his pale skin and white teeth seemed to glow. “That was a terrible kiss.”

  “Oh!” I jerked my chin away.

  He laughed and caught me. “And I was going to say we can’t have our leading lady not knowing how to give a proper kiss.”

  I stopped struggling and faced him. “You mean…?”

  “I mean let me show you how.”

  A jolt of nervous excitement hit my middle.

  He slowly leaned forward, and I looked directly into his black eyes, anticipation flushing my cheeks.

  “When you kiss someone,” he murmured. “It should be soft. Like you’re taking the slightest taste of something very sweet.”

  With his thumb, he gently pulled my lower lip down and covered my mouth with his. His lips were warm and his breath whispered across my cheek. Everything seemed to stop except my heart, which beat painfully hard.

  Then he lifted his head slightly. His eyes held mine as our noses lightly touched. I couldn’t breathe.

  “This is the French way,” he whispered. He slid his hand to my cheek and pushed my lips apart with his. I felt his tongue enter my mouth and tasted the cool mints he always chewed to hide the cigarettes. His tongue moved softly against mine, and my knees melted.

  I carefully stepped back.

  “Well?” he smiled, stepping toward me. “Did you like it?”

  I could barely breathe as I nodded yes. My mind was swirling with thoughts of him touching me.

  “Now you try,” he said, crossing his arms and turning to the side. “I’ll be an unsuspecting male suitor dying of love for you. Now go.”

  My heart pounded, but I stepped forward and slipped my hands up to his cheeks. I gently pulled his face to mine, and our eyes locked. A thrill raced all the way to my toes. I closed my eyes and pressed my lips to his, urging his apart and tentatively sliding my tongue across the space.

  He embraced me and kissed me back in a way that scorched my mouth. Heat filled my stomach, and for a split second, I thought I might faint.

  Then he released me and smiled. “Perfect. That’ll keep the boys coming back for more.”

  “I… I love you,” I said, dazed. “I want to be your lover.”

  I was ready to do anything he said, ready to remove my dress on the spot, but he stopped it a
ll.

  “No. Don’t say that.”

  I blinked once to see him frowning. Then I spun away in shame, tears flooding my eyes. He grabbed me and pulled me back.

  “Stop,” he said.

  “No!” I sobbed. “Let me go.”

  “I forbid you to cry.” He gave me a little shake. “This has nothing to do with you.”

  “Then what?” I sniffed. “Are you in love with another girl?”

  “No.”

  “Then why? I thought you cared for me.”

  “I do care for you, but…” he exhaled and released me. Then he turned and walked a few steps away, jamming his hands into his pockets. I watched his back, and after a few moments he continued. “I’ll tell you. But you must never repeat this. To anyone.”

  “Repeat what?” I tried to calm my sniffling.

  He waited another moment, then spoke. “My preference is for men.”

  Now I was frowning in confusion, but he didn’t say anything more. It was as if he were waiting for something, some reaction.

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “I mean that I don’t want a wife. Or any woman. For my lover.” He slid his arms around me, but I struggled to get out of his embrace.

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying.”

  “Stop struggling and look at me.” I looked at his beautiful face, and all I could think about was our kiss. “I will always be your friend. And I’ll always care for you and protect you. But nothing more.”

  Frank was still working with Teeny when Roland appeared at my side. I looked at him and smiled. He smiled back.

  “What?”

  I shook my head. “Just a memory.”

  He tugged my elbow. “Well, come with me. We need to discuss some changes Gavin wants us to make in the production.”

  “Of course.”

  I followed him to where Mastiff was standing by the piano. Our set designer’s gravelly voice started without greeting.

  “Seems they’re doing a trick in Paris where the star is lowered from the ceiling on a swing or a rope or some such device. You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

  I blinked. “You want me to swing in on a rope?”

  Roland burst into laughter. “That would be amazing! Could you pull it off? I could turn it into a pirate number, and we could give Frank a sword—”

  “No,” Mastiff interrupted, not amused. I could tell he didn’t approve of this change. “I’ll have to do some redesign and make a bench we can lower.”

  Gavin was back, and I watched Fiona approach Frank and Teeny. I prayed she would make them stop dancing. Teeny’s progress was painfully slow, and I didn’t want Gavin seeing her mistakes.

  “What do you think, Hale?” Gavin’s baritone was loud and full of authority. “How does our bird feel about flying?”

  “I’m sure it’ll be… interesting,” I said.

  “And you’ll need to tart it up a bit. Show more leg. I’ll have Rosa lower your necklines an inch.”

  “I don’t see why that’s necessary,” Roland muttered. “Hale’s just a kid.”

  “She’s a woman,” Gavin said, pinching my cheek. “No sense hiding it. She’s our star, and men like a tease. Makes ‘em think they might get lucky, eh?”

  I tried to smile like I appreciated his words and not like they made my breakfast start to rise. Of course, there was another concern.

  “But… but what about Freddie?” I asked.

  Gavin winked. “Talked to him just today. Lovel’s yours for the losing, cher.”

  “Then whatever you want, of course.”

  “Who knows, it might even speed things along,” he said sotto voce. I wasn’t sure I understood, but he turned quickly and addressed the men. “It’s all settled then.”

  “I’m going to need those additional workers,” Mastiff called after him.

  Gavin stopped and glared at him. We all fell silent waiting to see what would happen. Long moments passed, until at last Gavin relented.

  “Two,” he said. Then he turned, strode up the aisle, and out the back door. I looked at Roland and breathed, but he was still frowning.

  “I don’t like this,” he said, and I couldn’t help feeling a twinge of dread.

  Chapter 3

  Mastiff got his new workers, and by the next day we were busy restaging the production. Every day we worked from before breakfast to past dinner, stopping only for an hour at lunch. We were practicing overtime to learn the new routine, and I was taking a break from the pas de deux with Frank when Teeny found me.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Rosa with my costumes?” I asked as she grabbed my arm. “Why do you have that look on your face?”

  “It happened,” she said, pulling me.

  My eyebrows drew together as I followed her into the wings. She kept going toward our small room, and I noticed she was clutching her stomach.

  We burst through the door, and she fell on the bed. “I’m bleeding everywhere, and I can’t stop it.”

  For a moment I was confused. “What?”

  “Down there,” she whispered. “From my… you know.”

  I shook my head, “But you’re only twelve!”

  “Oh!” she wailed. “I knew this was wrong. Am I dying?”

  “I don’t know.” She moaned again, and I pulled her into a brief hug. “I mean, of course not. You’re not dying. You’re nearly thirteen, and I guess we don’t know anything about your mother. Maybe she began early, too.”

  I released her and crawled under my dressing table, digging through a small basket that was hidden behind the skirt.

  “Calm down. It lasts a few days, and then it stops,” I said, lifting out stockings and other discarded items.

  Her face was pale with fear when I emerged, and that old protectiveness rose within me.

  “Come here,” I soothed her. “It’s okay. Take this and go change.”

  I handed her one of the small towels I kept for myself. She sniffed and took the parcel from me. I watched her leave and then sat back, biting my lip. Those towels were expensive. The girls hoarded and stole them from one another, and with two of us to supply, there was no way I could cover this expense alone. We had to have more money. Now.

  After a few moments she returned. “Thanks,” she said, bundling her dress into a roll. Then she sat on the floor in front of me and wiped her nose on her sleeve.

  “How do you feel?” I asked.

  “A little trembly. And my stomach hurts. Here,” she rubbed her lower abdomen. Then she whispered. “I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be scared.” I pulled her into my arms and smoothed her copper locks back from her face. “Rosa didn’t really say much when it happened to me, but it’s perfectly normal. You’re turning into a woman.”

  She lifted her chin and kissed my neck. “Thank you.”

  I continued smoothing her hair and we were silent a few moments. A tapping at the door interrupted us.

  “Hale,” Carla stuck her head inside. “Are you okay?”

  Teeny clutched my arm, and I looked at her. She shook her head.

  “We just…” I tried to think of something plausible. “Teeny’s feeling under the weather, so I was just checking on her.”

  “Frank needs you back onstage. I’m sorry you’re sick, Teence.”

  I stood and helped her up. “Just lie down for a little while, and we’ll talk more later.”

  Back onstage I went to where my dance partner was waiting. I turned my back to him and leaned against his firm chest. My arms spread open and his hands cupped my wrists as our legs rose in unison. It was a beautiful dance, and in my mind I calculated how long it had taken me to go from falling and stepping on my partner’s feet to near-ballet.

  No, I decided. We’d need a solution quicker than that.

  * * *

  “The first day really is the hardest,” Teeny said the next morning. “I feel so much better now.”

  “I’m glad,” I said, frowning as I handed her
the second-to-last towel I had hidden beneath my table. Once they were gone, our only option was those smelly rags that didn’t provide much in the way of protection. Or hygiene. And we had to wash and boil them by hand. It was disgusting.

  Several minutes later, the door burst open again and she rushed in, grabbing my arm. “He’s back,” she whispered. “Come on!”

  “What now?”

  She pulled me down the narrow corridor to the backstage area where in a few minutes I’d have to test the bench Mastiff’s workers had constructed. I wasn’t looking forward to it. Midway there, she released me, and I reached back to finish tying my hair. Then she stopped so short, I almost slammed into her.

  She turned and grabbed my arms. “Look,” she whispered, tilting her head to the scaffolding above and behind her.

  I looked in the direction of her nod, but all I saw were workers.

  “What?” I returned my eyes to her, searching her face. “Did you see something?”

  “Up there,” she murmured a bit louder, through tight lips. I looked again, but the only thing I saw was… Oh, no. Through a sheen of dust particles a slender guy with honey-colored hair was tying the rope that would catch me if the one holding my bench broke.

  “Are you wagging your head at a stage hand?” I squinted into the light again hoping there was something else there I’d overlooked.

  Teeny squeezed my arms. “Don’t stare!”

  “But you just said—”

  “What do you think?” she interrupted, her voice giddy. “Isn’t he amazing?”

  I looked again, but she jerked my sleeve. “Don’t look again!”

  “I didn’t really see!”

  “You’ll see him when you go up. I just want you to know what you’re looking for.”

  A stage hand my age or possibly older was not what I was looking for, especially after all her talk of love affairs and kissing.

  “You know, when it’s that time of the month, your emotions are very sensitive.”

  “I noticed him yesterday evening,” she continued. “I heard him tell Mastiff he’d just moved here from Ascension.”

  “That’s another thing. Set workers are drifters, notoriously irresponsible, and most of them are drunks or drug fiends—” I stopped speaking when I felt a thump on the floorboards behind me.