RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Thirty

The Hills and the Hutchisons attended the theater that Saturday night, and were very impressed with what they saw, although Mrs. Hill was somewhat put out by the fact that she had to sit next to someone who was only middle class. They visited with Rose afterward, presenting her with flowers for a job well done.

Rose visited with Deborah at least once a week after that, but she was beginning to look forward to the month-long vacation that the troupe was taking. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do yet—she had several ideas—but as December grew closer, she thought about it more often.

The Hutchisons had invited her to stay with them over the holiday, but Rose wasn’t sure that was what she wanted to do. She felt as though she would be intruding upon their solitude, but she finally agreed to stay with them through Christmas. After that—she had two destinations in mind. She couldn’t travel too extensively; she didn’t have the money, but she could afford to go to one destination during her vacation and still have the money to meet the others in St. Louis.

The two destinations that Rose had in mind were Santa Monica, California, and New Orleans, Louisiana. She had wanted to visit Santa Monica since Jack had talked about it on the Titanic, but she wasn’t sure that she was ready to face the place. Despite her efforts to leave Jack in the past, she still thought of him occasionally; moreso when she encountered something that reminded her of him. Santa Monica was sure to do that.

New Orleans seemed a better destination. She had been there once before, for Christmas when she was seven years old, and she had loved the place. The Bukaters had gone down to New Orleans to visit some relatives of Ruth’s. Ruth’s family was from New Orleans, but Ruth had moved to Philadelphia when she married Rose’s father. The relatives left behind weren’t well known to Rose—she had only met them once—but she had enjoyed visiting New Orleans more than she liked most trips with her family. Of course, it wouldn’t be the same now, with her father dead and her mother far away in Philadelphia, but Rose thought that she might enjoy visiting there. The city itself was fascinating, and it was fairly warm in the winter, too, something that she valued.

Rose was looking forward to vacation for another reason, as well. Marietta continued to hound her, picking on her unmercifully whenever they met, and Rose was unable to avoid her in the close confines of the dressing room. She wasn’t entirely certain what Marietta found so irritating about her—she had won the attention of the faithless Richard, and she had been slowly moving up in rank in the company. Nevertheless, Marietta still envied Rose’s position, and her former relationship with Richard, and her wealthy friends, and never missed an opportunity to taunt her, accidentally hit her or spill makeup on her, or trip her. Rose tried to ignore her, but she had never been especially good at ignoring insults, and struck back often enough to make it worth Marietta’s time to taunt her.

Evelyn encouraged Rose to turn the other cheek. Marietta thrived upon attention, and if she did not get what she craved, she would eventually give up and find something else to set her mind upon. Rose tried to follow Evelyn’s advice, but it was difficult, with Marietta tormenting her day in and day out.

Things finally came to a head the last night that the company was together in San Francisco. Rose was alone in the dressing room, as she always was on the last night in a place, making sure that nothing had been left behind. She had carefully packed her own belongings and was getting ready to leave and spend one last night in the hotel before going to spend a week with the Hutchisons.

Evelyn had left as soon as the performance was over. She and her father were on their way to Texas to visit with Evelyn’s mother’s relatives, and they had to catch a train almost immediately. Evelyn had wished Rose a hasty farewell, promising to meet her at the train station in St. Louis in a month. Most of the other members of the troupe had also left soon after, though a few remained to pack up.

Rose glanced around the room one last time, making certain that nothing had been left behind, and turned toward the door. As she picked up her bag, the door suddenly swung open and Marietta came barging in.

"Still here?" she asked Rose snottily. "I thought you’d be off to stay with your rich friends by now."

Rose tried to ignore her, but Marietta was determined to get a reaction out of her.

"I noticed that your good friend Mrs. Hutchison is a cripple." She paused, smirking. "I think I know why her husband invited you to stay."

Rose’s face reddened angrily at the slur against her friends. "For your information, Marietta," she told her, saying the name like it was a curse, "it was Mrs. Hutchison who invited me to stay. We’ve been friends for years—"

"You don’t have to explain things to me, Rose," Marietta told her, still smirking. "Everyone knows what your reputation is."

Rose stiffened. "And just what is my reputation?" she inquired, putting on her most sickly sweet voice.

"I’m surprised you don’t already know."

"I don’t. Perhaps you’d like to elaborate?"

"You’re a slut. Sleeping with Richard all those months—the walls of those hotels are thin enough to hear through, you know—and carrying on with your friend’s husband, all the while going out with young men after the show."

Rose tried to count to ten. It was true, she’d had an affair with Richard, but she had never carried on with Will, and those dinners with admiring young men were just that—dinners, nothing more. And Marietta’s morals were no higher than hers. But she knew better than to point this out. Marietta had formed an opinion, and anything Rose said would just reinforce it.

"You’re a fine one to talk, Marietta. You’ve been carrying on with Richard for the past six weeks." Rose knew that she should stop arguing and walk out, but she’d been taunted for too long, and she was looking for a fight.

She went on. "At least I managed to keep his attention for several months. You’re already losing it. I saw him with one of the supers just last night."

Marietta’s face turned red. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Oh, I’m sure you don’t. You were too busy propositioning that stage door Johnny." She paused, giving Marietta an equally nasty smirk. "Your real problem with me is that you want my place in the company. But you’re never going to get there. You don’t have the talent. You may try to sleep your way to the top, but you’ll never reach my level. I may be a slut, but at least I’m a talented slut."

Marietta’s face was twisted into what could only be described as a snarl. "You...bitch!" she ground out, fury evident in her face and voice. "How dare you judge me?"

"If you’ve got it, flaunt it."

Marietta slapped her, her fingernails curling into claws. Rose dropped her bag and kicked her sharply in the shin. A moment later, they were rolling on the floor, kicking, punching, clawing, and pulling each other’s hair, screeching furiously. A knock sounded on the door.

"What’s going on in there?"

Marietta wrestled Rose to the ground and held her down, trying to get a good jab in. Rose jerked her head to the side, avoiding Marietta’s fist, and kicked out with her feet, knocking Marietta off of her. Marietta snarled in rage and dove at Rose again just as the door opened.

Startled, Marietta half-turned to see who it was—just as Rose gave her a shove. Caught off balance, she fell against a cabinet that had once held costumes. There was a sickening crack as she landed against it head first.

"What’s the meaning of this?" Harry Parsons stood in the doorway, looking at Rose’s bag lying on the floor, at the torn clothes and disheveled hair of both women—and at Marietta, lying in a motionless heap in front of the cabinet.

Rose was shaking from the adrenaline. "We got into a fight," she told him, as calmly as she could. "Marietta’s been after me for months."

Mr. Parsons stalked over to Marietta, who was still lying where she had fallen. He bent over her, looking closer, and then took her wrist, feeling for a pulse. After a moment, he shook his head.

"This was more than a fight," he told Rose stiffly. "Her neck’s broken."

"What?" Rose rushed forward, not believing him. She’d just given Marietta a good shove. That wasn’t enough to break a person’s neck.

There was no doubt about it. Marietta’s head lay at an odd angle. Heart pounding with dread, Rose took Marietta’s wrist and checked for a pulse.

There was none. Rose stepped back, horrified at her own actions. She hadn’t meant to do it, had only meant to shove her nemesis out of the way, but she had still done it. She had killed Marietta.

Rose turned to see that Mr. Parsons had closed the door and was leaning against it. "I’ve sent one of the stagehands to find a police officer," he told her. "You aren’t going anywhere until one gets here."

"It was an accident," Rose choked out, still stunned and shaken by what she had done. She had never meant to kill her.

"We’ll let the courts decide that."

A few minutes later, the stagehand returned with two police officers. As they handcuffed Rose and led her away, the remaining stagehands stared in shock. None of them had expected to see the company’s leading lady arrested on suspicion of murder.

Chapter Thirty-One