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.