Ford had already seen several bills of “The New York Vaudeville Troupe” on the streets, and he thought it smart of Vernon to use New York in the bill. Londoners might be eager to see a vaudeville show, but they would be especially excited to see one from New York.
Many of the people who enjoyed vaudeville were lower-income and working-class people. They would most likely never travel to New York, but they would be able to see this small portion of it here.
He watched the acts take their place onstage and then move offstage when they were finished. When he saw Zeta take the stage, she looked like a bright garish flower dressed in pink with a large hat. She began to sing, and Ford had to admire her. Though she was aging, she had talent, even though her songs suited a younger singer.
Zeta had begun her first song when she suddenly stopped abruptly. “Vernon?” She looked about her. “Vernon!”
“Yes, Zeta?” he said, moving from behind the curtain.
“The piano accompaniment! It needs to be forte in the beginning, and then once I sing, pianissimo. I don’t want it too loud! People come to hear me, not him!”
Vernon looked at the timid piano player and then at Zeta. He moved to the piano player and relayed Zeta’s instructions to him, though he, like everyone else, had heard her perfectly. The man nodded, and Vernon turned to Zeta to see if she was satisfied. When she began to sing again, it sounded just as it had before, but she seemed satisfied.
Ford watched with amusement as Lou did his comic routine, followed by the Chinese magician and then Ruby. She was wearing a faded day dress that showed nothing of her curves. She sang only a small portion of her song to preserve her voice for the show and then moved offstage.
Ford watched her move across the stage and could still hear her voice in his ear, “Kiss me . . . on my mouth.” She had been drunk and silly as she tossed her hairpins aside like a child and pouted when he refused to kiss her. Her lips had been so sweet under his, and he had wanted nothing more than to cover her body with his. But the distance between them now was necessary. They both had their roles to play; he the detective, and she the star.
As Archie and Bessie took the stage, a young man came walking into the theater asking for Vernon.
“Up here, young fellow.” Vernon waved to him.
The young man delivered a telegram to Vernon and left as quickly as he had entered.
“Has someone died?” Lou asked drily.
Everyone watched as Vernon read the telegram, and then suddenly he called out, “Max! Max!”
Max didn’t immediately appear, so Archie went backstage calling his name as well. Ford watched the scene with interest. There must be something very important in the telegram, though at the moment only Vernon knew its contents.
“Damn it all!” Vernon moved backstage. “Where is he?”
Everyone immediately scattered to find the wayward assistant while Ruby took the small stairs to the right of the stage and walked down the aisle toward Ford. She took the seat in front of him and sat upon it, facing him.
“How do you like the show? Do you think we’ll be a success?”
“Absolutely.”
“We haven’t really spoken since that night you got me drunk,” she said softly, her gray eyes meeting his.
“I got you drunk?” Ford asked.
“Of course. You know you did. You wanted to take advantage of me,” she teased him.
He knew she was teasing. She was like that. An impish child wrapped inside a delicious woman’s body. He felt himself harden at her words, and he casually threw his overcoat across his lap.
“Actually, I think you wanted me,” he teased her back. “You just couldn’t say it. So you got drunk so you could throw yourself at me.”
She laughed, throwing her head back, which caused Ford to clench his teeth. What he wouldn’t give to caress her throat and pull her tightly against him and kiss her mouth.
“Now damn it, where is Ruby?” Vernon said loudly from the stage.
“I must go,” she told Ford before she stood up. “I’m here, Vern.”
She walked back down the aisle as Ford admired the gentle sway of her hips and her straight back. Once onstage, Ruby saw Max was pouting.
“I was cataloging the costumes like you said,” he told no one in particular.
“All right, all right,” Vern said, raising his hands. “I need everyone’s attention. The telegram concerns us all and opening night.”