We crossed the hall to the doorway of another room and looked in. Cinnamon Carlson, her coalblack hair down to her shoulders, where it lay over the metal breastplate she had fastened on, stood with a sword in her right hand. Kneeling at her feet was Howard Rockwell, who was also wearing a breastplate and holding a helmet in his hands. He had his back to us. so I couldn't see what he looked like. but Cinnamon was wearing a translucent white lipstick and had her nails painted black. She had a very light complexion, almost pale, which made her heavy eyeshadow and eyebrow makeup look that much more stark in contrast.
She glanced at us, but didn't stop her speech, which pronounced Howard a knight as she touched the sword to his shoulder. She called herself Jeanne d'Arc, Joan of Arc.
" 'I shall place my very life at your disposal,' " Howard declared and rose slowly. He put on the helmet, and then turned to look at us.
"And who be this strange new woman you dare to bring to our court?" he cried at Steven.
I thought Howard was the handsomest boy I had ever seen. He had eyelashes I knew some girlfriends of mine would sell their souls to have, and Paul-Newman-blue eyes, eyes that you just knew would make him as cinematic as could be. He had a perfect Roman nose and a strong, firm mouth, with high male-model cheekbones, all his features perfectly symmetrical. I judged him to be at least six feet one or two inches tall, with a trim figure. The helmet didn't quite hide his rich apricot-brown hair.
"She happens to be my honey," Steven said.
"Already? Swift work, knave. Enter," he cried at me, "and pay homage to our blessed Joan."
"Approach, dear maiden." Cinnamon declared.
"Actors," Steven said disdainfully.
"Why don't you two go up and choose some costumes? You won't believe how much there is," Howard suggested. "Go ahead. Steven, show her."
"I've got to get back to unpacking." I said. "I just arrived."
"She's worried about Lady Fairchild inspecting and then being locked up in the tower for failure to fold socks or something."
"Ridiculous," Howard declared. "Don't you realize who we are. sweet child? We," he cried, his arms out, "are the creme de la creme."
"The prime of Miss Jean Brodie!" Cinnamon cried. "I love that play."
"I had the lead role in our high school production," Howard told her.
He turned back to me. "What's your name really?"
"My name really is." I began looking at the smirking Steven Jesse. "Honey Forman."
"Well, Miss Forman, are you a thespian. too?"
"I'm a violinist." I said.
"Pity. I thought we could do a scene from Jean Brodie. I would direct, of course."
"Of course," Cinnamon sneered. "He's already telling me the things I do wrong."
"I keep telling her, first you establish a sense of place. Where you are. You must know, before you say a single line. Would you say the same words the same way on a boat as you would in the middle
of a city street?"
He looked at me.
"Understand?"
"I guess. It makes sense." I said, and he broadened his smile, "You sure you've never done any acting?"
"No," I said. "I better finish my unpacking," I added.
Cinnamon unbuckled her metal plate and brushed her hair back. I thought she was unusuallooking, but not weird, as Steven had suggested. In fact, she was very pretty, with a very nice figure. She looked at me for a moment and then turned to Howard.
"Would you be so gallant as to put all this back for me?" she asked him.
He looked shocked. "Me?"