Universe 10 - [Anthology] Read online

  Miles headed for the door, smiling at me in passing. It was a tired product. “Have fun.”

  Brian resumed pacing. “Tommy is playing Jonathan Clay, not being Jonathan Clay.”

  “I’m doing what I always do. Giles Kimner didn’t complain in Rainbow Man.”

  “I’m not Giles Kimner, as I pointed out before.” Brian’s voice remained even, but every syllable crackled like breaking ice. “I do not believe one can produce valid théâtre vérité by playing characters. Jonathan Clay has depth. He has layers of feeling and behavior. If he didn’t, Allegra would have realized what he was long ago. He has to be done as more than a veneer over your own facade.”

  “I’m doing what I always do.” Tommy followed his rising voice until he was standing, glaring down at Brian, only centimeters from the director’s face. “You’ve seen me work before. You know what I do. If you don’t like it, why the hell did you come asking me to be Jonathan!” He whirled away and kicked his chair.

  The chair collapsed and skidded across the polished floor.

  “Very good,” Brian said.

  I blinked. He sounded delighted.

  “I’ve got you feeling real emotion now. Before, you’ve just played at it, as you’ve just played at vérité. You’ve never bothered to learn how to work with angels, only waited for them to do the job for you. I’ll teach you how to use them, though, with Noir’s help. You are Jonathan. I want you to be him onstage for the whole world. Noir.” He turned and looked at me. “What I’ll do is set up scenarios for the two of you, and you’ll live as many as necessary for as long as you need to, until Jonathan becomes real to you and us.”

  We swallowed our angels and started to work. After the first hour I could see why Miles had been exhausted. Even with angels, remaining Allegra and seeing Tommy as Jonathan was an effort when the words and reactions coming from him were all Tommy Sebastian. Though we had never worked in a verite production together before, I knew Tommy had done several. I wondered how. I also wondered why Brian wanted him for Jonathan. There were plenty of more gifted actors with profiles just as beautiful as Tommy’s.

  We must have lived nearly fifteen repeats of the party where Jonathan and Allegra first met, and that was only one of seven scenarios Brian had chosen for us. When Brian finally let us quit, it was nearly dark outside. I was too tired even to eat I took a cab back to my hotel and collapsed into bed.

  * * * *

  The next day was a repeat of the previous afternoon. Brian let me take short breaks to choose my costumes and be fitted for the alterations while he worked Tommy with Miles, but most of the scenarios were between Jonathan and Allegra. It was wearing, and wearying. I stayed in character for so long I started to feel that Allegra owned my body and Noir was someone who lived in the back of my head. The blitz worked, though. Somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, Tommy visibly changed. I found myself talking to someone unmistakably Jonathan Clay. The easy chatter and poetic quotes disappeared, replaced by warm, adoring eyes that said more than words and lingered on me wherever I went. Finishing the scene, we came out of the angel mist and were actually startled to find Brian there.

  He measured us with his eyes, nodding. “He’s got it.” He grabbed me and danced me across the practice hall. “By Jove, I think he’s got it.”

  I started to pull away. I did not want any man touching me but Jonathan. Moments later I recognized the carry-over. I grinned sheepishly and relaxed in Brian’s arms. “Does he have it or does it have us?”

  Brian did not reply. His head was turned, watching our whirling reflections in the mirrors. No, I saw a moment later, not our reflections; he was watching Tommy.

  Tommy preened himself, grinning. “You should be dancing with me, Brian; I’m the one who’s done something marvelous.”

  Abruptly, Brian let me go. A frown rippled across his forehead. He ran back toward Tommy. “No, don’t quit; don’t lose it again. Let me work with you on some other scenes and we’ll zip you into Jonathan once and for all. Thank you, Noir,” he called back to me. “We’d never have done it without you. You’re through for the day.”

  I picked up my coat and escaped before he could change his mind. I treated myself to a long walk to clear Allegra and the angel mist out of my head. I needed it. I kept finding myself looking in shop windows at dresses that, while beautiful, were not my style. When I felt like Noir again, I took a cab back to the hotel and soaked in the tub, reading a book. I was debating whether I wanted to bother dressing to go down to the hotel dining room or have room service bring something up when the phone rang.

  It was Tommy. “How would you feel about having dinner with me tonight?” His voice was quiet, without its usual flippancy.

  “Has Brian given permission?”

  There was a pause. “Of course not, but our characters are supposed to know and enjoy each other’s company. Please, Allegra?”

  I frowned. “Don’t try that on me, Tommy Sebastian.” Even as I said it, though, I could feel Allegra nudging me, responding to Jonathan’s voice. I fought a minute, then gave in. Why not? What was the harm? “Pick me up in half an hour.”

  He knocked on my door in exactly half an hour. I shook my watch in disbelief. Tommy on time? But he was, and he looked me over with approval. “Lovely.” He squeezed my hand as he tucked it under his arm and led me toward the elevators. “I thought we’d eat at The Caverns.”

  That was fine with me. We chatted while we waited for the elevator and I noticed that he did not once check his reflection in the mirrored wall. In The Caverns, which was paradoxically on the top floor of the hotel, he continued to be attentive while we sat on a stalagmite-supported bench seat at a stalagmite-supported table beneath dim stalactite lamps.

  “I thank you for the dinner,” I said, “even though I’m having it with Jonathan Clay and not Tommy Sebastian.”

  Tommy rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to shake him off.”

  “I can sympathize.” I leaned my head against his shoulder. “How did the rest of the afternoon go?”

  “More of the same. Well, not quite. Brian made some changes in my —in Jonathan’s bio, then he put me through the hoops with the changes. Would you like to take a walk after dinner?”

  I would. We did. Hand in hand, we strolled down Gateside Avenue. The clouds that had been drooping overhead the past two days were gone. Through the clear, crisp night we could see the towering bulk of Diana Mountain and, high on it, the lights of the buildings housing the stargate.

  “I always thought there should be a shining arch filled with stars,” I said, “not just flat, dull buildings.”

  Tommy squeezed my hand. “Why, you’re a romantic.”

  I thought about it. “Allegra is.”

  The stargate and the international jetport put Gateside on a crossroads of the galaxy. The avenue was lined with shops whose brightly lighted show windows displayed the products of a hundred worlds. We examined fabrics, gems, artworks. In one window stood an intricate painting made by pouring colored sands into the narrow space between two sheets of glass.

  I pointed to it. “Isn’t that from Shissah?”

  Tommy peered at the tag just visible under the edge of the glass. “Yes. Would you like it? I’ll come back tomorrow and buy it for you.”

  I stared at him. “You really are stuck in Jonathan’s skin, aren’t you? Snap out of it, Tommy.”

  He shook his head like someone dazed. ‘This is weird. I know I’ve got just Jonathan’s personality, not his money, but for a minute there I was thinking I could write a check for that sand painting, no matter what it cost.”

  I nodded. “There can be a lot of carry-over when the character resonates with your own, or when it’s the first time or two in deep involvement. What’s the matter?”

  Tommy was shivering. “I wonder if this is how Pia felt.”

  “Pia Fisher?”

  He leaned his forehead against a window. “Rainbow Man was her first part in a vérité production.
If I’d understood then what that meant, I would have made sure she knew what she was doing going into the water.”

  The skin on my back prickled. “You were with her the day she died?”

  He stared broodingly in at a bright collection of fabrics in the window. “I was doing Adoni in the show. We had a free afternoon. I rented a car and talked her into coming for a drive with me. She’d been shut up for days on end, never going anywhere except to the theater, just waiting for Brian to call her during breaks in that movie he was directing in Africa. We stopped for a walk on the beach. She started pulling off her clothes and daring me to a race around the point I’m not a strong swimmer, so I told her I’d drive around and meet her on the far side.” He bit his lip. “She never got there.” He turned so his back was slumped against the window. “I didn’t know she couldn’t swim at all. I never thought to ask her if she knew what she was doing.”

  Of course he hadn’t. It was not Tommy’s nature to question people’s actions. He would have waved to her as she waded into the warm Hawaiian ocean, then merrily driven off to meet her on the far side of the point.

  “You know,” he said, “I feel worse about it now than I ever have before. In fact, I’d almost forgotten about being there until just now.”

  I took his hand. “You couldn’t have known how much of her was carry-over. Come on. We haven’t finished our walk.”

  We were ourselves the rest of the way down the avenue and back Pia had dissipated the last of the angels’ effects. We were subdued, though. Not even Tommy could find his usual light humor. When we reached the hotel, he left me in the lobby without once extolling his virtues as a night-long guest.

  * * * *

  He was still quieter than usual at the theater the next day. I wondered if I should be concerned, but Brian was obviously pleased. “Jonathan is coming very well. Tommy, I want you and Miles to work together this morning. I have some errands to run, but I think you’re capable of working by yourselves. Do some early meetings between Jonathan and Hakon.”

  Tommy’s eyes were on me. “Can’t I work with Noir?”

  “Later. Here comes Miles.” He repeated his instructions to Miles, then picked up his coat and started for the door. “Noir, will you walk to the street with me, please?”

  Leaving, I saw Tommy’s face. He looked displeased.

  Brian was a fast walker. I had to stretch my legs to keep up. “Is there something you want me to do?”

  “Yes. Button your coat and come with me.”

  I raised brows at him. “What?”

  “I have to go over to Aventine. You’ve been working hard and deserve a little bit of holiday.” His hand was under my elbow, urging me forward. “A cabletrain leaves from here in fifteen minutes. We just have time to make it if we hurry.”

  I stopped. I would love to see Aventine. That retreat of the rich and famous was legendary, but ... by cabletrain?

  He pulled me forward again. “It’s so high you’ll lose the sensation of height, I promise you. You’ll enjoy the trip.”

  I let myself be dragged with him. “How did you know I was afraid of heights?”

  He shrugged. “I suppose I heard it somewhere. Come on.”

  Aventine. The name had a magic ring. Why not? “All right.”

  The hour’s ride on the cabletrain was not as bad as I feared. With Brian holding tight to my hand, I allowed myself to be talked into looking out the windows. The mountainside fell away hundreds of meters below us, a patchwork of melting snow and new spring green. As Brian promised, there was no sensation of being up. The scene could have been a projection wall mere centimeters below the bottom of the train. Brian offered to take me up to the observation platform where coin-operated binoculars let passengers who cared to, take a close look at the bear fishing in the streams below and the deer grazing in the meadows. I declined. The sway of the train was enough to remind me we were suspended over this chasm on just a cable. I felt more secure sitting down.

  “What do you have to do in Aventine?” I asked.

  “Pick up a prop. Jonathan is a wealthy man with impeccable taste in women and possessions. I thought we should have some first-class art for his office. Xhosar Kain is creating a sonic sculpture just for the play.”

  Xhosar Kain? I was impressed. “You’re going after it yourself?”

  “Would you trust a Kain piece to a delivery service?”

  The conversation lapsed for a few minutes. I looked out the window again. Clouds were starting to move in, some so low they were under the train. I hoped that did not mean the ride back would be minus the scenery. I could feel Brian’s eyes on me, measuring, searching. What was it he was looking for in me?

  “What are you doing with your evenings?” he asked.

  I could not stop the sudden guilty flush that went up my neck. “Reading, mostly.”

  “Not going out with Tommy?”

  He knew. His voice was neither accusing nor judgmental, but it was clear the question was rhetorical.

  “I did last night.” There was no point in denying it. I looked at him. “Why shouldn’t we? Jonathan and Allegra are lovers. Our togetherness offstage should strengthen the bond onstage.”

  The cinnamon eyes were focused past me. “Were you Allegra and Jonathan last night?”

  I wished I could read him better. I could not guess how far he intended the question to go. “I reacted to him a bit as Allegra while he was very much Jonathan. He had trouble getting out of the character. He went to his own hotel for the night, however.”

  There was a brilliant flash in his eyes. I wondered for a moment if it was anger, but then his face lighted in a smile of satisfaction. “We may make a real actor of him yet.”

  Minutes later the cabletrain pulled into the Aventine station. I climbed out, rubbernecking with unashamed curiosity. I found the retreats of the rich and famous were not immediately visible. The station was at the edge of a shopping square. Off it were streets with apartments and studios. Long ago, Aventine had begun as an artists’ Colóny, and that still dominated its center.

  Brian led the way up one of the artists’ streets. He stopped at a studio with a sculpture in front that was an X elaborately wrought in sonic vanes. The wind set it vibrating in a pleasant if repetitious pattern of chords. Brian pushed open the door of the studio.

  I am not sure what I expected Xhosar Kain to look like—a bear-like blacksmith, perhaps. I did not expect the thin, twist-spined man who put down his welding torch and mask to come slowly to meet us. The body was frail, but the hand that took mine was large and strong, I noticed, and his eyes were warm.

  “Noir Delacour. I’m a great fan of yours.”

  “And I of yours. I saw I, the Living when it was on exhibit in New York and felt like I’d had a religious experience.”

  He grinned. “You are obviously a woman of outstanding judgment. I’ll love you to my death.” He looked at Brian. “Come after the lady, have you, Eleazar?”

  Brian nodded.

  “Just a minute.”

  He limped into the depths of the studio and came back carrying a small sculpture. Once he set it down I could see it was not all that small, but it was still less massive than most of his work. It was right for a table or desk.

  “I call her The Fury. Is she what you had in mind?”

  I could see why he called the sculpture “she.” My first reaction was that it was a bird with wings spread to fly, but it could also have been a woman. The rising vanes looked as much like flowing sleeves as wings. The piece was beautiful, and at the same time somehow frightening. The air currents in the studio set it off in a sound that was now a hum and now a keening wail.

  Brian touched the edge of a vane with a tentative finger. “It’s just right.”

  Kain wrapped the sculpture carefully and laid it in a box. He gave the box to Brian. ‘Watch out for her.”

  He followed us to the door of the studio. “Come back and let me do a sonic of you one day, Miss Delacour. It will sing as fair
as the angels.”

  I promised I would.

  Outside, the sky was still lowering. Leaden, waterlogged clouds rolled across the blue, cutting off the sun. The wind was coming up, too, setting off discords in the sculpture in front of the studio. My coat fluffed and tightened around me.

  Brian looked up. “It’s no day for sightseeing, after all. Let’s go back to the station.”

  The weather changed his mood entirely. Eating lunch at the Gallery Café in Aventine while we waited for the next train, and during the ride back, Brian sat silent, lost in thoughts that looked as brooding as the sky outside. From time to time his cinnamon eyes rested on me or the carton he carried, but for the most part he looked past me, focused on some bleak otherwhere. We were back at the Blue Orion before he could shake free of the mood.