Midnight at Mallyncourt Read Online Free PDF Page B

stood, I could see his nostrils flaring. Laverne made her exit, and he was alone on stage, delivering his impassioned soliloquy.
    I heard my cue. I made my entrance. The footlights seemed brighter than ever, flickering in a smoky half circle. I could smell the oil burn. I could see the great mass of upturned faces like miniature half moons in the darkened auditorium. I forgot the unpleasant smell. I forgot the audience. I was a professional actress, and I would do my best no matter what personal stress I might be under. Jenny Randall and her problems vanished. I became the tragic Lucrezia, her beloved second husband brutally murdered by her insanely jealous brother, torn between the hatred she felt for that brother and the unnatural love equally as strong. As Lucrezia, I listened to my brother’s declaration of passion. I shook my head, I wept, and when he seized me, I fought, breaking away from him.
    â€œNo, Cesare!” I cried. “It can’t be—”
    â€œIt must be,” he said with rumbling menace.
    The audience was hushed, taut with suspense, waiting for that final, shocking kiss that brought the curtain down. Weeping, I stood beside the scarlet sofa, watching my brother approach. He stopped. He leered. He stroked the short golden goatee. Strong, majestic, he was the very incarnation of cruelty and vice. When he crushed me to him for the last time, I was to yield and melt against him as the curtain fell. Shoulders rolling, lips curled in an evil sneer, Cesare approached, and suddenly I rebelled. Something inside snapped. I was no longer Lucrezia, I was Jenny, and the man in the magnificent costume was no longer Cesare Borgia, he was merely a man who filled me with loathing. He stood in front of me, so near I could feel the heat of his body.
    â€œRelax!” Gerry whispered angrily.
    He stroked my cheek with his fingertips. Suspense mounted. The whole house was silent, not a paper rustling, not a soul stirring. Looking over Gerry’s shoulder, I could see half of the company watching from the wings, Sally, Chloe, Donald Hampton, Laverne with a worried look on her face. All were aware of the real-life conflict so grippingly illustrated here in this scene. All were eager to see what the two of us would do. Gerry touched my hair, winding one of the coppery locks around his finger. He was breathing heavily. Seething with rebellion, as rigid as a statue, I looked up at him. His handsome, middle-aged face was beginning to sag a bit. The cruel smile still curled on his lips. His eyes were filled with a lust he didn’t have to simulate.
    â€œThe time has come, my fair one,” he said in a powerful voice.
    â€œDon’t touch me!” My own voice was stony.
    Gerry started. Those words weren’t in the script. Momentarily flustered, he frowned, completely at a loss, and then he threw back his head and gave a loud, rumbling laugh. He cut the laugh short. He took a deep breath. He reached for me. I drew back my hand and slammed it across his face with all the force I could muster. There was a resounding smack, and my palm stung fiercely. Everything seemed to be shimmering with haze. I saw the pink hand print beginning to burn on his cheek. I heard the loud rattle of the curtain coming down. I was moving rapidly across the stage, past the group in the wings, and there was a thundering noise that I realized must be applause.
    Thoroughly shaken, trembling, I reached my dressing room. I closed the door behind me and stood there for several moments, leaning against it. My heart was beating rapidly, and the air still seemed to be filled with shimmering haze. Gradually, it cleared. Composure returned, and I was filled with a strange, icy calm. It was over now, and I didn’t care. I simply didn’t care. I took off the white velvet gown and hung it on a peg. I removed the makeup and washed my face with cold water. In the mirror, my face was hard. It might have been chiseled from stone. My