During the ride in the cab, Jerry felt his first uncomfortable minutes with Jane. He did not know what to say to her. It overturned all his ideas of her to have her quoting Oscar Wilde at him. He would not have known that it was Oscar Wilde, but Bobs said it was. He had never really looked at this woman, who had gone among them all these years, and all at once to-night, she was beautiful! He was so upset by it all that for once he was silent.
Jane, who was not in the least embarrassed, came to his rescue.
"Tell me exactly what I am to do, please, Mr. Paxton."
"Well, there is a platform and a long flight of stairs leading down from it. The tableaux form on the stage and then dissolve and go down the stairs into the throne room."
"I see. Am I in a tableau?"
"No, you go alone. You appear with the head, on the charger, hold it up so they can see it, then you come down the stairs."
"That isn't hard. Then what?"
"You go to the throne, display the head to Herod and the Queen, and run off with it, stage right."
"Is that all?"
"No, you come on later, during a dancing number, walk across and sit on the steps of the throne, watching the dancers. If that is too difficult, we could get you on before the dance begins."
"Why is it difficult?"
"You ought to rehearse walking in among the dancers, not to halt them, or run into them. The other girl had a good deal of trouble with it."
"Suppose you wait until after I come off with the head to decide whether I make that later entrance."
"All right. Have you ever been in amateur performances before, Miss Judd?"
"Oh, yes, in school."
"I cannot begin to say how grateful I am to you for helping me out this way."
"Better thank me later."
They arrived at the club, and pushed their way into the bedlam behind scenes. It was packed with excited performers, waiting to be made up, or just finished. Jerry was hailed on all sides with questions and anxious protests. He found a chair for Jane.
"Keep your wrap on; it is draughty here. I'll be back in a minute."
"Everybody except those in the first three tableaux clear out. We can't have this confusion. Quickly, please," he shouted.
He directed them into other rooms, with clear directions as to what they were to do, where they were to stay, until called for. The women all tried to get a few words with him, but he kept them moving. One royal creature, whom he addressed as Mrs. Brendon, appeared, swathed in sable. She spoke to him, caressingly, as a privileged intimate.
"You're wonderful," he said to her.
"Did you get a Salome?"
"Yes."
"Professional?"
"No, sub-amateur."
"But, Jerry, in that important part——"
"Don't worry. She can do it."
"Has Althea Morton come yet?"
"I haven't seen her. Here she comes now."
A fair, lovely woman made her way toward them through the crowd. She was Naomi.
"I was just asking Jerry about you," the older woman said.

YOU ARE READING
Don't Pick Me
General FictionDo you need romantic love to be married, can intellectual love without physical attraction be enough?