Open, Charlie

Chapter Seven ~ Theatre

At Slade's suggestion, they came to the theatre two hours before the show, so he could give them a tour of the backstage and the wings. Although half-brother to Mary, Slade didn't look anything like her. He had sandy hair to Mary's dark tresses, and his large meaty frame had nothing in common with Mary's lean elegance. Unlike most men Charlie had known, Slade looked kind and snuggly, resembling a shaggy teddy bear, especially compared to the sleek predatory menace of Aaron or the cold oiled ruthlessness of his flunkies.

Slade's overlong hair was forever falling into his eyes, and he brushed it back once in a while with his big hand. Charlie ached to push his hand aside and brush it off herself, with her own fingers, while Slade conducted them on their tour.

"You have so many cables here," Charlie marveled aloud, "even more than a dirigible. What do they all do?"

"I have no idea." Slade laughed. "We have a technician who does. I'm the manager. My job is to find the competent technician, and the actors, and the musicians, and all the rest, and pay them on time, while they do their jobs." He pointed over their heads, to the cat's cradle of ropes and cables. "One of those is to make the actors fly. Dancers mostly. And then we have a trapdoor on the stage, where the actors disappear, if they have to."

"Wow," Charlie said. Slade grinned at her, and she grinned back, preening at his attention. "Do you ever want to be a performer, not the manager?"

"I was," Slade said. "I was a stage magician but I had an accident, injured one of my hands. Couldn't do stage tricks anymore, so I took this job. I miss performing though."

"Oh," Charlie said. "I'm sorry."

"No, that's okay. It's all healed by now. I've been practicing, so I'm almost back to normal. I'm thinking of going back on the road again. I won't stay here for long."

"No, Slade," Mary objected. "You just found a stable position. You don't have to be a vagabond anymore."

"Yes, Slade," he said firmly. "This is a good job, Mary, but it's not really for me. I'm an entertainer, not a manager. I need to be on stage. I like to be a vagabond, like going places."

Charlie sighed with deep envy. "I'd like to travel too," she murmured. "I loved it on the dirigible."

Slade watched her with interest. "Could you act? Sing? Dance?"

"No, Charlie!" Mary interjected. "What kind of a life is it for a young girl? Always on the road, no home, no stability."

"Don't worry, Mary. I can't sing or dance anyway," Charlie said with regret. "But I wonder what a magician does. Maybe I could learn to be a magician. With my metal magic, you know. I could open locks and stuff. A real magician."

"That sounds fascinating," Slade said. He shepherded them down the stairs to the performers' dressing rooms. "You'll have to tell me more about what you could do. You can't be a magician; there are no women magicians on the circuit, none allowed in the guild either, but you could be a magician's assistant." His gray eyes sparkled speculatively under the bushy brows.

"No," Mary said firmly, stomping down the stairs after Slade, while Charlie brought up the rear. "That's not a job for a respectable young lady. She should take a typing course. I saw an advertisement in the paper; it starts in two weeks."

Over Mary's head, Charlie watched Slade turn and look up, towards her. He winked, and she smiled in response, her lips stretching wider and wider in a sudden and delicious anticipation. A magician's assistant. It sounded... magical.

The dressing rooms were not magical though. Small and dingy, with peeling paint on the walls, shabby, threadbare furniture, and stale air smelling of cigarette smoke and sweat, they didn't seem a fitting place for the glitter of the theatre or the cheerful noise floating along the corridor. Most of the rooms had occupants already, as the performers prepared for their stage appearance, chatted, and rehearsed.