Open, Charlie

Chapter Eight ~ Slade

"You were amazing!" Mary said on the way home.

Charlie smiled weakly. She felt drained, as after a particularly tricky bank vault, but mixed with the tiredness was a bubbly, tumultuous elation. She could do it. She could perform on stage, in front of hundreds of people. They all liked it. They all clapped.

Then she remembered Aaron, and her jubilant bubble deflated. No, she couldn't. What if some journalist ever wrote about her future magic tricks with metal. Aaron would know. He would come after her. She had to be invisible to the press, and performers never were. She would also never be satisfied by being simply decorative, even as Slade's assistant. He was awesome, but she needed to exercise her magic regularly. She couldn't play a pretty doll forever. And Slade might not want her anyway. He didn't accompany them home.

"Does Slade have anyone?" she asked Mary. "A girl? I thought he would take us home."

"No." Mary shook her head. "He has to make sure everything is in order at the theatre before he leaves, count the cash, check all the rooms. And he had to perform tonight too, so he has to put all his props into their correct places in his chest. He always does that after a show. I think it would take him at least another hour before he could lock up the theatre."

"Oh," Charlie said. She didn't know what Mary saw in her face, but a sly twinkle appeared in her friend's eyes.

"Slade has always been a charmer," Mary said. "You'll see him tomorrow, dear. I think he liked you too. I invited both him and George for dinner."

"Fine," Charlie said and refused to look into Mary's eyes again.

The next day passed uneventfully. Charlie didn't even fall asleep after lunch; obviously she was recovering from her ordeal on the dirigible. She helped Mary with the dinner preparations, peeled potatoes, whipped the batter for the charlotte, but inside her, something shriveled, as the hours went by. She felt as if a dark cloud was gathering over her head and she didn't understand her gray moods. Was it because of Slade? It couldn't be the weather, because it was sunny outside.

Only when the men arrived she recovered her equilibrium somewhat. She liked George, tall and very neat, with a long earnest face. He devoured Mary with his eyes, and Charlie liked it about him. Mary deserved the best.

Slade joked and told outrageous theatrical stories, both from before his injury, during his performing days, and after, when he managed the theatre.

"What's wrong, Charlie?" he asked at last. "Are you feeling down? Worried about something? Have I lost my storytelling knack?"

"No. It was funny. I just... I don't know. Seriously, how did I do yesterday?"

As always, as soon as the talk touched on his profession, he turned thoughtful. "You did very well. For your first time on stage, you actually did marvelously. Have you been giving thoughts to a theatrical career?"

"I would love to but I can't, Slade. What if I did too good a job? Newspapers might publish something about me, and then my stepfather would find out. I can't go on stage. I must disappear."

"Ah. So that's what's been eating at you." He patted her hand soothingly.

Charlie sighed and made herself smile, determined to conquer her doldrums. There were no reasons for them. Slade was being as attentive as she could wish. He didn't remove his big hand from hers. His fingers caressed her skin lightly, causing tiny butterflies to dance up and down her spine and inside her stomach. When he suddenly flipped his hand, and there was a red carnation sitting in his palm, Charlie gasped.