My Actor-Husband. Anonymous

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СКАЧАТЬ He did not rise, but nodded to me and motioned me to the seat opposite. While he read the agent's letter he removed his leg from the table and crossed it over the other. He was a short, heavy man, with a preponderance of abdomen. He had thick, loose lips, and his head was as round and as smooth as a billiard ball; his eyes were black and snappy, and threw out as much fire as the huge diamond he wore on his little finger.

      "Well," he finally said, looking at me and shifting the big cigar to the other corner of his mouth, "that reads all right. So you're an ingénue" (he pronounced it as if it were spelled on-je-new), "are you?"

      "Yes, sir."

      "Well, you look the part all right.... How much experience have you had?"

      "One season on the road with Mr. O'Brien's Company, but of course I've played in amateur theatricals for...."

      "Voice strong?" he bellowed, tilting himself back in his chair.

      "Oh, yes, sir," I responded, using the loud pedal to prove my assertion.

      "Don't sound like it."

      "Perhaps not now, but—" I hesitated.

      "But what?" he queried, smiling indulgently at me.

      His smile gave me courage, and I answered truthfully: "Well, I think I'm a little scared just now."

      "Scared? What of?" He removed his cigar while he spat out an end he had been chewing. Then he lighted a match and continued talking. "You don't want to be scared of me—I'm the easiest thing you ever saw...." Here he winked at me. Then for the next minute he puffed at his cigar and looked at me. "Stand up," was his next injunction.... "You're not very big ... you'll look the part all right."

      "What kind of a part is it?" I ventured.

      "Didn't Tom tell you about it?... It's a pretty part—one of them innocent country maidens that never saw the streets of Cairo—that kind. She falls in love with a villain who takes her to the great city, and then throws her down—hard. The poor girl's afraid to go back to home and mother, and just as she's about to commit suicide a good-natured sucker comes along and marries her. It's sympathetic and appealin'—goes right to the heart. Can't help but make a hit. Dressin' ain't much, and we expect to run all season in New York."

      "What's the salary?" meaning to appear business-like.

      "Twenty-five in New York, and thirty on the road."

      I did not reply, for my mind was making rapid calculations. Twenty-five dollars a week, with the prospect of running all season in New York! Why, I should be able to pay my own expenses and lay aside a little besides.

      "That's a good salary," began the manager, taking my silence for dissent. "If you make a hit, I'll raise it five. I tell you what I'll do: I'll give you a letter to the stage manager. They're rehearsing now. The dame we engaged for the part, way last summer, got married on the quiet, and has got to retire for family reasons." He winked at me again, as he took up his pen. I waited uneasily while he wrote. "Here's the letter," he said, moistening the flap of the envelope with his lips. "Now, run along and see Mr. Thompson at the Academy. He's the doctor." He rose by way of dismissal, and indicated a door other than which I had entered. I thanked him and assured him my voice was quite strong.

      "You're a pretty little thing," he said as he accompanied me to the door. "Pretty little figure ... what d'ye weigh?"

      "I don't know really how much, but I think about one hundred and ten pounds," I answered with some confusion.

      "As much as that? Where do you carry it all?" He ran his fat, stubby hands over my shoulders and down about my hips. His smile became a leer. Before I could realize what was happening he had taken me in his arms, and his heavy, wet lips were pressed against my mouth. His hands played over my body, and, though I struggled to cry out and to release myself, I was unable to do either. It seemed as if my senses were deserting me; then, the muffled bell of the telephone sounded, and he released me.

      "Damn that bell," he said. Nauseated with disgust and fright, I cowered in the corner; he tried to draw my hands from my face, laughing as he whispered: "Like it, like it, do you?" Then with another oath at the continued call from the telephone, he crossed to his desk. "Run along now," he directed, without a look....

      I never knew how I found my way down the stairs to the street. I did not wait for the elevator. I saw that people looked at me as I hurried along the street—whither I did not ask myself. Only when I collided with someone on the stairs did I realize that I had gone straight to the agent's office.

      "Hello, little lady!" I recognized Miss Burton's voice. "My, we're in a hurry! For God's sake, child, what's happened to you? What's the matter? You look as if you were going to throw a fit! Here—let's go to a drug store."

      After a dose of sal volatile, Miss Burton called a hansom and insisted on taking me home. I did not want her to accompany me. I wanted to be alone. When we were safely in the house I lost all control. She let me have my cry out without asking a question. Then, when I was calmer, I told her what had happened.

      "The old blackguard! The old blackguard! I've heard that about him before. Why didn't you hand him one? Why didn't you smack his face?"

      "I'll leave that to my husband," I replied with tearful dignity.

      Miss Burton contemplated me between violent puffs of her cigarette. Then she shook her head. "Um-um, girlie; no, sir ... you mustn't tell your husband."

      "Why not?" I demanded.

      "Well, if you tell your husband, and he's the man I think he is, he'll go straight up and knock the old beast down. That will get him in bad; this manager is a power and controls a dozen attractions, as well as theatres. Your young man may find it difficult to get an engagement in the future."

      Miss Burton paused to allow the idea to percolate into my brain.

      "Then there's another side to it. If you tell your husband and he does not go up and knock the fresh gentleman down, you'll despise him for it ... oh, yes you will! You would not acknowledge it even to yourself, but, way down deep in the bottom of your heart, you would never forgive your husband for not resenting the insult to you.... Better not tell him at all...."

      We both were silent for some time. I was struggling with a thousand conflicting emotions.

      "You see, girlie, you've got an awful lot to learn. You're new to the game. That's the reason these things go so hard with you."

      "Do you mean that 'these things' are a part—a regular part—of the business?" I began, with a burst of resentment. "I don't believe it! I can't believe it! I'm sure my experience was exceptional. I know that girls who typewrite for a living, clerks and even housemaids have unpleasant experiences, for I have read about it in the papers. There are bad men in all walks of life. I travelled nearly a whole season before I was married, and—"

      I stopped short. My mind visualized a situation. When I joined the company in which I met my husband I was singled out for marked attention by the star. I believed this attention to be a kindly interest in a novice. It never occurred to me to question the intent and purpose. I was the understudy for the leading woman; the star had told me that I had exceptional talent, and with the proper direction I should develop into a splendid emotional actress. Quite often we would have private rehearsals—sometimes in the theatre, but more often in the star's apartment СКАЧАТЬ