Page 42 of Somewhere I'll Find You
It made the back of Damon's neck prickle with jealousy as he watched Julia and Logan interact as two lovers. He gritted his teeth each time they touched. At the moment they kissed, the theater was filled with wistful and envious sighs, while Damon longed to leap onto the stage and tear them apart.
During the temporary lull of a scene change, William turned to Damon with a speculative expression. “Do you suppose that Julia and Mr. Scott—”
“No,” Damon snapped, fully aware of what he was thinking.
“It certainlyseemsas if they are.”
“They're actors, Will. They're supposed to behave like two lovers—that's the point of the story.”
“They're very good at it,” came William's dubious reply.
The remark fanned the flames of Damon's jealousy, and he struggled to keep it under control. This was what it would be like, married to an actress. There would be doubts and resentment, and constant incentives to argue. Only a saint could withstand it—and God knew he was far from that.
Julia was filled with excitement and a calm sense of purpose as she waited in the wings for her next entrance. Gingerly she blotted the mist of sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, careful not to smear her makeup. The play was going wonderfully well, and she sensed that she was accomplishing everything she had hoped to in the part of Christine.
The laughter and enjoyment of the audience were invigorating, lending the performances of all the actors an extra sparkle. One of her favorite scenes was approaching, the one she and Logan had performed at the Brandons' weekend party. She and “James” would discover their true identities, with a blend of comedy and longing that she hoped would make everyone in the house laugh, and would touch their hearts at the same time.
Sensing a presence behind her, she turned and saw Logan nearby, his face crossed with shadows in the dimly lit wings. She smiled at him, arching her brows in silent question, and he winked at her. He hardly ever winked. “You must be pleased,” Julia said dryly. “Either that or there's something in your eye.”
“I'm pleased that you haven't let your personal problems interfere with your acting,” he murmured. “You're giving a fairly decent performance tonight.”
“I never said I was having personal problems.”
“You didn't need to.” Logan turned her to face the expanse of stage that lay just beyond the wings. “Butthatis the only thing that matters. The stage will never fail you, as long as you give yourself to it completely.”
“Don't you ever tire of it?” Julia asked softly, staring at the long wooden boards, weathered from thousands of foot marks and scuffs left by scenery. “Don't you ever want something you can't find here?”
“No,” Logan said at once. “That's for conventional people—something you and I are not.” Hearing his cue, he moved past her and strode onto the stage in character. Frowning, Julia held a fold of a soft velvet curtain and stroked its worn softness. She stepped forward to gain a better view of the scene in progress, and saw Arlyss waiting in the wing opposite her. They exchanged a grin and a little wave, both of them sharing pleasure in the play's success.
There was a hot, pungent smell in the air, the familiar scents of paint, sweat, and the calcium flares used to light the stage. But there was a new, nearly undetectable addition to the mix. Frowning curiously, Julia looked past Arlyss to the backcloth and flats. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but a sixth sense told her that something was wrong. Troubled, she turned to some of the crew nearby, a group of scene shifters and carpenters preparing for the next change of sets. She wondered if they too had the sense that something was off-kilter, but they seemed unperturbed.
All of a sudden, Julia caught a whiff of smoke. A throb of panic went through her body. Wondering if it was her imagination, she inhaled more deeply. The smell was stronger this time. Her heart slammed in her chest, and her thoughts turned into chaos. Fire had destroyed the theaters in both Drury Lane and Covent Garden eighteen years before. The death toll was frequently heavy in such situations, not only from the fire and smoke, but also from the panic that ensued in a crowded building. People would be crushed and trampled, even if the fire was quickly brought under control. Her cue was approaching—she had to tell someone—but where was the fire if she couldn't see it?
As if in answer to her silent question, the flat on stage right erupted into flames. It must have been overheated by a carelessly positioned lamp or flare, the blaze traveling greedily across the paint-coated surface. The actors on stage froze in sudden awareness of the disaster, while screams shot through the audience. “My God,” Julia whispered, while members of the crew shoved past her with a volley of curses.
“Sweet Jesus,” William exclaimed, staring spellbound at the blaze that had begun on the side of the stage. “Damon—we have to get out of here!” The boxes above, below, and around them were bursting in pandemonium as the audience realized what was happening. People fought frenziedly, pushing and shoving each other in the savage battle to escape the potential deathtrap. Women screamed in horror, while men brawled and pummeled to forge a path through the riot.
Damon stared at the blaze onstage, realizing it would be a miracle if they contained it. The Water reservoirs built above the stage appeared to be of little use, despite the crew's frantic efforts to douse the fire. Red flames snaked along the painted flats and shot across the backcloth, sending scraps of scenery curling and blazing to the stage. Through the smoke and the rain of fire, Damon could see Julia's slender form arching and bending as she plied a water-soaked cloth to beat back the flames. He was filled with terror and fury. She had remained behind with the male cast and crew to combat the fire. “Damn you, Julia!” he shouted, the sound lost in the frightened roar of the crowd. All conscious thought was consumed in the need to reach her.
Running from the box, he made his way to one of the twin grand staircases that led to the main theater hall on the first floor. The stairs were packed with the writhing, screaming mob. William was at his heels, following him as he launched himself into the melee. “Let's try the side entrance,” William panted. “Less crowded than the front.”
“You go that way,” Damon said over his shoulder. “I'm heading back inside.”
“Forwhat? For Julia? She's surrounded by a dozen people who are perfectly capable of taking care of her. By the time you reach the stage, she'll be outside…and you could very well be trapped!”
“She won't leave,” Damon said hoarsely, staying close to the railing and shoving his way down a few more steps.
William grunted with the effort to follow him. “Anyone foolish enough to stay in that furnace deserves what they get!” He swore as he realized Damon wasn't listening to him. “I'll be damned if I go with you! Unlike you, I don't have a heroic bone in my body.”
“Iwantyou to leave.”
“No,” William said in outrage. “With my luck you'll perish in the fire…and thenI'llhave to be the responsible eldest son…Hell, I'd rather take my chances in here.”
Ignoring his brother's complaints, Damon continued to the bottom of the stairs, vaulting over the railing when there were only a few feet left. William followed him into the swarm, toward the doors that led to the pit and orchestra seats. It was nearly impossible to make way through the violent flow of the crowd, but they managed to travel a few feet at a time until they were in the middle of the bedlam. The air was rife with wholesale panic.
Leaping over rows of seats in an effort to reach the stage, Damon caught a glimpse of Julia. She was beating out flames with a vengeance, trying to stop them from spreading to the curtains. Crew members worked nearby to remove flammable ground pieces and collapse the flats before the blaze could reach the frontispiece of the stage and the scaffolding above. Yearning to throttle his wife for placing herself in such danger, Damon scrambled around the orchestra pit and hoisted himself onto the stage.
Half-blind from smoke and fumes, Julia beat at the yellow flames that tore across the scenery, while bits of burning ash stung her arms. Her breath burned in her raw throat, escaping in angry sobs of denial. The theater must not be destroyed—it meant more to her than she had realized. She was dimly aware of Logan nearby, working desperately to save the only thing that mattered to him. He wouldn't survive the loss of the Capital—he would stay there even if it burned to the ground.
