Milo...Stages

        By Pattie Lawler

           

            The confusion behind the temporary stage was staggering. Milo concluded that the only way he was going to find Albany was dumb luck. Too many things were happening, and not enough planning had been involved. The air was stifling; the weighty scents of sweat, make-up, and rice powder made breathing difficult. He could tell it was between sets as the noise bordered on rock concert levels.

Jumping out of the way of a staggering costumer, her arms supporting a cresting wave of color, Milo found himself against the cathedral’s stone wall. Deciding it was as good a reference as any, he placed a gloved hand against the rough granite and started walking to the left. The seething crowd pulsed around him, and he thought that if he didn’t have to hunt for Albany, he would have enjoyed immersing himself in the frantic energy.

Someone had wedged a fire door open, and he paused, reveling in the frigid, Harlem night air. From this vantage point he saw, across the expanse of people, what could only be a makeshift greenroom. His eye on the prize, he struck out across the hall.

Dressing stalls—they could hardly be called rooms—made from PVC piping and black curtains, lined the walls of the transept. Someone had set up a fan, which was causing the curtains to breathe as Milo stood, awash in indecision. He was about to call out to Albany when a passing woman pointed behind herself.

“Far corner, but I think she’s got someone in there.”

            He thanked her, but the volume rose again, and his smile had to do in place of words as he went where she directed.

            Standing beside the stall, he was in time to see the curtain billow and a white-knuckled hand gripping a scarlet-gloved wrist.

            Pushing past the curtain, Milo was only cognizant of rage. Before him stood a man in a dark suit, one arm around Albany’s waist, pinning her arm behind her back, the other hand restraining her fisted hand. She was leaning away from his face at her neck, her expression one of terror.

            Milo’s hands shot out, closing on the man’s hair and the wrist that held Albany. Any sound the man made was lost in the tumult. With a violet jerk, Albany was free, and Milo twisted, heaving the man to the floor beyond the curtain. There was a second of perfect silence, and then the roar resumed at twice the volume.

But Milo only heard Albany’s moan as she sank onto the bench before her mirror. Spinning back, he reached for her as she sagged.

            “Are you alright? Albany, my God, are you okay?” Mentally, he trailed the fleeing stranger, willing Simon to somehow know to catch and pummel the man, while clutching her to his chest. “Are you alright? Do you know who that was?”

            “An admirer,” she breathed before losing control. “Oh, Milo,” she sobbed, tremors seizing her body. “Milo, Milo, thank you!” She clung to him, her voice thick with tears and relief. “I don’t know what I would have done! I couldn’t move!”

            “Shock,” he soothed, kissing her hair.

            “No,” she cried, pushing against him. “Don’t touch me. His…he touched…” Her voice thinned as her color receded. “Help me,” she pleaded, trying to rise.

            Fearful of what her pallor portended, he lifted her. “Is there a bathroom?”

            She nodded, pointing, unable to speak. Milo wrapped a protective arm across her back, supporting her as she hurried forward.

            He didn’t pause upon the threshold but went with her into the ladies room, his hand out to hold the long gloves she frantically stripped off. Wadding handfuls of paper towels, she turned on the tap and wetted them enough to scrub her neck. All this he watched in silence, grief robbing his voice.

            When she threw the papers away, Milo pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to gently dry her skin.

            “What’s his name?”

            Albany shrugged, bending to wash her hands. “Does it matter?”

            “He hurt you, Albany!”

            Again she shrugged. “It’s been years, I admit, but he’s not the first one to try to...” She looked at him in the mirror and forced a weak smile. “Thank you, Milo, but let it go. There’s nothing either of us can do, and forgetting is the easiest way to move on.”

            Anger made him want to protest, but he wasn’t the one who was attacked. “If you say nothing, he’s more likely to repeat—”

            She whirled, catching his head and dragging it down, her lips finding his.

For the first time, Milo’s eyes didn’t close as he returned her silent plea. His eyes were on her scarlet form reflected in the mirror. She never looked so tiny, so vulnerable before. He felt sick, for her sake, and stepping closer, his arms went around her, engulfing her in his love and protection.

Her kiss became less urgent, and Milo’s eye sank closed as he focused on her alone .

            The sound of someone clearing their throat broke them apart. Albany twisted, smiling at the waiting woman as Milo murmured an apology.

            Pulling him from the room, Albany retraced their path to her portion of the greenroom.

            “You look like the perfect, ripe strawberry,” Milo commented, admiring her figure as he trailed in her wake.

            “I hope you don’t mean plump.”

            “I was thinking juicy, actually.”

            “Voluptuous,” they said in unison and laughed, releasing any lingering tension.

She held aside the curtain for him and welcomed the modicum of privacy. “Thank you, Milo. You’re my knight in shining armor once again.”

He caught her hand and laced his fingers through hers. “It’s a position I never want to give up.”

They were silent, both listening to all this statement implied and knowing that now was hardly the time for any examination of emotions. It was Milo who steered them away from the precipice.

“Did you dress for me?”

“What makes you think that?” She chuckled, kissing his chin before reclaiming her hand and reaching for lipstick.

He leaned on the small counter, watching with interest as she reapplied the scarlet paint. “I love your mouth. It’s perfectly kissable. Berry nice.”

A voice from beyond the curtain stopped her reply. “Three minutes, Miss Wendel.”

“Thank you!” Albany called back, setting down the lip brush and reaching for her gloves. “Are you going to your seat, or do you wanna watch from the wings?”

“Which would you recommend?”

“If you don’t mind standing, watching a performance from the wings at least once in your life is a good thing.”

“You’ll be standing,” he pointed out, reaching to straighten the top of her glove. “Wings it is.”

Her gaze was on his hand were his finger ran along the edge of the glove, smoothing out the fold. “I love your touch,” she whispered, almost as if she were thinking aloud. Suddenly recalling herself, she looked at him in the mirror.

Milo’s eyes were still on her arm, but his chest was heaving as if he had just sprinted a mile.

Albany slapped the curtain aside as she fled. What had she said? What was she thinking?

When she nearly collided with another singer, she righted herself and took a deep breath, desperately trying to recover.

“You alright?” the baritone asked, frowning at her.

“Fine, Glenn,” she gasped, passing her hands over her hips as if straightening her already straight gown.

The large man stared down at her for a moment and then offered her his arm. “Fine now that Shumann’s been thrown outta your dressing room?”

Her smile grew as she curled her hand around his elbow. Of course news would have traveled. “Yeah,” she agreed. “On all fronts, he’s no match for Milo.”

But Glenn continued to look dubious as he led her toward the stage. “I understand Milo’s a recent addition. Be careful, Albany, okay?”

Her eyes flashed as she looked up. “You’re sweet to worry, Glenn. Thanks.”

“It’s self preservation, kiddo, trust me! You’d be hard to replace.”

She laughed, squeezing his arm. “You almost had me fooled for a second there!” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Milo a little distance off, and she returned his smile. “But don’t worry. Milo’s a good egg, and what’s more, he really likes me.”

Glenn chuckled as they paused beside the edge of the orchestra. “I’m not surprised.”

 <0>

Albany, her arms extended, smiled as she curtsied between songs. Milo added his applause to the pounding praise and allowed his gaze to wander the few rows of people he could see before the lights became too much. He wondered if Albany’s admirer was there watching. Waiting.

He replayed the attack over and over in his mind, studying the man’s back and hair for anything incriminating. So far, all he had to show for his labors was a mild headache, so he turned his attention back to the performance.

Albany was right. The perspective he had of both singers and audience was notable. He had, in his youth, during boring stage productions, tried to imagine himself on stage, looking out, and while he thought he had the mechanics down, the reality was far more intense than expected. Moreover, this was Albany’s world, and she was sharing it with him.

            He smiled.

            In his pocket, his Black Berry vibrated, demanding attention. With a glance around to see if he would be offending anyone, he read the message on the screen.

            It was an email from Raul. Amused, Milo opened and read the file before forwarding it to Lawrence with a whispered, “Over my dead body.”

            He felt someone at his side and turned to find the man that Albany had linked arms with before the performance looming over him. Milo extended his hand.

            “Milo Scarlet,” he offered as Glenn shook and released his hand. “I saw you with Albany earlier.”

            “Glenn Becker. I understand you threw Charles Shumann from her dressing room.” A piercing gaze followed this statement.

            Milo nodded. “She called him an admirer. I’d call him an attacker.”

            “Albany’s had her share,” Glenn’s tone dropped. “So we try and keep a closer guard on her.”

            “Meaning I’m under scrutiny?” Milo stepped closer, glaring at the baritone’s throat. “Well, I don’t mind you watching me, Mr. Becker, but don’t let your ‘closer guard’ down again. If you knew Shumann was a threat, he shouldn’t have gotten past the house guard.”

            Glenn retreated. “Tonight was unfortunate, I admit, but it gave me a chance to speak to you.” Their eyes met. “And your intensions toward Albany?”

            “Are known to her.”

            Glenn laughed, his massive hand coming down on Milo’s shoulder. “You’re a cool impresario, Milo Scarlet, I’ll grant you that! I can see why she likes you.” He glanced toward the stage and made a shallow bow, smiling down at Milo. “I have to go. It was a pleasure baiting you, Mr. Scarlet.”

            Milo took the hand offered him. “Likewise, Mr. Becker.” Alone again, Black Berry in hand, he typed Charles Shumann’s name into Google.

 <0> 

            Beaming, Albany rushed into his waiting arms. “I need to step outside for a second,” she whispered, kissing him as he bent to embrace her. “I’m dying!”

            “Or you will be, should you catch a cold again,” he groused. “You get one second, young lady, and then back in.” He touched her damp cheek, shaking his head. “Half a second.”

            “Okay, Uncle Milo,” she groused, the demi-train of her gown thrown over her arm as she walked backward, tugging him to the nearest door. “There’s a cast party after this. Would you mind coming so I can show you off?”

            He smiled, gently pulling against her. “Am I worthy?”

            “Please!” She rolled her eyes, tugging harder. “You’re wasted on them! But it would make me happy.”

            “Should I tell Simon not to wait up?”

            “He’s welcome to join us.”

            Milo shook his head. “Not his thing.”

            “Then yes.”

 <0> 

            The massive banquet room was crammed with too many people and too few chairs. Albany, her hand firmly gripping Milo’s, circled the room without hope of alighting as everyone demanded a moment of her time. Milo was introduced to dozens of interested crew members, but always his scarlet chaperone was dragged off by someone before he could do more than express his pleasure at Albany’s performance.

            From somewhere near came the sounds of a piano, and almost immediately people began singing. Loudly.

            “This isn’t a place for children,” Albany managed, sotto voce, before being pulled from his side altogether. Be back, she mouthed and flashed him a smile that wrenched the air from his lungs.

            But before he could recover, his arm was seized, and he looked down at a pair of wide, blue eyes framed by what he hoped was stage make-up and bottle-blonde hair.

            “So you’re Milo,” the woman purred. “I’m Lucy Nichols, soprano, in the chorus. Albany’s said next to nothing about you, sneaky thing. Running off to France mid-production, all Mata Hari like. Blame Milo, we were told.” She laughed and sobered with alarming coolness. “I was beginning to think she made you up. But here you are.” Her gaze raked his body, like a Pug eyeing a lamb chop. “Large as life.” She pulled him toward the nearest table. “Tell me, Mr. Milo, because we’re all dying to know, are you the reason Albany’s on hold?”

            “I beg your pardon?”

            Lucy nodded hugely, as if to be seen by those in the cheap seats. “Hasn’t upped yet. We all figured it was your doing.” She rounded on him, offering him an empty chair by pushing him into it.

            “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he murmured, aware that more than a few eyes were on him.

            Lucy, however, smiled prettily as if to reprimand him. “There’s no reason to be shy. We’re all family here.”

            They were joined by a pair of women, their arms linked. The taller of the two bent to Lucy’s eye level. “Did you ask him?”

            The blonde frowned, presenting her shoulder to the couple. “I can’t imagine what business it could possibly be of yours.”

            The other woman likewise bent to Lucy. “No more than yours, Lu.”

            A hand lanced through this group to pluck Milo from his seat and pull him free of the circle of women.

            “That’s enough, ladies,” Glenn boomed. “Albany’s looking for you, Mr. Scarlet.”

            Relieved, though he didn’t know why, Milo smiled his thanks at the baritone. They were silent until the indignant protests behind them were engulfed by the piano.

            “What was all that?” Milo murmured, musing aloud.

            “No doubt they were bothering you about Albany’s contract.”

            A light sparked in his brain. “Lucy said Albany’s on hold.”

            Glenn nodded, lowering his voice. “Albany’s one of three principals whose contracts are up for renewal, and the only wild card. The others will re-up if she does, but talk is, her star’s rising. If she wants to make a name for herself, now’s the time.” He looked down at Milo. “Now would not be the optimum time to begin a serious relationship, if Albany were serious about her career.”

            Milo was suddenly conscious of Albany’s voice, joined to those around the piano, singing a bawdy dancehall song. The sound washed over him, seeping into his body and swelling his heart. He looked up at Glenn. “I’m sorry.” His tone belied this assertion. “I’ll do whatever Albany wants, without question, but I won’t give her up .”

            Glenn’s expression softened. “Then perhaps a patron is just the thing.”

 

 

Previous    Home   Next