He bared his teeth at me. 'Count on it, babe.'
My neighbour shushed us. We behaved ourselves until the final curtain fell.
As soon as Joe appeared, flowers rained on to the proscenium. Some of the ladies in the audience, professors included, stuck two fingers in their mouths and whistled. Joe took four curtain calls. He could have taken more but, after the fourth, he sternly refused to accept and summoned the rest of the cast.
He handed all his flowers to the heroine. She looked like a walking bouquet.
I'd never been prouder of him. He'd demonstrated a power and a self-possession I hadn't known he had, and he was still the same sweet Joe.
'You're crying,’ Sean accused, and handed me the handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit. It was silk and had a monogram. Now that was friendship.
He grimaced when I dabbed my eyes and blew. 'Women,' he said, but his voice was warm. He gave my shoulders a bracing hug. 'Come on, Miss Watering Pot. Let's see if we can shove our way backstage. I want to congratulate the star.'
Chapter Ten
Hell Hath No Fury
Shove was the operative word for our progress. With Sean acting as forward, we forged through the narrow corridor that led to the dressing rooms.
I spotted Marianne ahead of us in the crush. She slunk along in the same blue dress she'd worn to work, but a gleaming black chignon confined her flowing hair. A dangle of diamonds swayed from her ears, and her neck looked positively swan-like.
Heads turned as she passed, not simply for her sake, but for her escort's.
I caught a glimpse of his profile as they turned a corner. He was older than her usual, a good-looking man, though age had softened his jaw and good living had roughened his skin. I noted his high brow and hawkish nose. His silver hair was full and smoothly styled, like an ad for male hair products. He walked with his dark wool coat slung casually over one shoulder. Though Marianne held his arm, he did not glance at her, but scanned the crowd with sharp, restless eyes. He looked like he owned the world - or wanted to.
When they reached the student actors gathered outside Joe's dressing room, a flurry of whispers broke out.
'I don't believe it,' I heard one girl say. "That's Desmond Gerrard.'
I didn't recognise the name, or the man, but that didn'1 mean anything. I wouldn't have recognised Walter Annenberg, either. What I did recognise was that Marianne had pulled off a dating coup and wanted to make sure everyone - especially Joe - knew she had what it took. I sighed to myself. I wouldn't have cared Marianne had snagged Prince Charles for an escor Now, if she'd found someone who made her happy for longer than a week, that would impress me.
'That was a fine performance,’ Marianne's date was saying as Sean and I squirmed into the crowded dressing room. 'Very impressive.'
His voice was serious, professorial. It seemed a bit of a put-on. I wondered if he spoke that way because he was a pompous jerk, or because Joe was so muc younger.
'Thanks,' Joe said. Still in costume, he sat before grease-smudged mirror. Our bouquet of red and white roses brushed his shoulder, filling the small room with its scent. Pots of cold cream and crumpled tissues lay scattered across the vanity table. Beneath the remains of his stage make-up, Joe's colour was high. A chunky girl in flannel and jeans was helping him remove the heavy foundation. She clenched an orange-smeared tissue in her fist. Clearly, she resented the interruption. Another of his unwitting conquests, I presumed. It crossed my mind that no female under thirty should wear so much eyeliner - not that the girl would appreciate the suggestion.
Belatedly remembering his manners, Joe stood and extended his hand. 'It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Gerrard.'
Desmond Gerrard gripped his palm. 'Please call me Desi.'
'Desi,’ Joe complied, then cracked a huge grin. 'I know you must get tired of hearing this, but I'm a huge fan of your work.'
Desmond Gerrard ducked his head and scratched the smooth skin above his crow's feet. The gesture betrayed the shy teenager he must have been, once upon a time, before he became such an important personage. He recovered quickly, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat.
"That makes two of us,' he said. 'Marianne tells me you composed the score.'
'That's right.' To his credit, Joe did not ask his idol if he liked it. In fact, before the man could volunteer a compliment, the sight of Sean and me stole Joe's attention. With a flattering lack of hesitation, he pushed through the crowd and swept me into a bone-crushing hug - That he turned to me first made my heart soar with pleasure - and my conscience prick with guilt.
'Kate,’ he exclaimed, loudly kissing my cheek. 'I'm so glad you made it.'
Grinning from ear to ear, Sean pounded his back.