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She closed the door, trying not to let the joy fade out of this night.
"Now dohn go breaking your heart," Jenny said. "He'll be showing up any minute now. You know Mr. Jay."
She tried to believe it. She took a long time to change. She wore white satin. But he did not come. He'd let her open in the Follies alone.
By the time she came out, almost everyone had gone. Stagehands were finishing up in the glare of a ghostly light. She wandered onto the dark stage. Rows and rows of empty seats, the night watchman making his lonely rounds, she could see the winking flashlight eye. Very quietly she stood trying to get back to peace. Some people knelt in church and smelled incense. Here was the mustiness of old wood and dusty props, varnish and grease paint, an incense too. Let it fill her. Let it block out everything.
Stagehands doused the light and now there was nothing but the watchman's tiny beam. Here I am safe, she thought, this is mine.
"Come on now," Jenny called from the wings. "You come on home, I'll warm you some milk."
Her steps beat a dirge on the empty boards. She started to run, as fast as she could, out the stage door. Someone stepped from the shadows, caught and held her.
Not Jay. No.
"Rudy ! You waited . . . Thank you f or . . . your flowers," she sobbed. Tears rushed over her little face and he held her.
"Go on, Murray, cry — you'll feel better. I understand."
"You don't, you couldn't."
"I've known for a long time. I wish you'd never see him again. I wish you didn't want to see him."
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