LILLIAN WRESTLED with her uncertainty all through Sunday night. Neither Tallant nor Warner attended the evening performance, and she was relieved by their absence. She needed time to sort out her feelings.
Her ambivalence was unsettling. She genuinely liked both men, though they were as different as night and day. One lived like an old-world Spanish grandee and the other like a devil-may-care plains buccaneer. She’d never known two men so dissimilar.
All of which was part of a larger problem. She had never been courted, and she’d never known any man intimately. Her experiences with men were of a flirtatious nature, a stolen kiss that never led to anything more. Her mother had imparted wisdom about men, but Lillian had no actual experience. She felt oddly like a vestal virgin in ancient Rome. Chaste, even wise, but nonetheless ignorant.
She wasn’t sure she wanted to lose that ignorance to either of them. Jake Tallant was a gentleman of the old school, kind and considerate, almost chivalrous in manner. Yet his children, however delightful, posed the worrisome question of overnight motherhood. Hank Warner was perhaps more debonair, a puckish bon vivant with a devilish sense of humor. Still, for all his protests, he lived with the memory of a dead woman. A wife would never displace the ghost of Maria Tallant.
Lillian’s ambivalence was underscored by an even more personal dilemma. Over the course of her Western odyssey, she had found some essential part of herself in the theater. She loved the audiences and the thrill of it all, the wave of adulation that came to her over the footlights. She thought she loved it more than she might ever love a man, and she wasn’t willing to trade one for the other. Her stage career was, at least for now, her life.
By Monday morning, she had arrived at a partial solution. She wrote discreet notes to both Tallant and Warner, explaining that she felt overwhelmed by their attentions. The notes were identical except for the salutations, tactfully phrased word-for-word appeals for patience. She emphasized that she needed time, needed to be alone with her thoughts, for it had all happened too fast, too quickly. She asked that they not contact her until she was able to reconcile her own feelings.
The notes were secretly delivered to each of the men by Chester. He caught them separately, as they were entering the Tivoli Monday evening, and slipped them the notes in the course of a handshake. That night, and for the three days following, the men honored her wishes. They attended her performances every evening, seated at their usual tables, following her about the stage with the eyes of infatuated schoolboys. True to her request, neither of them attempted to contact her.
Friday morning she awoke with a vague sense of disquiet. Her father and Chester went out to attend to personal errands, and she was left alone with her thoughts. She couldn’t identify the source of her unease, apart from the fact that she somehow felt lonely. She inwardly admitted that she missed the company of the men, Tallant for his courtly manner and Warner for his waggish humor. She wondered if a woman, after all, needed a man in her life.
Fontaine returned shortly before noon. He found her moping about, still dressed in her housecoat, staring listlessly out the window. She didn’t move as he crossed the sitting room and stopped at her side. Her expression was pensive, vaguely sad. He tried for a light note.
“What’s this?” he said. “I planned to take you out for lunch. Why aren’t you dressed?”
“I just haven’t gotten around to it.”
“Come now, my dear, that is hardly an answer. What’s wrong?”
“Oh, Papa.” Her voice wavered. “I’m so confused.”
Fontaine studied her with concern. “Need I ask the source of your confusion? Something to do with men, is it?”
“I was standing here thinking I miss them. And then I thought how perfectly ingenuous. How naive.”
“No one would ever accuse you of naïveté. You are much more the sophisticate than you realize.”
“Am I?” Lillian said with a tinge of melancholy. “One minute I want them out of my life, and the next I wish they were knocking on the door. How sophisticated is that, Papa?”
“You punish yourself unnecessarily,” Fontaine said. “Quite often logic dictates one thing while the heart dictates another. Are you in love with either of these men?”
“No, of course not.”
“And the stage is still your beacon?”
“Yes, more than anything.”
“Then logic prevails, my dear. There are simpler ways to resolve matters of the heart.”
Lillian turned from the window. “I’m not sure I understand, Papa. What is it you’re suggesting?”
“Nothing unseemly,” Fontaine assured her. “You are lonely for male companionship and nothing could be more natural. Amuse yourself without becoming involved.”
“Wouldn’t that be unfair to them?”
“I’m sure your mother educated you about the whys and wherefores of men. A woman need not worry about trifling with their affections.”
“Yes, but how would—”
Chester burst through the door. His face was flushed and he looked as though he’d just run a marathon. He hurried across the room, gesturing wildly.
“Your gentleman friends just shot it out! Not five minutes ago in front of the bank.”
Lillian appeared to stagger. “Hank and Jake?”
“None other,” Chester said. “I saw it myself.”
“Are they … dead?”
“Warner got it in the arm and Tallant lost a piece of his ear. They’re both lousy shots.”
Fontaine put an arm around Lillian’s shoulders. He looked at Chester. “How did it happen?”
“Warner started it,” Chester said. “Tallant was coming out of the bank and Warner stopped him on the street. They exchanged insults, and next thing you know, they pulled their guns. Wounded one another with the first shot.”
“Unfortunate,” Fontaine remarked. “I assume it had to do with Warner’s lawsuit?”
“No, Dad, it was literally an affaire de coeur. They were fighting over Lillian.”
“Me!” Lillian was nonplussed. “Why would they fight over me?”
Chester suppressed a grin. “Warner used some dirty language. Accused Tallant of stealing your affections.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“You haven’t heard the rest of it. Tallant cursed Warner out and accused him of the same thing. That’s when they went for their guns.”
“How dare they!” Lillian fumed. “I never gave either of them reason to believe I favored one over the other. I asked both of them to leave me alone!”
“Not to hear them tell it,” Chester informed her. “They each think the other one stole your heart away. Talk about jealousy.”
“I feel like a common streetwalker. Men fighting over me, for mercy’s sake! It’s disgusting.”
A knock sounded at the door. Chester opened it and admitted Lulu Banes. She rushed across the room to Lillian.
“Have you heard?”
“Chester just finished telling me. I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Lulu said archly. “Lucky the fools didn’t kill one another.”
“I wrote each of them notes,” Lillian said with a dazed expression. “And they weren’t love notes, either. I told them to stay away.”
“Honey, you think they compare dance cards?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean your notes had the opposite effect. They both thought you ditched one for the other.”
“Well, that’s absurd,” Lillian protested. “Neither of them has any claim on me. I made that very clear.”
Lulu chuckled. “Not clear enough, sugar. They just got through fighting a duel for you. How’s it feel to be fought over?”
“Absolutely revolting! I wish I’d never met either of them.”
“And I’d give anything in the world to be in your place. How I wish, I wish, I wish.”
Lillian sniffed. “You’re welcome to them.”
“Not in this lifetime,” Lulu said woefully. “They’ve only got eyes for you, kiddo.”
“Then I’ll have to persuade them otherwise, won’t I?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Lulu, I mean to put an end to it—permanently!”
* * *
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings:
How some have been depos’d, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,
Some poison’d by their wives, some sleeping kill’d;
All murder’d: for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court …
Fontaine plowed on with the soliloquy from King Richard II. The patrons of the Tivoli were by now resigned to his nightly orations from Shakespeare. For the most part, they ignored him, milling about and carrying on conversations interspersed with laughter. He might have been playing to an empty house.
Two members of the audience were nonetheless attentive. Jake Tallant was seated at his usual table, his right ear heavily bandaged with gauze. Across the aisle, Hank Warner sat with his left arm cradled in a dark sling that matched the color of his suit. Fontaine was surprised to find them in the crowd, for their wounds were still fresh from the morning gunfight. He suspected their attendance had little to do with Shakepeare.
The magician kept the audience entertained between acts. The curtain then opened on the melodrama of the evening, The Dying Kiss. Lillian was all too aware of Tallant and Warner, for their tables were just beyond the orchestra, near the stage. She noted that they studiously ignored each other, but she thought their presence was scandalous. The eyes of every man in the room were on her, and she knew what they were thinking. She was the temptress who provoked men to gunfights.
After the melodrama, she hurried backstage to change for her final number. She was still seething as she slipped into her teal gown and tried to repair her makeup. When she went on, her face was scarlet and she had little doubt that everyone in the theater looked upon her as a scarlet woman. She was, in all likelihood, branded the lover of the two men seated down front. The orchestra led her into a lively tune.
I came from Alabama
With a banjo on my knee
I’m going to Louisiana
My true love for to see
It rained all night the day I left
The weather it was dry
The sun so hot I froze to death
Susanna, don’t you cry
Oh! Susanna, oh don’t you cry for me
I’ve come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee
The crowd gave her a rousing ovation. Tallant, undeterred by his mangled ear, applauded mightily. Warner, limited to one good arm, pounded the table with the flat of his hand. She took three curtain calls, then bowed offstage into the wings. Nate Varnum was standing nearby, and she asked him to invite Tallant and Warner backstage. Her look was such that he restrained himself from questioning her judgment. He hurried off.
Fontaine and Chester were finished removing their greasepaint. They exchanged glances, having overheard her conversation with Varnum, and joined her near her dressing room. Fontaine appeared troubled.
“Do you think this is wise?” he asked. “Bringing them together so soon after their altercation?”
“Their welfare doesn’t concern me,” Lillian said. “I intend to put an end to it here—tonight.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, my dear.”
“Yes, I know very well, Papa.”
Varnum came through the door at the side of the stage. Warner was directly behind him, followed by Tallant. Everything came to a standstill as the cast—chorus girls, acrobats, jugglers, and the magician—paused to watch. Varnum led the ranchers backstage and stopped outside Lillian’s dressing room. The men seemed disconcerted by her summons, nodding to her with weak smiles. Her eyes flashed with anger.
“Look at you!” she said in a stinging voice. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
Tallant and Warner ducked their heads like naughty urchins. Lillian felt a momentary pang of sympathy, for they were proud men being humbled in public. But she was determined to see it end. She lashed out at them.
“Do you have any idea how you’ve humiliated me? Fighting like common thugs in the street. And all in my name!”
“Lillian, listen,” Warner said, thoroughly abashed. “I wouldn’t offend you for anything in the world. I just wasn’t thinking straight.”
Tallant nodded his head rapidly. “That goes double for me. I’m as much to blame as Hank.”
“Yes, you are,” Lillian said shortly. “Now, I want you both to shake hands. Let it end here.”
Warner and Tallant swapped a quick glance. After a moment, Tallant stuck out his hand and Warner clasped it in a firm grip. Lillian allowed herself a tight smile.
“I hope you can behave like gentlemen from now on. You might even become friends.”
“I tend to doubt it,” Warner said.
Tallant grunted. “Yeah, not too likely.”
“Well, you won’t have me as an excuse.” Lillian looked from one to the other. “I am leaving Pueblo and I never want to see you again. Either of you.”
“Hold on!” Warner barked, and Tallant added a hasty, “Let’s talk about this!”
Fontaine stepped forward. “Gentlemen, I believe my daughter—”
“Please, Papa,” Lillian cut him off. “I have to do this myself.”
“Of course, my dear.”
“Goodbye, Hank. Goodbye, Jake.” Lillian permitted herself a softer smile. “Please don’t say anything to make it more difficult. Just leave now. Please.”
Tallant and Warner seemed on the verge of arguing it further. But then, under her cool stare, they mumbled their goodbyes and turned away. No one said anything as they crossed backstage and went out the door. Fontaine looked at Lillian.
“Leaving Pueblo?” he said. “Wasn’t that what you told them? I recall no discussion to that effect.”
“Yes, Papa, we are leaving.”
“You might have consulted me first.”
“I’m sorry,” Lillian said evenly. “I’ve had my fill of ruffians, Papa. It’s time to go on to Denver.”
Fontaine nodded judiciously. “Certainly our notices merit moving onward and upward. You may have a point.”
“Just a damn minute!” Varnum jumped in. “You can’t run off and leave me high and dry.”
“Indeed?” Fontaine said, suddenly testy. “For a man who dislikes Shakespeare, you take umbrage rather too quickly. Do we have a contract with you, Mr. Varnum?”
“I gave you your start!” Varnum objected loudly. “And besides, it’s not professional.”
“Hmmn.” Fontaine feigned deep consideration. “Never let it be said that the Fontaines are less than professional. What say, my dear, shall we give him another week?”
Lillian sighed. “One week, Papa, but no more. I’m anxious to see Denver.”
“I concur,” Fontaine said, gesturing idly in Varnum’s direction. “There you have it, my good man. One week and we bid you adieu.”
“Godalmighty,” Varnum groaned. “I’ll never find a headliner act in a week.”
“Nor will you find one to replace The Fontaines, my dear fellow. We are, in a word, singular.”
Lillian turned toward her dressing room. Lulu was waiting by the door and gave her Kewpie-doll smile. “Sugar, you sure know how to end a romance. I never saw two chumps dusted off so fast.”
“I hope I wasn’t too harsh on them. Although I must say they deserved it.”
“Well, who knows, maybe I’ll snag one of them while he’s sobbin’ in his beer. But whether I do or don’t, I’m gonna miss you, kiddo.”
“Oh, Lulu, I’ll miss you, too.”
“Yeah, but I can always say I knew you when. You’re on your way to the big time now.”
“Do you think so, honestly?”
“Sugar, I’d lay odds on it.”
Theatrical people were superstitious and rarely counted their good fortune until it came true. Yet Lillian, who was caught up in the moment, cast her superstitions aside. She already knew it was true.
She saw her name in lights.