RUNAWAY ROSE
Chapter Eleven
Rose was awakened by the sound of a baritone
voice singing loudly downstairs. A higher-pitched voice screeched irritably at the
singer to shut up.
She rolled over and glanced out the window.
The sun was high in the sky, indicating that it was at least mid-morning.
Groaning, she got out of bed.
Rose reached for her corset, then frowned
when she saw that the diamond had torn a hole in the lining. Looking down, she
saw a matching hole in her chemise. No wonder the diamond had dug into her
skin!
Rose tied her corset on, more loosely than
she had worn it before with no one to help her lace it. Giving the strings a
tug, she grimaced, then decided that it didn't really matter. Her spare dress
had an empire waist, and the corset was more comfortable laced loosely anyway.
Rose slipped on her spare garment, a green
silk day dress, then slipped on her shoes and ran a brush through her tangled
hair. Looking at her reflection in the dusty mirror above the dresser, she
decided to leave her hair down. She didn't really have enough pins to put it up
properly.
Making her way down the stairs, Rose heard
the singing coming from the direction of the kitchen. The other voice objected
again.
"Shut up, Robert!"
Robert, Rose thought. Could this be the infamous Robert Calvert?
Rose paused in the doorway of the kitchen. A
young man with dark brown hair was facing the stove, cooking something that
smelled like scrambled eggs. He began to sing again, his rich voice belting out
the words to one of the songs Rose had heard the night before.
Alice sat at the table, her head in her
hands, glaring at him. A glass containing something that looked like a raw egg
sat in front of her. The egg shells were halfway across the table.
"If you don't shut up right now, I'm
going to feed you these egg shells," she threatened, reaching for the
discarded objects.
"The rules clearly state that singing is
acceptable at 9:30 in the morning," Robert reminded her, turning around to
look at her. He grinned at her misery. "No one told you to drink six beers
last night."
"It was five."
"Six. I was counting."
"Shut up!"
Robert noticed Rose then. "Why, Alice,
you didn't tell me you had a sister."
Carefully cradling her aching head, Alice
turned to look at Rose. "She's not my sister, you buffoon. She's the new
ticket seller, Rose." She looked at Rose suspiciously. "What are you
doing here?"
"I live here. I just moved in
yesterday."
Rose's voice was louder than normal, and
Alice groaned, clutching at her head. "Why is everyone yelling this
morning?"
"Because you love people who yell."
Robert moved past her to greet Rose. "I don't believe Alice is telling the
truth. Why would such a beauty sell tickets instead of being on the stage?
Besides, if you worked for Norman, I would have met you at the party last
night."
Party? Rose remembered Norman mentioning a cast party, but had assumed that
ticket sellers weren't included.
"You must come to the next one. Maybe
you can hide the beer from Alice."
An eggshell bounced off his head. He grinned
and tossed it on the floor. Rose stared at him. He took her hand and kissed it.
"The beauteous Rose. 'For what is in
a name? A rose by any other word would smell as sweet,'" he quipped.
"Your eggs are burning, Romeo,"
Alice announced, pointing to the now smoking pan on the stove.
"Shit!" Robert let go of Rose's
hand and rushed back to the stove. He grabbed the handle of the pan and burned
his hand. Yelping, he dropped the pan on the floor. Burned bits of egg
scattered across the floor. Adding a few more choice words, he scooped the mess
back into the pan with the spatula.
"Anyone want eggs?" he asked, brandishing
the mess. A small dog that Rose hadn't noticed before hopped off a blanket in
the corner and looked at him hopefully.
"Ah...I think I'll go out for
breakfast," Rose told him, looking at the blackened mess.
"I'm coming with you," Alice
announced. Then, remembering her raw egg, she lifted the glass and gulped it
down.
"That's disgusting!" Rose gasped,
staring.
Apparently Alice agreed, because she turned
pale, choked, and held the glass in a death grip, staring at it as if the egg
would soon need to be returned to it.
"It's called a prairie oyster," she
informed Rose as soon as she was sure the egg would stay where it belonged.
"It's supposed to help a hangover."
"I think you're supposed to add vinegar
to it," Robert told her, squatting on the floor to feed the blackened
remains of his breakfast to the dog.
Alice glared at him. Then, deciding that she
was tired of sparring with him, she headed for the door, still holding her head
with one hand. Rose followed her, leaving Robert sitting on the floor, forlornly,
as the dog gobbled down the last of his breakfast.