Read Online Master Me by Trina Lane, Lisabet Sarai, Elizabeth Coldwell - Free Book Online Page A
Ads: Link
my room, however, I ached and cried, berating myself for my susceptibility. But how could anyone not fall in love with Geoffrey Hart?
All in all, if I just kept my mind on the present, I was happy. After all, my master enjoyed and appreciated me. What more could I ask for?
We opened Streetcar to universal acclaim. We had people coming from Boston, New York, even D.C. to attend performances. Each night, looking on as Eunice the neighbour, I marvelled at the way Geoff inhabited Stanley Kowalski. With his confidence, strength and earthy sexuality, Geoff was born to play the part. When he bellowed, “Stella!”—when he swept up Adele and carried her offstage—I was as thrilled as anyone in the audience. Even more, perhaps, because I knew first-hand the way it felt to be cradled in those powerful arms.
I was offstage at the start of Scene Seven, watching the action. Stella was decorating the table for Blanche’s birthday. Stanley had dug up some dirt about Blanche’s past. He was bitter and sarcastic as he gloated, while Stella defended her sister. I shivered. I wouldn’t want to face that kind of rage.
“He calls her, you know.”
I started and whirled around to find the source of the hoarse whisper. It was Jack, costumed as the unfortunate Mitch.
“What? Who? What are you talking about?” I whispered back.
“Your precious Mr. Hart. He’s still in touch with his old flame. Anne something?”
“Anne Merrill.” I felt suddenly chilled. Intoxicated by Geoff’s company, I’d almost forgotten my rival. “Why do you say that?”
“I heard him talking on his cell last night. Calling her ‘Anne, baby.’ I couldn’t hear everything he said, but from the serious look on his face, I’m sure it wasn’t just a casual conversation.”
I didn’t answer. I hadn’t seen Anne’s photo since the night I spied on Geoffrey, but how did I know he didn’t bring it out on the evenings when I didn’t visit? Maybe that was the real reason he insisted on breaks between our sessions.
“I just thought you should know, Sarah. I was concerned. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
“What? Oh, thanks, Jack.” I murmured.
I don’t suppose your concern has anything to do with jealousy or revenge , I added mentally. I resolved to ignore Jack’s insinuations. He was hardly a neutral party. Anyway, there might be a thousand innocent reasons why Geoff had called Anne—if he had.
I wished that I dared to ask Geoff about her. If I did, though, he’d see through me in an instant. He’d mock my jealousy and remind me that my only responsibility was to please him.
He would be right, of course. I was fortunate to have Geoff as my teacher and my master. I had no claim on his heart.
* * * *
Someone was yelling and pounding on my door. I yawned and stretched under the sheet. The residual sting from the previous night’s flogging made me smile. Geoff had been so sweet, so solicitous of my well-being, praising my obedience while massaging ointment into my welts. That’s probably why it didn’t hurt more…
“Sarah! Wake up!” It sounded like Clarissa. What was she doing making such a commotion at—eight in the morning?
I threw on my robe and padded to the door. “Hi, Clar. What’s up?”
“It’s Adele. They just took her to the hospital.”
My good mood evaporated. “The hospital? What’s wrong?”
“She’s sick. Food poisoning, they think. She and Harry both.”
“God! Will she be okay?”
“Probably. But you’ll have to take over for her, for tonight at least. Arthur wants you at the theatre for a special rehearsal as soon as you’ve had your coffee.”
“I’ll be there.” I was already halfway to the shower, my mind whirling.
We were rotating three shows now, Our Town , Fiddler and Streetcar , while rehearsing Plaza Suite during the day. Tonight—tonight Streetcar was on the bill. That meant I’d be playing Stella—opposite Geoffrey Hart.
Excitement hummed through me. I felt bad about
All in all, if I just kept my mind on the present, I was happy. After all, my master enjoyed and appreciated me. What more could I ask for?
We opened Streetcar to universal acclaim. We had people coming from Boston, New York, even D.C. to attend performances. Each night, looking on as Eunice the neighbour, I marvelled at the way Geoff inhabited Stanley Kowalski. With his confidence, strength and earthy sexuality, Geoff was born to play the part. When he bellowed, “Stella!”—when he swept up Adele and carried her offstage—I was as thrilled as anyone in the audience. Even more, perhaps, because I knew first-hand the way it felt to be cradled in those powerful arms.
I was offstage at the start of Scene Seven, watching the action. Stella was decorating the table for Blanche’s birthday. Stanley had dug up some dirt about Blanche’s past. He was bitter and sarcastic as he gloated, while Stella defended her sister. I shivered. I wouldn’t want to face that kind of rage.
“He calls her, you know.”
I started and whirled around to find the source of the hoarse whisper. It was Jack, costumed as the unfortunate Mitch.
“What? Who? What are you talking about?” I whispered back.
“Your precious Mr. Hart. He’s still in touch with his old flame. Anne something?”
“Anne Merrill.” I felt suddenly chilled. Intoxicated by Geoff’s company, I’d almost forgotten my rival. “Why do you say that?”
“I heard him talking on his cell last night. Calling her ‘Anne, baby.’ I couldn’t hear everything he said, but from the serious look on his face, I’m sure it wasn’t just a casual conversation.”
I didn’t answer. I hadn’t seen Anne’s photo since the night I spied on Geoffrey, but how did I know he didn’t bring it out on the evenings when I didn’t visit? Maybe that was the real reason he insisted on breaks between our sessions.
“I just thought you should know, Sarah. I was concerned. I’d hate to see you get hurt.”
“What? Oh, thanks, Jack.” I murmured.
I don’t suppose your concern has anything to do with jealousy or revenge , I added mentally. I resolved to ignore Jack’s insinuations. He was hardly a neutral party. Anyway, there might be a thousand innocent reasons why Geoff had called Anne—if he had.
I wished that I dared to ask Geoff about her. If I did, though, he’d see through me in an instant. He’d mock my jealousy and remind me that my only responsibility was to please him.
He would be right, of course. I was fortunate to have Geoff as my teacher and my master. I had no claim on his heart.
* * * *
Someone was yelling and pounding on my door. I yawned and stretched under the sheet. The residual sting from the previous night’s flogging made me smile. Geoff had been so sweet, so solicitous of my well-being, praising my obedience while massaging ointment into my welts. That’s probably why it didn’t hurt more…
“Sarah! Wake up!” It sounded like Clarissa. What was she doing making such a commotion at—eight in the morning?
I threw on my robe and padded to the door. “Hi, Clar. What’s up?”
“It’s Adele. They just took her to the hospital.”
My good mood evaporated. “The hospital? What’s wrong?”
“She’s sick. Food poisoning, they think. She and Harry both.”
“God! Will she be okay?”
“Probably. But you’ll have to take over for her, for tonight at least. Arthur wants you at the theatre for a special rehearsal as soon as you’ve had your coffee.”
“I’ll be there.” I was already halfway to the shower, my mind whirling.
We were rotating three shows now, Our Town , Fiddler and Streetcar , while rehearsing Plaza Suite during the day. Tonight—tonight Streetcar was on the bill. That meant I’d be playing Stella—opposite Geoffrey Hart.
Excitement hummed through me. I felt bad about
Similar Books
