Epitaph by Mary Doria Russell Read Free Book Online

never been a good girl, not even when she was six years old, making sailors smile. She wanted eyes on her. She wanted an audience all to herself, challenging her, daring her to be worth watching. She wanted to be seen.
    Reaching behind herself, she unbuttoned her skirt and stepped out of it. She pulled off her petticoat as well, tossing garments and modesty away with a careless theatrical gesture that became the first figure of the hornpipe. Jaunty now in her navy jacket and calf-length cotton drawers, she did a boy’s dance with a boy’s grin that got wider as she saw skepticism become surprise, and surprise turn into approval.
    The music was so familiar they heard it in their minds. Even stagehands stopped to watch and clap in time. When she was finished, everyone cheered and she took her first professional bow.
    I did it, she thought, breathless and exhilarated. I changed their minds! I made them believe!
    An instant later, Mr. Murray shouted, “Back to work, everyone! We’ve got three hours to make the boat to Santa Barbara!”
    Equally brisk, Miss Markham said, “You’re hired, Rosy Josie. Go home and pack one valise—we’ve no room for more. Be back here in an hour.”
    SHE HAD FOUND HER PROPER ELEMENT. The wide world beckoned. She could already hear its applause.
    She flew home, went to her room, stuffed a few things in a bag, and told her mother, “I’m spending the night at Dora’s house!” On the way through the bakery, she gave her father a quick peck on the cheek, as she always did on her way to “piano practice” on school-day afternoons.
    She gave no thought to her girlfriends, or to Mrs. Hirsch, or to what her family would think when she failed to come home. Her only moment of doubt came back at the theater, when the fully and elaborately dressed Miss Markham beckoned her close and spoke for her ears only.
    â€œNow listen carefully, Rosy Josie,” the actress said in a low, hard voice. “Nobody here gives a ‘big, big D’ what you do on your own time. But if you do the big, big F with the charming Mr. M.? Be sure he uses a French letter every single time! Do not get yourself knocked up. Understand?”
    On that Thursday afternoon in San Francisco, Jo Marcus had no idea what Miss Markham was talking about, though she knew she was being warned about something.
    By Sunday, Randolph Murray had explained it all—that and a great deal more, for he’d always enjoyed developing natural talent and found Jo Marcus a gratifyingly eager student.
    â€œTake your voice down an octave. I want to feel your voice here ,” he told her, laying a hand on her chest. “It should resonate between your lovely little breasts, not vibrate out your nose.”
    â€œDon’t flirt like a schoolgirl! Don’t be so obvious! You’re beautiful, and that will draw eyes. Silence is your tool,” he told her. “Stay quiet in a crowd. Smile to yourself—like this!—as though you are amused by the interest your beauty arouses. Lower your eyes demurely. Keep them down, but then bring them up slowly, to meet a man’s own. I promise you: The effect will be devastating.”
    â€œYou have no idea how powerful you can be,” he told her. “You can have any man you want. Just look into his eyes. Think, I want you , andhe’ll be yours. But don’t be too quick! Let him think about you for a while. Let him wonder.”
    He taught her how to give satisfaction and to expect it for herself, how to control the rhythm and to tighten at the end. “Most women just lie there like logs. No one has taught them what to desire. You know that now, Jo. You will be able to tell a man what you want and when you want it.”
    He knew from the start that others would benefit from his instruction. The only thing that surprised Randolph Murray was how soon he was replaced.

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