Tomorrow's Dreams by Heather Cullman Read Free Book Online Page B

once.”

Chapter 5
    Even from where she stood waiting in the stage wings, Penelope could tell it was going to be another rough night at the Shakespeare Variety Hall. Uncouth men, drunk off cheap liquor and crude company, were already heckling Euphemia Hotchkiss, the actress who was onstage singing, venting their impatience for a glimpse of Lorelei Leroux. It was the same depressing scenario night after night, and Penelope knew that it was only a matter of minutes before the rest of the crowd joined in the badgering.
    This evening the audience was right on schedule.
    â€œSounds like my ma-in-law after she got kicked in the head by our mule,” jeered one man, his lampoon accompanied by the tinkle of breaking glass.
    â€œHell. Sounds jist like my mother-in-law when I told her to put a cork in it and mind her own business.” That drew a roar of approval from the crowd.
    As if by clockwork the rest of the men joined in, each taunt louder and more barbed than the last. Eventually they grew so thunderous that they all but drowned out Euphemia’s admittedly grating voice. As she warbled the last note, Penelope heard Bertram McAllister, the dramatic actor, shout her cue:
    â€œHere comes the stagecoach now!”
    Self-conscious in her scanty costume, Penelope gave her peacock blue bodice a tug, though she knew that all the tugging in the world wouldn’t render the neckline decent. After rubbing her lucky ribbon, which she’d tied around her throat, she strutted onto the stage, swinging her hips in a seductive manner.
    As always the hisses and boos gave way to whistles and cheers, followed by clapping and foot-stamping. Somewhere in the back of the hall, she heard the chant: “Lorelei! Lorelei!”
    When she lifted her skirts almost to her knees and swayed to the prelude of her solo, an appreciative roar shook the walls.
    â€œYank it higher, darlin’. Pull it up! Pull it up!” hooted a drunken bullwhacker in the front row.
    Ignoring the man, Penelope began to sing, trilling sweetly at the entrance of Miles Prescott, the actor playing the hero in the piece. Spellbound by her voice, the rowdy crowd fell silent.
    Tonight the company was performing The Gregory Gulch Bride , one of Denver’s favorite operettas. It was the tale of a mail-order bride trying to win the love of her indifferent husband.
    Swishing her skirts in a tantalizing manner, Penelope danced around Miles, tempting him with her amply displayed charms. The measures poor Molly Snow, the lovesick heroine, took to seduce her husband were nothing short of vulgar.
    â€œPull ’em up! Bend ’er over!”
    From the corner of her eye, Penelope saw that the bullwacker had staggered to the edge of the stage and was now trying to look up her skirt, his face the picture of besotted lechery. Shuddering with disgust, she dropped her hem back to her ankles.
    â€œHell, we paid our money—show us some leg!” he shouted, pounding his fists against the stage floor in protest.
    â€œShut up and let the lady sing!” hollered a cowboy, seizing the bullwacker by the neck and attempting to pull him back to his seat. With a backhand swat the bullwacker sent the cowboy flying into the crowd, knocking over several onlookers and drawing a threatening rumble from the rest of the audience.
    â€œI paid my money to see some leg, and I’m gonna git what I paid for,” he snarled.
    Before Penelope could think, much less react, the man jumped onto the stage and wrestled her into his arms. In one rending yank, he ripped her skirt open. One more jerk and the skirt fell to the floor, exposing her red flannel pantaloons.
    Shrieking her indignation, she ground her boot heel into the man’s instep. His grunt of surprise escalated into a howl of pain as she finished her performance by kicking him in the shins.
    With an echoing roar the crowd surged forward. Some of the men were intent on rescuing the beauteous Lorelei, while