My Actor-Husband: A true story of American stage lifeAnonymous
General
My Actor-Husband: A true story of American stage life
Anonymous
Actors -- Fiction; Married people -- Fiction; Theater -- Moral and ethical aspects -- Fiction
If Will had any experiences in Boston only one came under my notice;
rather, it was forced upon me. It was during the second week of the
engagement that Will began to bring me violets. Now, he had not shown me
this attention for several years. I was too much flattered at the time
to notice that the flowers always came on matinée days, after the
performance. Will generally took a walk after a matinée. He said it
refreshed him for the evening performance. He would come in, glowing
from the exercise, simply radiating health and energy. I knew what time
to expect him and I would sit listening for the elevator to stop on our
floor. I knew Will's step the minute he came down the hall. When he
opened the door I instinctively sniffed the fresh air he brought in with
him. I liked to feel his cold cheek against mine ... and to hear him
puff and growl to amuse Boy as he pulled off his heavy coat. He was
irresistible. The violets came in a purple box with the imprint of the
florist in gold letters. The first time he brought them he set the box
on the table without handing them to me. One of my weaknesses is
flowers.
"What's this?" I asked, pouncing upon the box.
"Open it and see," he answered with one of his quizzical sidelong
glances.
"For me?" I asked a little dubiously. I lost no time in opening the box.
If the shadow of a thought that an admirer of Will's had sent him the
flowers flitted across my mind it was lost in Will's smile as he
answered,
"For my best girl."
I buried my face in their cool depths. "Violets! O, the beauties! I like
the single variety best, don't you, Will? They're so fresh and woodsy."
Then my conscience smote me. Violets are expensive this time of year.
"Will--weren't they _horribly_ expensive?" Just the same I was pleased
to death--as I had heard matinée girls say--and I made up my mind to
forego something I needed to offset Will's flattering extravagance. I
nursed and tended those violets until the next matinée day came round.
When they faded I pressed them between blotting paper, intending when I
got back home to put them away with other flowers Will had given me....
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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