A recent acquisition from auction of Australia’s Mr Hollywood, Bill Collins, in October 2020, introduced me to JC Williamson Ltd. A magnate in Australia’s theatre industry, in the early 20th century, Williamson was responsible for bringing top name stage and screen stars to Australia to perform.
Enamoured with the cover art of this 1928 magazine, it inspired this short story.
Note. I’ve been playing around with Shorthand and republished this story. Let me know what you think.
“Mademoiselle!”
Another insistent knock at the door.
“Mademosielle Adele. Please. You must come.”
As she leant back on the lounge, the movement caused the bracelet to pinch her wrist. “Ohh.”
Another knock.
“Mademoiselle. Are you alright? Please. The count is waiting.”
Adele sighed. That pompous so and so. The Count of a small area in the southern tip of France was not enough to ease her broken heart. Broken not from love or lack of it. Nothing could be more from the truth. Love, she gave a wide berth.
This night in December, this new year’s eve, was meant to be her night. The night that her new silver-slippered feet would transport her into the footlights of Broadway, finally being able to quash her Down-Under roots. A night for her to reach a new star – that of her own ascendency to stage and screen adoration.
Stanwyck had already arranged a car to pick her up earlier than usual from the theatre to make her way into her own night of glitz with Cotton. So, that had left Adele to be tonight’s shining light.
This night, Adele was to step out of Stanwyck’s shadow as understudy. Her gaze now travelled the length of the gown that plumed around her. This shimmering silvered concoction was the first of 14 dress changes that would steamroll her towards the final thunderous ovation from the audience. Adele conjured that sound of love reverberating up from the crowded stalls to feed her soul with their magical praise. Goosebumps tickled her skin. The love of an audience is what she craved. But tonight, it was snatched from her. And she could not yet step out of the glittering gown.
Stanwyck had quarrelled with Cotton. Something about —
Another tap at the door.
“Mademoiselle. I’m sorry. Ms Stanwyck is looking for the dress.”
— something about Cotton promising to take a young starlet from JC’s new troupe with him to Europe. The same trip Stanwyck was to take and it was now feeling a bit crowded. Cotton promised Stanwyck that was over with the brunette with large hazel eyes, as soon as it started. Stanwyck knew better than to trust him again. There were no second chances with Stanwyck. Adele respected her for that, at least. But not for snatching back her curtain call.
It was bad enough she now had to extricate herself from the gown.
It was bad enough she now have to swallow her humiliation in front of the stage hands, that she’d probably been a bit too rude to this afternoon. High on her own self-adulation in anticipation of the morning’s theatre reviews, to attend to their minor meddling of markers and such, during rehearsal.
It was bad enough that, at this late hour on new year’s eve, Adele struggled to think of one respectable party patron with which to associate, to help soften the blow to her pride.
It was bad enough that a count, a man with meandering hands, was right outside her door, in the hall. Not for all his money in the world, would she sink to being his beautiful token tonight.
It was bad enough, that she was left with no other solution but to plan an escape.
Yes. And no. She is Adele. She would brush aside her embarrassment and walk right out the theatre door. Dress and all.
“Mademoiselle. Ms Stanwyck needs her room — ”
Adele didn’t hear the rest; as quick as air, her small frame responded by launching herself to the door and thrusting it open. The stage manager’s face lit up with relief.
“Oh, thank you Mademoiselle. I was sure tonight would be the end of me, if you hadn’t–“
Adele looked ahead and stepped around him, inching down the narrow circular stairs behind the stage.
The stage manager froze with fright.
“Mademoiselle, no, no, no. Ms Stanwyck’s room is this way.”
Adele’s mind was elsewhere. She was the star now, if only for the length of the walk through to the lobby and into the night.
Outside, the darkness collided with the warm glow from the shops along the street. Adele blended with the revellers – she would find her place among them. A place where she would sing and dance, drawing the crowd away from the theatre box office queue to where she would hold court.
This would be a great night after all.
Happy New Year.
alexdee me 
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