"New" Nance O'Neil!

[Harry]

The photos of her at Tyngsboro are especially nice to see. This was about the time of her association with Lizzie.

Again, thanks Missy!

[Tina-Kate]

I've tried several times now to access the story thru the link, but it seems to want me to buy it instead.

What am I doing wrong?

[Allen]

Hmm, not really sure why it would do that. Do you have something to open PDF files? I think it's a pdf. I hope you get it to work, it's a very interesting article.

[Kat]

I've been conducting a search along similar lines the last several weekends. I came across the reference last night without knowing it had been put here. Harry had told me about an article from Missy's research that was really cool, so I did recognize it when I saw it.


I've just tried it, and your link works for me, Missy!

I did download the whole book last night so there should be a way for me to extract the pages and make a new PDF as a download here. But: Is anyone else having trouble with that link?
I have downloaded 3 books so far from Google on similar subject matter, but have yet to read the items I was interested in.

[Kat]

Here is the PDF as a download which Missy references:

"Nance O' Neil Her Travels and Her Art" by Helen Fitzgerald Sanders, published in Overland Monthly an Illustrated Magazine of the West in the August -December Issue of 1906. The article on Nance begins on page 212 and runs on until page 220 with many interesting pictures. Here is the link that should take you to the article.

[Kat]

Note: Nance had traveled the globe by 1904, then hit Boston at the Tremont Theatre Oct. 14, 1904 in "Judith," a play written for her, according to this article. And Nance had played Boston before this, but as yet had not found fame there.

[nbcatlover]

Thanks--I was finally able to read the article with the June 18 link. Unfortunately, it crashed my computer when I tried to save the article.

Nance led a very free and exotic life. It's easy to see why Lizzie would become captivated. Can you imagine Tolo as a maid in Fall River?

[Tina-Kate]

Thanks Kat! I have it now; you're a doll!

I sometimes have problems with things because I'm in Canada...that may have been the cause.

[Kashesan]

she was about 70 when this portrait was drawn
and it is now hanging on my wall

[Kashesan]

Love the photos Kat and Allen, thank you!

My god, could Nance get any sexier?

kash

[Tina-Kate]

Great portrait Kash!

[Kashesan]

thanks TK. I was going to have it reframed and rematted, but I love the way it looks now.

[Allen]

That is a great picture of Nance! Thanks for sharing it with us.

[Kat]

Yes, thank you Kash! WOW!

[Kashesan]

Did I tell you that she's dictating her memoirs through it?

kash

[Kat]

I'm sorry, I don't think I understand your query?
Do you mean this picture accompanied a memoire?

[Tina-Kate]

I loved seeing Nance in a kimono...in my book I have her slinking around the Tyngsboro house in a Japanese robe...so cool to think I came that close!

[Kat]

That is cool, TK!!

[Kashesan]

Kat, unfortunatly just kidding. I am actually telling my life story to the portrait. The only thing Nance has ever said back to me was a mild request to shut up.



kash

[Kashesan]

TK don't leave us hanging!
What is going on in her head as she is slinking about the Tyngsboro mansion in a kimono?

k

[Tina-Kate]

TK don't leave us hanging!
What is going on in her head as she is slinking about the Tyngsboro mansion in a kimono?

k

Now, that would be telling.



Let's see, when last seen in the silk robe, I believe Nance was lecturing Lizzie about life & love.

[Kashesan]

Lucky Lizzie!
Are you posting it here?
(Sorry-Ive been out of the loop for a long time...)


k

[Kat]

TK wrote a book. We have to wait for publication!

Kash, I think Nance would be charmed by you and intrigued by TK! What a pair you would make meeting her!

[Kashesan]

TK and her book would no doubt charm her. Not so sure about me.

k

[JoAnne]

T.K. I live in Billerica which is about 10-15 mins. away from Tynsborough. I , too, have always been interested in Lizzie's stay there. I often have wondered about the escapades of Lizzie and Nance while in Tyngsborough. I will anxiously be waiting for your book . When will it be ready for release?

[Tina-Kate]

Unfortunately, I tried for 2 yrs to find a publisher. I think there are just too many Lizzie books still in circulation.

I am still trying to figure out a way to self-publish.

Sigh.

In the meantime, there was a very interesting article re Tyngsboro in one of the issues of the Hatchet...around 2003 or 2004? Written by Denise? Does anyone remember the issue & author? I believe they're all still available on back issue.

[Kashesan]

Me too(IN THE SAME BOAT)

Did you self publish "Paradox"?

[Kashesan]

Cafe Underworld
c. 2009 Kathleen A. Carbone


The very air around her seemed charged with her personality so that Lizzie and John instinctively moved back to accommodate her.

The door was patrolled by a uniformed young man who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. Lizzie eyed him for a moment before approaching; ascertaining that there would be no argument. He had probably been instructed to bar the entry of any sleazy looking journalists and overzealous fans. This was fine. None of the overzealous fans had any idea that the inconspicuous little doorway led directly to the actors dressing areas, and there were no journalists, sleazy or otherwise, interested in covering this production.
Lizzie simply walked up to him, smiled and waited for him to open the door for her. He did so instantly, with a slight bow. She slipped him a dollar as she passed. Perhaps this would not be the last time she required his services and silence, and she wanted him to remember her. Next time she would get his name.
Once he closed the door behind her, Lizzie had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She was standing in front of an unhappy looking wall of wooden slats with a hole in it that might have been made by a fist. The only light here was a lamp, electric, swaying a few feet above her head from a shabby looking fixture in the low ceiling. There was the smell of paint thinner and sawdust and tobacco. It was slightly nauseating.
She heard voices off to her left and made her way toward them, down a short corridor leading to a hallway beyond which, to Lizzie’s surprise she could see the stage and the empty auditorium from which she’d just walked.
Voices came from off to her right now and she instinctively stepped back, her shy nature making her long to return to the obscurity of a crowd. But her heart drummed at the thought of meeting Nance, she was here, close, Lizzie could feel her. They would speak tonight she told herself. Somehow she would gather the courage to approach Nance and introduce herself as Elizabeth Borden. Would she recognize her? The thought terrified Lizzie and thrilled her at the same time.
As she was trying to prepare herself to continue her search, the sound of a door being flung outwards and slamming against the unfortunate wall behind it made her jump in her skin and halt, courage, pre destiny, art, and Elizabeth Borden instantly forgotten. Nance’s unmistakable voice carried down the hall at a furious decibel and Lizzie cringed.
“I TOLD you this would happen if you gave her the job. How many times have you heard NOT to hire your family, John? It just doesn’t work out!”
“I know, but”
“But what? Where am I going to find a replacement? I have to supply my own, you know that! Do I look like I’m made of money? And you never did tell me what happened to the other girl”
“She was…going to be a mother, remember?” John whispered discretely.
“Pregnant!” Nance roared, “Oh for Christ’s sake!”
They came into view now; Nance in a dark silk dressing gown, long hair tied back, her face still shiny from hastily removed makeup. An old man in seedy looking trousers and a worn colorless sweater followed, supplicating to little avail. Lizzie stepped back out of the light and observed.
Nance turned to face him now, towering over him, arms crossed over her chest.
“And this is only the third night, John. Tell me I won’t have to have this conversation with you again”
She turned away before he could answer, but found her way blocked by a small waist high prop table that looked like it had been abandoned before the carpenters completed it. She turned back to the hapless John, who was still pleading for his unworthy relative.
“You know I wouldn’t have offered her the position if she weren’t a good kid. And she adores you! If you could have heard how happy she was when I told her she’d be your assistant-“
“My wardrobe assistant might want to occasionally take a look at my wardrobe and see if every thing’s there!”
“I know, I’ll tell her. Just let me-“
“And if anything is missing I would like to know about it-no” she turned, again bumping into the unfinished prop desk, it wobbled threateningly as she went on berating John, “In fact I DON’T want to know if any thing’s missing, I just want it back”
“Yes, Miss O’Neil, I’ll see to it”
“Well, for Christ’s sake...” she tapered off, her powerful voice relenting into a whisper, the scene completed. John moved back as she turned and found herself again bumping up against the rickety little table. She picked it up with both her hands and with a look not of anger but confusion, dashed it to the floor where it shattered into matchsticks.

Lizzie, quiet as a mouse, watched as Nance grandly vacated the area leaving the hapless John to contend with the broken table. Lizzie recalled the fist-sized hole in the wall she saw in the entry and wondered now if Nance had not placed it there herself. She felt the giggles rise in her throat and a tiny sound escaped her. It was enough for John to hear and he looked up sheepishly. Lizzie stepped out of her hiding place and approached him slowly. She did not want to upset the man any further and besides she commiserated with him, the poor soul. He too was beholden to Nance.
“I’m glad I wasn’t the recipient of that” she announced.
John regarded Lizzie with his yellow fox eyes and swiftly sized her up: clothes fashionable and expensive but no overt jewelry, hiding and eavesdropping, her cautious approach now.
A rich widow, he concluded, with too much time on her hands; the theater had become her latest distraction. She longed to take a “young genius” under her wing and bestow her favors and wealth for a few months, until the novelty wore off. She had wandered backstage in search of such a protégé, and John would be her guide. He straightened himself up, but not too much and, maintaining his hurt expression, approached Lizzie.
“You certainly wouldn’t want to be, Miss, the recipient of an artist’s outburst. It’s an unfortunate but frequent occurrence in this business” He began to push the broken table about with his foot.
“I’m sure it must be trying for you” Lizzie commiserated.
“Yes, Ma’am”
Lizzie covertly examined her gloves and suit wondering if anything was in evidence that would explain his switch from “Miss” to “Ma’am”

She was considering the evening a success, somewhat. It was indeed unseemly, too unbecoming of a Borden to meet an actress backstage (through a stage hand at that!) but she continued to keep up a pleasant exchange with the man, admitting that she had come backstage out of “intense curiosity” about what went on behind the curtain. Certainly she’d had no idea of the amount of work that the unknown and underpaid minions went through to put on a stage play! How only the actors received the applause, the many that sweated and bled behind the scenes got no recognition for their efforts at all. And what would happen without them? Could tonight’s production have gone on without them? He thought not: had the divine Miss O’Neil not had her faithful John to fill in for the absent wardrobe assistant (his niece, he would speak to her) what would have happened?

Lizzie let him ventilate his heart to her, all the while her eye roving and taking in the backstage and making a mental map. Nance’s dressing room was just beyond the corridor she had proceeded from, not far from the entrance to the wing of stage right. If she were to return here, she could easily conceal herself just beside the corridor here, and still hear anything that was said within the dressing room. Given Nance’s thundering theatrical vocals, it was unlikely that an eavesdropper would miss anything.
“And I became indispensable to her” John was saying, “Indispensable! I know this city, Miss” (she had become a Miss again!) “Like the back of my hand. And if anyone could have procured a physician in the middle of the night, well…” He left off allowing Lizzie to come to the obvious conclusion of who that might possibly be, and Lizzie suddenly began to panic. What if Nance reappeared now? The closeness of her heart’s desire had begun to catch up with her, and this conversation had gone on too long. She felt herself go warm and became nauseated by the overwhelming smell of paint thinner.
As if on cue, footsteps were heard approaching from their left, first the soft thud of them on carpet and the sudden clatter of the wooden floor they both stood on. From around the corner she swept; Nance was upon them before Lizzie could think of what to do.

Up close Nance was even more astonishing. She was so tall that Lizzie had to crane her neck and look up into her face. And she took up space in a manner that mere mortals such as she and the unprepossessing John could not. The very air around her seemed charged with her personality so that she and John instinctively moved back to accommodate her.
There were tiny lines near the corners of her eyes (“laugh lines” Lizzie had heard them referred to) But far from detracting from Nance’s beauty, they added a touching poignancy to her, a humanity, that made Lizzie’s heart ache even more. The eyes themselves were large and heavy lidded, which gave her that sad affect Lizzie had noted during each performance. They were also an unusual shade of grey/blue with golden flecks, and Lizzie realized that they were observing her curiously.
Nance was clearly waiting for an introduction, an acknowledgment of her own presence.
John became instantly obsequious, scraping the floor with the bottom of his threadbare shoe and sputtering.
“Yes, we will find the jewelry Miss O’Neil, before tomorrow afternoon. I was just speaking to Miss…this lovely lady here...”
He looked to Lizzie for help, but she found herself quite mute. All of her rehearsals in front of the mirror imagining this moment were forgotten and her tongue refused to obey her. She felt her face go that horrible shade of red she so detested, and knew that she must look an absolute fool, hanging around backstage with a stage hand, like some idiotic lovesick fan. With a shock she realized that that’s exactly what she was.
Lizzie opened her mouth to speak, but words still evaded her. Nance looked on expectantly, but in a heartbeat the moment had passed. Nance had already turned back to John and declared, “Its all right John, I’m sure we’ll find the rings. You talk to the nice lady then”

She turned back to Lizzie, the tiny laugh lines near her eyes crinkling into a spontaneous smile. This time she wrinkled her nose as well and Lizzie’s heart lit up like a dime store at Christmas. And then the lights were gone as Nance glided down the hall into her dressing room, pulling the door closed behind her quite gently.

“Miss O’Neil! Please, a word!”

Lizzie didn’t know where the sound of her voice had come from and for a moment she was appalled as she realized that it had risen from her own throat. Nance’s dressing room door opened again and Lizzie found herself impelled forward, away from the prying eyes and ears of John, and into Nance’s actual presence. She stepped into the light that emanated from beyond the dressing room door. All she’d planned to say evaporated from her mind but words from that unknown part of herself that had just called out to Nance, began to tumble from her.
“My name is Elizabeth Borden, and I would like very much to have tea or dinner with you some time. I know the weather has been dreadful, but if you are free at all, please take my card. I’m visiting for the entire week, and there is a simply divine dessert chef at McCall’s” Lizzie brought forth the calling card she’d enclosed in her sleeve and handed it to Nance who accepted it and observed Lizzie.
“Why that’s very kind of you, I’d-“
“Of course if you’re busy with rehearsals I understand-“
“Well, we’re no longer rehearsing, Miss Borden-”
“I can’t imagine the work that must go into a production like this; it must be an enormous undertaking!”
“Yes, but this is this is a professional company. Now some of the others I’ve worked with…” she continued to observe Lizzie’s elegant calling card, leaning against the open door frame.
“But thank you for the offer, I’m-“
“Oh I understand! You must be dreadfully busy, what with so many performances, two on Saturdays is it? I wouldn’t want to impose. You must have a collection of calling cards from admirers!”
“Where are you staying during your visit?”
“What?”
“This must be your home address? It says Fall River”
Lizzie looked at the card Nance held and realized that it was indeed her home address. She had given her the wrong card! She fumbled with the handkerchief in her sleeve again and managed to procure a card from the hotel.
“Here, I’m at Claridge’s. My name is on the back. But I understand if you’re busy in rehearsals.”
“We’re not in rehearsals anymore” she reminded Lizzie, “You saw the actual play tonight” Nance’s eyes crinkled again into that heart breaking smile, “I’d be delighted to have dinner or tea with you”
“Really?”
“Yes, that was the actual play…” Nance’s smile suddenly transformed into a forthright flirt that so disconcerted Lizzie she had to close her eyes for a moment. She was still quite unsure that her offer had actually been accepted, or whether or not she had offended Nance in some way.
“No, I mean about dinner” she explained.
Nance, sensing Lizzie’s discomfort, dropped the flirt and went on in a more conventional vein.
“Tomorrow there is an artist’s session. First thing in the morning at two o’clock in the afternoon. Have you seen the playbills? I look like an orangutan leaning over Blessington’s shoulder”
“I’m sure you don’t!”
“We are going to have some new ones made up, and he won’t be in front of me this time. This time we’ll be sure to have a more complimentary view of yours truly” and she smiled again, the delicious almost conspiratorial crinkling of her eyes; this time her nose wrinkled as well. A laugh escaped Lizzie and its full contagious sound delighted Nance.
“Would you care to meet afterwards? Unless you’d rather come to the art session. It will be intensely boring”
“Me?”
“Yes, you” she turned the card over in her hand again and read the back, “Miss Elizabeth Borden. I’ll leave your name at the front. John?” she called and he scurried forward dropping the pieces of the broken table he’d been collecting.
“Yes, Miss?”
“Your lovely Miss Borden here is coming to see me tomorrow at two; would you show her to the artist’s studio?”
“Yes, of course”
Lizzie realized she hadn’t even had accepted the proposal, not that she would have declined. That thought seemed to have never crossed Nance’s mind either.
“That will do it then” she concluded, “I will see you tomorrow?”
“I’d be delighted”
They smiled in farewell, and Lizzie turned to go. Before Nance could shut the door though Lizzie addressed her again, with that voice she had no idea she possessed.
“Miss O’Neil?”
“Yes?”
“I almost forgot-what I came to actually say”
She again approached the circle of gold light that came from the dressing room and felt herself bathed in it once again.
“I loved your work tonight, Miss O’Neil”
This time the smile that she bestowed upon Lizzie did not crinkle with humor, it was rich and radiant, utterly genuine.
The words were what an actor lived for.

[Tina-Kate]

I printed that off to read @ home, Kash!

[Tina-Kate]

Me too(IN THE SAME BOAT)

Did you self publish "Paradox"?

Yessum.

[Kashesan]

i was hoping to lure you into a sample back for me...
k

[Susan]

Thanks for sharing that, Kash. Great story, it makes me want more.

[Kashesan]

Thank you Susan.

I have an epic. will spare you here..
Perhaps I will put it in the fiction area.

k

[nbcatlover]

I don't know if this book has been mentioned before, but there is an excellent chapter on Nance O'Neil and the impact Lizzie may have had on her life/career.

Google: passing performances+nance o'neil

The whole book chapter is there. Schanke & Marra (authors) mention Lizzie's crushes on her teachers and her over-emotional nature. They do not believe Lizzie had enough emotional developmet to have an overt sexual affair.

They discuss Nance's independent nature and attribute the quote to her: Better an outlaw than not free.

[Tina-Kate]

Kash, please see your Yahoo email.

[SteveS.]

Thank you nbcatlover for posting that link. I found it intriquing reading. Nance's life is fascinating.

[NESpinster]

Kash, did you write that yourself??? It's awesome, you're a truly gifted writer!! I would love to read more!!!

And thanks everyone for the pics and info--I didn't know very much about Nance O'Neil. And I agree with what several people said: she was quite the chameleon, she looked like a different person in every photo!

I can see why Lizzie would have been dazzled by her!

[Kashesan]

Thank you NE. Yes, I have a book going too; it is a fictional account of Nance's break with Rankin.
I will post more if you like.

kash

[NESpinster]

Oh, you're welcome, Kash--just being honest!

And oh yes, please, I would LOVE to see more!!!

[Kashesan]

Cafe Underworld
K.A. Carbone 2009
He used to steal the towels she wiped her face with between scenes, I saw him kissing them

The air on the screened back porch was scented with spring. An evening breeze from the Taunton River tossed the treetops merrily as Lizzie poured wine for Leah and tea for herself.
She wanted Leah to talk, to loose her lips. Lizzie would listen and encourage her.

“So, are you rested Leah?” She took a seat that was purposely turned slightly sideways from her guest. It appeared that Lizzie was simply facing her own back yard and observing her realm, which she was, but she also did not wish to seem to intrusive or inquisitive. And if Leah said something that shocked or incited her jealousy, Lizzie did not want it to be so obvious to her guest.
So she gave Leah her profile as if it were the most natural thing in the world. The girl did not seem to notice anything odd; she sipped her wine slowly; absently touching the bruise above her right eye.
“Yes” she answered, “It’s very peaceful here. Thank you for inviting me”
“I must thank you for coming. I wish us to be friends. Do you understand?” Lizzie turned in her seat and faced her for this.
“No. I don’t quite understand your wishing us to be friends”
Lizzie had come to the conclusion that the only way to deal with Leah’s frankness was to match it with her own.
“I wanted to make amends to you for my behavior in New York”
“And to what do I owe this turnabout?”
“I may have wanted you to leave Nance, but I never wished for what happened to you”
They locked eyes, Leah questioning, Lizzie turning and facing her, earnest. Leah broke the glance first, eyes sweeping to the floor. There was something palpably uncomfortable in trying to stare Lizzie down.
“I love her” Lizzie announced, surprising herself. It was the first time she had admitted it to anyone. No one else would have ever understood anyway, until now. Rival or not, Leah was the one person in Lizzie’s life who did.
Lizzie still felt close to shame, yet she wanted to say it again. There was something freeing in the sound of the words, like removing a tight corset or an unwieldy hat.
“I love her” she said again, eyes lowered, a small smile across her lips. It was almost as if she was talking to herself.
Leah started respond with a declaration of her own, but stopped when she saw her hostess peering at the floor, smiling. It was so obvious that Lizzie loved Nance with the silent, mad, infatuated love of a lonely theater goer that Leah was suddenly sorry for her.
Lizzie raised her eyes and looked directly into Leah’s then; pearl gray peering into dark green. It seemed that she had sensed Leah’s sudden pity for her and wanted to claim it.

“I will never keep her friendship if I treat you badly.” Lizzie continued. “So I was hoping for the best, that perhaps we could try to be friends to one another”
“That’s good Lizzie” Leah replied in a gentler tone, “We can be friends. I have no patience for empty gestures and I don’t think that you do either”
“Of course not. We don’t waste time making nice conversation in Massachusetts; you must know that by now. Winter’s always coming here. Wood to chop, fishing boats to call in, nets to mend, cows in the cornfield, prices going up, and God is never happy with us”
They laughed, Leah draining her wine glass. Lizzie purposely looked away so that Leah would not feel self conscious when she poured another glass.
“Did you meet during the first run in Boston?” Leah mentioned.
“Yes”
“Where?”
“At the Colonial”
“Magda or Oliver Twist?”
“Macbeth”
“With Blessington? She hated that production”
“I know”
“The critics were not kind to her on that one”
“I thought she was brilliant. Absolutely luminous. I loved her from the moment she walked on”
“She told me that she could not pick up the daggers correctly in rehearsals. She went over it a thousand times with props but every time she had to take up the daggers, it went wrong. She kept picking them up underhanded so that they pointed outwards the wrong way. And that would place them incorrectly for Blessington when he had to take them from her. It was a psychological block. Opening night she was terrified, certain that she would do it wrong.”
“And..?”
“And when it was time for her to go on, the block evaporated. She just picked the daggers up correctly, over hand, like it had never been an error”
Lizzie smiled. She loved this kind of story.
“Tell me something else.”
“About that production?”
“Anything. Tell me another story like that”
Leah thought for a moment.
“The daggers in Macbeth again, at Wallack’s. It seems that Tony Rankin had neglected to pay the props man two weeks in a row. When it came time for the scene with the daggers, they mysteriously disappeared. They were in the prop tray by the entrance earlier, I saw them, but five minutes before Nance’s cue, the daggers and the props man were gone. We had no daggers for Lady Macbeth in Act Three! The wardrobe assistant ran to the lunch trays out back in the sink and grabbed what was there: two greasy steak knives. Those were our daggers”
“Thank goodness someone had ordered a steak!”
“I know, otherwise Macbeth would have had to kill Duncan with a fork”
“Or a marmalade spoon. It would take longer, but very elegant”
“And the moral of the story is: never cross the props man. Or the musicians. Or the wardrobe assistant”
“Go on, tell me more”
“I was the assistant stage manager at the Criterion last year. I handled props, cues, keys, spit bowls and towels. The season opener was a production of Magda. She always wants to open with Magda. She says it’s a good luck charm”
“Yes, of course”
“I’d asked if there was anything special she wanted between scenes and she asked for a glass of orange juice mixed with water and ice, and the spit bowl. There were half a dozen long monologues in Act II alone. Your mouth goes fearfully dry when you speak on stage, but your stomach can be touchy when you’re in front of a full house. Its best just to rinse out your mouth with something, not swallow. Once I drank a half pint of lemonade before a Dutch knockabout act and had to run offstage to throw up.
“When her scene ended, she came off and I gave her the towel, and her glass of orange juice and ice water. She rinsed her mouth, spat it out in a bowl and went in back to wait out her next cue.
“The wardrobe assistants are always pansies but sometimes they fall in love with the leading ladies. They want to be them, but love them too. He followed Nance everywhere. And he stole gifts to give her, costume jewelry and perfume, little things. She did not return his affections though and it just made him even more mad for her, you know?
“Anyway I filled the glass again for her next scene but the spit bowl was gone. I went back to the prop room to get another one, and the wardrobe assistant was standing there drinking it!”
“Drinking what?”
“The orange juice she’d just spit out!” Leah whispered this, still entranced at the memory.
“Good Lord!”
“He used to steal the towels she wiped her face with between scenes, I saw him kissing them”
Lizzie was silent for a moment, feeling shamed again. Had Leah equated her love for Nance with that of the smitten wardrobe assistant?
“Why would you tell me a story like that?” she asked.
“Because that’s the kind of person you’ll have to deal with if you take a woman like Nance into your life. That man followed her around and knocked on her door in the middle of the night for months, until Rankin set him straight.
“And that’s mild. There are men and women who try to get at her all the time. And now there’ll be no Rankin and company to scare them off. The fans, Lizzie, and the producers and newspaper men. They are mad. They follow her, send cards and flowers, threaten her, get drunk and throw themselves at her by the stage door, wait for her after hours. Its nightmarish if you aren’t used to it.”
“And you are?”
“Yes, I’ve had my own followers too”
“You?” Lizzie started to scoff, but held her tongue. Nance had pursued this strange creature herself. Lizzie was beginning to understand that there were many things about their life that she would not be able to abide.

[NESpinster]

More, more!

Kash, as I said before, you do have a real gift here! Your descriptions are spot-on, but most of all I love your talent for dialogue. For me, getting the "language" right is one of the hardest parts--bravo!!!

Forgive my ignorance here, but have you ever had anything published? (If so, I would definitely buy it!!)

[Kashesan]

Cafe Underworld
K.A. Carbone 2009

“You’re the author?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so”
“You’re Michael Garrison?”
“Yes”
“You wrote “The Ingénues?”
“Yes”
“But Leonora Daigle told me that a handsome young man named Michael Garrison came to her house the other afternoon”
“That was me” Leah whispered
“You!?” Nance exclaimed.
“Yes, now if we could speak in private…”
“You came to Leonora’s tea dressed as a man!” her trained voice raised several octaves higher than normal conversation, causing those nearby to turn in their direction.
“That’s correct” Leah replied, hoping to silently convey her desire for privacy, but the actress was smiling as though they were discussing the lilacs blooming early.
For a moment Nance wasn’t sure which was more dramatic; the play itself, or its author’s apparently double life. She also noted that Michael Garrison was blushing furiously at being called out as a cross dresser in public. Good. Unlike Lizzie, this little Yankee would be fun to tweak a bit.
“Now that we’ve established who I am” Leah began again.
“Why it’s absolutely brilliant-“
“Perhaps we could discuss whether or not you think my work-“
“How on earth did you manage to get past her husband?”
“It wasn’t difficult. Phillip hasn’t enough imagination to fit a square peg into a square-“
“Lots of women writers use male noms de plume but to actually show up at the publisher’s house in a coat and tie…!”
The tipsy iambic pentameter nearly flattened Leah with embarrassment and several more people looked at them curiously. Nance let out a bubbly giggle and covered her mouth.

Leah realized that she would have to get the famous Miss O’Neil out of the room somehow. She had clearly had a few glasses of champagne and their ‘conversation’ was veering off out of her control. Perhaps little fresh air would be beneficial. Some fresh air before Nance began to talk about the play out loud in that voice.

“You know, I’ve often thought that I could pass for a man in public” she was saying, presumably to Leah, but she had turned toward the nearby guests and was actually addressing them. A waiter with a tray of champagne approached them and Nance delicately plucked one of the flutes as he passed. She finally turned back to Leah. “Who’s your tailor?”

Before she could continue, Leah took Nance by the arm and maneuvered her toward the doorway, and then onto foyer of the theater.
“May we speak privately?” Leah whispered with grimacing smile to the guests who stepped aside, observing them.
“Oh! Shall we go out to smoke a cigar?” Nance barked, allowing herself to be led away. She was eager to see what this curious little professor had in mind next.
“I wanted to talk about the play” Leah reached out and simply removed the glass of champagne from Nance’s hand, sipped it down, and placed it on a sideboard as they passed. Nance’s eye followed the glass from Leah’s lips to the sideboard. When they came to exit she shoved it open with a push that sent the heavy door slamming outward.
“Yes, the play of course! It’s brilliant. I should think it’ll be very well received”
They had stepped out into the foyer under the soft buttery lights of the entry. Fresh evening air and sudden quiet was a relief to the red faced author.
“Then it’s possible that Shubert would consider staging it?” Leah asked hopefully.
“Of course he’d consider it”
“Will you see to it that he reads it?”
“Why would I give it to him?”
“What?”
“Why on earth would I give it to Paul Shubert?”
“Who else would you give it to?”
“I wouldn’t trust it with anyone. You see, I want to stage it myself”
“Yourself?”
“With the Rankin Company of course”
“Tony Rankin?”
“Yes, he will direct”
“Where would the money be coming from? And what theater would agree to put us up outside of the Shuberts?”
“You mustn’t worry yourself over the minutiae. When you sign the play over to us, all of that will be taken care of”
Nance eyed the manuscript and Leah actually hid it behind her back. For a moment she imagined the statuesque actress chasing her down the street and around and around a milk wagon for it. A smile crept to the corner of her mouth and she felt like she was going to laugh out loud. Leah swallowed the laugh. From there she knew that it would be just a hairsbreadth to panic.
Now she closed her eyes and rubbed the furrow between them with two fingers. Leah had presumed that she and Nance would approach the Shuberts together and come to a satisfactory agreement for everyone. She had not considered Tony Rankin into the bargain and real panic loomed as all she had heard about the charismatic manager flooded into her head.
There was his renowned mismanagement of money; it had been in all of the papers. He had been arrested in California for illegal retention of the Sudermann manuscript. The same thing would happen to her if she handed the play over to Nance, she was sure of it. What had she been thinking?

She hadn’t been thinking at all. She had wanted to give it to Nance O’Neil. A gift in return for what she, the actress, had forsaken in her life to walk a stage. Leah knew that it must have been a sacrifice that most people would never understand. People got up in the morning and knew what they owned, or lacked; their wives, children, homes, work, aspirations and even their banality. It was there in the morning and there at night. There was nothing to threaten their identity and their place in the world. And if it was not to their liking, they could either start over or sit with it. It was not so for Nance, Leah understood. It was not completely so for herself either.
But now as she looked up into the actress’s granite colored eyes, regret flooded over her. Regret was quickly followed by something close to anger.
“Miss O’Neil, I’m flattered that you like the play”
“Well call me Nance for heavens sake!”
“But I think we should discuss it a little further before anything is signed anywhere”
“Of course; Tony and I can meet you whenever you like”
“That’s just the thing. I don’t want Mr. Rankin involved. As director, producer, anything”
Nance’s buoyant tone suddenly leveled and she eyed the author directly.
“Wait. Why don’t you want to work with Tony?”
“I thought that you and he had parted ways”
“Well you thought wrong” her voice had become clipped and taut.
“But I’d read that since you signed with Shoeffel Management and the Shuberts-“
“That doesn’t have anything to do with Tony. I am free to sign with whomever I choose; perhaps you shouldn’t believe everything you read”
“All right, but I don’t want you to misunderstand me. I won’t sign anything over to Rankin”
“Why?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t believe everything I read, but I can’t say as I want to sign my play over to a man who’s been arrested as many times as he has for copyright infringement and breech of promise and nonpayment of-“
“But I was arrested too, right along with him! Didn’t you read about that? They came to our hotel room and took us out”
“No, I hadn’t heard about the hotel room”
“Oh for Christ’s sake!”
“Miss O’Neil, I’m not concerned with your personal relationship to your manager or even the arrests”
“But you do have a problem with Tony”
“He was the manager. It’s the manager’s, not the actor’s, responsibility to see to the legality of a performance. To protect the company and respect the author’s wishes”
“The company’s in my name Miss Garrison”
“All right” Leah relented, eager to move on, “it was your responsibility too. But the play…”
“The play will need a name behind it to get anywhere. And Tony can offer that”
“I’m offering it to you!” Leah’s voice rose angrily, “Or do you have to check with Tony Rankin before you go to the…”
Leah stopped her mouth before the conclusion of the sentence but it didn’t matter. The inference was clear. Drawing up to her full height, Nance took a step nearer, her nostrils flaring dangerously. She was a terrifying opponent and Leah did not forget that she’d been drinking too. Although she was nearly as tall, Leah didn’t possess anywhere near the presence or the sheer physicality of the actress. One shove would have sent her sprawling out onto the sidewalk, but Leah held her eyes and didn’t back down.
For a few moments it was a draw, and then Leah delivered the final blow. It all had to be gotten out of the way.
“Forgive me but Tony Rankin is a big drunk who mishandles money, cheats the stage hands and musicians, absconds with manuscripts he hasn’t the rights to and lies about it afterwards. Everybody knows it. I’m not signing anything with him”
Nance closed her eyes for a moment and shook her head to clear it. Had she heard this little nobody correctly? The bubbly champagne drunk she’d been enjoying evaporated as Michael Garrison’s words struck home. They were terrible, insulting and true.
But there was more to it; there were reasons why Tony had had to do what he did. The plays had to go on, didn’t they? The theaters were rented. These authors and publishers and nobodies didn’t have an idea of what it cost to get a decent house engaged. And then there was Erlanger mob to contend with, blocking their runs, hoarding the copyrights, muscling any new authors onto their terms. No wonder Tony had had to stage Saint John without consent! They knew nothing of how much trouble it was to have wardrobe and scenery moved safely across country, to pay salary for a drama queen like Charles Dalton and then have his mistress show up drunk on opening night demanding even more money and threatening a scandal. People just didn’t know what it took to run a company, and they were so quick to judgment.
At last she found her voice, and she defended him as best she could but it sounded abbreviated and rather trite to her own ears. She could never quite convey her own thoughts when they were burdened with the emotion of defending Tony Rankin to a stranger. To her further dismay, she found herself angrily lashing out at the author in frustration.
“He’s the most successful director, manager and actor alive today, and a dear friend I might add. The press loves to crush people when they’re successful. And you are? An unknown female author masquerading in men’s clothes. Who’s got more of a chance of getting something staged?”
“I’m sure we both know the answer to that”
“We do”
Leah turned and walked back toward the door intending to fetch her coat and leave. She would think about what to do later. For now, she owned the play and the divine Miss O’Neil could go back to her sloshed mentor.

How the hell had she thought that it was going to come easy? Did she think that Nance O’Neil would just roll out the red carpet for an unknown female author and invite her into her world, a world that she and Rankin had carved out over the years?
No, she would not. But Leah was not going to allow her and Rankin to strong arm her out of the copyrights. She would talk to Leonora Daigle again, come clean to her and see if there were other options available.
Nance watched the author walk away with proud, angry steps and now she regretted her harsh words. It was not in her nature to be so brusque, especially to another woman and an artist. She knew what had sharpened her tongue, along with the champagne. It was having had to defend Tony yet again.
She suddenly realized that she always struck out at the listener, the person she was defending him to, and this misplaced fury had been at the root of her self loathing. It was unjust and she could not bear being unjust. She had been blaming the wrong people for as long as she could remember, and then rationalizing her defense. It hadn’t been difficult.
Most of the people she had had to defend Rankin to were his own peers, powerful producers or managers, and it hadn’t seemed so bad to deliver a tongue lashing to them. In fact it had been rather gratifying to see them cringe underneath her icy Hedda stare. They’d most likely had it coming for more than one thing anyway, and Nance had always felt somehow vindicated afterwards.
But young Michael Garrison did not have it coming. She had done something completely outlandish at Leonora Daigle’s and made no bones bout it. She had ushered Nance out of a room full of Boston Brahmins, taken her champagne away, had looked her right in the eye and called Tony a drunk. And she had written the most exciting part that had come her way in over a year. And nobody knew about it except Leonora Daigle: Leonora who was dying to get Nance away from Tony and manage her herself.

The Ingénues was what she’d been waiting for; she was sure of it. And Garrison’s insistence that Tony not be involved had done something to her. She could feel it churning and migrating from the part of her brain that recognized only words to the part that envisioned her own possibilities.

Could she produce it without Tony?

“Wait! Miss Garrison!”
Nance caught up quickly. She pressed a hand against the heavy door, holding it closed just as Leah began to open it. Leah looked at her sharply, ready to protest and Nance tried to recover the conversation.
“I don’t even know if that’s your real name”
“Its not, it’s Templeton”
“Please. Can we start over? Let’s not leave it on a bad note”
“Yes, well it’s a nice evening; do you think it’ll rain tomorrow?” Leah answered, clipped and sarcastic.
Nance ignored her.
“So we disagree about Tony, let’s drop that for now. We both want The Ingénues staged. I think it’s a wonderful play, really. I haven’t read anything so exciting in years. Please reconsider, Miss Garrison”
Despite their recent hot words and now the name gaff, the compliment about her work was like water to a Leah dying of thirst. Nance O’Neil thinks its wonderful play! She had to struggle carefully to keep the smile that began to spring to her face. She did not want to convey her joy at the compliment.
Vanity and a hunger for recognition were her weaknesses and Nance would be sure to maneuver her with them. And Tony Rankin still lurked in the background of any production associated with Nance O’Neil.
Leah rubbed the space between her eyebrows again.
Nance lowered her eyes to the tiled floor of the foyer where they inadvertently fell to her own expensive brushed leather shoes near the writer’s worn out brown oxfords, limp cotton stockings drooping about her ankles.
The world was not fair to a woman in any profession, especially the arts or sciences. Nance had had the comfort and protection of Tony and company for so long that she had forgotten what it was like to be a woman alone. The only time she had attempted it, she had wound up in that sanitarium when she was twenty. The place still terrified her at thirty three, yet here stood this young woman who probably had no one, nothing; just a manuscript that would produce a superb work if handled properly.

Could she produce it without Tony?

She sighed and tried again.
“I guess I’m not the negotiator I like to think I am”
“And I’m not the diplomat” Leah admitted.
“I don’t know what you mean”
“I called your friend and mentor a big drunk to your face!”
“Well, it’s not like there isn’t any truth in it. I’m sorry for what I said about you’re being an unknown female author and male impersonator”
“It’s not like there isn’t any truth in that”
They stood facing one another, Leah holding the manuscript under her arm, Nance with one hand still on the door. Leah didn’t want to leave it on a bad note either.
Maybe they could come to some sort of agreement. She remembered all that was at hand now, the months she’d spent agonizing over what to do with her work. The opportunity was too great and she had risked too much already to let Nance slip away.
She thought of something funny, and tried again.
“Did I tell you that at the tea, Leonora had had a few glasses of champagne and began to flirt with me?”
A bell like burst of laughter rang out from Nance unexpected and magnificent; echoing off the foyer ceiling. Two startled passersby jumped at the sound, and Nance covered her mouth.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing unladylike, but the way she looked me up and down, I felt like a piece of butterscotch candy that she licked and dropped on the sidewalk”
Another clap of thunderous laughter, followed by a quick snort as Nance tried to suppress it, and then a true long laugh came roiling up from her. It was a rich sound almost as delightful to Leah’s ears as the earlier compliments about her play. They both laughed until they had to catch their breath.
“Oh, Leonora! That swine! If she only knew” Nance opined.
“You mustn’t tell her”
“No of course not, she’s probably forgotten already anyway. Don’t take it to heart”
“I won’t lose any sleep over it” They were silent for a few moments. Leah looked about, not sure that the conversation had concluded successfully or not, but she felt spent. She wanted to be alone now and think things over.
“Well; speaking of sleep I do have to work in the morning…”
She smiled and turned to the door but Nance still pressed it closed with her open hand. Leah looked at the hand. It was enormous but lean and feminine, the fingers preternaturally long and tempered. Leah realized that everything about the woman seemed created to be seen from the furthest seat in the house, even her fingertips. Nance spoke.
“Miss Garrison-“
“It’s Templeton”
“It must be frightful, turning your play over to a stranger”
Leah sighed and looked at the ground. Yes, it was quite frightening.
“But sooner or later you’re going to have to trust someone. Otherwise your manuscript will sit on your desk forever, and that would be just…just a sinful waste. It needs to be seen; it will introduce a whole new character to the American stage, I can feel it in Julia. She needs to be seen, to speak form the stage, and the play deserves the best possible treatment. I can get that for you, but you are going to have to trust me.”
“I’m not signing anything yet”
“That’s fine. We don’t have to sign anything right now. The play still needs work-“
Leah shot her a look, but Nance ignored it.
“Let’s just talk about the play itself for now. Forget the negotiations; it’s much too soon anyway. Would you accept that for now?”
“I would love that Miss O’Neil”
“Very good”
“What do you mean it needs work?”
“Everything needs work”
Nance pushed the heavy door open and held it for Leah. Once inside they instinctively walked towards the ladies lounge, talking.
“I wanted to ask what you thought of the scene in Act Two” Leah began.
“The kitchen!”
“Yes!”
“It’s brilliant”
“It’s not too heavy handed, with the father striking Wilhelmina?”
“Not at all! It’s necessary to show what he’s capable of later in the play. Otherwise his actions in Act Three are going to seem unbalanced”
“That’s what I thought! But I’ve been told it’s too violent”
“Nonsense. It’s a violent personality that has to be shown. However, in Act One you have Julia daydreaming out the window”
“Yes?”
“Not enough going on in her head. Not that the audience can see”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, why don’t you give her some knitting or something, and have her tearing it up unconsciously as she speaks of Mike?”
“My God, that’s brilliant”
“And in the second scene in the kitchen…”