Page 16 of Phantom
“No, I—”
A glass breaks near where the Bordeaux brothers sit, giving me a small reprieve.
“Sorry, I dropped my glass,” Ben offers apologetically. “What else does the letter say, Mr. Arquette? Obviously the bastard is just messing with you.”
“He’d better be,” Monty agrees.
“I don’t think he is,” Madam G offers and taps the letter still in her daughter’s hand. “It says you must stop with Jilliana and let a true prima donna sing.”
Maggie narrows her eyes at Monty. “What is he talking about, Monty? What’re you doing with Jilliana?”
“Nothing! I can’t be responsible for the delusions of a ghost!”
“What about this part that says all that is behind the scenes shall be brought into the spotlight if you don’t come clean?” Madam G asks.
“Crazy, obviously. Or a prank. Scarlett, Jaime, are you behind this?”
I stutter, afraid to speak. Give me a script any day and while I may sweat my ass off from nerves, I’ll still deliver my lines. But put me on the spot and I become a wordless puddle. Thank goodness Jaime comes to my defense.
“Get over yourself, Monty. We earned our spots on the stage fair and square. We don’tneedto resort to blackmail.”
Monty huffs. “Well, I’m not a fan of practical jokes so whoever’s behind this, come forward now. I don’t have the patience…”
He continues to accuse various people throughout the room when Rand leans over the table.
“Want to know what Sol and his family are capable of?” he asks me quietly, making it so that only I can hear him.
The question catches me off guard. I don’t answer, but merely looking in Rand’s direction is enough of a yes for him.
“Ask Madam Gastoneaux, the supposed ‘owner’ of Masque. She’s under the Bordeaux family’s thumb. They make her pay so much protection money that she’s nearly bankrupt. They’re just itching to take Masque from her.”
“But Ben is married to Madam G’s daughter,” I point out, shaking my head and glancing at Jaime, only to see that he’s too interested in what’s happening at Monty’s table to add anything. “Why would they blackmail Ben’s mother-in-law?”
For the first time, I’m kicking myself for how oblivious I’ve been over what goes on in this city.
Rand shrugs. “Evil doesn’t always make sense, Lettie. But if I had to guess, I’d blame that infamous Bordeaux greed. It’s always about money with them.”
Disgust crinkles my nose. My father was bullied his whole life by thugs, mobsters, and people who ran the clubs where he performed. He might not have actually sold his soul to the devil, but he knew enough demons to damn him. Brushing elbows with the criminal underworld wasallmy father knew. I would never go about my career the same way, but different times and opportunities exist for me that he’d never dreamed of for himself, growing up dirt-floor poor in the foothills of the Appalachian mountains.
“I can guarantee you whatever’s going on with that letter, Sol Bordeaux has a hand in.”
Rand’s theory tightens my heart in my chest. Satisfaction seems to creep over the small smile on his lips, as if my confusing disappointment is exactly what he wanted. But it’s not like he could have any idea of what that envelope means to me. My eyes dart to Sol as I begin to wonder whether my own demon of music might not be the devil himself.
“Shit. Who the hell is texting me…” Monty mutters as he pats at the phone in his inside breast pocket before digging it out. As he reads the screen, his eyes widen and he frantically looks around the room. “Someone! Go check the cellar! Madam Gastoneaux, call 9-1-1!”
“What’s going on?” Madam G asks loudly over the new commotion. Ben scowls at his brother, whose hand slowly moves to cover his mouth, hiding what I swear is a smirk.
“Jacques… Jacques Baron,” Monty chokes out.
That name brings cold goose bumps to my skin. The guy is an animal. He’s always making the women in the cast uncomfortable backstage. Last week alone, he cornered me on the way to my room and felt me up.
My fingers flex into a fist again, just like they had then. I’d wanted to scream. To hit him. Something to get him to go away, but I’d just stood there, shaking.
Like a scared little mouse.
The shame overlettinghim grab my ass and thrust against my jeans makes me almost feel worse than the actual touching did. The thought of his hot breath, moist on my neck, still makes me cringe. If it hadn’t been for Maggie coming to look for me… I don’t know what would’ve happened.
“What about Jacques?” Rand asks with an edge to his voice.
