Red Rainbow by G Johanson (best e reader for academics txt) 📕

Deveral joined the cast and crew and ticket office clerk, 12 in total, many of them fulfilling multiple roles. They occupied two tables on the busy concourse, Deveral shouting for a waiter from one of the nearby bars to come over to his table where he proceeded to order a drink for himself and nobody else. For full offence, he sent the waiter on his way and asked him to hurry after taking his order. No sign of Florence and he opted not to wait.

“There’s no point messing about. I think we all agree that this week hasn’t been our best.”

“To say the least,” Kalle, his righthand man for 30 years, chimed in with. He had done his best to salvage the play they were forced to put on with insufficient notice. He’d had to leave the crew to wing it as he prioritised the cast’s need as greater, taking his place stage left as prompter for the evening. “Living, breathing and sleeping in the place has knocked you funny. You know you could have a bed at mine.”

“How many times? I’m not interested,” Deveral said, implying his offer had impure motives behind it.

“Offer rescinded!” Kalle barked.

“Come now, you’re not that shocked by people rejecting your advances. This is the end of the line, folks. Florence has shown me more in two shows than I’ve seen from you guys, some of you, in years. Going forward it’ll just be the two of us, effective immediately. I’ve brought your pay with you. Your effects have been discarded. You should never have been keeping them at work.”

“Is this a joke?” Jean said, aware that it wasn’t but asking the question anyway due to Deveral’s bizarre behaviour.

Kalle grabbed Deveral’s wrist and gripped it tightly. He stared at him and spoke above the mutterings of the others to say, “For him to push us away like this, there’s a reason. You’re out of money, aren’t you? If you tell us the truth, we might be able to help or at least understand. I don’t care about my job. Losing a friend – hell, a father – is harder.”

“Let go, Kalle. Let me go.”

Kalle held the grip a few seconds longer, the men exchanging a look that said everything. Kalle shot to his feet and left the table. Kalle knew that he’d lost him. He also knew that this was just a performance and that killed him off, that Deveral was so desperate he couldn’t admit the truth and had to resort to this tactic.

Charlotte was more level, as was her way, her words conveying disappointment rather than anger. “If you had to do this, you could have done this behind closed doors. Or was this one of her conditions? As an investor.”

Investor? Okay, adapt. “I don’t think with that organ anymore, Charlotte. This is my decision.”

“All she can offer you is total ruin. She has no talent, but your theatre, your choice.”

Deveral started handing out the letters, some of the staff taking them, others snubbing them. A mass exodus occurred, Patience one of the last to remain. And then he handed her her letter.

“I thought you’d still need backroom... Never mind. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“You’ll get another job.” Deveral knew it was harder for her due to her colour, but he couldn’t put in a good word for her without making it look like he cared about her. It had to appear to the outside world that he had fallen out with them all. That was why this was done publicly and why he was so antagonistic. He felt the worst about Kalle, who had been like a son to him, a son that he constantly teased, but that would be how he would have treated his son. Patience was next on his regret list. He’d been a fair-weather friend to her father, losing touch with him years ago and only aware of his long decline after his death. He’d offered Patience a job at his funeral, taking her away from the market stall she’d been working on for the glamour of minor theatre under his wing. A wing he now took away. But it had to be this way.

“I hope it goes well for you.” She left and Louis followed. Deveral was alone, bar the crowd around him, many of whom rained censorious glares his direction after hearing what he’d done. He pushed the envelope, advertising his theatre to them, which was entering a glorious new phase. None of them would show up – who wasted rotten vegetables with food at a premium? – but they would remember him and the theatre. Foreshadowing with the finesse of a sledgehammer. He had to affect confidence and happiness as his martini finally arrived.

Florence did show up after all, clad in a fur she’d not had when she went out. She flopped into a chair opposite him and acted for the gallery. “Please say you didn’t fire them all.”

“They were useless. They’re lucky I paid them.”

“You are a hard man, Deveral Meyer.” Okay, rein it in a touch. “What other theatre will hire them?”

“Who cares? Let’s go.”

“No. I want to stay out a while...”

“The black girl’s knocking at the stage door.”

Florence entered Deveral’s living quarters to tell him this. He processed this and decided to go and see her purely because it was well past the curfew. He looked at his watch – almost 10 to midnight. Risky behaviour, not like Patience at all. He put his dressing gown on over his pyjamas and made the long walk to the stage door where he heard the banging. She was being hopeful if she thought he’d ever hear that from his ‘bedroom’. He unbolted the door and stared down at her. He could see she was cold, her cardigan sleeves pulled over her hands, her coat buttoned up to the top and pulled up to her nose. He pointed inside and she stepped past him. “You don’t take a hint well,” he