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Abandoned. Alone.
“Why can’t you fix yourself up a little?”
Mrs. Bowers pushing Theta onto the stage. “You get out there and make them love you.”
Or I won’t love you.
“You think you can win against me, Betty Sue? You’ll never win against me!”
Theta stood on the street outside Roy’s building, looking up. Third floor, third window, just above the fire escape. A light was on. He was home. Good. Theta went inside. Her palms were sweating. She pounded hard at Roy’s door and watched the black flower of her fist-print bloom on the wood.
“’S open.”
Roy lay in bed, muscled arms behind his head, the triumphant king in repose. She saw the bottle and smelled the booze. For a moment, the old fear returned. Memories of the way he could make her feel so small, so unsure, so worthless. The heat in her palms receded.
“Betty. Well, well, well. Not so high and mighty now, are ya?” he smirked.
Theta shut the door behind her, turning the lock.
“Roy.” Her voice was strange in her ears. Dark. Hard. She didn’t mind. It suited her. Had she ever really listened to herself before? Had she never heard that part of her coming through?
Roy mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “I told you not to double-cross me.”
“Yeah. You did at that.”
“I knew you’d come crawling back.”
A flicker of heat returned to her fingers.
“Do I look like I’m crawling?”
“I got you where I want you now, Theta. You don’t play ball, Theta Knight is over. The Follies? Vitagraph? Gone.”
The bodies in the snow. The men with guns. Her home, burning, burning.
“Who’s the winner now, Betty?”
“You are,” Theta said hollowly. “It’s always rats like you.”
Roy glared. “Watch your mouth.”
“It’s always rats like you,” Theta said louder. “Unless somebody stops ’em.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t make me hafta hurt you, Betty.”
“My name’s not Betty.”
“Betty. Sue,” Roy spat back.
Theta laughed. She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t stop.
Roy, unsure, laughed, too. “You think this is funny?”
“Yeah, I do,” Theta said.
