The Winter of Her Discontent (10 page)

“For what?” asked Jayne.

“All I know is Vinnie doesn't want anyone around when his business is going down. And whatever that business is, he has to bring in a cleanup crew when he's done.” We both shivered. It wasn't hard to imagine the basement of the Bernhardt being used as a holding spot for stiffs before they made their final journey into the Hudson.

Stiffs like Johnny Levane, the back alley body I'd read about in
The Times.

“Let's not worry about the specifics of what they're doing right now,” I said. “What this means is Friday managed to get himself into such a pickle that the only way he could get a show backed was to make a deal like this.”

“Or he was forced to make a deal like this because of something he did.”

“Isn't that what I just said?”

We rounded the corner to the Shaw House and paused in front of the building. “No,” said Jayne. “Your way makes it sound like he was desperate to get the show produced and approached the only people
who would give him dough. What I'm suggesting is he was strong-armed into the decision.”

“They blackmailed him? I suppose that makes sense. I overheard Vinnie on the phone today talking about someone else. From what I could gather, he seems to be fond of using muscle as a persuasion technique.” We went up the stairs and into the building.

Jayne absentmindedly spun the combination on her mailbox, and I did the same. “Of course,” she said, “the show's had its backing for a while now, so none of this would have anything do with Paulette.” She pulled a letter from the slot and glanced at the return address.

“No, but what if Paulette found out what the mob had on Friday and threatened to squeal? He could've done her in to keep her quiet.” I reached inside my box and pulled out two letters.

“Rosie…”

“I know what you're going to say: How does Al fit into this? Maybe Friday framed him for the crime. Or maybe he wanted to make it look like a mob killing, and Vinnie set Al up to take a fall.”

“Rosie…”

“I know it's far-fetched, but—” She stopped me with her hand, and I followed her gaze to the piece of V-mail I was holding, a letter carefully addressed by Corporal Harrington.

W
E MADE IT UPSTAIRS IN
record time. While Jayne clicked on the radio and opened a tin of food for Churchill, I attempted to unfurl the letter without tearing it. The handwriting I'd learned well enough to forge zigzagged across the page. Unfortunately, so did something else.

“Son of a gun.”

“What?”

“War censor.” The thick, black lines of the censor's pen inked out the majority of what Corporal Harrington had written me. I held it to the light, hoping to make out shadows of the words that had once been there, but the censor had been careful in his work. This was a letter lost.

“Well, what do the uncensored parts say?”

“Dear Miss Winter. Thanks for your letter. I wish I had better news for you at this point, but so far nothing else has been discovered. I know it must be hard, waiting for word, but please don't lose hope. It's all we have anymore. I think you should know that right before Jack disappeared…”

Jayne waved the cat food tin at me. “Right before he disappeared what?”

“That's where the letter stops and the censor starts. The only other bit of text is his signature at the end.”

She took the letter from me and duplicated my attempt to hold it up to the light. “You've got to be kidding me. This is just cruel.”

Cruel wasn't the half of it. Now when I wasn't agonizing over where
Jack was and what was happening to him, I could obsess over what he did right before he disappeared. Ate chicken? Declared his undying love for me? Stumbled upon a German camp and unwittingly learned secrets of the Third Reich?

Jayne attempted to hand back the letter, but I pushed it away. “Keep it away from me. Please.”

“Maybe you should write him and let him know what the censor did. Tell him to send it again.”

“And how is a second letter going to get through when the first one didn't?”

She snapped her fingers. “You could tell him to write it in code so the censors wouldn't know what he's talking about.”

“Great idea except then I wouldn't know what he was talking about either.”

“Oh.” She shrunk onto her bed. “It was just a suggestion.”

The radio encouraged me to “Ac-cent-tchu-atte the Positive.” I gave Jayne a weak smile. “It was a good suggestion. Just not a very useful one.” I was prepared to dissolve into sobs of frustration when Ruby knocked on the door. This would've normally been the point where I vented my anger at the world by telling her to scram, but one look at her bloated, distorted face and all I could muster was a tiny squeal of despair.

Jayne fared better. “How are you?”

“Better.” Ruby delicately tucked her hair behind her ears. “Don't I look better?”

We both muttered something we hoped sounded like “yes, of course” but which was probably “just like a horse.”

“Dr. Archway verified that it's an allergic reaction.”

“To what?” I asked. In the hallway the phone began to ring.

She shrugged. “The only thing I'm allergic to is mustard, and Lord knows I avoid that. He said it's possible—in some rare instances—for people to suddenly develop allergies for foods they've always eaten or things they've always encountered.” She said this as though it was something to be proud of. Ruby was so extraordinary she had devel
oped rare allergies. Top that! “Anyway, he gave me a shot of something and said I should be as good as new in another day or two.”

I had no idea how that was possible but decided it would be kinder to accept her interpretation of his prognosis.

She lifted her hand to stroke her hair but seemed to remember that what it framed wasn't the porcelain beauty that used to be there. She flinched at the memory of what she'd become and brought both arms stiffly to her sides. “Did you mail my letter?”

From across the room I could see it poking up from the top of my purse. “Of course I did.”

Ruby's tough exterior peeled even further away, until I was certain that in a matter of minutes we'd be looking at her skeleton.

Norma Peate hollered from the hallway that Jayne had a call. She flounced away, leaving me with the visitor of gloom and the letter of doom. It was shaping up to be a fine evening.

“Get mail?” asked Ruby. Before I could answer she palmed the V-mail and took a gander at the postmark. In most girls' eyes, the farther a letter traveled, the greater value the correspondent possessed.

“Yep.”

“You don't look too happy about it.” The minute the words left her mouth I knew she regretted it. I was impressed; Ruby was normally as perceptive as a blind man at a silent movie. “Is it about John?”

“Jack.”

“Right. Bad news?”

I flipped the letter over so she could see the strong black lines. “Hard to say. The censor thought it was interesting enough to keep from me.”

“What a rotten thing to do.” She sighed heavily. “It must be so hard for you. Not knowing.” Before I had time to register her empathy, she changed the subject. “I worry about my boyfriend all the time. He's an air force pilot.”

I'd forgotten about Ruby's new beau. Perhaps this was why she was suddenly less repellent to be around. Love had tamed her. “Is that who your letter was for?”

She nodded.

“Where'd you meet him?”

“At the Stage Door Canteen. Izzie, Olive, and Zelda volunteer there and they asked me to join them one night.”

“They were Paulette's friends, right?”

“And mine. I've known them for ages, and when they got wind that Lawrence and I were through, they suggested I join them one night. Olive said the fellows get a kick out of meeting actresses. Besides, I thought it was time I do something noble for the war.”

I bit my tongue to keep from telling her that donating blood or knitting socks might have been more effective.

“His name's Donald J. Montgomery, the third, and he's going to be in town on leave this weekend.”

“When did you meet him?” I asked.

“I don't know—maybe a month and a half ago.”

“So Paulette wasn't home yet?”

“No. This is before they knew she was returning. In fact, I thought I was going to be moving in with them until she took Walter's show.” There was a slight bitterness in Ruby's voice. Paulette had ruined her escape from the Shaw House. If it hadn't been for her, Ruby's life might be going very differently right now.

“You still could,” I said. “Of course, you'd break Minnie's heart if you left her here by herself.”

“She'd get over it. Eventually.” A wisp of a smile lingered on her lips. She knew that Minnie worshipped her, and she liked it. As quick as the smile arrived, it vanished. A scowl weighted down her features. “Incidentally, I didn't appreciate what you told Walter.”

“Come again?”

“He called me today in hysterics over what he described as my ‘devastating disfigurement.'”

“Much as I'd like to claim responsibility for that little bit of hyperbole, I didn't say word one to Walter Friday today.” And if it wasn't me, and it certainly wasn't Jayne, only one other person could've told him. “Did you ask Minnie? Maybe she's the one who squealed.”

“She's the one who told me you did it. Anyway, I calmed him down, but I'm clearly going to have to go rehearsal tomorrow.”

In a world where looks didn't matter, it was a wise move. In Ruby's case, it was career suicide.

“Ruby, know that I mean this with the best possible intentions: if you want to prove to Friday that you're much better off than he's been led to believe, you can't go to rehearsal. Not like that.”

“I'm better!”

“Sure you are, and Frankenstein found a bride, but they were both still monsters. Trust me on this: given the kind of guy Walter is, he won't be able to stomach so much as a blemish on you.”

“But if I miss a whole week…”

“You'll catch up. Learn your lines and wow him come Monday.”

Her eyes briefly glazed over with cynicism before the reality of her situation took hold. Her shoulders slumped and her head tipped forward until I couldn't see her face at all. “I'll think about it.”

Sure she would. And she'd probably seek Minnie's opinion, which, no doubt, would echo my own. After all, an actress who stood to gain something from another actress's absence would hardly encourage her to show up to rehearsal.

J
UST AS
I
SUSPECTED
, R
UBY
opted to sit the rest of the week out. I stumbled through the next two days of rehearsal, waiting for Maureen to state the obvious and cut me free. Instead, she ignored me like a loose tooth you're hoping will right itself. I began testing the limits of her patience, deliberately screwing up the few things I knew how to do, but despite the fact that I was the only thing about the corps that wasn't improving, she never said a word to me. In fact, I suspected she'd figured out a way to block me out entirely.

“You're doing it wrong. Watch me do it.” During our union-man-dated breaks, Jayne encouraged me to rehearse with her, which was the last thing I wanted to do. Every time she gracefully glided through the steps I'd screwed up moments before, my brain interpreted her attempts at help as a slap in the face.
You'll never be as good as me,
each of her perfect pliés said.
You don't belong here
.

“I'm hopeless, Jayne. Accept it—I have.”

“You're not hopeless. You just need to practice more.”

“No, what I need is a drink and a partner who doesn't think being assigned to work with me is a form of punishment.”

“They're bringing in the cast in two hours.” It was Thursday, the day of reckoning. Despite Garvaggio's threats, Friday hadn't moved rehearsal.

“So?” I said.

“Friday will be there.” What Jayne was implying was that if I didn't cut it tonight, Walter Friday might cut me by tomorrow. Fear tactics were no longer working on me. I was starting to believe I'd
developed some kind of immunity to losing my job. If Friday did let me loose, I think I would've died of shock. “I know you can do this, Rosie. You're just not trying.”

“Close your head. I've got blisters on my blisters from trying.”

“Try harder.” She had her hands on her hips, her head tilted back until she could meet my eyes.

“You sound like Delbert. What's the point? I'm never going to be any good at this. I wasn't even supposed to be cast in this lousy show. I came to support you, remember?”

“So you're just going to give up?”

“Maureen doesn't mind, so why do you?” I said.

“I can't believe you! How is that going to make the rest of us look?”

“Pretty good, I imagine.”

Jayne stuttered before finally landing on the sentence she wanted. “How can you be so selfish?”

I showed her my palms. “I'm an actress, not a dancer, remember? Two months ago I was a lead. How can you expect me to care about this stupid dance chorus?”

“Because
I
do.” Jayne started to leave. She paused with her back to me. “And you weren't a lead. You were an understudy who got a lucky break. Remember what that felt like?”

“Jayne…”

She kept walking. I wasn't in the mood to follow after her and beg her forgiveness. I was the one who was suffering—why should I have to apologize for it?

Maureen called us into the auditorium and announced that we would continue where we had left off. I took my place at the back of the line beside Delbert and prayed that the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

By the time we took our dinner break at six, Jayne's words were ringing in my ears. I was the thing holding the whole corps back. I was their Achilles' heel. I had no appetite, so I spent the hour in the theater where the stage manager was preparing the stage for our first
joint rehearsal. When I tired of watching him sweep, I crept back upstairs and went over the dance steps on my own. It was a futile effort. What would happen if I just didn't show up for rehearsal? Would anyone notice? And if they did, would Jayne look for me or would she be grateful that I'd given up the ghost?

In the end, I didn't find out. Instead, I showed up for rehearsal at seven on the dot, took my place, and went through the first dance number, a kind of ballet cityscape designed to show the hustle and bustle of the big city that the sisters would eventually be abandoning for life on the plantation. Garvaggio had joined Friday, upping our collective anxiety. Our worry was futile. Walter and Vinnie filled the time between scenes with frantic whispering I strongly suspected wasn't about the show. A herd of elephants could've stomped across the stage and they wouldn't have noticed.

Since Jayne was refusing to meet my eye, I passed the time between dances watching what the real actors were up to. With Ruby still absent, Minnie was given the chance to play Stella while the stage manager read the part of Myra. Minnie was surprisingly competent. She may not have looked the part, but she had a strong, clear singing voice and did a fine job of pretending to be a beautiful woman. I searched for a sign that she was relishing the chance to step into Ruby's shoes, but between scenes she remained off to the side, too tentative to even attempt to interact with the other stars. If she wanted this opportunity, she was doing a good job hiding it.

Paulette's friends had the kind of powerful stage presence that I wished I could harness for electricity. Between scenes, they congregated in the front row of the house and laughed and talked among themselves. I envied them. I wanted to be part of the safe little klatch that arrived at rehearsals together and followed them up with a drink at a nearby bar. I wanted to be with women who said kind things and didn't try to tear their best friends down.

We took a break at nine, and I drifted away from the stage in hopes of finding Jayne. Instead, I ended up face to face with Minnie.

“You did a nice job,” I said.

“Thanks.” She struggled with her next words. “So did you.”

“Didn't your mother teach you not to lie?”

She shrugged. She knew there was no point in denying that the corps' efforts had been this side of disaster.

“Speaking of which…” I had already ticked off my best friend; why not antagonize someone else? “Why did you tell Ruby that I told Walter about her face?”

“Didn't you?”

I put my hands on my hips. “No.”

“Oh.” She scraped at her thumbnail. “I just assumed, since you were looking for him, and since she heard from him, that you were the one who told.”

It was a fair assumption. But I wasn't in a fair mood. “Well, I didn't. How about checking your facts first? The last thing I need is Ruby thinking I'm telling tales behind her back.” I started to leave.

“I'm sorry, Rosie. Truly. I didn't mean to get you into trouble. Ruby was upset and wanted to know who would say something like that. I really thought it was you.” She looked near tears. Minnie was a person who couldn't stand to be disliked.

I, on the other hand, was making a career of it. “It's okay.”

“I'll tell Ruby if you like.” It was hard to be around earnestness when you weren't used to it. I wanted to think that Minnie was being manipulative, but there was nothing in her demeanor to support that.

“Don't worry about it. At this point, Ruby thinking one more bad thing about me won't tip the scales. And I would've thought the same thing if I were you.”

“So you're not mad?”

“Of course not.”

She bent her head like she was about to pray.

“Have you seen Jayne?” I asked.

She tipped her ear toward the lobby doors. “She left the building a few minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes darted nervously around the theater. “I could look for her with you.”

Without Ruby around, Minnie was clearly desperate for companionship. If Jayne and I were on better terms, I might've taken her up on it, but as it was I wasn't a good candidate for company.

“Thanks, but I better do this on my own.”

“All right.” She turned to leave and bumped into another of the leads standing behind her.

“Minnie,” the woman said. Her voice was crisp and cold. It wasn't a greeting so much as a dismissal.

“Sorry,” said Minnie. “I wasn't looking where I was going.” She lowered her head and continued away from us. Rather than leaving the theater, when she reached the doors, she lingered. I had the oddest feeling she wanted to protect me from this woman, and after witnessing her chilly greeting, I could understand why.

“I'm Izzie,” said the woman.

“Rosie.”

“How's Ruby doing?” She was a tiny blonde—near kin to Jayne—with a smile that had twice the number of requisite teeth. This should have made her curious to look at, maybe even abnormal, but the effect was dazzling. Even her smile was better than the average bear's.

“Swollen,” I said. “They think it's an allergic reaction.”

“Will she be back soon?” She had a low, husky voice that she'd cultivated through years of drinking and smoking. You had to admire that kind of dedication to your craft.

“Monday's the plan.”

“Oh, thank God.” She lowered her voice. “I don't know how much more I can take of that one.” She rolled her eyes toward Minnie. “Give Ruby my best, would you?”

“Absolutely.”

Izzie turned and started to walk away. It was weird to think that Ruby had friends, weirder still to think she had befriended Minnie when it was clear none of the other actresses wanted anything to do
with her. Had we misjudged Ruby all this time, or was the antagonism she directed at Jayne and me really directed only at us?

Izzie stopped and turned back to me. “You want to join me and the other girls for a smoke?”

Our break would be over soon. Even if I found Jayne, I wouldn't have time to talk to her. Besides, there was no time like the present to find out what I could about Paulette. “Sure, that would be great.”

The other women were sprawled about the lobby, commanding the space like they didn't just own the place but provided the nails that held the walls together. Zelda greeted me with a smile while Izzie introduced me to the third member of their trio—Olive Wright.

Even in repose you couldn't stop looking at the three of them. They weren't just pretty—their every gesture held an air of confidence and precision, as though they'd accepted at some point that everything they did from here on out was for public consumption.

“I don't know how you do it,” said Olive. She was a redhead whose pale skin was dotted with the ghosts of freckles she'd tried to disguise with any number of creams and cosmetics. “I could never be in a corps de ballet.”

“You've got that right,” said Zelda. She threw her long, thin legs over the arm of the chair and blew a perfect ring of smoke into the air. “I've got two left feet.” The disfigured dogs in question were clad in a pair of lizard skin pumps that looked like they belonged in a shoe museum. I attempted to hide my own scuffed ballet slippers behind a chair.

“You're an actress, Rosie, right? Not a dancer?” asked Izzie.

“Is it that obvious?”

She swatted at my arm as though we were old friends. “Shut your mouth. I just meant you manage to pull it off, and this is probably the last thing you're trained to be doing.”

“The jury's still out on whether I'm pulling it off.”

“Actually, Rosie was in
In the Dark,
” said Zelda.

“Get out!” Olive opened up Zelda's cigarette case and helped herself to a smoke. “I loved that show. It's a pity they closed it so fast.”

“You know how it is with murder,” I said.

“You were heartbreaking,” said Olive. “In fact, the whole cast was pretty amazing. Which was remarkable considering what a stinker the script was.”

You had to feel good being complimented by women who clearly didn't dish out kind words indiscriminately.

“Speaking of bad scripts,” said Izzie, “it must be killing you being in this show.”

“You know how it is,” I said. “You got to go where the work goes.”

“Ain't that the truth?” said Zelda.

I liked these women, and not just because they made me feel better about myself. Olive's hand glittered with a small gold band.

“You married?” I asked.

She looked surprised to find the slight piece of jewelry on her hand. “Yep. Two weeks tomorrow. He promises that we'll get a better ring on his next leave. I told him as long as it doesn't turn my finger green, I'm fine.”

“What branch is he?”

“Air corps. Air force—whatever they're calling it now,” said Olive. “He's a pilot, stationed in Germany.”

“Ouch,” I said.

Olive sighed and held her ring up to the light. “Tell me about it.”

“I understand you're responsible for Ruby's latest love,” I said.

“Don Montgomery?” asked Izzie. “Is she still seeing him?”

“According to our conversation yesterday, they're practically engaged.”

“Good for her,” said Olive. “He's a right gee.”

“Loads better than Lawrence Bentley anyway,” said Zelda. They quietly passed a look between the three of them that I couldn't read.

I decided to change the subject. Who knew if these women would ever talk to me again? “I hear there's going to be a service for Paulette tomorrow.”

“Ah yes: big black hats and insincerity from Broadway's finest,” said Izzie. “I can't wait. Did you know her?”

“I was friends with…” I stopped myself short of telling them I knew her accused killer.

“Rosie lives at the Shaw House,” said Zelda. “Everyone knows everyone there.”

I nodded. “Paulette was already in Hollywood by the time I moved in, but everyone still talks about her. In fact, I met her fiancé the other day. George Pomeroy.”

“How was George?” asked Izzie.

“Sad. Devastated. Take your pick.”

“He's in good company. It's a hard thing to wrap your head around. She was a good egg,” said Olive.

“A great egg,” said Izzie.

“How long have you guys known her?”

“Forever,” said Olive.