“They just called ten minutes. That means it’s ten minutes until showtime.” The redhead took a dramatic pause. “Have you ever even acted before? I swear, Jaundiced Jenny is out, and in her place we get Hayseed Hazel.”
The other women giggled.
Hazel stood tall. “I’ve acted before. I know what it means. But I can’t go on.”
“Why not?”
This must be some kind of joke they played on all the newbies. “Because I haven’t rehearsed and don’t know any of the blocking.” She put down her suitcases and brushed the dust off her skirt, realizing as she did so that it made her seem like a prissy schoolmarm. She let her arms fall to her sides.
“You’re the maid. How hard can it be? Do you know your lines?”
“I studied them on the plane.”
“Then you’ll be fine. Just enter and exit when you’re supposed to.”
A voice came from outside the tent. “Miss Mead!”
“Yes?” the redhead called back.
“Someone to see you.”
She looked at her watch. “Hayseed, get some makeup on and get out of that uniform. See you ladies in the wings.”
Hazel waited a beat. Surely these women would all burst into laughter, now that the joke had been played out, but they just turned back to the mirror.
The redhead seemed familiar. Maybe Hazel had seen her in a show or at an audition back in New York. “Who
“That’s Maxine Mead. Our fearless leader.” The speaker, a tall brunette fitted out in a lemon-yellow dress, stood and shook Hazel’s hand, introducing herself in a deep alto as Verna.
“Do we have a leader?” Hazel was still waiting for an acknowledgment of the prank. “I thought we were all second lieutenants.”
“Maxine runs the show.” Verna shrugged and introduced the other two ladies. Phyllis was a rotund milkmaid type with rosy cheeks, and Betty-Lou was a tiny slip of a girl, perfect for playing kids’ parts, most likely.
“She’s joking, right? About me going on?”
Verna shook her head. “No. We’ve been holding the curtain, waiting for you. You can get ready over there.”
But this was ridiculous. No rehearsal at all? Hazel didn’t even know which actress was playing which character. A lump lodged in her throat at the thought of all those men out there, waiting for the entertainment to begin. This had been a terrible idea. She’d be put on the next plane home, back to doing crosswords in the understudies’ dressing room.
Trembling, Hazel changed into one of her plainer dresses, as befitting a maid, and tied the apron Verna tossed over around her waist. She turned away so the other girls wouldn’t see her hands shaking as she looped the ends into a bow.
After standing in the wings for countless shows, watching others perform,
Another loud clap of thunder. “Will they cancel it if it rains?”
“You kidding?” said Phyllis. “Some of these men walked miles to get here. They ain’t going anywhere.”
Hazel followed the other girls behind the big truck. The rain was holding off, but probably not for long, judging from the soggy feel in the air. Hazel longed for a bolt of lightning to hit the truck and cancel the show. Anything to not have to go onstage in front of this sea of men, in a strange country, when she hadn’t eaten or slept in what felt like a week.
She waited in the wings, which was really a small set of stairs that led onstage, forcing back tears. Betty-Lou handed her a tarnished silver tray. “Here’s your prop.” Hazel couldn’t even whisper anything back—by then, her throat had closed up. She’d wanted desperately to act in a play, but not like this.
Even worse, her character had the first entrance.
The lights went up.
She couldn’t go out there. Into the spotlight.
“What are you waiting for?” A solid shove from Maxine, who’d silently reappeared, propelled her up the stairs. Hazel placed the tray on a table downstage as Verna entered from the other side. Hazel had no idea what Verna said, her mind had fuzzed over, but she answered with “Yes’m,” her first line. She managed to utter the next few, hoping she got them in the right order, before scampering like a dog with its tail between its legs back to the safety of the wings.
The soldiers roared with laughter. Backstage, Betty-Lou gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Not bad.”
The show continued. The other members of the cast were loud and confident, especially Maxine, who was a force of nature as the psychic Madame Arcati. The two male parts were played by men, presumably soldiers who’d volunteered. Each time Hazel ventured out, she relaxed a little more.
When she wasn’t onstage, she watched the eager faces of the soldiers in the first few rows. The men were desperate for entertainment, for something else to think about besides the war, and even when the rain began falling in sheets, no one stirred.
