Unfortunately, in spite of the men’s rapt attention, her performance was far from perfect. She stepped on the other girls’ lines instead of waiting her turn to speak, and missed a couple of entrances.
But she’d done it. She’d acted on a stage, in front of people. Terribly, no doubt about that, but as the men whooped and whistled during the curtain call, Hazel managed a proud smile.
“Up and at ’em, ladies.”
Verna’s voice boomed across the pup tent.
Hazel groaned and sat upright. After being driven back to the base the night before, Hazel had skipped dinner and retreated to her assigned cot, the exhaustion from her journey and the sheer terror of performing having caught up with her.
Sure, she’d stunk last night in the show. But what had they expected with no rehearsals?
Better to come clean, try to start fresh. “Listen, everyone. I’m sorry about how awful I was. I didn’t expect to go onstage so soon.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Betty-Lou’s voice came out a sweet squeak. “We all had a period of adjustment. It’s to be expected.”
“Yeah,” agreed Verna. “The thing about this gig is that you’ll get a do-over. And another. And another.”
“I’m so sick of
Verna looked up at a ragged calendar posted on the bulletin board. “We’re off this morning, then shows at four and eight.”
“I’m serious.” Betty-Lou put her hands over her face. “I can’t do this play again. Please don’t make me.”
Maybe there was something Hazel could do to make up for last night. She pulled her suitcase out from under her cot and popped it open. Digging through the dresses, she found the book she was looking for and held it up.
“I brought this with me.
Betty-Lou let out a shriek. “Amen! I thought we’d be waiting another month for a new script. Now we have twelve. Maxine, look.”
Maxine, who’d been uncharacteristically subdued, reading a book on her cot, swung her legs over the side. “Let’s see.”
Hazel tossed it over.
“Not bad.” Maxine thumbed through it. “We can work with this. Good job, Hayseed.”
Hazel refused to let that nickname stick. “Look, I really don’t want to be called Hayseed during my tour. I’ve paid my dues.”
“In what way?”
“Well, I’ve worked on Broadway since 1939.”
Maxine studied her. “Why don’t I remember you, then? When I lived in New York, I went to everything.”
“I was an understudy.”
“Huh. Did you ever go on?”
Hazel swallowed. “No.”
“Wait a minute.” Verna snapped her fingers. “I heard about you. Didn’t you understudy for something like two dozen shows and never once perform?” She didn’t wait for an answer. Not that Hazel wanted to give her one. “That’s right! The producers loved you because the audiences were never disappointed. It was in the
Hazel’s mother had read the article aloud the day it came out, while Hazel’s ears burned with embarrassment. “What a shame,” Ruth had said. “You standing in the sidelines while real actresses like Fay Wray and Betty Furness get the spotlight. Seriously, Hazel. Your brother would’ve been very disappointed.”
A man’s voice called out from the other side of the tent’s flap door. “The facilities are ready for you, ladies.”
Hazel, relieved by the interruption, followed the girls outside, clutching her helmet and a towel. They were led to the washing area, where a board with circular cutouts lay across two wooden horses. The women stuck their helmets under the faucet and filled them with water before laying them in the holes, a kind of makeshift sink. Hazel washed her face and hands and brushed her teeth before dumping out the water and wiping the inside of her helmet with a towel.
She’d hoped that she’d have the morning to get her bearings around the camp but instead was told to report back to Naples to fill out more paperwork, with Maxine assigned to accompany her. She wished it had been one of the others.
Hazel held tight as the Jeep careened back toward Naples over roads that were no better than those in the Dark Ages must have been. Above the narrow streets, laundry hung limply from precarious-looking balconies. They took a right, coming to a small plaza, where a crowd blocked the way.
“What’s going on?” asked Maxine.
The driver stood up to get a better look. “Stay here, in the Jeep.” He climbed out and was soon swallowed by the crowd.
Hazel and Maxine pulled themselves to standing to get a better view. The focal point of attention seemed to be a beautiful, very pale boy with full cheeks, his blond hair swept off to one side. For a moment, Hazel almost called out her brother’s name. The resemblance was uncanny: Even the way the boy tossed his head to get his hair out of his eyes was the same. When her brother used to do that, girls swooned.
