“Not that I blame the folks back home,” a tall, lanky soldier from Poughkeepsie confided. “Everyone is so keen on liberating France, we can’t even get our HQ to pay attention to us. And the worst part is that the guys up front are starting to feel abandoned because we’re not sending any planes to provide cover for them. But the truth is, miss? We don’t have ’em. They’ve all been moved to cover the troops in France.”
“That’s terrible!” Vi said, sick at the thought of those brave men at the front lines not getting the support they needed. “Surely something can be done.”
He laughed softly and without humor. “Well, if you think of something, miss, you let me know. Truth is, there’s just not enough matériel to go around. So, some men gots to go without.”
The injustice of that bugged Vi long after the man had moved on to shake someone else’s hand. Like everyone else back home, she had saved up kitchen fat for bombs, hauled boxes of rinsed and crushed tin cans to the local collection center, and bought war bonds whenever she had an extra sawbuck—which wasn’t often.
With all the reports of record production levels and of millions of dollars being spent by the US government, year after year, to support the war effort, how could it be that there still weren’t enough airplanes to go around?
It made her mad enough she wanted to head right back to her bunk and write her congressman a sternly worded letter.
“I have to say that went better than I expected.” The gravelly baritone identified the speaker as Sergeant Danger before she even turned around.
“That good, huh?” She cocked one eyebrow, still outraged on behalf of the soldiers and spoiling for a fight. “Does that mean you’re in a better mood now?”
Sergeant Danger gave her an odd look. “Was I in a bad one?”
“You were scowling earlier, when we got off the plane. And then again when I told Mr. Miller and Luciana that Sue was looking for them.”
“Oh, yeah.” His attention strayed to where the other actors were celebrating with a bottle of wine. She got the impression he wanted to change the subject.
Unfortunately for him, she didn’t. “I thought being able to perform tonight was a wonderful thing.”
His jaw tightened, and his eyes were steely when they met hers. “Sure, if you don’t mind your time wasted by being delayed a day.”
She stared at him, stung. “You think performing for our troops is a waste of time?”
He released a tired sigh. “Look, it’s nothing personal. But being attached to you all isn’t what I signed up for. I belong up in the mountains, with my unit, hunting Nazis. Instead I’m here nannying a bunch of civilians until . . . well, until I’m not.”
“I see.” Anger burned her cheeks. Her fellow players may be a lot of things, but they weren’t merely a “bunch of civilians.” They were professional thespians, and what they’d brought tonight had been sorely needed by the men. That the sergeant couldn’t see that truly offended her.
Needing to look anywhere but at him, she glanced around. “Have you seen Luciana? Now that the crowd has thinned out, I want to make sure she’s okay.”
“Hey.” He touched her arm. “I said it’s nothing personal.”
“I heard you.” She shifted away from him. “And I think I see Miss Rossi over there, with what looks like a medic.”
He put his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, that fall she took looked painful.”
“And definitely not scripted.” She let her worry for the actress push everything else aside. “I hope the USO won’t send her home because of it.”
“Why would you think that?” His tone was unexpectedly sharp, earning a frown from her.
“Well, her ankle is twisted for sure, and she landed pretty hard on her wrist. It might be broken.”
His shoulders relaxed. “If that’s all you meant, the doc can fix her up in no time; tell her to rest a couple of days and she’ll be fine.”
“Maybe if you’re you,” Vi said, shocked by his attitude. “But Luciana, being both a civilian and a woman, should merit more consideration. Not to mention we artists can be a bit on the sensitive side.”
He snorted. “Miss Rossi is tougher than you think. I’ve seen soldiers sent back into battle recovering from far worse than a sore ankle or wrist. And don’t you acting types always insist ‘the show must go on’? Which is a sentiment I completely respect, by the way.”
“Oh.” Vi didn’t know what else to say as her ire faded under his unexpected compliment. Luckily Sue picked that moment to start gesturing for Vi to come over. Relief flooded her. “I’ve got to go. Sue—”
Her voice trailed off as she realized she was standing alone, the sergeant having already walked away without so much as a “bye.” Irritated, she watched him disappear into the gathering dark. How could one person be so frustrating? One moment he was all charisma and the next a total jackass. Like his dismissal of Luciana’s injuries. “Tougher than you think,” indeed . . .
She suddenly remembered what she had overheard earlier. The nerves and excitement of the performance had pushed it from her mind, but now it was back in full force. Added to what he had said tonight, she now wondered if Luciana was somehow the reason the sergeant had been pulled “from the mountains” and attached to their unit. If so, with Luciana injured, he likely would be sent back posthaste, which would make the sergeant happy. And her, too, right?
Pushing aside a queer sense of loss, Vi went to see what Sue wanted.
Chapter 19
Gertie sank onto her cot, her face pale. “What do you mean, Luciana won’t be coming with us? Aren’t we supposed to stick together, like family?”
Marcie sat next to the girl and hugged her. “Don’t worry, Gert. It’s only for a few days. The doctor wants to be sure there’s nothing worse with her ankle than a bad sprain. Then she’ll be cleared to rejoin us in Rome, and everything will be back to normal. You’ll see.”
“I’m starting to wish I was the one with the bum leg,” Frances groused from her cot as she fluffed her pillow. “She gets to be waited on hand and foot, with a room all to herself and a good night’s sleep, unlike me if you gals keep flapping your gums.”
“Frances is right,” Ann said tiredly from her bunk. “Luciana is in good hands, which means we can all stop worrying and call it a night. Reveille is going to seem awfully early tomorrow morning. Or maybe I should say this morning, since it’s after midnight.”
“But what if the injury turns out worse than the doctor thinks and she can’t rejoin the show?” Gertie bit her lip as tears filled her eyes. “Will the USO send us home?”
Vi was wondering the same thing but hadn’t wanted to ask aloud.
“Would that be so bad?” Marcie said, rubbing Gertie’s back reassuringly. Vi eyed her travel buddy curiously. She was both touched and a little astonished by Marce’s compassionate behavior tonight. It was a side Vi hadn’t seen a lot of on the trip so far. “If we get sent home, you’ll never have to perform near the front lines.”
“But now I want to,” Gertie all but wailed. “All those brave men hoping for a taste of home—we can’t let them down.”
“We won’t,” Vi said firmly. “Luciana will only be sidelined for a couple of performances at the most. In the meantime, Mr. Stuart will likely promote one of us to take her place. Actresses are switched midproduction all the time with no problems.”
“That’s right,” Marcie agreed. “Think how we lost Janet, but then Vi arrived, and everything turned out fine. Perhaps even better, since Vi is a much better dancer than ol’ Janet ever was.”
“Yes, well,” Vi said, appreciating the compliment but not the timing. “Let’s all hope Luciana’s recovery is swift.”
“Especially since we don’t have anyone to take her place,” Ann said glumly.
“Oh, I bet that won’t be a problem.” Frances rolled over and pinned Vi with a hard look. “I bet someone here has already rehearsed the whole role in her head, just waiting for such an opportunity.”
“I saw how you stole the scene tonight with your little impromptu performance.”
“I was trying to keep the show moving, since everyone seemed paralyzed by Luciana’s fall.”
“Victor could have handled it. In fact, he did, once he got over his shock from having to work around you!”
“Actually, I was rather glad Virginia jumped in when she did,” Ann said from her cot.
Frances ignored her. “And then there’s the whole thing with Janet and how you just conveniently showed up almost the same moment she was canned, without even having to audition.”
Vi took a steadying breath to keep from losing her temper. Everyone, including her, was emotionally wrung out from the performance. “I admit it may have looked a bit irregular, but I had nothing to do with Janet getting the boot. All I know is your stage manager talked to mine, and off I went.”
At least she thought that’s how it had gone. Sal had been rather cagey about who he had talked to.
Marcie stood and shot Frances a nasty look. “Don’t pay any attention to her, Vi. Frances wouldn’t recognize talent if she fell over it.”
“Which, as long as you’re around, will never happen,” Frances shot back. “Too bad Virginia didn’t replace you instead of Janet, since you’re the one dragging the show down.”
Marcie’s hand balled into a fist. “Listen here, you buttana—”
Vi sighed and clapped her hands once, loudly. “Marcie! Frances! That’s enough.” She glared at both of them. “Now is not the time to be at each other’s throats. I understand being competitive, because trust me—I am! And I understand wanting to be the best performer in the show, because ditto—I do, too. But we’re also professionals, so dial it down.”
“Hear, hear,” Ann said from her cot.
“These snide comments and personal attacks,” Vi continued, “have got to stop. They’re not helping the show.”
“And they’re upsetting me,” Gertie said, her voice trembling. But she had her chin up, and Vi flashed her an encouraging smile.
“Oh, you’re one to talk.” Frances’s cheeks were flushed as she glared at Vi. “You’ve been just as rude to me as I’ve ever been to you. And your wop sidekick there has called me a whore multiple times. Don’t think I don’t know what ‘buttana’ means. I asked Luciana.”
Marcie’s dark eyes snapped. “It doesn’t mean whore; it means cun—”
“I realize I haven’t been as gracious on this tour as I could have,” Vi said, cutting Marcie off while conceding Frances’s point. “I have regrettably spent too many years fighting for stage time as a solo dancer, which is about as dog-eat-dog a world as one can get. I forgot what it takes to stage a good play. But it’s come back to me over the past few weeks, and I apologize for anything hurtful I might have said.”
Ann applauded softly. “Nicely said.”
Frances snorted. “Words are cheap. And it’s not like I heard Miss May say anything conciliatory.”
“In your dr—” Marcie started, but Vi stomped on her foot. “Ow.” She glanced at Vi, frowned, and then turned back to Frances. “Fine. For the good of the show, I will stop calling you a cunt.”
Gertie gasped at the vulgarity. Vi rolled her eyes.
“And . . . ,” she prompted her travel buddy when Marcie didn’t continue.
Marcie sucked in a breath. “And I’ll try not to say anything else rude.”
Sue entered at that moment, a notebook in her hand, her face—recently washed free of makeup—lined with fatigue. “What are you gals still doing up? It should’ve been lights out ages ago.”
“Tell me about it,” Frances groused before falling back onto her cot, her mood clearly no better for the apologies. Vi wanted to smack her despite calling for a production-wide truce.
Sue glanced around, her brow furrowing as if becoming aware of the tension in the room. “Is there something going on I should know about?”
“Yes.” Ann pushed up onto her elbows, and Vi winced, sure she was about to be called out. “Gertrude was wondering what will happen if Luciana can’t continue with the tour. And I have to admit, the possibility has got me worried, too.”
Vi felt her shoulders droop in relief. God bless Ann.
“Well, I wouldn’t let it keep you up at night.” Sue tossed her notebook onto her cot by the door. Vi suspected now that it was less about keeping the dancers from going out than it was not letting amorous soldiers sneak in. “Mr. Stuart and I were just talking about what to do in case misfortune falls upon anyone else.”
“What about having the dancers as understudies?” Frances asked eagerly.
“We talked about it.” Sue dug around in her suitcase. “But for now, let’s all hope and pray for a speedy recovery for Miss Rossi.”
“Yes,” Gertie agreed fervently. “Let’s all pray for that.”
The rest assented with varying degrees of sincerity, but at least a semblance of peace settled over the room. Vi, wanting to escape the others for a while, pulled the covers over her head. She had never liked sharing bedrooms with people, not even with her sister when they had been forced to bunk together so that Vi’s aunt and uncle could have Fern’s bed. The desire for a separate bedroom had always mystified her parents, since Vi shadowed her older sister the rest of the time, all but forcibly inserting herself into Fern’s life. But not at bedtime. That was Vi’s time to be herself, free of the competitiveness that usually needled her.
No different now than she had been as a child, she snuggled down farther under the blanket and relaxed, turning over the night’s events in her head.
The performance could be counted as a success. She might be reprimanded tomorrow for running onto the stage, but at the moment she was proud of herself. She liked to think she had helped Luciana feel a little better about the situation, since the show hadn’t fallen apart due to her mishap.
Another small success of the night was Sergeant Danger’s backhanded compliment about the show. Though it hadn’t been what one might call a rave review. “Better than I expected,” indeed. Ha! With praise like that, maybe he should consider being a theater critic after the war.
On the other hand, given how little he wanted to be here, maybe she should consider it high praise, indeed. But she still wouldn’t forgive him for being so callous about Luciana’s injury.
She flipped over restlessly. Darn it all, she should be on cloud nine right now. The performance had gone so well. Marcie was safe and sound on the cot next to hers, and Luciana was going to be fine. Tomorrow, barring any unseen disasters, she would get to see Rome, and there was the even more exciting news of more shows to look forward to.
So why couldn’t she sleep?
Vi sighed in frustration and plumped the pillow again.
So what if the plane had almost crashed today? It hadn’t. And so what if Sergeant Danger had unsettled her with compliments and insults. If she was right about him and Luciana, he’d be gone soon. Maybe it was Gertie’s talk of being sent home prematurely, though that should please her, too. She would be able to see Jimmy again, and reclaim her things from the landlady, and start looking for a new job.
She could leave Marcie and all her drama behind, her task completed.
She could become Lily again.
Her heart squeezed at the thought, though not with anticipation but regret, which surprised her. Being here—in Italy with Marcie and Sue and the actors and crew, performing for American fighting men far from home—had fulfilled her in ways she hadn’t expected.
Yes, performing in a Broadway-level musical had always been a dream of hers. Yet it was more than that. Traveling with the unit, having to depend on each other through good times and bad, was like having a family again. She hadn’t realized how much she missed having someone “have her back,” like Marcie had tonight. At the club, other dancers were just as likely to stick a knife in her as boost her up.
And she enjoyed the way men had l
ooked at her backstage tonight: respectful, adoring, almost shy. As if her good opinion mattered. Though she was well aware that the person who had earned that respect had been Virginia, not Violet. She wasn’t so much a fool as to think the adoration was real.
How ironic, though, that she had to pretend to be innocent and unsophisticated to earn male respect. In truth, Lily was far stronger and tougher, more capable of handling life. Virginia would be lost on the streets of Chicago, trying to fend for herself. She, herself, had been lost all those years ago.
But the demands of learning how to survive on her own had transformed her into a diamond, sparkling and beautiful. And just as hard. So did she really prefer being Virginia? Or Lily?
Chapter 20
“I’m so happy for you!” Vi said the next morning, hugging Marcie with genuine enthusiasm after Sue announced that Marcie and Gertie had been chosen as understudies for Luciana and Ann, respectively. “That’s fantastic.”
Marcie drew a shaky breath as she pushed back. “I still hope Luciana will recover quickly, but it makes sense that somebody has to start learning her lines. The show must go on, even if I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to play such a major part.”
“Well, if you’re not sure,” Frances drawled icily from her seat at the breakfast table, “maybe you should tell Sue to give it to someone who is.”
Marcie’s eyebrows rose. “Are you disagreeing with Mr. Stuart’s decision?”
“Not at all,” Frances said with a sniff. “I’m merely pointing out that some of us have actual acting experience.”
“Gertie was definitely the best choice for Ann’s understudy,” Vi mused aloud, ignoring the brewing catfight. Later she would remind Marcie to stop reacting to Frances’s digs. “And it makes perfect sense to leave the two strongest dancers in the chorus.”
“Wait, what?” Frances asked, clearly taken aback by the unexpected compliment.
“Though we’re all really good,” Vi hastily amended, not wanting Gertie or Marcie to feel insulted.
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