In the corridor, she almost collided with Jeffrey Sayre, now a dashing figure in his military uniform and looking more his movie self in his wavy blond wig.
"You look much too lovely for a nurse, Miss Grant," he said, bowing to her and clicking his heels in mock-gallantry.
"You're more than usually handsome yourself," she returned.
"My charm is difficult to hide," he smirked.
Then he nodded toward the star's dressing room. "All well in there?"
"Fine. He wants me to see the play from the audience tonight."
Sayre whistled. "The old buck must be in good shape. Well, you'll not be far away. Wish us luck."
At the end of the corridor near the stage, she came upon Hugh Deering, Joy Milland, and the character woman, all in make-up and costume, and in an excited huddle of conversation.
Hugh smiled at her. "Dressed for the occasion, I see."
"Good luck." She waved to them and headed toward the exit.
"You look divine!" Joy Milland called after her shrilly.
Just as she touched the exit door, Lyon Phillips hurried by, coatless and perspiring. He grinned at her. "Another rat deserting the ship," he said.
By the time she was shown to her seat, the orchestra was playing. It was one of the things she liked about the Colonial Theater. Only a few houses kept an orchestra now, and it added so much to the show. The audience was fashionable and every seat in the great theater seemed to be occupied. Not only a successful night at the box office, but an evening of tribute to a beloved star.
As Oliver Craft had promised, she saw Boston's own Cardinal and his retinue seated in seats near the front of the middle section.
The curtain rose to a round of applause, and in the dimly lighted prison set the play began. It built from the quiet scene with Charles Victor and the character woman, through the angry scenes between the Communist leaders, played to the hilt by Jeffrey Sayre and Hugh Deering, to the dramatically right entrance of Oliver Craft as the Cardinal.
Again, the play was halted by applause and Jeffrey Sayre lashed into his scene opposite the old star with a bite that made Shirley afraid once again. But Oliver Craft's calm control did not seem to falter. He played his role with a mounting strength that caught up the audience. And when he said his memorable first-act curtain line there was a hushed silence as the curtain fell before the theater exploded with applause.
In all her theatrical experience, Shirley had never heard such an enthusiastic response to a play. Even she had forgotten her concern for her patient during the final moments of the act. Now she thought of her responsibility and pushed her way through the crowds to the side exit and backstage.
She found the old star in his dressing room repairing his make-up. He was perspiring, but his face wore a happy smile. "No worries, my dear," he greeted her. "I'm feeling quite well."
His grandson stood by him, and he acknowledged Shirley's entrance with a slight nod. Then he said to his grandfather, "I'll be back again next intermission." With a second nod to Shirley, he left.
"He's a little nervous of you." Oliver Craft chuckled.
Shirley dropped two white tablets in a half-glass of water and passed it to him. "This will help your second act."
The old man drank the liquid without a question. Then he said: "You should be onstage with us at the final curtain. Part of our success is due to you. Without your good care, I wouldn't be fit to play my part tonight."
"You still have two acts to go," she teased.
"I'm not worried," he said, adjusting his Cardinal's cap.
Watching him, Shirley thought how right the part was for the old actor. He had the gaunt, saintly air of a venerable churchman. Surely the playwright must have had him in mind when he wrote the role.
The second act built up steadily and ended on another high note of drama, which brought a repeat of the first-act thunder of applause. Lyon Phillips was standing by the set when Shirley came back this time.
"I didn't think he'd ever be this good again," he told her, his eyes shining.
"I hope he's able to keep it up."
"That applause is all he needs for his bloodstream," Phillips said, looking toward the front curtain. "They love him."
"I know." Shirley started toward the corridor.
"Are you going to the party at the hotel?" Lyon called after her.
"I haven't decided," Shirley said over her shoulder.
"Better do it now," Hugh Deering said in his easy, friendly voice, taking her by both bare shoulders.
She stopped still and, blushing, waited for him to let her go. He did so in a second.
"We'll need some pretty girls there tonight," he said, smiling. "And you are a pretty girl, you know."
He looked so handsome in his military uniform, his hair grayed a bit more at the temples, his eyes accentuated by make-up, that she found it difficult to answer him for a moment. "You're giving a fine performance," she said. "Everyone is."
"Pleasant words," he told her. "But there are others I'd rather hear. Such as your saying 'yes' to my question about the party."
"I'll think it over," she promised with a faint smile. "I'd better get in to the Chief. He may need me." She hurried on.
When she went in this time, Oliver Craft was bent forward on the make-up counter, his hands at his temples, his eyes closed as if in meditation.
Shirley went up to him slowly. "Are you all right, Mr. Craft?"
He nodded and then, leaning back, opened his eyes. He spoke in a low voice. "Just now… a little cramp in my left side. Quite severe. But it seems to have passed."
Alarmed, she said, "I can call Dr. Trask. He's near the front of the house."
"No, no!" He raised a hand in protest. "A thing like that could ruin the play. Word would go through the house like wildfire. After that, they'd be watching me and not the Cardinal. The mood would be lost."
Shirley searched quickly and found a small vial of blue pellets that Dr. Trask had given her to use in case of the old man having sudden pain. "This will help, I'm sure," she said.
He took one of the pills and she saw that his hand trembled slightly. "Don't mention this to any of the others," he warned her.
She nodded, handing him another small glass of water. Watching as he took the tiny pill, she knew that this secret conspiracy between them was going to be a permanent thing—a conspiracy against pain from which all the rest of the company would be shut out. She wondered if she had a fraction of the courage of the old man beside her and if she would be able to match up to him in his defiant battle with death.
He looked up at her with his weary smile. "Time for the third act." And in answer to the unspoken question in her face: "Yes. I'm all right now."
Oliver Craft had been right. For her, the magic of the play was partially lost. But it seemed she was alone in her fears. All the rest of the audience were caught up in the play. At last the big curtain scene arrived and Oliver Craft as the Cardinal said: "Yes, I am going to die. But everything about me you want killed will live." The curtain fell to the final outburst of applause that topped all the others.
The curtain went up and down as the company took their calls. And then came the moment when Oliver Craft faced the audience alone. Cheers were added to the thunderous ovation; all around Shirley, people stood up, clapping their hands. Time after time, the curtain was lowered and raised and then the full company took a last call. Oliver Craft stepped forward to the audience, smiling, and said a simple: "Thank you, my friends." The curtain dropped for the last time.
Shirley was on her way backstage when a voice at her elbow said, "Miss Grant."
She turned to face Roger Craft, who had elbowed his way through the crowd. He was quite different from the young man she had met that morning. Smiling apologetically, he said, "I'd like to ask your pardon for the way I acted at the hotel."
Knowing that he was sincere, she said, "I think I understand."
"I love my grandfather," he said, "if that's an excuse."
>
"I'm sure it is."
"But I see now that you and the doctor were right," he went on, looking at the crowd surging out of the crowded lobby. "This is how it should be with him, as long as he is able to go on."
Shirley glanced toward the backstage entrance. "I should be back there. But he wanted me to see the show from out front."
Roger Craft took her by the arm. "It will probably mean a little pushing." He smiled at her. "But I think we can manage it now."
Pressing against the current of the crowd wasn't easy. But they finally made their way to one of the backstage doors. As they went through, Shirley said, "That was really something. I'm tired out."
"You'll be coming to Dr. Trask's party at the Statler, won't you?" Roger Craft inquired in a way which indicated that he would be attending.
She smiled without answering as they arrived backstage.
Here, all was confusion. A line of people waiting to speak with Oliver Craft stood by as photographers busied themselves taking pictures of the stage Cardinal posing in a friendly handshake with Boston's own Cardinal.
Shirley glanced across to where the other members of the cast were grouped together and saw Hugh Deering staring at her. Catching her eye, he smiled in a cynical way and she realized that Roger Craft was standing close to her, an arm protectively around her.
CHAPTER FIVE
Oliver Craft sat heavily in front of the mirror and removed his Cardinal's cap. "I'm very tired, but I feel better now," he told her. "Boston has always been kind to me, but tonight was something more than I expected."
She stood by him. "Do you think you should attempt Dr. Trask's party?"
He nodded. "For a few minutes at least. Just to say hello to his guests."
"I'm sure he'd understand if you didn't feel able to go."
"Don't worry, my dear." He smiled at her. And the make-up gone, she saw that his face was a mask of weariness, his color not good.
Since he insisted, she went outside and told his grandson. Roger went out to have a taxi ready and she waited backstage for the old man. Most of the others in the company had already left the theater. But as she stood waiting, Lyon Phillips came up to her.
"You've decided to come to the party, after all?" He was in high spirits, the night having been such a success.
"The Chief has made up his mind that he will, and you know what he's like." She gave a small smile of despair.
"I'm glad he's stubborn about it. He should have a bit of fun. Won't hurt him," the stage manager said gaily. "And besides, he earned it tonight."
"I agree. But he'll just make an appearance, that's all."
"See you at the Statler, then." Lyon gave her a jaunty wave and went out the stage door.
The stage manager's gay mood was shared by everyone at Dr. Trask's party. The tall New England doctor proved to be a fine host, and by the time Shirley arrived with Oliver Craft and his grandson, the affair was well along and everyone seemed to be having a good time. Dr. Trask had reserved a large table in one corner of the Terrace Room that had complete privacy because of two large columns that stood between it and the rest of the dining area. From this vantage point, they could hear the orchestra in the adjoining room and yet be private.
In addition to the doctor and his wife and the members of the company, there were several middle-aged couples, friends of the doctor's. There was a hush and then loud cheers when Oliver Craft made his appearance. Dr. Trask gave him the place of honor at the head of the table and briefly introduced him to the strangers. Shirley sat only a few chairs away, next to the character woman, and Roger Craft took a place almost opposite her, beside one of the men in the doctor's group.
Shirley saw that Hugh Deering was sitting near the other end of the table, with Joy Milland on one side of him and Charles Victor on the other. Joy was leaning forward listening as Hugh whispered some confidence in her ear. Then she straightened up and laughed a loud stage laugh, looking around to see if she were noticed. She was wearing an evening dress of some garish flowered silk with a black net stole.
Jeffrey Sayre, completely at ease in a dark-blue dinner jacket, was talking pleasantly with one of the women in the doctor's party. Lyon Phillips, chatting with Charles Victor caught her eye and winked at her.
Then Oliver Craft rose and there was quiet at the table again. He spoke in a low voice quite different from his stage tone. First, he thanked Dr. Trask for his thoughtfulness and then he talked of the show and the people in it. He spread his hands at the end: "What more can I say? The ovation we received tonight was so perfect I doubt if anything will ever match it in the future. I shall hesitate to book Boston again for fear of marring the memory of this wonderful evening."
Hearing him say this, Shirley felt a lump rise in her throat. She knew, as Dr. Trask and many others at the table must, that there never would be another Boston opening night for the old actor. Glancing across the table at Roger Craft, she saw the look of sadness in his face as he listened to his grandfather. There was a hint of the old man's patrician features in his grandson's face. And she was certain that Roger had a great deal of the same sensitivity.
Oliver Craft bowed and, his speech finished, shook hands again with Dr. Trask, raised a thin white hand to the others in a gesture of farewell and started out. Shirley and his grandson followed, joining him in the hotel's large lobby.
The gaunt star beamed at them. "Now I don't want to spoil the fun for you two youngsters," he said. "I'm perfectly all right. So I want you both to stay here and enjoy the rest of the evening."
"Oh, no!" Shirley's pretty face showed alarm. "I couldn't think of letting you go back to your hotel alone."
"She's right, Grandfather," Roger Craft agreed.
"Please!" The old man raised his slim hands in protest. "I will have my say." He turned to Shirley. "My dear, all my life I've been used to returning to hotel rooms alone. I rather like it. I'm nothing more than tired. If I need you, I promise to phone. After all, my hotel is only a couple of blocks away. You can be over to me in no time."
So they saw him to a taxi. As it drove off, with Craft sitting upright and dignified like some retired Army chief, Shirley couldn't help giving voice to her admiration. "What a fighter he is," she said.
Roger smiled faintly. "It's always been like that. Grandfather is used to getting his way." He led her through the revolving doors back to the hotel lobby.
Midnight quiet had come to the main lobby now. There were only three or four people scattered about. One lone desk clerk remained on duty and the single note of excitement was the sound of the orchestra from the Terrace Room at the lobby's far end.
Roger Craft took an expensive-looking case from the pocket of his smartly tailored dinner jacket and offered her a cigarette.
She shook her head. "No, thanks. I don't smoke."
Taking one himself and lighting it, he said, "You're wise." Then, nodding toward the Terrace Room, he smiled. "Mind if we don't go back there for a few minutes? I'm not too fond of loud parties. Especially when I feel like an outsider. We could sit here for a little while."
Looking at him with interest, Shirley raised her eyebrows. "I'd say you were very much a part of it. The guest of honor's grandson."
He studied the lighted end of his cigarette. "I guess it's the old story. I always did feel a bit uncomfortable standing in Granddad's reflected glory."
She smiled and sat down on one of the divans. She wondered what sort of person Roger really was. So far, she had seen several different sides of him. His bluster of anger in the morning. His charming repentance this evening at the theater. And now his boyish mood of inferiority.
Sitting beside her, he said, "You are probably used to this sort of thing. I understand you were once in the theater yourself."
"For a short while," she said. "But there weren't many parties in those days. Just a lot of hard work."
"You can't find nursing much easier?"
"That's not why I decided to take it up," Shirley told him. "I felt it
was something I had to do."
He considered. Then he said, "That's the right attitude. I mean, for success. I feel the same way about the real-estate business. My grandfather built it, of course, my mother's father. It was a challenge to me. If I didn't make good, the business would go to outside management. So I didn't dare fail."
"From what I hear, you haven't," Shirley said.
"The breaks seemed to come my way. Of course I had a wonderful setup to start with." He spoke apologetically. "I'd have had to be a real dumbbell to have ruined it."
She laughed. "The important thing is that you're doing what you like."
"I guess so." He paused and stared at her. "But my personal life hasn't been such a success story. It's hard for poor little rich boys to score on everything. I missed out with girls."
"Really?" She was intrigued, but she tried to sound casual.
"I married at nineteen. We eloped. Big deal!"
"Oh!" It came as a surprise. She was puzzled that it should mean anything at all to her. She had only met Roger Craft that day. But suddenly the news that he was married came as a depressing blow. She wondered what his wife was like.
As if reading her mind, he went on in his earnest way: "It didn't last! The marriage was a farce! We were just a couple of kids who didn't really know each other, or have any idea what love and marriage meant. On top of that, we were both badly spoiled. Within a year, we were divorced."
"Are you still in love with her?" she said quietly.
He gave her a one-sided smile. "That was quite a few years ago. Maybe I still think of her and wonder how it might have turned out if we'd waited and done the thing decently, but that's all. We didn't give ourselves a chance to really fall in love."
"You were in such a hurry to get married."
"That's right." He nodded grimly. "Well, that got me off to a bad start. Since then, I've never been able to make up my mind about any other girl. There's never been anyone else I'd care to risk taking the gamble with."
Backstage Nurse Page 5