by Paddy Eger
“Thanks for joining me, young lady. I’ll see you again real soon.” He waved as he stepped inside his house and closed the door.
Marta trudged down the steps feeling a heaviness. Were the diet pills wearing off, or did her lack of direction tug at her? Something needed to change and soon.
Back home she stretched out on her bed thinking about the similarity of Mr. Dunbar and her mother. Both lived simple lives in simple homes. Both lost their spouses yet found ways to stay happy. Both believed in her. But did she believe in herself? She didn’t know any more. Tomorrow she’d consider making a change, maybe.
3
The kitchen phone jangled, waking Marta. She stretched, listening to the rhythm of her mom’s voice and decided to surprise her mom and get dressed instead of drifting back to sleep.
Her mom glanced up from her morning coffee, checked the clock, and looked back at Marta. A smile brightened her face, “Good morning! You’re up earlier today. Feeling more like your old self this morning?”
“I guess,” Marta said. “It’s time to do something. I can’t take another hour of Sean chasing Maggie and calling his wife Sue as if he’s on a business trip when all along he’s fathered Maggie’s son and together they are stealing designs from his wife’s clothing company. The soap is called One Loving Life, but it certainly sounds like more than one life getting messed up.”
“You have been watching way too much daytime TV.”
“Seems that way. I’m going to hunt for a job, any job. Got any ideas?”
“The local theatre group needs a seamstress and help with sets. Want me to call Hal, see if he’s found anyone?”
“Sure.” Marta paused. “No, let me call. Oh, who called you so early this morning?”
“Robert. He’s going out of town for a few days and wanted to say good bye again.”
Marta chuckled. Robert and Mom. Their relationship looked serious if he needed to say good bye again after seeing her last night.
The music of Sleeping Beauty pushed through Marta’s head as she bathed and dressed in clean clothes for the first time this week. With her hair brushed back and gathered into a short ponytail, the music faded away before she captured it long enough to walk through the wedding scene choreography.
She added barrettes to her hair to keep it away from her face, then turned her head side to side. Why she’d hacked it off in the spring made less and less sense. Although she felt at odds with herself these days, she’d not dipped to the sadness she’d felt while wearing a cast earlier in the year.
h
Marta called the community theatre and set up an appointment to meet the director, Hal Ryan, that afternoon. She took the bus to town and entered the old movie house they’d converted into a community theatre. She sat in the front of the auditorium waiting for Hal to arrive, letting her imagination create a ballet suitable for the small stage.
Hurried footsteps approached. “You must be Marta Selbryth,” said a tall, middle-aged man as he approached the aisle where she sat.
Marta stood and offered him her hand. “I am.”
“Thanks for meeting me here,” he said as they shook hands. “Sorry for the informality. We’re a low budget operation with only four or five performances a year. But you probably know that.” He sat down next to her. So, Marta, let’s talk about your theatre experience.”
“I’m a ballet dancer, and I have no theatre experience.”
“I see,” he said. “Why am I talking with you if you have no art background or experience?”
Marta felt the sting of his comment but pressed on. “I sew,” she said as she shook out two handmade costumes she’d brought with her. “I made these a few years ago. Sewing is a bit of a passion in our family.”
He turned the samples over and checked the seams. “Very nice. And what about sets? Got any tucked in your bag?”
She laughed. “No, but I watched the ballet set team create backdrops. If someone shows me the basics, I’d like to learn.”
He checked his watch and stood. “Give me a few days. We might need your sewing talents. If no qualified set person applies, I’ll call you about that job as well.” He headed backstage, leaving Marta alone in the auditorium.
“Thanks, Mr. Ryan. You’re welcome, Marta.” she said to the empty auditorium.
She sat in the dusky light and stared at the stage. Had he dismissed her? Was there any chance she’d get the jobs? She tucked the costumes back into her bag and exited the building.
The sunshine momentarily blinded her as she stood under the community theatre marquee and pawed through her purse for sunglasses. Oh well, she’d made an attempt. Next stop, the drug store across the street. She spent most of her last three dollars on diet pills, then took the bus home. Back to the afternoon soap operas, One Loving Life, As The World Turns and General Hospital.
h
The call came four days later. Marta took the call from Mr. Ryan while dressed in her robe seated in the kitchen playing solitaire.
“Miss Selbryth,” he said. “If you’re still available, I’d like to hire you to sew costumes for our summer children’s theatre. Our six actors are students from the local junior highs. We’re doing an original children’s play called Come Out and Play, written by a friend of mine. The storyline calls for the animals to plan a surprise party. Our costume shop has a few items that need repairs, plus we want several animal costumes sewn. Does that interest you?”
Marta sat up. “Yes, it does. Thank you for remembering me. When do you want me to start?”
Mr. Ryan laughed. “We need the costumes yesterday. They must be flexible so the characters can dance as well as run around. Sound doable?”
“Sure. I’ll come by this afternoon and see what you have and what you need. Who’s teaching them the animal dances?”
“The Holland Dance Studio. Do you know the place?”
“Very well. I took my training there. Miss Holland prepared me to become a professional dancer.”
“Really? Would you want to teach our teenage actors a few steps?”
Marta twisted the phone cord around her finger. “I’d love to, but let me contact Miss Holland. She may already have someone in mind.”
“Great. Let me know when you stop in this afternoon. The kids will be here as well. Thanks, Marta.”
Marta felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach when she dialed the dance studio.
“Holland Dance Studio. This is Elle.”
“Hi, Mom. Is Miss Holland busy?”
Hi, honey. She’s standing beside me. Just a minute.”
“Marta?” Miss Holland said. “How are you? How’s the ankle?”
“I’m fine and my ankle is coming along. I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by the studio yet.”
“Are you coming in today? I’d love to see you.“
“No, not today.” Marta explained about the community theatre.
“If you’re up to teaching them, I’d be grateful. The girl I had in mind is away. Hal will be lucky to have you helping him. Just don’t overdo it. I’ll call Hal and let him know. Wait.... Your mom sends her best. Now that I’ve got you on the phone, when will you stop in so we can talk?”
Trapped. She knew Miss Holland was bound to ask. “I’ll call you once I’ve figured out my hours with Mr. Ryan.”
“Good. I’m anxious to see you and hear all about your experiences. Call me when you’re ready.”
h
Bathing in the small bath tub forced Marta’s knees to touch her chin. She missed the showers back in her Billings boarding house, but being home mattered more than having a shower. Her mom had remained patient about her moping around, but now she had a job. Good fortune or at least a change offered her a distraction. She walked to the drug store on Callow and bought postcards, vowing to send them to Lynne and Steve later in the day. From there she caught
a bus downtown to the community theatre.
The play’s costume list hung on the bulletin board in the prop room. She’d investigated the raggedy costumes and decided she could repair, clean, and embellish a few, but four new costumes needed to be sewn. She closed her eyes and visualized a plan for sewing them: chenille with rag mop accents and feather-light wings. After all, they’d created the play for children; their imaginations created vivid costumes out of flour sacks or brown paper bags.
Now Marta sat in the center section of the dark auditorium waiting for Mr. Ryan and the teenagers to arrive. Just then a handful of young teens tromped down the aisle, chatting and laughing. Marta stood as Hal appeared on the stage. “Welcome, everyone! Please join us in the front rows, and let’s talk about the play.”
The shuffling bodies settled. Hal introduced the storyline of the play. “So you see, it’s going to be fun, especially adding the dances Marta’s offered to create for you. We’re lucky to have a professional dancer. I’ll let Marta explain her ideas to you.”
Marta stood and felt their eyes follow her as she moved to sit on the edge of the stage. She straightened her spine and scrutinized the students. “We’ll be using the music from The Carnival of the Animals to create dances for each animal. I’ll teach you the basic steps, then create details to make each of your animals distinctive. But don’t worry, these will be simple steps, enough to keep it fun and not embarrass you in front of your friends. You’ll perform an opening group dance, a solo, and another group dance during the final party scene.
Hal announced their roles. “Neil, you’re the tortoise; Pam, the butterfly; Terry and Valerie, the hens; Willis, the elephant; and George, the kangaroo. You’re invited to ham up your dances as long as you don’t get silly and forget your lines.”
The teens laughed and poked each other but showed little enthusiasm for the play. Marta hoped they’d perk up and put energy into their roles as the production moved forward.
Hal continued. “We’ll provide a schedule with the times you’ll need to be here. Plan on Tuesday and Thursday mornings for practicing your lines and Wednesdays afternoons for learning your dances. Tell your parents each practice lasts ninety minutes and we need you here on time, every day. Questions?”
No hands raised so Hal handed out the scripts. “You’re on your own learning your lines. Come ready to work, but also to have fun. Let’s read through the script to familiarize all of us with the story.”
h
Marta returned home with notes scribbled in the margins of her script and set to work creating simple steps for the teens. The Carnival of the Animals remained a personal favorite. Now she had the opportunity to use the music and steps she and Lynne taught the little girls in Billings, plus add her own touches. In all, she’d use seven selections from Saint-Saëns music. She’d create fifteen minutes of movements. That matched the time she’d traditionally be on stage when she danced professionally. Hopefully the teens were up for it.
Strangely, even though she guessed she was a scant five years older than the junior high actors, she felt a deep chasm separating them. Must be her year away on her own that created the gap. Regardless, she hoped they’d arrive for each rehearsal with more enthusiasm than they brought today, making her task considerably easier.
The teen play changed how she spent her day. She got up early and sat with her mom as she prepared for work. Then she spent time adjusting the dance steps and making or embellishing costumes before she hopped on the bus for the theater. Back at home she fixed dinner and once again readjusted the dances and costumes before her mom returned home. She forgot about taking diet pills, so perhaps her life had begun to change for the better and she’d focus on using her natural energy. Speaking with Miss Holland took a backseat to the teen play, but she needed to schedule her visit soon.
Wednesday afternoon dance rehearsals started with mixed results. Valerie, Terry, and Pam belonged to a dance team and learned their dances with ease. Marta added more detailed choreography to their two-minute solos.
The teen boys, Neil, Willis, and George, needed their simplified dances. Tortoise Neil’s and Elephant Willis’s slow-moving dances gave them time to think before they moved. Poor George shuffled like a lost cause. His feet became entangled throughout his brief yet fast-paced kangaroo solo.
“Marta, I don’t know if I can do this,” George said. “I mean I want to be in the play and all, but I don’t want to be laughed at.”
“George, you’re doing fine. Lift your feet a little higher, like this.” Marta demonstrated, then danced beside George to guide him. “Remember, this is a kids’ play and it’s supposed to be humorous.”
Sure enough, when he lifted his feet he performed the steps perfectly and started adding humor to his role.
h
The end of June, Marta received another call from Hal Ryan. “I understand the dance lessons are going well. I appreciate your taking over that job.”
“Thanks. It’s fun working with the teens. It’s a cute play. I’m certain the community will enjoy it.”
“That’s great to hear. Now more good news for you. Dennis, the set designer, hasn’t found qualified help, so he’ll call you before Monday to give you the opportunity to try your hand at building sets and helping paint them as well. It will be a bit of a time crunch with the sets needing to be completed as close to July tenth as possible.”
“I’ll do my best. I’m excited to help make sets. Watching the crew assemble them always fascinated me. Thanks, Mr. Ryan.”
“Call me Hal. Prepare to get messy, Marta. Would you be interested in taking subscription calls and doing other odd jobs?”
“Yes, I’d love whatever work you have for me. I did reception jobs in Billings.”
“How did you fit that in with your career?”
“I didn’t. I worked at a hotel while I had a cast on my leg and couldn’t dance.”
“That must have been disappointing, but we’re glad to have you working with us.”
“Thanks, Hal.” Marta hung up the phone and sat at the kitchen table feeling a mix of emotions. Hal, a near stranger, took the time to commiserate. Madame Cosper, artistic director of the ballet company, never shared any compassion for Marta’s injury and recovery. Some day she hoped to understand why Madame didn’t care or didn’t like her.
Marta jumped up. No good came from dwelling on her past. Having jobs allowed her to send money to pay her doctor and hospital bills in Billings. If the set design job worked out, she’d start a nest egg toward getting a place of her own and a car.
h
“And that’s the KING 5 News at Noon for Tuesday, July 7th, 1958.” Marta clicked off the television. She retrieved the mail and flipped through it for her near-daily letter from Steve. No letter today; must be busy, or waiting until he received more than a postcard from her. Would he care to hear about her sewing or that she returned from set making each day wearing a rainbow of paint blots with splotches of dried wheat paste? Maybe. She really should write back to him.
Building sets proved to be backbreaking, but she’d learned a lot the past few days. Dennis, the carpenter who worked on set construction after hours, surprised her. Their first encounter reminded her of meeting Steve. Both began as a mishmash of misunderstandings.
That first afternoon, she’d arrived early and sat waiting on the apron of the stage. He was thirty minutes late. With her luck he’d be an old bald headed guy with a beer belly and unable to bend over.
As Marta prepared to leave, assuming he wasn’t coming, a young, blonde man sauntered down the aisle carrying two tool boxes. “So, you’re Marta and you want to become a set designer?”
“Not really,” she said. Boy, her image of the carpenter missed the mark. “I need a job. Hal said you needed a set builder and someone to help paint.”
Dennis grinned and shook his head. “Hal always caves for a lovely face.”<
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Marta’s smile faded. “Excuse me? I’m a hard worker, I can—“
“Forget I said that. It’s just that I need more than a painter. My new carpentry business is taking off so I need someone to build sets, not just make them pretty.”
“So, you took one look at me and thought I couldn’t do this?”
“Yeah, that’s right. You’re what, five feet tall and weigh ninety pounds dripping wet? Many of our sets are eight feet tall and weigh more than you do. Do you even know how to swing a hammer?”
She pulled her mouth taut to hold back a retort that rushed to be spoken, but she knew her face gave away her frustration.
Dennis closed his eyes and shook his head. “Look. That sounded cruel but I need muscle more than art.”
“Do you always judge people so quickly? How do you know I can’t do it?”
Dennis lifted his hands in surrender. “Okay. Let’s see what you’ve got.” He opened his tool boxes. “Hand me the T-square, a claw hammer, and a dozen eight penny nails.”
Marta rummaged through his tool boxes and handed him the square and the correct hammer. She held a similar hammer as she faced him. “You don’t have any eights in your box. Is there another place I can check, or do you want to use sixteens? Or, would a lighter nail work?”
Dennis raised one eyebrow. His jaw dropped open as if he’d won a thousand dollar Bingo game. “Okay, Marta!” He walked to the wings and returned with a coffee can of nails. His sly smile and nod defrosted her anger.
Over the next three hours, they assembled frames, attached plywood, and moved on to building a platform. The steady beat of hammering released months of Marta’s frustration one stroke at a time.
After they collected tools and prepared to leave for the evening, Marta sat on the apron resting with her feet dangling over the edge. A flutter of interest in Dennis ran through her as she watched his back muscles flex when he wrestled with the plywood tops. Too bad he acted like such a jerk. She’d like a few new friends, but expecting a busy guy like Dennis to become a friend was pushing her luck.